ESKI MOSUL, Iraq (AP) — An unarmed Sunni Arab man walked along a road in a patch of northern Iraq newly liberated from Islamic State extremists, holding a white surrender flag — a signal to Kurdish fighters that he is not a militant. Cars drove by, a similar white banner flying from their windows.
As they retake territory from Islamic State militants, Iraqi Kurdish fighters have found surprising ambivalence in areas they freed from the jihadis' oppressive rule. Locals have swiftly shaken off the imposed Islamic lifestyle — but as Sunnis, from the same ethnic group as the militants, many are nonetheless bracing for treatment as collaborators.
For their part, the Kurdish peshmerga troops are suspicious about why the locals chose to stay on when the Islamic State conquered the area in a blitz last year. An Associated Press team travelling with the Kurds found the road to Mosul, a coveted prize in the battle for Iraq, strewn with suspicion and fear.
The recent Kurdish push secured several towns and villages along a critical junction that connects the town of Tal Afar to the city of Mosul — two of the IS group's biggest strongholds in Iraq. The artery, which eventually leads to Syria, has been a vital supply line for militants transporting weapons, goods and people across the lawless Iraq-Syria border.
The Kurdish fighters struggled for months to inch ahead, backed by U.S.-led coalition airstrikes. On Tuesday, at least four airstrikes hit IS positions near Eski Mosul, a village of up to about 9,000 residents some 40 kilometers (25 miles) northwest of Mosul.
Kurdish Brig. Gen. Bahjat Taymes, who led the peshmerga operation to retake the Tal Afar-Mosul junction, said seizing it was "crucial" because it also leads to the Mosul Dam, which Kurdish and Iraqi forces won back in August with the help of U.S. airstrikes.
Last week's uptick in the airstrikes marked the start of a new, broader effort to disrupt Islamic State's supply lines ahead of an expected operation later this year to take back Mosul, U.S. military officials said.
A senior U.S. military official said military leaders were watching to see how Islamic State militants respond as their supply and communications lines dry up. The official spoke on condition of anonymity because he was not authorized to discuss the operations.
Islamic State fighters destroyed many power lines and bridges trying to slow the Kurdish advance but were eventually routed from the area. In the nearby town of Shandoukhah, bulldozers and Kurdish troops worked feverishly this week to enforce positions, piling up dirt and sandbags as deterrents against suicide bombers or shelling.
"Before we proceed further, we have to secure our backs," Kurdish Col. Marwan al-Mizouri told the AP.
The Kurdish fighters in Eski Mosul — Turkish for "Old Mosul," a name from the Ottoman rule — say they plan to leave as soon as Iraqi troops return but their enthusiasm about pressing ahead in a fight for predominantly Arab territory is half-hearted.
Last June, Iraqi forces suffered a humiliating defeat amid the IS group's lightening advance. Their commanders disappeared, pleas for more ammunition went unanswered and in some cases, soldiers stripped off their uniforms and ran. The Kurdish fighters then filled the vacuum in northern Iraq, seeing a chance to spread out from their semi-autonomous region and claim long-disputed territories in their bid for full independence.
The Iraqi military briefly returned in August for the battle to retake the Mosul Dam, "but we haven't seen them since," said Taymes, the Kurdish general.
The villagers in Eski Mosul are grateful for their Kurdish liberators, many of whom speak almost no Arabic. But the Sunni villagers also know it will take time to convince the newcomers they hold no allegiance to the Islamic State. The militants left much devastation before they fled.
Many in Eski Mosul admit they welcomed the IS when the group first arrived, resentful of what they perceive as years of neglect, discrimination and sectarian policies by the Shiite-led government in Baghdad.
"We thought they were revolutionaries coming to help us and give us our rights," said 30-year-old grocer, Salim Khudair.
Hard times followed. The village soon lost cooking gas and electricity, forcing the people to heat what little food remained over open ground fires. The cows became emaciated and many stopped giving milk. Most of the infants and the elderly became sickly.
Now, they can glimpse a better life emerging. Cigarettes — strictly banned under the Islamic State, which seized a third of both Iraq and neighboring Syria and imposed strict Sharia law — are sold and smoked freely. For the first time in months, women and young girls walk the narrow dirt streets without having to cover their faces. Young boys wrestle and play soccer without fear.
But mistrust lingers.
