When I first learned that a critical medication for transplant patients — one that keeps them alive — had generic versions that might not be effective, I called a specialty pharmacist at a hospital in Virginia. Adam Cochrane had written a journal article about the problems with the generics. 

The drug is called tacrolimus, and it keeps a transplant patient’s body from rejecting a donated organ. I was surprised to hear that Cochrane had several patients he thought had died in part because their generic tacrolimus hadn’t worked right.

He told me about Hannah Goetz, though he didn’t divulge her name initially. She would become the focus of a story I published recently that’s part of a larger investigation into how the Food and Drug Administration has for years allowed risky drugs into your medicine cabinet. 

Hannah was 17 when she had a double lung transplant because of complications from cystic fibrosis, a genetic condition that fills the organs with mucus. She died in 2023 at just 21 years old, he said. And she had been taking one of the bad generics. 

He agreed to see if her mom would be willing to chat with me. When I met Holly Goetz at her home in Portsmouth, Virginia, she was open and personable. She was angry, too. Hannah had died too young. She welcomed the chance to tell her daughter’s story. “I was excited, because someone was going to research this issue,” Holly told me recently. “Possibly turn things around.” Before we’d met, she’d been told she didn’t have any legal recourse to sue over Hannah’s death despite the issue with the generic. Lawyers told Holly it was impossible to draw a straight line from Hannah’s death to a generic manufacturer.

I knew that in telling Hannah’s story in detail, I’d also be telling the larger story about tacrolimus, and larger still about the systemic failures at the FDA. ProPublica’s reporting typically focuses on exposing wrongdoing in the hopes of spurring change. I wasn’t sure whether our reporting would bring Holly the accountability she yearned for, at least not in a tangible way. I hoped Holly’s experience sharing an intimate, tragic part of her life wouldn’t end up being a disappointment.

Holly had been by Hannah’s side, advocating for her since she was diagnosed with cystic fibrosis and through the four-year journey after the transplant. Over several hours as the sky turned dark that February day, she took me through all that happened — from Hannah’s sudden need for a transplant where she almost died, to her doing well enough to take college courses and enjoy having her first (and only) real boyfriend, to her unexpected decline just three and half years after the successful transplant. 

“It was hard, because I was reliving everything over again,” Holly said of our first interview at her home. “Then again, I got to talk to someone else about Hannah, who she was, not just her in the hospital.” 

As she showed me Hannah’s peach bedroom that day, with its dozens of stuffed animals and the hair bows she wore every day when she was in school, Holly shared that when Hannah was a little girl she started sticking her tongue out in pictures. Holly laughed, saying she thought for sure Hannah would outgrow the habit, but it turned into her signature pose. Now, one of those pictures hangs from Holly’s rearview mirror in her car, one of many touchstones. There are photos and memorabilia of Hannah all over the house. I felt privileged to step into Holly’s own bedroom to see the pink urn with angel wings that holds Hannah’s ashes. 

During our conversation, I realized that my reporting had given me access to key details about Hannah’s death that Holly didn’t know. I didn’t relish being the messenger who informed her that Hannah had taken not just one but actually two different suspect generic versions of tacrolimus, that she had the misfortune of exclusively taking ones that doctors, pharmacists or the FDA had found problematic. Holly’s eyes widened. I had to share, too, that the FDA had revoked one version’s generic status just two months after Hannah had died. 

The two manufacturers of the generic medication Hannah was taking, companies named Accord and Dr. Reddy’s, both maintain that their tacrolimus is safe and effective. An Accord spokesperson said in a statement that the company cannot comment on individual cases but that it is “dedicated to patient safety, product quality and regulatory compliance.” Dr. Reddy’s said in a statement that it hasn’t received any complaints that “indicated any concerns in patient safety.” 

The next day as I made the three-hour drive back to Washington, D.C., where I live, I called one of ProPublica’s managing editors, Tracy Weber, whom I’ve known for years. I cried as I described my conversation with Holly. One unavoidable aspect of my job is that I’m often asking people about the worst things that have happened to them. In my two decades as a reporter — quite a few of those years spent covering the Iraq and Afghanistan wars — I’ve sat at many kitchen tables with grieving mothers. Talking with Holly, though, was the first time I’d done so as a mother myself. Her sorrow hit me differently. 

Over the next nine months, I’d be a constant presence in Holly’s life. We texted hundreds of times. She dug up old photos and videos and gave me access to Hannah’s private Instagram account. One of the hardest moments was listening to a recording Holly sent of the doctors telling Hannah shortly before she died that they couldn’t give her a second transplant.

