It was late March when Joe Teirab, the second-in-command at Minnesota’s U.S. attorney’s office, received an urgent email from Washington.

The federal government was scrambling to find criminal cases to back up President Donald Trump’s claims that illegal voting by noncitizens was tipping the scales in American elections. Agents from Homeland Security Investigations, a massive federal law enforcement agency, had been dispatched to work leads across the country, including hundreds in Minnesota.

Teirab was already under pressure. In an earlier missive, Nick Davis, a high-ranking Justice Department appointee helping to lead the election fraud crusade, had reminded him the cases were so high priority that Teirab and his staff couldn’t decline to move forward on them without express approval from agency higher-ups. On March 24, Davis demanded a status report — within hours.

Teirab, a former Marine and a Harvard Law graduate who’d run unsuccessfully for Congress as a Republican, responded with a blunt reality check.

“Bottom line up front,” he replied in an email reviewed by ProPublica. After subpoenaing records on about 130 people, only one had been referred for prosecution, his staff had told him. Agents had deluged local election offices with calls and demands for voting histories, demonstrating “a complete lack of understanding” of illegal voting investigations.

“The HSI task force has been disjointed and disorganized,” Teirab wrote. The entire process, he said, had been “dysfunctional.”

Since Trump regained the White House, his administration has launched a series of unprecedented initiatives to find and prosecute voting by noncitizens, which he’s long claimed, without evidence, is rampant.

He’s stepped up this push in recent weeks, saying in a nationally televised speech that the American election system was “so vulnerable that no one can possibly defend it.” To support that assertion, the Department of Homeland Security, HSI’s parent agency, released documents asserting it had found more than 250,000 noncitizens on voter rolls in just four states, all led by Democrats. The documents included no explanation of how that number was calculated.

It’s well known the administration has tasked HSI — a force established to combat drug cartels, terrorism and other cross-border criminal enterprises — with leading the campaign to find election fraud cases in the United States.

But an investigation by ProPublica reveals for the first time how the Trump administration came to harness HSI’s personnel, technology and sweeping legal authority in service of its election agenda — and how meager the results have been, despite the prodigious resources sunk into the effort.

According to interviews and internal emails reviewed by ProPublica, career staffers at the Justice Department warned that transferring voter rolls to HSI to enable it to search for noncitizen voters could violate federal privacy laws. Similarly, longtime HSI insiders cautioned that using the agency’s databases and tools to search these lists would yield mismatches and wildly inflated results.

The administration plowed forward anyway.

HSI’s involvement in the hunt for election fraud traces at least to summer 2025, when agency supervisors embraced a proposal from a midlevel agent who’d publicly echoed Trump’s claims about elections. He argued the agency’s powerful databases and tools could find noncitizens even on the voter lists that states make publicly available, from which the most confidential information has been redacted. Under Trump, the Justice Department had collected many public voter rolls as part of a controversial effort to compel states to turn over the unredacted versions.

Those searches went forward, ProPublica’s reporting shows, helping to generate tens of thousands of leads regarding illegal voting across the country. But when HSI agents were sent to investigate them, the results were similar to what Teirab reported from Minnesota.

Between January 2025 and May 2026, a ProPublica analysis of Justice Department data shows, fewer than 150 alleged noncitizen voters were referred for prosecution. Even fewer — 41 — were charged with voting illegally or other election-related crimes. (More than 150 million people voted in the most recent presidential election.)

In response to questions from ProPublica, administration officials insisted the effort spearheaded by HSI was producing meaningful results.

“President Trump is committed to ensuring that Americans have full confidence in the administration of elections, and that includes totally accurate and up-to-date voter rolls free of errors and unlawfully registered non-citizen voters,” Abigail Jackson, a White House spokesperson, said in response to ProPublica’s request for comment. “Noncitizens voting is a crime. Anyone breaking the law will be held accountable.”

A DHS spokesperson didn’t answer questions about why so few prosecutions have resulted from HSI’s work. The agency wouldn’t specify what tools or techniques HSI had used, but confirmed it had cross-referenced “publicly available data” from state voter rolls with information on “known illegal aliens” in its systems. “It’s not rocket science,” the spokesperson wrote of this initiative in a response to ProPublica’s questions. “It’s an easy step to secure our elections.”

Teirab and the U.S. attorney’s office in Minnesota declined to comment.

There’s an array of reasons why Trump’s campaign to document claims of widespread voter fraud hasn’t succeeded. Most obviously, it’s exceedingly rare, as countless studies and state audits have found. Noncitizens often get on voter rolls by accident or when government officials make errors. Last month, New Jersey disclosed that a mistake involving its Motor Vehicle Commission caused 6,600 noncitizens to be registered (fewer than 400 voted).

The administration’s critics say its hunt for noncitizen voters aligns with Trump’s attempts to seek more federal control over elections while stoking doubt and fear about the voting process. Since taking back the Oval Office, Trump has tried to impose new restrictions on voter registration, mail-in ballots and voting machines, though judges have shut down most of these efforts.