As several Kurdish fighters on Tuesday handed out bottled water, speaking to the villagers in broken Arabic, a group of village girls came up, timidly saying to the soldiers, "please don't blow up our homes."
Shaimaa, a resident of Eski Mosul who declined to give her full name out of fear for her safety, said her brother-in-law supported the Islamic State and so the Kurdish troops deemed her husband guilty by association and detained him.
Khudair, the grocer, claimed the peshmerga fighters confiscated some of his belongings, including a credit card machine he uses for work.
With the Islamic State still sporadically shells the village — the last time as recently as Monday — some among the Kurds worry the villagers are tipping off the militants about the Kurdish positions.
"We need them to trust us and to cooperate with us," explained al-Mizouri, the Kurdish colonel. He said he believes some villagers are still loyal to the jihadis. "Not all of them, but maybe 10 percent. It is essential that we identify those people and take care of our backs before we continue."
Associated Press writers Lolita C. Baldor in Washington and Bram Janssen contributed to this report.
MILWAUKEE (AP) — Once a month, baby-toting young women gather in a YMCA conference room to share tips, talk about and demonstrate breast-feeding — an age-old yet sometimes shunned practice in their community.
It's part of a grassroots movement that breast-feeding advocates think just might yield profound benefits — potentially helping diminish health gaps facing black Americans, from higher rates of infant mortality and childhood obesity, to more breast cancer deaths and heart disease in adults.
Breast-feeding is thought to help protect against these ills — and it's much less common among U.S. black women than in whites and others. Rates have improved in recent years but the disparity remains.
"In the African-American community, we don't see breast-feeding publicly — our sisters and aunts aren't breast-feeding in the living room, they're not talking about it in the kitchen. It's different in the Caucasian community," said Dalvery Blackwell, a lactation consultant-educator and co-founder of the Milwaukee-based African American Breastfeeding Network.
The networks' gatherings aim to change that. Similar groups meet in Detroit, Atlanta and other cities, organized by black women, for black women. While promoting breast-feeding, they acknowledge obstacles that are more prevalent in black communities — absent partners, employers who discourage workplace nursing and flex time for new moms, hospitals that feed newborns formula.
The gatherings encourage new mothers to breast-feed for as long as possible; the American Academy of Pediatrics recommends doing it for at least a year.
Just over 60 percent of U.S. black mothers have tried breast-feeding but only 16 percent continue for a full year, federal data show. By comparison, more than 80 percent of Hispanics and whites have tried it and at least 25 percent do it for a year.
A government report last year cited the breast-feeding network among efforts to improve rates. Dr. Myrtis Sullivan, a black pediatrician and former maternal and child health director for Illinois, said this type of community gathering can be particularly effective.
"The synergy that goes on when women interact with other women that are similar to them both culturally and socioeconomically ... seems to be very supportive for breast-feeding," Sullivan said.
At a recent Milwaukee gathering, mothers nursed and shared a meal provided by a University of Wisconsin public health partnership program. Blackwell offered tips about the best breast-feeding diet, how to hold a nursing baby, and signs that a baby is hungry.
Retail worker Leslie Curtis, 22, has breast-fed her 6-month-old son, Jace, since his birth. She said the meetings have helped her stick with it.
"I learn so much," she said. "I learn how to properly latch, properly pump, all the nutrition he's getting, I learn a lot and I love it."
Most of her friends think breast-feeding is too time-consuming, or too painful, and Curtis said her baby's father "doesn't understand the whole breast-feeding thing so I don't even try to explain it." But Curtis is determined to keep it up for their son's sake.
"Just coming to this group tells me why it's important," she said. "It's really healthy, I know what he's drinking and he's eating, compared to formula."
In Detroit, educator Kiddada Green runs the Black Mothers Breastfeeding Club as a modern-day old front porch, a place to encourage breast-feeding while building sisterhood. The club meets in women's homes, drawing a mix of working women and stay-at-home moms.
"We work with many women who have never seen a woman breast-feed," Green said. "We're making it visible."
"Although you're getting medical benefits, you're also getting connections and relationships and bonds that are also healthy for women," she said.
Breast-feeding's benefits include fewer infant infections and reduced risks for infant mortality, asthma, type 2 diabetes and obesity — which all disproportionately affect black children.
