ATLANTA – Priscilla Grim, a single mother, is grappling with job loss. Aspiring writer Julia Dupuis often finds herself staring at her bedroom ceiling, feeling numb. Hannah Kass, a geography and environmental studies researcher, is concerned about her career outlook after completing her Ph.D. program.

These three are part of the 61 defendants accused by Republican Georgia Attorney General Chris Carr of being involved in a protracted racketeering plot to stop the building of a police and firefighter training facility near Atlanta, colloquially termed “Cop City” by its detractors.

Their cases remain in limbo, 20 months after being charged under Georgia’s Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations law (RICO), marking what experts consider likely the largest criminal racketeering case ever pressed against protesters in U.S. history.

Trial for five of the defendants was supposed to start last year but got bogged down in procedural issues. The judge overseeing the case then moved to another court. A new judge has set a status hearing for Wednesday.

The delays have left people in limbo, facing charges carrying up to 20 years behind bars for what they maintain was legitimate protest, not domestic terrorism. The case also has suppressed a movement that brought together hundreds of activists to protect a wooded patch of land that ultimately was razed for the recently completed $118 million, 85-acre (34-hectare) project.

Officials say the project is sorely needed to replace outdated facilities and boost officers’ morale. Opponents say it will be a training ground for a militarized police force and its construction has worsened environmental damage in a poor, majority-Black area.

Protests escalated after the fatal 2023 shooting of Manuel Esteban Paez Terán, known as Tortuguita, who was camping near the site when authorities launched a clearing operation. Officials said they killed Tortuguita, 26, after the activist shot and wounded a trooper from inside a tent.

A family-commissioned autopsy concluded Tortuguita was killed with their hands in the air, but a prosecutor found the officers’ use of force was “ objectively reasonable.”

The challenges of a 61-person indictment

Chris Timmons, a former Georgia prosecutor who has handled numerous RICO cases, said it’s understandable such a large case would take a long time to be scheduled. But Timmons said he is surprised prosecutors don’t seem to be aggressively pushing for a trial date.

“Cases age like milk, not like wine,” Timmons said. “The longer we go, memories fade, witnesses become unavailable. If I were in the prosecutors’ shoes, I’d want this case tried as soon as possible.”

The attorney general’s office did not respond to requests for comment.

Michael Mears, a professor at Atlanta’s John Marshall Law School who studies RICO cases, said prosecutors “boxed themselves in by charging so many people at one time instead of going after the leadership.”

Prosecutors’ decision last year to drop money laundering charges against three of the movement’s alleged leaders was a sign of the case’s weakness. And with the movement having faded from the public consciousness, there is less political appetite for cracking down on the protesters, he said.

“Prosecutors can’t just walk away from it, but I think you’ll probably see it die a slow death,” Mears said, predicting charges would slowly be dismissed.

That is cold comfort for those who say their lives are on hold.

Julia Dupuis

“I think most of our lives are just completely frozen in one way or another,” said Dupuis, 26, who lives in Massachusetts.

Dupuis was charged with felony intimidation of an officer in 2023 for distributing anti-police flyers near the home of one of the troopers who killed Tortuguita, Dupuis’ friend. The trooper called authorities after learning the flyers, which called him a “murderer,” were placed on his neighbors’ mailboxes.

Now banned from Georgia, Dupuis struggles to find the motivation to complete freelance copywriting projects that pay for their $650 rent.

“There’s a lot I want to do, a lot of hopes and dreams that I feel like are just kind of stuck,” said Dupuis, who dreams of joining New York City’s creative writing scene.

But most of all, Dupuis misses the activist community that once thrived in the South River Forest.

“The charges have ripped me away from my community and the people that I love so much. That’s what I’ve been longing for every single day: to be back with my people,” Dupuis said.

Priscilla Grim

Grim, 51, is tired of waiting and recently filed for a speedy trial. It’s unclear whether her motion will be granted, since the speedy trial deadline passed long ago.

“Let’s get this over with,” Grim said. “If you think you have something on me, let’s do it — which you don’t.”

Grim, who lives in New York City, is one of many “Stop Cop City” defendants who post on social media for financial support to help pay for food and rent. Health insurance is out of the question, despite chronic pain in her knee from a prior accident.

Besides the couple hundred dollars she gets each month from donors she doesn’t know, Grim cobbles together funds through freelance work for activist-oriented causes and is focused on helping her daughter get through college.

“I’ve never had such a hard time finding employment,” said Grim, who previously held marketing jobs. “I do really well until the final interview and then everybody goes ghost on me. I think it’s because that’s when they look my name up.”

Prosecutors say Grim was among a throng of black-clad activists in March 2023 who left a music festival, walked through the woods and overtook the construction site, torching equipment and throwing rocks at retreating officers before returning to blend in with festivalgoers.

Grim said she was in her tent, having woken up from a nap, when officers arrived at the festival and began making arrests. Grim said she began to run before falling due to her knee injury.

“I heard men screaming at me,” Grim said, describing what prompted her to run. “That’s scary as a woman. They didn’t say they were police or anything.”

Authorities, however, said Grim ran upon spotting the officers and tried to hide.

After her arrest, Grim lost an email marketing contract with Fordham University, which had been about to give her a full-time position.

“People know me, and when they hear I’m a ‘domestic terrorist’ they’re like, ‘What? No! What?!’ Grim said. “I’m not just talking about activist friends saying this — these are friends from parent circles.”

Hannah Kass

On May 12, 2022, a group of protesters gathered in suburban Atlanta outside the offices of Brasfield & Gorrie, the training center’s primary contractor. Some set off fireworks as others broke windows and spray-painted “Trees not cops,” causing an estimated $30,000 in damage, authorities said.

Kass, 32, attended the protest but said she never vandalized anything and was engaging in a research method called “participant observation,” which involves immersing oneself in the community being studied.

“I was there as both a scholar and an activist,” said Kass, a Ph.D. candidate at the University of Wisconsin-Madison who studies land struggles and teaches environmental social sciences to undergraduates.

Authorities arrested her on charges of felony criminal property damage and felony terroristic threats, saying surveillance video shows she helped set off Roman candles.

Kass underwent a university disciplinary hearing but said the school has supported her. She worries potential employers might not be as understanding.

Like many of her codefendants, Kass rejected prosecutors’ plea deal at her RICO arraignment that would have included serving three years in prison.

“I have absolutely nothing to plead guilty for,” she said. “I should have every right to protest and believe what I want to believe and associate with whatever political tendencies I wish to associate with.”