Former officials at DHS and the Justice Department called the move to involve HSI a further escalation and questioned the propriety of aiming the agency’s muscle and technology at individual cases of illegal voting.

“It’s one thing if you’re going after Pablo Escobar,” said Steve Bunnell, a former DHS general counsel and senior intelligence adviser who handled voting fraud prosecutions during more than a decade at the Justice Department. “It’s another thing if you’re going after some cleaning lady who’s been working in the United States for 20 years and taking care of her 80-year-old mother and taking her little kids to church.”

“The Swiss Army Knife of Federal Law Enforcement”

Trump’s enlistment of HSI in his election fight is no accident. Cobbled together in the aftermath of 9/11, the agency has 7,100 armed, highly trained agents and another 800 criminal analysts, as well as access to troves of confidential data about hundreds of millions of Americans.

Though part of Immigration and Customs Enforcement, the agency has historically stayed out of immigration cases. During the first Trump administration, leaders of 19 HSI regional offices — virtually its entire top field hierarchy — signed a letter calling for HSI to become a standalone agency, arguing that ICE’s deportation work dissuaded people from cooperating with its investigations. But when Trump returned to the White House, it swiftly became clear that the agency would play a central role in investigations related to the president’s twin obsessions, illegal immigration and noncitizen voting.

Trump picked his field general for repurposing HSI even before taking the oath of office. In December 2024, he named Anthony Salisbury, a 50-year-old career agent who’d run the agency’s Miami office, as a deputy homeland security adviser, reporting to White House policy chief Stephen Miller. He was also given a dual appointment as head of HSI.

Salisbury was colorful: A mixed martial arts enthusiast, he once appeared at the agency’s headquarters with his face bruised and eye blackened from a recent bout. He’d sometimes entertain colleagues by pulling out a bridge that covers his missing front teeth.

To agency veterans, however, he was forever linked to a 2011 operation he’d overseen in Mexico in which one agent was killed and another wounded in a highway ambush by a drug cartel. An agency review submitted to Trump in April 2020 concluded that errors by HSI supervisors, including Salisbury, contributed to the outcome; it urged the administration to consider disciplinary action. None was taken against Salisbury, however.

Salisbury did not respond to requests for comment from ProPublica. A White House official called him “a critical member of the Trump administration” who was “cleared” in every review of the Mexico incident and was subsequently “promoted six times under multiple administrations.”

“It’s one thing if you’re going after Pablo Escobar. It’s another thing if you’re going after some cleaning lady who’s been working in the United States for 20 years and taking care of her 80-year-old mother and taking her little kids to church.”

Steve Bunnell, a former DHS general counsel and senior intelligence adviser

Once elevated to his new posts, Salisbury took charge of carrying out the second Trump administration’s agenda for HSI, personally issuing staffing directives, reassignments and promotions, current and former agency officials told ProPublica. (A number of them spoke on condition of anonymity out of fear of retribution.) 

Starting in early 2025, Salisbury oversaw the unprecedented reassignment of more than 6,000 agents to immigration enforcement, diverting most of the agency from its normal duties. He then also pointed HSI at noncitizen voting, presiding over multiple meetings with officials at DOJ and Homeland Security focused on election fraud, according to emails reviewed by ProPublica and agency supervisors who worked with him.

“Stephen Miller has an HSI deputy for a reason,” said Eric Balliet, a high-level HSI manager who retired in 2024 after 23 years with the agency. (Like many HSI veterans, Balliet has remained in close contact with former colleagues.) “Salisbury is going to salute and execute, and he is going to make sure that from the HSI side, they fall in line, and there’s going to be no resistance or pushback. HSI has been turned into the Swiss Army knife of federal law enforcement.”

In early July 2025, Frank Quiñones, an HSI special agent who’d worked under Salisbury in Florida, approached leaders at the HSI Innovation Lab with an idea for using the agency’s technology to find noncitizen voters on state voter rolls, sources at the agency told ProPublica. Quiñones had been transferred to Washington to oversee a unit that had previously handled cases involving the theft of government benefits but that had been enlisted into voting investigations.

The lab, housed in an unmarked office in a D.C. suburb, had access to the government’s most sensitive databases, from suspicious activity reports to arrest records. Staffed by a combination of HSI experts and outside consultants, it developed software tools to comb the data for information that could help agents pursue criminal suspects.

Quiñones was a true believer in Trump’s claims about election fraud: In multiple Facebook posts and reposts, ProPublica found, he promoted claims that the 2020 presidential vote had been stolen. At a meeting with the Innovation Lab’s overseers, according to sources who worked in the lab, he pitched using the lab’s technology to identify illegal voters — even though the agency lacked voter rolls that included identifiers such as partial Social Security numbers. (Quiñones did not respond to ProPublica requests for comment.)