The ask from an investigative reporter is never just, “Tell me about your loved one.” Our work requires meticulous detail and all the receipts. I had to recruit Holly to take considerable time to help with my reporting. 

There were four years of medical care I needed to comb through to write the story, which meant asking Holly to track down records from two hospitals and, crucially, the pharmacy where Hannah had gotten all her medications. It wasn’t a simple task. 

Hannah was an adult when she died, so Holly wasn’t automatically entitled to her records. Although Hannah had signed an advance directive giving Holly power of attorney before her death, including the ability to request records, Holly still couldn’t get access.

She had to recruit a lawyer friend and attend probate court to get Hannah’s hospital records for me. “What I had to go through to get them was ridiculous,” Holly said. I first asked about the records in February. It took until May for her to get appointed as executor of Hannah’s estate, and then several more months for the hospitals and pharmacy to fulfil Holly’s request and send her the records. We didn’t have them until July. 

There were upwards of 13,000 pages — all of which she shared with me. Sometimes, the records meant I had to ask uncomfortable questions of Holly. Why, for example, didn’t Hannah consistently take her medication for her pancreas? Did that mean she also didn’t take her tacrolimus? (Answers: She didn’t like how the pancreas drug made her feel, and Holly was so insistent on guaranteeing her daughter took her tacrolimus that she made her FaceTime when she took the pills away from home.) Holly was unfazed by even the most difficult questions. She and Hannah were alike that way: There was no shrinking from the world. Holly made my job a lot easier; she didn’t have to.

I hesitated each time I had to reach out, wondering if texting about Hannah in the middle of the day would be jarring. What was it like for Holly to check her phone on her break from teaching high schoolers and be greeted with a message that would take her back to Hannah’s final days in the hospital? To my relief, Holly told me later she looked forward to my texts or calls. “I like sharing everything about Hannah,” she said. 

Holly said she had agreed to talk to ProPublica because she thought speaking to me and the resulting story might bring her a sense of closure. Did it? I asked her. 

“Yes, because more people know now what really happened,” she said. “The real story.”

The post Her Daughter Died After Taking a Generic Version of a Lifesaving Drug. This Is What She Wants You to Know. appeared first on ProPublica.

The federal government allows livestock grazing across an area of publicly owned land more than twice the size of California, making ranching the largest land use in the West. Billions of dollars of taxpayer subsidies support the system, which often harms the environment.

As President Donald Trump’s administration pushes a pro-ranching agenda, ProPublica and High Country News investigated how public lands ranching has evolved. We filed more than 100 public record requests and sued the Bureau of Land Management to pry free documents and data; we interviewed everyone from ranchers to conservationists; and we toured ranching operations in Arizona, Colorado, Montana and Nevada.

The resulting three-part investigation digs into the subsidies baked into ranching, the environmental impacts from livestock and the political clout that protects this status quo. Here are the takeaways from that work.

The system has evolved into a subsidy program for ranchers.

The public lands grazing system was modernized in the 1930s in response to the rampant use of natural resources that led to the Dust Bowl — the massive dust storms triggered by poor agricultural practices, including overgrazing. Today, the system focuses on subsidizing the continued grazing of these lands.

The BLM and Forest Service, the two largest federal land management agencies, oversee most of the system. Combined, the agencies charged ranchers $21 million in grazing fees in 2024. Our analysis found that to be about a 93% discount, on average, compared with the market rate for forage on private land. We also found that, in 2024 alone, the federal government poured at least $2.5 billion into subsidy programs that public lands ranchers can access. Such subsidies include disaster assistance after droughts and floods as well as compensation for livestock lost to predators.

Ranching is consolidated in the hands of some of the wealthiest Americans.

A small number of wealthy individuals and corporations manage most livestock on public lands. Roughly two-thirds of the grazing on BLM acreage is controlled by just 10% of ranchers, our analysis found. And on Forest Service land, the top 10% of permittees control more than 50% of grazing. Among the largest ranchers are billionaires like Stan Kroenke and Rupert Murdoch, as well as mining companies and public utilities. The financial benefits of holding permits to graze herds on public lands extend beyond cattle sales. Even hobby ranches can qualify for property tax breaks in many areas; ranching business expenses can be deducted from federal taxes; and private property associated with grazing permits is a stable long-term investment. (Representatives of Kroenke did not respond to requests for comment, and Murdoch’s representative declined to comment.)

The Trump administration is supercharging the system, including by further increasing subsidies.