Effects on moms' long-term health are less studied but breast-feeding has been linked with lower breast and ovarian cancer rates, while emerging research suggests women who breast-feed may have less heart disease later in life.
Reasons why some blacks shun breast-feeding vary but slavery's legacy is often cited among them. Breast-feeding was common in Africa but became a stigma when women were separated from their own children and forced to breast-feed slave-owners' babies, Blackwell said.
Kimarie Bugg, a nurse and founder of the Atlanta-based Reaching Our Sisters Everywhere, said many doctors never discuss breastfeeding with black patients "because they just assume they're not going to do it — they don't even mention it."
No one thinks that breast-feeding is a magic panacea and scientific evidence is mixed on some of its purported advantages. But few experts dispute that breast milk is the best nourishment for infants, with potential lifelong benefits.
"We know there are significant underlying conditions that lead to poor health outcomes — socioeconomic disparities, racism — all play a part," said Laurence Grummer-Strawn, a longtime breast-feeding advocate and former chief of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention's nutrition branch.
Lack of breast-feeding contributes and improving rates could help reduce disparities, although by how much is uncertain, he said.
COLUMBUS, Ohio (AP) — One of the last times anyone ever saw Tommy Thompson, he was walking on the pool deck of a Florida mansion wearing nothing but eye glasses, leather shoes, black socks and underwear, his brown hair growing wild.
It was a far cry from the conquering hero who, almost two decades before, docked a ship in Norfolk, Virginia, loaded with what's been described as the greatest lost treasure in American history — thousands of pounds of gold that sat on the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean for 131 years after the ship carrying it sank during a hurricane.
On that day in 1989, Thompson couldn't contain a gap-toothed grin as a marching band played "My Way" and hundreds cheered his achievement. It was, indeed, monumental: the result of years of preparation, innovation, dogged single-mindedness and a belief that Thompson could not only find the gold, but also use the experience to track down other sunken treasure.
"We hope to be rich," he said then. But his victory was short-lived.
Also in Norfolk that day were insurers laying claim to Thompson's gold. He would eventually win the legal nightmare that ensued, but those closest to him believe it was the beginning of the end. Soon another court fight began with investors who funded his dream but never saw a penny back, and Thompson grew increasingly private, transforming into a Howard Hughes-like recluse.
Still, what came next was a surprise to all. Tommy Thompson disappeared.
EDITOR'S NOTE: Tommy Thompson, a treasure hunter accused of cheating his investors out of their share of one of the richest hauls in U.S. history, was captured Tuesday in Florida after more than two years on the lam. The AP is re-issuing this in-depth look at Thompson's case, originally published in September.
These days, off the South Carolina coast, a new expedition is underway to recover more treasure from the "Ship of Gold," the sunken SS Central America. Inside the mess hall of the barge making the voyage hangs a "Wanted" poster of the man who first found the ship.
The U.S. Marshals Service wanted the poster of Thompson displayed so the crew would recognize him in case he shows up, lured out of the shadows by the galling idea that someone else is collecting the gold he unearthed.
"They've awakened the sleeping beast," Marshals agent Mark Stroh says of the wave of publicity that has introduced the tale of the treasure and its fugitive discoverer to a new generation.
Stroh and fellow agent Brad Fleming remain captivated by the man they've pursued these last two years, since Thompson skipped a court date to explain what's become of the riches.
They've done meticulous research on Thompson to better understand their target, splashed his face on electronic billboards and run down hundreds of tips from the public — from the guy who thought he might have shared an elevator with Thompson at a Florida casino to a report that the name "Tommy" was signed on a memorial website for a dead friend of the treasure hunter.
Nothing has panned out.
"I think he had calculated it, whatever you want to call it, an escape plan, a contingency plan to be gone," says Fleming. "I think he's had that for a long time."
As the agents share Thompson's story, their mix of bewilderment and something akin to admiration for the treasure hunter is clear. Stroh likens Thompson to some of the greatest men in history. Christopher Columbus. Thomas Edison.
"He set out to find the Central America in the middle of a whole vast expanse of nothing and found it, and did it with relative ease," Stroh says, "like he was trying to find a set of car keys he misplaced in his house, but the house is hundreds of miles of ocean."
A person like that, the agent says, is not going to be pulled over for running a stop sign.