For proof of concept, Quiñones proposed using a February 2021 public voter list he’d obtained for New Jersey and running it through HSI’s databases. The lab staff viewed his idea as “a little insane,” one recalled — both unreliable and improper. Since the public rolls don’t include voters’ unique identifiers, people at the lab also knew linking them to HSI’s data would produce mismatches — what the staffer called an “ungodly” number of false positives. The lab team also worried about violating longstanding safeguards limiting use of private citizen data. They “didn’t want to touch this,” the staffer added. Quiñones defended his idea, repeatedly declaring: “The president wants this!”

Tom Hodge, an HSI data analyst at the meeting, proposed running the voter information through the Athena Toolbox, an analytical platform developed by the Sandia National Laboratories that had access to all of HSI’s databases. (Hodge did not respond to ProPublica requests for comment. Sandia referred ProPublica’s questions to the facilities’ parent agencies, including the Department of Energy, which did not respond to our requests.)

Hodge and the Sandia team spent the next six weeks on the project, reporting they’d found large numbers of noncitizens on Quiñones’ 2021 New Jersey list. According to one former HSI official, they said they’d found “5,000 high-confidence illegal voters” in just a single New Jersey county. (Officials at the New Jersey secretary of state’s office, which oversees the state’s voter rolls, declined to comment on the claim. Beth Thompson, head of a group for local New Jersey election officials, called the number impossibly high, even accounting for the mistake disclosed by the state.)

The apparent breakthrough couldn’t have come at a better time.

The Trump administration’s other efforts to identify noncitizens on state voter rolls were running into a variety of roadblocks.

The administration had hoped to persuade states to check their voters’ citizenship status using a system called the Systematic Alien Verification for Entitlements, or SAVE, but many didn’t. Most states also refused the Justice Department’s demands to turn over their unredacted voter rolls, including partial Social Security numbers, which thwarted the agency’s plan to run them through SAVE. Courts have stymied the DOJ’s attempts to sue for the records, citing the Constitution, which gives primary control over elections to the states.

In an Aug. 21 email to a half dozen administration officials, Quiñones touted the solution he’d brought to the HSI Innovation Lab: using HSI’s platform to search voter rolls. The results, Quiñones noted, could fuel both criminal and immigration investigations.

By the end of the month, those in top election-related roles at DHS and the Justice Department were actively promoting what they dubbed the “HSI Tool” as a preferred alternative to SAVE, according to people familiar with the matter. Among them was Heather Honey, the prominent election denier appointed as a senior counselor at DHS, who is helping lead the government’s efforts to identify noncitizens on voter rolls. (Honey did not respond to ProPublica’s requests for comment. In an email responding to questions to her, DHS said Honey’s “expertise in election administration” was “invaluable to the Department’s efforts to protect critical infrastructure.”)

The White House, too, got behind the idea. In a November email, J. Brian Sikma, special assistant to the president, excitedly noted that the New Jersey trial cross-checking voter rolls with DHS data appeared to have identified a “very significant number” of “potential non-citizens.” (Sikma didn’t respond to a request for comment.)

The DOJ, Sikma reported, had already obtained public voter rolls for many other states. He included a list of them, adding: “It is of paramount importance that these also be reviewed expeditiously.”

Running “Roughshod” Over Privacy

As the push to use HSI’s tech to search voter information gained momentum, a new problem emerged.

Career attorneys at the Justice Department, including specialists on privacy law, raised concerns that transferring voter rolls wholesale from the agency to DHS might not be legal, according to internal emails reviewed by ProPublica and interviews with several former officials.

The voter rolls the DOJ had collected contained sensitive information on millions of Americans. Even the public versions, which political parties and candidates routinely obtain to target ads and messages, included voters’ addresses, birth dates and party affiliations. For the 16 states that have agreed to share their unredacted voter lists, the DOJ had citizens’ partial Social Security numbers or driver’s license information, too.

Federal laws, particularly the Privacy Act, dictate what data government agencies can collect, what it can be used for, how it can be shared, and how it must be protected. Agencies have to disclose their plans in advance, gathering public comment. A person’s information can’t be released or shared without their consent, subject to limited exceptions.

From the outset, the Trump administration’s effort to combine data across federal agencies has repeatedly drawn criticism from courts and whistleblowers for failing to adhere to restrictions meant to keep data private and secure. In June, for example, a judge prohibited the government from using SAVE for mass searches, ruling the administration had violated federal privacy laws by giving DHS access to Social Security data to enhance the tool. The administration has appealed that ruling.

In July 2025, as word got around that the DOJ might hand over voter data to DHS, a half dozen career attorneys who had been reassigned into the voting section voiced their unease to supervisors, according to two former DOJ lawyers. Their concerns were disregarded, prompting most to resign.

Instead, the DOJ’s office of legal counsel pushed forward with plans to share the public voter rolls, claiming a Privacy Act exception allowed HSI to receive such data without public notice as long as it was for law enforcement purposes. DHS just needed to submit a letter officially requesting the data for those purposes, an attorney in the legal counsel’s office explained, according to internal emails.