The administration released a “plan to fortify the American Beef Industry” in October that instructed the BLM and Forest Service to amend grazing regulations for the first time since the 1990s. The plan suggested that taxpayers further support ranching by increasing subsidies for drought and wildfire relief, livestock killed by predators and government-backed insurance. The White House referred questions to the U.S. Department of Agriculture, which said in a statement, “Livestock grazing is not only a federally and statutorily recognized appropriate land use, but a proven land management tool, one that reduces invasive species and wildfire risk, enhances ecosystem health, and supports rural stewardship.” Roughly 18,000 permittees graze livestock on BLM or Forest Service land, most of them small operations. These ranchers say they need government support and cheaper grazing fees to avoid insolvency.

The administration is loosening already lax oversight.

Ranchers must renew their permits to use public lands every 10 years, including undergoing an environmental review. But Congress passed a law in 2014 that allows permits to be automatically renewed if federal agencies are unable to complete such reviews. In 2013, the BLM approved grazing on 47% of its land open to livestock without an environmental review, our analysis of agency data showed. (The status of about an additional 10% of BLM land was unclear that year.) A decade later, the BLM authorized grazing on roughly 75% of its acreage without review.

This is in large part because the BLM’s rangeland management staff is shrinking. The number of these employees dropped 39% between 2020 and 2024, according to Office of Personnel Management data, and roughly 1 in 10 rangeland staff left the agency between Trump’s election win and last June, according to BLM records.

The system allows widespread environmental harm in the West.

The BLM oversees 155 million acres of public lands open to grazing, and assessments it conducts on the health of the environment found that grazing had degraded at least 38 million acres, an area about half the size of New Mexico. The agency has no record of land health assessments for an additional 35 million acres. ProPublica and High Country News observed overgrazing in multiple states, including streambeds trampled by cattle, grasslands denuded by grazing and creeks fouled by cow corpses.

Ranchers contend that public lands grazing has ecological benefits, such as preventing nearby private lands from being sold off and paved over. Bill Fales and his family, for example, run cattle in western Colorado and have done so for more than a century. “The wildlife here is dependent on these ranches staying as open ranch land,” he said. While development destroyed habitat nearby, Fales said, the areas his cattle graze are increasingly shared by animals such as elk, bears and mountain lions.

Regulators say that it’s difficult to significantly change the system because of the industry’s political influence.

We interviewed 10 current and former BLM employees, from upper management to rank-and-file rangeland managers, and they all spoke of political pressure to go easy on ranchers. “If we do anything anti-grazing, there’s at least a decent chance of politicians being involved,” one BLM employee told us. “We want to avoid that, so we don’t do anything that would bring that about.” A BLM spokesperson said in a statement that “any policy decisions are made in accordance with federal law and are designed to balance economic opportunity with conservation responsibilities across the nation’s public lands.”

The industry has friends in high places. The Trump administration appointed to a high-level post at the U.S. Department of the Interior a lawyer who has represented ranchers in cases against the government and owns a stake in a Wyoming cattle operation. The administration also named a tech entrepreneur who owns a ranch in Idaho to a post overseeing the Forest Service.

Moreover, politicians from both parties are quick to act if they believe ranchers face onerous oversight. Since 2020, members of Congress on both sides of the aisle have written to the BLM and Forest Service about grazing issues more than 20 times, according to logs of agency communications we obtained via public records requests.

Read our full investigation of the federal public lands grazing system.

The post The Biggest Takeaways From Our Investigation Into Grazing on Public Lands appeared first on ProPublica.

Delta Airlines Flight 573 took off from San Juan, Puerto Rico, at 4:45 p.m. Eastern time on Jan. 16, 2025, and headed for Atlanta.

At 5:49 p.m., air traffic controllers told pilots over the Caribbean that a SpaceX Starship rocket had exploded. All planes were ordered to avoid an area where the Federal Aviation Administration estimated debris would fall.

The plane turned sharply south to get out of the debris zone.

And it wasn’t alone. ProPublica identified 20 other planes that appeared to make sudden turns to exit or avoid the danger zone in the minutes after the explosion.

While none of the planes were damaged by the debris, such emergency maneuvering can be risky.

The airspace remained closed for 86 minutes, during which time flight patterns show dozens of other planes likely had to change course — making pilots and passengers unwitting participants in SpaceX’s test of the most powerful rocket ever built.

When SpaceX CEO Elon Musk chose a remote Texas outpost on the Gulf Coast to develop his company’s ambitious Starship, he put the 400-foot rocket on a collision course with the commercial airline industry.

Each time SpaceX did a test run of Starship and its booster, dubbed Super Heavy, the megarocket’s flight path would take it soaring over busy Caribbean airspace before it reached the relative safety of the open Atlantic Ocean. The company planned as many as five such launches a year as it perfected the craft, a version of which is supposed to one day land on the moon.