As a child in his small hometown of Defiance, Ohio, Thompson displayed an intelligence that was as remarkable as his sometimes maddening refusal to do anything the normal way.
His mother, Phyllis, describes how her son took things apart and put them back together, just to understand how they worked. When he was 8, Thompson almost got his parents in trouble with the phone company for having two lines without paying for both. Turns out, the boy had split the wire, connected it to a jewelry box and built himself a telephone, according to author Gary Kinder's "Ship of Gold in the Deep Blue Sea."
Kinder says his book isn't really about a hunt for a shipwreck and its riches.
"It's about a guy's brain and how it works," he says of Thompson. "There's something special about people like Tommy. It's someone ... who will not be put off by people telling him, 'This cannot be done.' ... It requires a lot of faith in oneself, a lot of confidence, and slowly bringing people to share their vision."
That talent is part of the reason Ohio businessmen got on board when Thompson set his sights on finding the Central America around 1983.
In one of the worst shipping disasters in American history, the boat sank about 200 miles off the South Carolina coast in September 1857; 425 people drowned and thousands of pounds of California gold were lost, contributing to an economic panic.
When Thompson, then 31, began approaching potential investors, he was an oceanic engineer at Battelle Memorial Institute, an international technology development group. In Columbus, where it's headquartered, Battelle's name is as synonymous with innovation and genius as MIT or Google.
Thompson also had the backing of the dean of the mechanical engineering school at his alma mater, Ohio State University.
"He's a very bright guy with lots of ideas, very creative and wild thinking, and just full of energy," says the dean, Don Glower, now 87 and retired.
Glower and the school's head of fundraising arranged for Thompson to meet a group of wealthy Columbus-area businessmen who could finance Thompson's plans, with convincing.
"Tom was a pretty good salesman," says Glower, who was at that first meeting. "He had me excited, but I didn't have any money. ... I thought it was probably a pie-in-the-sky type of thing. But I said, 'I think he's a very bright guy, and if anybody could find it, it's him.'"
And find it he did. It took an initial $12.7 million from investors, a team of experts, competition from other treasure hunters, and the development of technology that allowed items to be retrieved unscathed from the deep ocean.
Thompson described the moment, on Oct. 1, 1988, when he first gazed upon the gold.
"None of us ever thought that it would be so otherworldly in its splendor," he wrote in "America's Lost Treasure," a companion to Kinder's book. "Part of our American heritage, this was history in the form of a national treasure. And we had found it."
His joy faded fast. Thirty-nine insurance companies sued Thompson, claiming they had insured the gold in 1857. The treasure, they argued, belonged to them.
For years, the court battle raged. In 1996, Thompson's company was awarded 92 percent of the treasure, and the rest was divided among some of the insurers.
Investors thought they'd finally see returns, too, but Thompson held them off, saying the gold had to be marketed just so. Finally in 2000, Thompson's company sold 532 gold bars and thousands of coins to the California Gold Marketing Group for about $50 million.
But by 2005, Thompson's 161 investors still hadn't been paid. Two sued — a now-deceased investment firm president who put in some $250,000 and the Dispatch Printing Company, which publishes The Columbus Dispatch newspaper and had invested about $1 million. The following year, nine members of Thompson's crew also sued him, saying they also had been promised some proceeds.
A new legal mess had begun. Thompson's personal life had suffered, as well. His father died months after he found the gold. And his obsession with the treasure contributed to his divorce in 1991, friends and family say.
In 2006, Thompson went into seclusion, moving into a mansion called Gracewood in Vero Beach, Florida. He grew increasingly reclusive, and his behavior turned bizarre.
Thompson refused to use his real name on his utility bills, telling Realtor Vance Brinkerhoff that his life had been threatened and asking him, "How would you like to live like that?" Brinkerhoff recounted the exchange in a court deposition in the crew members' lawsuit.
Brinkerhoff said Thompson paid his $3,000 monthly rent in moldy $100 bills. Because he didn't want Brinkerhoff coming to the house, Thompson insisted on meeting elsewhere.
Once, when Brinkerhoff did go to the property, he found Thompson apparently living in a van outside.
"He shared with me that he contracted some kind of skin disease on some kind of a safari trip ... and he was very sensitive to different kinds of materials," Brinkerhoff said in court documents.