But this exception was meant to be used to get information on individual criminal suspects, not to gain mass access to data on people suspected of no wrongdoing, according to Nikhel Sus, chief counsel for Citizens for Responsibility and Ethics in Washington, which has sued the Trump administration on behalf of voter and pro-privacy groups, filing the case that eventually limited SAVE’s use.

“[Anthony] Salisbury is going to salute and execute, and he is going to make sure that from the HSI side, they fall in line, and there’s going to be no resistance or pushback. HSI has been turned into the Swiss Army knife of federal law enforcement.”

Eric Balliet, a former high-level HSI manager

Peter Winn, a 29-year Justice Department veteran who had served as the agency’s acting privacy chief for nearly a decade, drafted a letter to set out the data-sharing agreement between the DOJ and DHS, according to internal documents reviewed by ProPublica.

In a Feb. 12 email to two top DOJ officials, he said he’d rewritten an initial draft memo to “make the information sharing arrangement far easier to defend, if and when it is challenged in court.”

Rather than simply handing over the voter rolls, Winn proposed having DHS request “pertinent and relevant” information about specific people from the DOJ, then having technical staff at Justice and Homeland Security “coordinate” to fulfill the requests.

“Having slept on it,” Winn wrote, “I ended up deciding that our initial idea of sending a huge amount of raw unprocessed voter registration data to DHS, involved taking far too much unnecessary legal risk, given that 99% of the data would implicate the privacy and civil liberties of United States Citizens, and would risk adding to the false narrative in the establishment press of DOJ and DHS being unconcerned with the privacy and civil liberties of Americans.”

Winn attached his proposed letter, to be signed by Todd Lyons, then the acting director of ICE.

Winn’s suggested restrictions were quickly abandoned, however. A second draft of the letter, dated March 4, contained altered language providing that the voter information would be “transferred” to HSI, with one exception: Voters’ party affiliation would be redacted, if possible, it said.

The final letter, signed by Lyons and sent to the DOJ just two days later, abandoned even that limitation. Just three paragraphs long, it permitted HSI to use the voter rolls to pursue any “appropriate investigation of potential violations of federal election law.”

In response to questions from ProPublica, Winn said “I can’t really comment on internal drafts of correspondence.”

A Justice Department spokesperson defended the government’s actions, saying “no one should oppose intergovernmental data sharing and coordination that enable swift investigations and prosecution of illegal alien voting.” DHS echoed the DOJ’s view, calling such information sharing “essential to protecting America’s election process by keeping noncitizens off voter rolls” and “an easy step to secure our elections.”

Sus said that by pooling voters’ sensitive personal identifiers, along with their party and voting histories, the administration has “run roughshod” over privacy laws and is creating a “1984-style database” that could be used to surveil political participation.

CREW filed a lawsuit in April on behalf of the nonprofit advocacy group Common Cause that argues it’s illegal for the administration to use the law enforcement exception to justify mass sharing of voter information.

Balliet, the former HSI agent, expressed similar concerns, saying that handing over voter rolls to run through DHS’ systems amounted to “a mass data-collection effort by the government against its own citizens in a non-criminal setting.” On a practical level, he added, the data sharing increased the risk of breaches that can open law-abiding citizens up to identity theft.

“As a citizen, I want the government to take seriously the protection of my private data,” he said. “If it falls into the wrong hands, it’s not the government that suffers. It’s me.”

Collapsing Claims

By January 2026, scores of HSI agents were fanning out across the country to investigate thousands of leads about illegal voting.

About 25,000 of them involved people SAVE had identified as potential noncitizens on state voter rolls. Another 15,000 were given to HSI’s cross-border financial crimes unit, which was told to prioritize them over money laundering and fraud cases, a former high-level HSI official said. Quiñones’ unit led a separate effort to find additional cases by reviewing whether people who’d recently become citizens had voted before they were naturalized, then lied about it in naturalization interviews.

Still more leads came from running public voter rolls through the HSI lab’s databases, though it’s not clear how many. Agency sources told ProPublica that the rolls of New Jersey and Pennsylvania were searched using the Athena Toolbox. When DHS announced it had found more than 250,000 noncitizens on the registered voter lists of four Democrat-led states, it said that included “as many as” 35,152 in New Jersey and 14,576 in Pennsylvania. Both states have asked DHS to provide the source of the numbers.

Once federal investigators started digging into these cases, however, they often fell apart.

Through May, prosecutors had charged fewer than four dozen people with crimes related to noncitizen voting, ProPublica’s analysis of DOJ data and federal court filings shows, getting convictions or guilty pleas in 14 cases.

The largest cluster of cases was brought in the Southern District of Florida, headed by Jason Reding Quiñones (no relation to the HSI agent), a staunch Trump ally who has led investigations of the president’s political opponents. Voters have been sentenced in eight of the office’s cases; seven others are pending.