The FAA, which also oversees commercial space launches, predicted the impact to the national airspace would be “minor or minimal,” akin to a weather event, the agency’s 2022 approval shows. No airport would need to close and no airplane would be denied access for “an extended period of time.” 

But the reality has been far different. Last year, three of Starship’s five launches exploded at unexpected points on their flight paths, twice raining flaming debris over congested commercial airways and disrupting flights. And while no aircraft collided with rocket parts, pilots were forced to scramble for safety. 

A ProPublica investigation, based on agency documents, interviews with pilots and passengers, air traffic control recordings and photos and videos of the events, found that by authorizing SpaceX to test its experimental rocket over busy airspace, the FAA accepted the inherent risk that the rocket might put airplane passengers in danger. 

And once the rocket failed spectacularly and that risk became real, neither the FAA nor Secretary of Transportation Sean Duffy sought to revoke or suspend Starship’s license to launch, a move that is permitted when “necessary to protect the public health and safety.” Instead, the FAA allowed SpaceX to test even more prototypes over the same airspace, adding stress to the already-taxed air traffic control system each time it launched.

The first two Starship explosions last year forced the FAA to make real-time calls on where to clear airspace and for how long. Such emergency closures came with little or no warning, ProPublica found, forcing pilots to suddenly upend their flight plans and change course in heavily trafficked airspace to get out of the way of falling debris. In one case, a plane with 283 people aboard ran low on fuel, prompting its pilot to declare an emergency and cross a designated debris zone to reach an airport.

The world’s largest pilots union told the FAA in October that such events call into question whether “a suitable process” is in place to respond to unexpected rocket mishaps. 

“There is high potential for debris striking an aircraft resulting in devastating loss of the aircraft, flight crew, and passengers,” wrote Steve Jangelis, a pilot and aviation safety chair.

The FAA said in response to questions that it “limits the number of aircraft exposed to the hazards, making the likelihood of a catastrophic event extremely improbable.” 

Yet for the public and the press, gauging that danger has been difficult. In fact, nearly a year after last January’s explosion, it remains unclear just how close Starship’s wreckage came to airplanes. SpaceX estimated where debris fell after each incident and reported that information to the federal government. But the company didn’t respond to ProPublica’s requests for that data, and the federal agencies that have seen it, including the FAA, haven’t released it. The agency told us that it was unaware of any other publicly available data on Starship debris.

In public remarks, Musk downplayed the risk posed by Starship. To caption a video of flaming debris in January, he wrote, “Entertainment is guaranteed!” and, after the March explosion, he posted, “Rockets are hard.” The company has been more measured, saying it learns from mistakes, which “help us improve Starship’s reliability.” 

For airplanes traveling at high speeds, there is little margin for error. Research shows as little as 300 grams of debris — or two-thirds of a pound — “could catastrophically destroy an aircraft,” said Aaron Boley, a professor at the University of British Columbia who has studied the danger space objects pose to airplanes. Photographs of Starship pieces that washed up on beaches show items much bigger than that, including large, intact tanks.

“It doesn’t actually take that much material to cause a major problem to an aircraft,” Boley said.

In response to growing alarm over the rocket’s repeated failures, the FAA has expanded prelaunch airspace closures and offered pilots more warning of potential trouble spots. The agency said it also required SpaceX to conduct investigations into the incidents and to “implement numerous corrective actions to enhance public safety.” An FAA spokesperson referred ProPublica’s questions about what those corrective actions were to SpaceX, which did not respond to multiple requests for comment.

Experts say the FAA’s shifting approach telegraphs a disquieting truth about air safety as private companies increasingly push to use the skies as their laboratories: Regulators are learning as they go. 

During last year’s Starship launches, the FAA was under pressure to fulfill a dual mandate: to regulate and promote the commercial space industry while keeping the flying public safe, ProPublica found. In his October letter, Jangelis called the arrangement “a direct conflict of interest.” 

In an interview, Kelvin Coleman, who was head of FAA’s commercial space office during the launches, said his office determined that the risk from the mishaps “was within the acceptable limits of our regulations.” 

But, he said, “as more launches are starting to take place, I think we have to take a real hard look at the tools that we have in place and how do we better integrate space launch into the airspace.”

“We Need to Protect the Airspace” 

On Jan. 16, 2025, as SpaceX prepared to launch Starship 7 from Boca Chica, Texas, the government had to address the possibility the giant rocket would break up unexpectedly. 

Using debris modeling and simulations, the U.S. Space Force, the branch of the military that deals with the nation’s space interests, helped the FAA draw the contours of theoretical “debris response areas” — no-fly zones that could be activated if Starship exploded.