In another deposition, maintenance worker James Kennedy recounted once going to the house to ask Thompson about rent and seeing him on the pool deck wearing only socks, shoes and dirty underwear.
"His hair was all crazy," Kennedy said. "After that, me and (a friend) referred to him as the crazy professor because it just fit."
All the while, the legal battles slogged on.
Gil Kirk, who heads a Columbus real estate firm and is a former director of one of Thompson's companies, says he put $1.8 million into the treasure hunt. He hasn't gotten any of that back, but he remains a supporter of Thompson and insists he never bilked anyone. Kirk said proceeds from the 2000 sale all went to legal fees and bank loans.
"He was a genius, and they've stolen his life," Kirk says of those who sued.
Steven Tigges, attorney for the Dispatch company and the other investor-plaintiff, did not respond to requests for comment, nor did a number of the investors.
The crew members' lawyer, Mike Szolosi, asserts that he's seen records indicating Thompson took 500 gold restrike coins worth $2 million and took potentially millions from his own company on top of his approved compensation.
"Presumably all of that is still somewhere with Tommy," Szolosi says.
Attorney Rick Robol defended Thompson's company from the 1980s until he withdrew from the case last month. He maintains there is no proof that Thompson stole any money or gold.
"If he did take money," Roble says, "where is the evidence of that?"
It's not clear exactly when Thompson disappeared. On Aug. 13, 2012, he failed to appear at a court hearing, and a federal judge found him in contempt and issued an arrest warrant.
At the hearing, Thompson attorney Shawn Organ told the judge that his client was "at sea" and didn't know he was supposed to be in court. An arrest warrant also was soon issued for Thompson's assistant, Alison Antekeier, who also failed to appear in court and whom the Marshals agents believe is with Thompson.
Not long after Thompson vanished, Kennedy returned to the Florida mansion and found it in a shambles — cabinets falling off walls, rats running around.
Pre-paid disposable cellphones and bank wraps for $10,000 were scattered about, along with a bank statement in the name of Harvey Thompson showing a $1 million balance, Kennedy said in court records. Harvey, according to friends, was Thompson's nickname in college.
Also found was a book called "How to Live Your Life Invisible." One marked page was titled: "Live your life on a cash-only basis." Then Kennedy spotted a copy of Kinder's "Ship of Gold" and looked Thompson up on the Internet, discovering that he was a fugitive.
He called the Marshals Service.
As the hunt for Thompson and the court fights go on, so does the new expedition to the Central America.
Since April, Florida-based Odyssey Marine Exploration has brought up millions of dollars in gold and silver bars and coins from the shipwreck. That work will continue indefinitely, an Odyssey spokeswoman says.
The operation is being directed by Ira Kane, a court-appointed receiver over two of Thompson's companies. Kane will get more than 50 percent of the recovered treasure, to be disbursed in part to Thompson's investors.
"Remember, only 5 percent of this ship was excavated," Kane told The Associated Press in March.
As to where Thompson, now 62, and his assistant might be, theories abound.
Szolosi, the crew members' attorney, suspects he's holed up in a safe house somewhere. Kinder, the author, says nothing in his time with Thompson gives him any insight.
"I don't know what it would entail to hide like that. Get your teeth fixed? Buy a blond wig? Do you fake a passport and go to Bolivia or something? I have no idea."
Agent Fleming believes Thompson is likely still stateside, but because of his sailing experience, "We definitely never rule out the fact that he may be abroad or at sea."
If caught, Thompson would be asked to account for the missing coins and explain where proceeds from the treasure's sale and other deals have gone. If he refuses, he could be jailed and face hefty fines.
Thompson's family — he has three grown children, three siblings and a 93-year-old mother — just hope he is enjoying being free, says Milt Butterworth, his brother-in-law.
"The sadness for me is that I don't have him and the family doesn't have him, but the happiness for me is that he doesn't have to worry about this anymore."
As for Kirk, Thompson's friend, the treasure hunter remains an American hero, "like the Wright brothers," he says. "There's no telling what he would have done by now."
The tragedy, as he sees it, is that Thompson's dream became his doom.
"Tommy used the word, what's the word?" Kirk says. "Plague of the gold."
Follow Amanda Lee Myers on Twitter at https://twitter.com/AmandaLeeAP
WASHINGTON (AP) — The chances of a driver dying in a crash in a late-model car or light truck fell by more than a third over three years, and nine car models had zero deaths per million registered vehicles, according to a study by the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety.