Prosecutors have initiated a total of seven noncitizen voting cases as of May in the four states where DHS claimed to have found more than a quarter million noncitizens on the rolls. Collectively, these states have more than 40 million registered voters.

Overall, the paltry numbers reflect the realities HSI investigators confronted on the ground as they tried to convert leads into cases, a ProPublica review of records obtained by voting-advocacy groups Campaign Legal Center and Democracy Forward shows.

Emails between agents and local election officials in Texas and Ohio indicate much of the federal information on purported noncitizens was inaccurate, the consequence of flawed data matching. When agents demanded voting histories and registration forms, they often discovered people weren’t registered in the counties where HSI thought they were. When voters register, they must attest that they are U.S. citizens; agents found some, however, who’d been put on voter rolls in error after disclosing they weren’t citizens. Many had never voted.

“Our initial idea of sending a huge amount of raw unprocessed voter registration data to DHS, involved taking far too much unnecessary legal risk, given that 99% of the data would implicate the privacy and civil liberties of United States Citizens.”

Peter Winn, a Justice Department veteran, in an email urging limits on data sharing that were not adopted 

Most HSI agents, steeped in pursuing complex international crimes, had no experience in pursuing voting fraud. In his email to Nick Davis at the Justice Department, Teirab, the top deputy in Minnesota’s U.S. attorney’s office, described the chaos that ensued when the state and at least six counties got subpoenas for voters’ records. The demands “presented a host of issues,” Teirab wrote to Davis. (Davis did not respond to a request for comment.)

“An unknown number of agents are constantly arriving in Minnesota without any knowledge of the investigation, the issues already discussed and decided, and the processes they need to follow,” Teirab complained. “Instead of getting up to speed and learning, they have demanded many calls and subpoenas, most of which demonstrate a complete lack of understanding of the investigation.”

In Stearns County in central Minnesota, HSI agents subpoenaed voting histories on 13 people, county officials told ProPublica. Only six turned out to live there.

Minnesota Secretary of State Steve Simon, a Democrat, said the effort revealed federal investigators’ ignorance about “the nuance of elections administration.” The rate of purposeful election crime is “microscopic,” he said. “The very human errors that can happen are not some sort of plot or scheme to dirty up the voting rolls, but are just everyday human beings making mistakes, not intending at all to violate any law.”

As of May, only one illegal voting case has been referred for prosecution in Minnesota. The state has more than 3.8 million registered voters.

Even Republican-led states like Ohio, which has shared its unredacted voter rolls with the DOJ and run them through the SAVE system, have struggled to meet Trump administration demands to deliver cases.

In October, the Ohio secretary of state referred more than 1,000 voters identified as possible noncitizens to the federal government, claiming 167 had voted at least once since 2018. At least nine HSI agents in Cincinnati and Cleveland began to investigate, emails obtained by Campaign Legal Center and shared with ProPublica show.

The agents bombarded local election officials with requests for voting histories and other records, some dating back decades. “Sorry again for piecemealing these to you,” one agent wrote to an official in Butler County, outside Cincinnati, after making five separate requests over two weeks. Mohamed Al-Hamdani, a Democratic member of Montgomery County’s Board of Elections, which received similar inquiries, said they amounted to “witch hunts” that ate up staff time.

In February, Davis sent an email pressing Ohio’s two U.S. attorneys’ offices for an “election integrity” update, asking: “How close are we to complaints/indictments, how many subjects, what issues you’ve run into, how many referrals have been closed and why, how helpful HSI has been.”

As of May, just two voting cases had been referred for prosecution in Ohio and no one had been charged, federal data shows. The state has nearly 8 million voters.

In the past, it was uncommon for federal prosecutors to pursue charges against noncitizen voters who didn’t understand that it was against the law for them to vote. Without evidence of a coordinated effort or plot, it didn’t make sense to put resources into such prosecutions, a former DOJ official who oversaw election cases said.

Now, however, U.S. attorneys’ offices are taking a different approach, pursuing prosecutions that could result in prison terms or deportation.

In May 2025, federal prosecutors in Florida filed illegal voting charges against a mother and daughter, both Ukrainian citizens, who’d registered after becoming permanent U.S. residents, then voted in the 2024 presidential election. They’ve pleaded not guilty, with the mother saying in an interview with investigators that she thought having a green card meant she could vote. They and their attorneys didn’t respond to requests for comment from ProPublica. The prosecutor handling the case for the Southern District of Florida also didn’t respond to questions. The mother and daughter are scheduled to go to trial in September.

“Far-Reaching Consequences”

Experts on both elections and national security warn there may be profound longer-term costs to unleashing the federal government’s investigative and prosecutorial might to try to prove the president’s claims about noncitizen voting.

Current and former HSI agents say critical investigations — including task forces aimed at drug rings, human trafficking and money laundering — have languished as the agency has pivoted to take on noncitizen voting and immigration enforcement.