With those plans in place, Starship Flight 7 lifted off at 5:37 p.m. EST. About seven minutes later, it achieved a notable feat: Its reusable booster rocket separated, flipped and returned to Earth, where giant mechanical arms caught it as SpaceX employees cheered.

But about 90 seconds later, as Starship’s upper stage continued to climb, SpaceX lost contact with it. The craft caught fire and exploded, far above Earth’s surface. 

Air traffic control’s communications came alive with surprised pilots who saw the accident, some of whom took photos and shot videos of the flaming streaks in the sky:

Another controller warned a different pilot of debris in the area:

Two FAA safety inspectors were in Boca Chica to watch the launch at SpaceX’s mission control, said Coleman, who, for Flight 7, was on his laptop in Washington, D.C., receiving updates.

As wreckage descended rapidly toward airplanes’ flight paths over the Caribbean, the FAA activated a no-fly zone based on the vehicle’s last known position and prelaunch calculations. Air traffic controllers warned pilots to avoid the area, which stretched hundreds of miles over a ribbon of ocean roughly from the Bahamas to just east of St. Martin, covering portions of populated islands, including all of Turks and Caicos. While the U.S. controls some airspace in the region, it relies on other countries to cooperate when it recommends a closure. 

The FAA also cordoned off a triangular zone south of Key West.

When a pilot asked when planes would be able to proceed through the area, a controller replied:

There were at least 11 planes in the closed airspace when Starship exploded, and flight tracking data shows they hurried to move out of the way, clearing the area within 15 minutes. Such maneuvers aren’t without risk. “If many aircraft need to suddenly change their routing plans,” Boley said, “then it could cause additional stress” on an already taxed air traffic control system, “which can lead to errors.”

That wasn’t the end of the disruption though. The FAA kept the debris response area, or DRA, active for another 71 minutes, leaving some flights in a holding pattern over the Caribbean. Several began running low on fuel and some informed air traffic controllers that they needed to land.

“We haven’t got enough fuel to wait,” said one pilot for Iberia airlines who was en route from Madrid with 283 people on board.

The controller warned him that if he proceeded across the closed airspace, it would be at his own risk:

The plane landed safely in San Juan, Puerto Rico.

Iberia did not respond to requests for comment, but in statements to ProPublica, other airlines downplayed the launch fallout. Delta, for example, said the incident “had minimal impact to our operation and no aircraft damage.” The company’s “safety management system and our safety culture help us address potential issues to reinforce that air transportation remains the safest form of travel in the world,” a spokesperson said.

After the incident, some pilots registered concerns with the FAA, which was also considering a request from SpaceX to increase the number of annual Starship launches from five to 25. 

“Last night’s Space X rocket explosion, which caused the diversion of several flights operating over the Gulf of Mexico, was pretty eye opening and scary,” wrote Steve Kriese in comments to the FAA, saying he was a captain for a major airline and often flew over the Gulf. “I do not support the increase of rocket launches by Space X, until a thorough review can be conducted on the disaster that occurred last night, and safety measures can be put in place that keeps the flying public safe.”

Kriese could not be reached for comment.

The Air Line Pilots Association urged the FAA to suspend Starship testing until the root cause of the failure could be investigated and corrected. A letter from the group, which represents more than 80,000 pilots flying for 43 airlines, said flight crews traveling in the Caribbean didn’t know where planes might be at risk from rocket debris until after the explosion. 

“By that time, it’s much too late for crews who are flying in the vicinity of the rocket operation, to be able to make a decision for the safe outcome of the flight,” wrote Jangelis, the pilot and aviation safety chair for the group. The explosion, he said, “raises additional concerns about whether the FAA is providing adequate separation of space operations from airline flights.”

In response, the FAA said it would “review existing processes and determine whether additional measures can be taken to improve situational awareness for flight crews prior to launch.”

According to FAA documents, the explosion propelled Starship fragments across an area nearly the size of New Jersey. Debris landed on beaches and roadways in Turks and Caicos. It also damaged a car. No one was injured.

Three months later, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, which was evaluating potential impacts to marine life, sent the FAA a report with a map of where debris from an explosion could fall during future Starship failures. The estimate, which incorporated SpaceX’s own data from the Starship 7 incident, depicted an area more than three times the size of the airspace closed by the FAA. 

In a statement, an FAA spokesperson said NOAA’s map was “intended to cover multiple potential operations,” while the FAA’s safety analysis is for a “single actual launch.” A NOAA spokesperson said that the map reflects “the general area where mishaps could occur” and is not directly comparable with the FAA’s no-fly zones. 