Improved vehicle designs and safety technology have a lot to do with the reduced risk, but a weak economy that led to reductions in driving may also have played a role, the institute said.
The study, which examined fatalities involving 2011 model year vehicles, looked at how many driver fatalities occurred in a particular model over the course of a year of operation, expressed as a rate per million registered vehicle years. It found there was an average of 28 driver deaths per million registered vehicle years through the 2012 calendar year, down from 48 deaths for 2008 models through 2009.
When the institute looked at the issue eight years ago, there were no models with driver death rates of zero.
David Zuby, the institute's chief research officer, called it "a huge improvement," even considering the effect of a weak economy. "We know from our vehicle ratings program that crash test performance has been getting steadily better. These latest death rates provide new confirmation that real-world outcomes are improving too."
Among the improvements credited for declining death rates is the widespread adoption of electronic stability control, which has dramatically lessened the risk of rollover crashes. SUVs had some of the highest rates a decade ago due to their propensity to roll over.
The rollover death rate of 5 per million registered vehicle years for 2011 models is less than a quarter of what it was for 2004 models, and six of the nine vehicles with zero deaths were SUVs.
Side air bags and structural changes to vehicles are also helping. Automakers are engineering vehicles with stronger occupant compartments that hold up better in front, side and rollover crashes, allowing the seatbelts and air bags to do their jobs well, said Russ Rader, an institute spokesman.
Improved technologies were responsible for saving 7,700 driver lives in 2012 when compared to how cars were made in 1985, the institute said.
But the gap between safest and riskiest models remains wide. Three 2011 models had rates exceeding 100 deaths per million registered vehicle years. The riskiest models were mostly lower-priced small cars, while the safest models were all mid-sized or large vehicles.
The nine models with zero deaths were: Audi A4 four-wheel drive, a midsized luxury car; Honda Odyssey, a minivan; Kia Sorento two-wheel drive, a mid-sized SUV; the Lexus RX 350 four-wheel drive, a midsized luxury SUV; Mercedes-Benz GL-Class four-wheel drive, a large luxury SUV; Subaru Legacy four-wheel drive, a 4-door midsized car; Toyota Highlander hybrid, a four-wheel drive midsized SUV; Toyota Sequoia, a four-wheel drive large SUV, and Volvo XC90, a four-wheel drive luxury midsized SUV.
While most were luxury models, two — the Subaru Legacy and the Kia Sorrento — are moderately priced.
The vehicles with the highest death rates were the Kia Rio, a 4-door mini car, 149 deaths per million registered vehicles; Nissan Versa, a small 4-door sedan, 130 deaths, and Hyundai Accent, a 4-door mini car, 120 deaths.
The declining death rates come as safety advocates in the U.S. and elsewhere set their sights on a goal of eliminating motor vehicle deaths. Sweden's parliament adopted a "Vision Zero" policy in 1997. New York City has since adopted a similar policy. The Governors Highway Safety Association, which represents state highway safety offices, issued a plan "Toward Zero Deaths" in 2009.
The institute has published death rates by make and model periodically since 1989, at first for cars only and later for all passenger vehicles. The rates include only driver deaths because the presence of passengers is unknown.
Although the latest numbers reflect 2011 models, the study included data from earlier-model year vehicles as far back as 2008 if the vehicles weren't substantially redesigned before 2011. Including older, equivalent vehicles increases the exposure and thus the accuracy of the results, the institute said. To be included, a vehicle must have had at least 100,000 registered vehicle years of exposure during 2009-12, or at least 20 deaths.
Follow Joan Lowy on Twitter at http://www.twitter.com/AP_Joan_Lowy
WASHINGTON (AP) - The American public and U.S. scientists are light-years apart on science issues. And 98 percent of surveyed scientists say it's a problem that we don't know what they are talking about.
Matching polls of both the general public and the country's largest general science organization show that scientists are far less worried about genetically modified food, pesticide use, and nuclear power than is the general public.
The poll by the Pew Research Center also showed members of the American Association for the Advancement of Science were more certain that global warming is caused by man; that evolution is real; and that overpopulation is a danger.
In eight of 13 science-oriented issues, there was a 20 percentage point or larger gap separating public and scientists' opinions.