In February 2026, according to court files and emails reviewed by ProPublica, an HSI agent in Ohio who’d been leading a multistate child sex abuse investigation was abruptly assigned to pursue dozens of leads on suspected noncitizen voters, work that took months. It wasn’t until May that he made an arrest in the other case. Prosecutors have filed child exploitation and pornography charges against the man, 38, in connection with acts involving at least five 14-year-old girls.

Cases like this “don’t just stop,” said Balliet, the 23-year HSI veteran. “When you pull people off them for an extended period of time, those criminal networks will adapt, and people get killed and kidnapped.”

Federal data hints at a broader slowdown in what had been HSI’s most urgent work. According to an annual government report, the number of wiretaps obtained by DHS — often to investigate drug trafficking — plummeted to 23 in 2025, from 133 the previous year. In the report, DHS attributed the decline to several factors, including “changes in administration enforcement and prosecutorial priorities.”

“It’s never been a better time to be involved in transnational organized crime,” said John Tobon, a high-ranking HSI official who retired in early 2025.

“The very human errors that can happen are not some sort of plot or scheme to dirty up the voting rolls, but are just everyday human beings making mistakes, not intending at all to violate any law.”

Minnesota Secretary of State Steve Simon

In its statement, DHS denied HSI has neglected its core mission, saying the agency has increased its efforts to combat criminal cartels, gangs and drug traffickers in response to multiple Trump executive orders.

Though HSI’s voting-related investigations have yielded only a small number of prosecutions, voter advocacy groups worry the Trump administration will use them to justify more extreme interventions.

Its latest tactics include threatening to withhold funds from states it says are refusing to check their voter rolls for noncitizens and saying it will prosecute state election officials who “knowingly” fail to remove noncitizens. Trump has also continued to press Congress to enact the SAVE America Act, which would require people to provide proof of citizenship when registering to vote, a measure advocates have criticized as a barrier to voting. Democrats are preparing for the prospect of federal troops being sent to the polls to intimidate voters.

“Those concerns are playing out in real time, with far-reaching consequences,” said Dax Goldstein, a director at the States United Democracy Center, a nonprofit group that works to build confidence in elections. “When federal agencies are misused and weaponized, people lose trust in government itself.”

The post Inside Trump’s Failed Hunt for Noncitizen Voters appeared first on ProPublica.

When the Justice Department indicted the Southern Poverty Law Center in April on controversial fraud charges, the storied civil rights organization faced a major threat to its lifeblood — the flow of donor dollars.

Not because it was convicted or because the Internal Revenue Service revoked its tax-exempt status. Not even because individual donors stopped writing checks.

Instead, three Wall-Street-affiliated grantmaking giants each made a decision, one they refused to fully explain, to prevent donors from using their platforms to give to the embattled nonprofit.

Vanguard Charitable, Fidelity Charitable and Charles Schwab’s DAFgiving360 sponsor donor-advised funds, offering account holders immediate tax deductions on contributions they can later recommend be granted to charities.

Once niche, donor-advised fund sponsors controlled more than $327 billion in assets as of 2024, over 10 times their footprint two decades ago. They are the conduit for about a quarter of all individual giving in the U.S.

After the three sponsors cut off the SPLC, ProPublica investigated how the new gatekeepers of American philanthropy make these opaque, high-stakes decisions.

In examining the treatment of dozens of nonprofits, we uncovered troubling inconsistencies in how some DAF sponsors applied their policies and found that donors and affected charities are routinely left in the dark about how decisions are made.

The three sponsors are nonprofits spun off from major brokerages. Their accounts, used largely by high-income earners, charge administrative fees while sponsors retain legal control over the charitable assets. (ProPublica has received donations through each of the groups.) Donors “advise” the sponsors on where to send grants, but sponsors can deny requests for any reason.

They say decisions stem from policy triggers. Vanguard Charitable pauses payments when an organization faces formal charges, while Fidelity Charitable and DAFgiving360 say they “may” or “might” stop donations if organizations come under investigation by government or law enforcement agencies.

Deone Powell, a former general counsel for Vanguard Charitable who now advises nonprofits, said that DAF sponsors don’t view these moves as moral policing, but instead as ways of protecting their own brands. “All of these really speak to reputational risks for the sponsoring organizations,” he said.

They weigh these choices carefully, given the possible ripple effects, he said. “A single decision often establishes a precedent that’s going to affect thousands of other future recommendations.”

But ProPublica found that Fidelity and DAFgiving360 appeared to apply their policies unevenly. Even though they froze donations to the SPLC, they allowed numerous other groups to keep receiving money amid government investigations. The cases included hospitals, universities, charter schools and even a white nationalist organization.

The sponsors say their decisions are viewpoint neutral, and ProPublica found no evidence to the contrary. Removed groups spanned the political spectrum. But most of the ones that spoke to ProPublica shared one common experience: silence from the sponsors.

Months after being deemed ineligible for donations, the SPLC still doesn’t know why the action was taken or whether there is a path to reinstatement, according to a source familiar with the matter. The legal pressure, however, continues: A former employee was indicted this week on charges related to the case.