Nevertheless Moriba Jah, a professor of aerospace engineering at the University of Texas, said the illustration suggested the no-fly zones the FAA activated may not fully capture how far and wide debris spreads after a rocket breakup. The current predictive science, he said, “carries significant uncertainty.” 

At an industry conference a few weeks after the January explosion, Shana Diez, a SpaceX executive, acknowledged the FAA’s challenges in overseeing commercial launches.

“The biggest thing that we really would like to work with them on in the future is improving their real time awareness of where the launch vehicles are and where the launch vehicles’ debris could end up,” she said. 

“We’re Too Close to the Debris”

On Feb. 26 of last year, with the investigation into Starship Flight 7 still open, the FAA cleared Flight 8 to proceed, saying it “determined SpaceX met all safety, environmental and other licensing requirements.” 

The action was allowed under a practice that began during the first Trump administration, known as “expedited return-to-flight,” that permitted commercial space companies to launch again even before the investigation into a prior problematic flight was complete, as long as safety systems were working properly.

Coleman, who took a voluntary separation offer last year, said that before granting approval, the FAA confirmed that “safety critical systems,” such as the rocket’s ability to self-destruct if it went off course, worked as designed during Flight 7. 

By March 6, SpaceX was ready to launch again. This time the FAA gave pilots a heads-up an hour and 40 minutes before liftoff. 

“In the event of a debris-generating space launch vehicle mishap, there is the potential for debris falling within an area,” the advisory said, again listing coordinates for two zones in the Gulf and Caribbean. 

The FAA said a prelaunch safety analysis, which includes planning for potential debris, “incorporates lessons learned from previous flights.” The zone described in the agency’s advisory for the Caribbean was wider and longer than the previous one, while the area over the Gulf was significantly expanded.

Flight 8 launched at 6:30 p.m. EST and its booster returned to the launchpad as planned. But a little more than eight minutes into the flight, some of Starship’s engines cut out. The craft went into a spin and about 90 seconds later SpaceX lost touch with it and it exploded.

The FAA activated the no-fly zones less than two minutes later, using the same coordinates it had released prelaunch. 

Even with the advance warning, data shows at least five planes were in the debris zones at the time of the explosion, and they all cleared the airspace in a matter of minutes. 

A pilot on one of those planes, Frontier Flight 081, told passengers they could see the rocket explosion out the right-side windows. Dane Siler and Mariah Davenport, who were heading home to the Midwest after vacationing in the Dominican Republic, lifted the window shade and saw debris blazing across the sky, with one spot brighter than the rest.

“It literally looked like the sun coming out,” Siler told ProPublica. “It was super bright.”

They and other passengers shot videos, marveling at what looked like fireworks, the couple said. The Starship fragments appeared to be higher than the plane, many miles off. But before long, the pilot announced “I’m sorry to report that we have to turn around because we’re too close to the debris,” Siler said.

Frontier did not respond to requests for comment.

The FAA lifted the restriction on planes flying through the debris zone about 30 minutes after Starship exploded, much sooner than it had in January. The agency said that the Space Force had “notified the FAA that all debris was down approximately 30 minutes after the Starship Flight 8 anomaly.”

But in response to ProPublica’s questions, the Space Force acknowledged that it did not track the debris in real time. Instead, it said “computational modeling,” along with other scientific measures, allowed the agency to “predict and mitigate risks effectively.” The FAA said “the aircraft were not at risk” during the aftermath of Flight 8.

Experts told ProPublica that the science underlying such modeling is far from settled, and the government’s ability to anticipate how debris will behave after an explosion like Starship’s is limited. “You’re not going to find anybody who’s going to be able to answer that question with any precision,” said John Crassidis, an aerospace engineering professor at the University of Buffalo. “At best, you have an educated guess. At worst, it’s just a potshot.” 

Where pieces fall — and how long they take to land — depends on many factors, including atmospheric winds and the size, shape and type of material involved, experts said. 

During the breakup of Flight 7, the FAA kept airspace closed for roughly 86 minutes. However, Diez, the SpaceX executive, told attendees at the industry conference that, in fact, it had taken “hours” for all the debris to reach the ground. The FAA, SpaceX and Diez did not respond to follow-up questions about her remarks.

It’s unclear how accurate the FAA’s debris projections were for the March explosion. The agency acknowledged that debris fell in the Bahamas, but it did not provide ProPublica the exact location, making it impossible to determine whether the wreckage landed where the FAA expected. While some of the country’s islands were within the boundaries of the designated debris zone, most were not. Calls and emails to Bahamas officials were not returned.

The FAA said no injuries or serious property damage occurred.