Experts say this is particularly problematic under the Trump administration, which has a track record of making politically charged accusations that don’t hold up in court.

“I don’t think Fidelity, Vanguard and Schwab are acting in bad faith,” said Joe Goldman, the president of Democracy Fund, a foundation supporting democratic principles. “They’re applying old rules to new circumstances without recognizing that the circumstances have changed.”

President Donald Trump has put nonprofits under an intense spotlight, alleging that many of them “undermine the security, prosperity, and safety of the American people” and directing federal agencies to align funding decisions with administration priorities.

Members of Congress, mainly Republicans, have initiated over 135 investigations into nonprofits since 2025, often claiming that charities were operating with foreign influence, engaging in supporting terrorism, or promoting diversity, equity and inclusion.

In letters sent to the IRS, Republican lawmakers accused several organizations that support pro-Palestine efforts of funding terrorism and asked for them to be investigated.

One of the charities has not been charged in court, and another was the subject of a state investigation. Neither has had its IRS status revoked, but they no longer appear on a Fidelity Charitable donation portal that allows users to select charities to donate to, ProPublica found. Fidelity wouldn’t say whether the letters played a role.

“This is potentially a way that a hostile legislator could harm tax-exempt organizations without having to prove anything,” said Samuel Brunson, a Loyola University Chicago School of Law professor who researches nonprofits. “Even if these letters are completely legitimate, you can take that same set of tools and use them illegitimately.”

The consequences can be significant. The SPLC, for instance, has received $20 million through Fidelity Charitable, Vanguard Charitable and DAFgiving360 in the past three years, with roughly 7% of its 2025 contributions coming from the three sponsors that cut it off.

“When investment firms block donor-advised funds to nonprofits based on allegations and speculation, it not only impedes critical charitable work; it also sets a dangerous precedent that stifles the rights of donors and chills the rights of the organizations they seek to support,” said an SPLC spokesperson in a statement to ProPublica.

The fund sponsors have not responded to similar concerns voiced by 16 state attorneys general, who wrote that their actions could enable weak or politically motivated investigations to “suppress, chill, or dismantle organizations” that are doing vital work.

Their own donors are also reaching out.

Dawn Piccolo, a retired Fidelity Investments senior vice president who has kept a DAF account since the 1990s, is a fervent supporter of donor-advised funds. She wrote to Fidelity Charitable reminding the sponsor that it had allowed another charity under similar fire to keep receiving gifts. “The SPLC has not been found guilty of anything,” she wrote. “Preemptively restricting donations under these circumstances sets a troubling precedent.”

All three fund sponsors declined to be interviewed for this story or answer detailed questions, including on their process for identifying nonprofits facing allegations and deciding which ones to ban. Fidelity Charitable said it does not comment on decisions involving individual charities and declined to give a statement.

DAFgiving360 said in a statement that it “communicates directly with donors when a grant recommendation is impacted by an eligibility determination” and will provide information on other alternatives when appropriate. The sponsor said that it does “not take charity eligibility decisions lightly.”

In a separate statement, Vanguard Charitable noted its “procedural pause” is “not a value judgment; it is the application of objective criteria and reflects Vanguard Charitable’s responsibility, as the legal owner and steward of the charitable assets, to review and approve the grants made in its name.” A spokesperson said it denies fewer than half a percent of donors’ donation recommendations annually and that “independent oversight is central to the value of donor-advised fund structure.”

Unexplained Inconsistencies

ProPublica reviewed donor-advised fund sponsors’ policies and giving records alongside government actions taken against charities to understand when and how sponsors intervene.

The review identified cases in which Fidelity Charitable and DAFgiving360 diverged from their treatment of the SPLC and kept giving to charities facing the kinds of government investigations their guidelines identify as grounds for halting donations.

Then-Washington Attorney General Bob Ferguson sued Providence Health and Services in February 2022, alleging that the nonprofit Catholic healthcare system illegally billed and aggressively collected payments from low-income patients without determining if they were qualified for charity care.

The case was extensively covered in the regional media, and Ferguson’s own news release emphasized that Providence’s conduct continued despite an investigation by his office.

Even so, Fidelity Charitable and DAFgiving360 allowed Providence to keep getting donations, ProPublica found.

Providence ultimately agreed to pay $150 million in refunds and debt relief for unlawful charges, the largest resolution of its kind in the country, according to Ferguson’s office. Providence did not admit to any wrongdoing.

Fidelity Charitable and DAFgiving360 also kept sending donations to Grand Canyon University as it faced a lawsuit and a $38 million fine following federal investigations that found it deceptively advertised the cost and course requirements of its doctoral programs and made illegal calls to consumers. The university denied the allegations, calling them “unsubstantiated.”

The Department of Education rescinded the fine in May 2025, and the Federal Trade Commission dismissed its remaining case months later after losing multiple court motions. But records show the Christian university drew donations from both fund sponsors throughout the two-year dispute.