FAA Greenlights More Launches

By May, after months of Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency slashing spending and firing workers at federal agencies across Washington, the FAA granted SpaceX’s request to exponentially increase the number of Starship launches from Texas.

Starship is key to “delivering greater access to space and enabling cost-effective delivery of cargo and people to the Moon and Mars,” the FAA found. The agency said it will make sure parties involved “are taking steps to ensure the safe, efficient, and equitable use” of national airspace.

The U.S. is in a race to beat China to the lunar surface — a priority set by Trump’s first administration and continued under President Joe Biden. Supporters say the moon can be mined for resources like water and rare earth metals, and can offer a place to test new technologies. It could also serve as a stepping stone for more distant destinations, enabling Musk to achieve his longstanding goal of bringing humans to Mars. 

Trump pledged last January that the U.S. will “pursue our Manifest Destiny into the stars, launching American astronauts to plant the Stars and Stripes on the planet Mars.” 

But with experimental launches like Starship’s, Jangelis said, the FAA should be “as conservative as possible” when managing the airspace below them.

“We expect the FAA to make sure our aircraft and our passengers stay safe,” he said. “There has to be a balance between the for-profit space business and the for-profit airlines and commerce.”

A More Conservative Approach

In mid-May, United Kingdom officials sent a letter to their U.S. counterparts, asking that SpaceX and the FAA change Starship’s flight path or take other precautions because they were worried about the safety of their Caribbean territories.

The following day, the FAA announced in a news release that it had approved the next Starship launch, pending either the agency’s closure of the investigation into Flight 8 or granting of a “return to flight” determination.

A week later, with the investigation into Flight 8 still open, the agency said SpaceX had “satisfactorily addressed” the causes of the mishap. The FAA did not detail what those causes were at the time but said it would verify that the company implemented all necessary “corrective actions.” 

This time the FAA was more aggressive on air safety. 

The agency preventively closed an extensive swath of airspace extending 1,600 nautical miles from the launch site, across the Gulf of Mexico and through part of the Caribbean. The FAA said that 175 flights or more could be affected, and it advised Turks and Caicos’ Providenciales International Airport to close during the launch.

The agency said the move was driven in part by an “updated flight safety analysis” and SpaceX’s decision to reuse a previously launched Super Heavy booster — something the company had never tried before. The agency also said it was “in close contact and collaboration with the United Kingdom, Turks & Caicos Islands, Bahamas, Mexico, and Cuba.”

Coleman told ProPublica that the concerns of the Caribbean countries, along with Starship’s prior failures, helped convince the FAA to close more airspace ahead of Flight 9.

On May 27, the craft lifted off at 7:36 p.m. EDT, an hour later than in March and two hours later than in January. The FAA said it required the launch window to be scheduled during “non-peak transit periods.”

This mission, too, ended in failure.

Starship’s Super Heavy booster blew up over the Gulf of Mexico, where it was supposed to have made what’s called a “hard splashdown.” 

In response, the FAA again activated an emergency no-fly zone. Most aircraft had already been rerouted around the closed airspace, but the agency said it diverted one plane and put another in a holding pattern for 24 minutes. The FAA did not provide additional details on the flights.

According to the agency, no debris fell outside the hazard area where the FAA had closed airspace. Pieces from the booster eventually washed up on Mexico’s beaches.

Starship’s upper stage reached the highest planned point in its flight path, but it went into a spin on the way down, blowing up over the Indian Ocean.

The Path Ahead

SpaceX launched Starship again in August and October. Unlike the prior flights, both went off without incident, and the company said it was turning its focus to the next generation of Starship to provide “service to Earth orbit, the Moon, Mars, and beyond.”

But about a week later, Transportation Secretary Sean Duffy said he would open up SpaceX’s multibillion-dollar contract for a crewed lunar lander to rival companies. SpaceX is “an amazing company,” he said on CNBC. “The problem is, they’re behind.”

Musk pushed back, saying on X that “SpaceX is moving like lightning compared to the rest of the space industry.” He insulted Duffy, calling him “Sean Dummy” and saying “The person responsible for America’s space program can’t have a 2 digit IQ.”

The Department of Transportation did not respond to a request for comment or make Duffy available.

In a web post on Oct. 30, SpaceX said it was proposing “a simplified mission architecture and concept of operations” that would “result in a faster return to the Moon while simultaneously improving crew safety.”

SpaceX is now seeking FAA approval to add new trajectories as Starship strives to reach orbit. Under the plan, the rocket would fly over land in Florida and Mexico, as well as the airspace of Cuba, Jamaica and the Cayman Islands, likely disrupting hundreds of flights. 

In its letter, the pilots’ union told the FAA that testing Starship “over a densely populated area should not be allowed (given the dubious failure record)” until the craft becomes more reliable. The planned air closures could prove “crippling” for the Central Florida aviation network, it added.

Still, SpaceX is undeterred. 

Diez, the company executive, said on X in October, “We are putting in the work to make 2026 an epic year for Starship.”

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Despite a slew of reforms enacted last year to rein in the practices of towing companies, more needs to be done to protect consumers whose cars face removal and possible sale, the commissioner of the Connecticut Department of Motor Vehicles said Tuesday.

DMV Commissioner Tony Guerrera laid out five recommendations he plans to make for the legislature to consider during its session that begins in February. The recommendations follow a Connecticut Mirror and ProPublica investigation that exposed how state law for decades favored towing companies at the expense of low-income consumers. They also follow months of meetings with a group of industry and consumer representatives.

The recommendations would require towing companies to make more effort to notify owners that their cars have been towed and streamline the process by which the firms can sell unclaimed vehicles.

The commissioner announced his proposal at the last scheduled meeting of a working group of towing and consumer representatives. The group was created as part of a towing reform law passed last year after the news organizations showed how towing companies were seeking the DMV’s permission to sell some cars after as little as 15 days, one of the shortest time frames in the country. Many low-income residents were towed for minor violations, sometimes from their own apartment complexes, only to lose their cars when they couldn’t afford to get them back before they were sold.

If the legislature adopts the recommendations, towing companies would no longer place values on vehicles that they tow, which now determines whether a tower can start the sales process in 15 days or 45 days. Instead, all cars would be sold at a public auction after 30 days, Guerrera said.

Other recommendations include requiring towing companies to send two letters to the registered owner of the vehicle after it’s towed, one certified and one not. If the car isn’t claimed, towers would have to send a third letter to the owner after 30 days to inform them when and where the auction will be held. The towing companies would be required to either advertise the auction on their websites or publish legal advertisements in local newspapers.

The DMV would also be required to set up a portal on its website listing every towed car so that people can find out which tower has their vehicle, when it was towed and when the auction will be.

If a vehicle receives no bids and the car owner shows up, the towing company would be required to offer the car back to them at whatever their costs are before selling it for scrap.

There was little pushback from industry leaders or consumer advocates on Tuesday even though towing representatives had previously complained that the changes would add costs and consumer lawyers had objected that the recommendations didn’t go far enough to protect drivers.

The proposal also didn’t address the initial task the legislature assigned to the group: how to handle the profits from the sales of towed cars. Currently, towing companies are supposed to hold onto proceeds for a year so owners or lenders can claim them. After that, any unclaimed funds, minus towing fees, are required to be turned over to the state. But CT Mirror and ProPublica found that hasn’t happened in part because the DMV never set up a system to collect the money.

Guerrera said after the meeting that the DMV has set up a process to monitor whether towing companies are turning funds over to the state. He said they won’t know if the system is working until October because the money from sales of towed cars must be held for a year.

After Guerrera finished outlining his proposal, Eileen Colonese, secretary of the industry group Towing & Recovery Professionals of Connecticut, said Guerrera’s plan doesn’t address a key issue: The last registered owner of the vehicle is not necessarily the owner when it’s towed.

“I still believe that until the state of Connecticut comes up with a process to figure out who really owns the vehicles, all of this stuff that we’re doing is pretty much nonsensical because we’re still not notifying the current owner of the vehicle,” Colonese said.

Consumer advocate and attorney Raphael Podolsky said Guerrera’s recommendations are a “step in the right direction, but there’s still a lot of issues that need to be addressed until the system is fixed.”

Guerrera said his plan was “inspired” by the discussions during the previous four committee meetings. He said he hopes the portal on the state’s website will also help DMV personnel better track what towing companies are doing with vehicles.

Under the revised law, which went into effect on Oct. 1, towing companies must now give people warning before removing vehicles from apartment parking lots unless there’s a safety issue. They also must accept credit cards, let people retrieve their belongings and be available on weekends for people to pick up their cars. And although the sales process can begin after 15 days for vehicles worth less than $1,500, towers must wait 30 days before selling them.

Guerrera said he expects that the working group will keep meeting.

“I want to have continuous meetings, whether it’s quarterly or twice a quarter, to try and narrow down any issues that come up or that need to be fixed so that we can create a system that works for everybody,” Guerrera said.

The post “Step in the Right Direction”: Connecticut DMV Commissioner Calls for More Reforms to State Towing Law to Protect Drivers appeared first on ProPublica.