Idea Public Schools, Texas’ largest charter school network, was investigated from 2021 to 2024 by the state’s chief charter school regulator amid allegations of lavish spending on private jets and parachute payments to leaders.

Fidelity Charitable kept the dollars flowing throughout.

The charter network was ultimately placed in a conservatorship by the state and forced to pay back $28.7 million to the U.S. Department of Education. The network acknowledged that it did not properly ensure that funds were administered lawfully in a statement released at the time.

Then there’s VDARE Foundation, which ran an influential far-right, white nationalist website. In 2022, New York Attorney General Letitia James began investigating the organization for misuse of millions in charitable assets. As VDARE faced subpoenas, it solicited donations asking supporters to “help us fight back.” Clear evidence on its homepage that it was under investigation didn’t stop DAFgiving360 (formerly Schwab Charitable) from continuing to give.

James sued the organization in 2025. Its leaders are fighting the charges, and the case remains open. VDARE, whose website is now inactive, is no longer listed as an option for current DAFgiving360 customers. The sponsor would not say when the charity was removed, but said in a statement that it conducts a “thorough assessment” to determine eligibility and that it “applies its policies consistently across all charitable organizations, regardless of their political viewpoint or orientation.”

The fund sponsors’ discretion to keep money moving to embattled groups becomes evident when considering the Trump administration’s actions against major universities.

Dozens of colleges became the subjects of formal government investigations involving their handling of campus protests and alleged antisemitism tied to the crisis in Palestine and Israel and over allegations of diversity, equity and inclusion. At least 20 of the universities are still listed as options for donation recommendations on Fidelity Charitable’s and DAFgiving360’s websites. ProPublica asked each school if it was still receiving funds from the DAFs. Most did not respond. One said that it has not seen a decline in donations from the sponsors.

Rather than making ad-hoc decisions about which organizations to keep giving to, some legal experts told ProPublica that fund sponsors should follow the direction of the IRS, which has the authority to investigate and rescind tax-exempt status through an audit, while also providing avenues for organizations that come under scrutiny to appeal decisions they don’t agree with.

“The wisest choice is probably to rely on the IRS list,” said Lloyd Mayer, a professor at the University of Notre Dame Law School who researches nonprofits. Cutting off organizations deemed eligible by the IRS, Mayer said, runs the risk of looking inconsistent or partisan.

“An investigation by who? An indictment at what level? Is it only federal government indictments? Is it also state indictments? What about the local county prosecutor? Of the thousands of counties in the United States, if any one of them brings an indictment, you’re gonna stop? Where do you start drawing the lines?”

Answerable to Few

ProPublica used an internal Fidelity Charitable tool to identify 22 nonprofit organizations that Fidelity had given to in the past but no longer lists as options to donors. ProPublica limited its analysis to nonprofits that have raised $1 million or more annually.

The charities represent a cross section of ideologies and missions — left- and right-leaning, foreign and domestic, media, religious, humanitarian.

The list includes The Epoch Times, the conservative media outlet whose chief financial officer pleaded guilty in July to federal money-laundering charges, as well as pro-Israel nonprofits that support the country’s defense forces. It also includes the Alliance for Global Justice, a progressive, Arizona-based organization scrutinized for its financial ties to a Palestinian group that the American and Canadian governments designated a terrorist organization in 2024.

The Epoch Times released a short statement following the plea agreement, noting that it was not named in the lawsuit. The Alliance for Global Justice has called the allegations against it “false and unsubstantiated.” Both groups are currently eligible to receive tax-deductible donations, according to the IRS.

Fidelity refused to confirm it had deemed these charities ineligible. A source familiar with the sponsor said donors can manually enter a charity’s tax information to ask the fund to make a contribution to an unlisted charity. But ProPublica reviewed requests from two donors who tried the manual workaround. Both were turned down.

ProPublica attempted to ask representatives of all 22 charities if they understood why they did not appear on Fidelity’s rolls of more than 1 million potential grant recipients. Seven responded.

One of the only groups that said it had gotten a clear answer about its removal was the United Aid and Logistics Foundation.

“Our activities include providing aid to those defending the safety and human rights of Ukraine’s men, women and children, which Fidelity does not consider to be humanitarian,” said Sytske de Boer, a director of the volunteer group. “We understand it is their prerogative, however we disagree with their interpretation and hope they reconsider.”

Four organizations told ProPublica they’d been left with no or unclear answers from Fidelity Charitable. Among them is Nonviolence International, a group founded by a Palestinian activist that supports nonviolent campaigns worldwide.

“Substantial funds have been paused by Fidelity DAF that were earmarked for our projects,” co-director Michael Beer said in a statement. “If funding is not resumed, nonviolence training, education, and intervention programs for marginalized communities will be slashed.”

Donors have also been met with silence.

Piccolo, the retired Fidelity senior vice president, said that the decision to cut off the SPLC seemed at odds with the careful decision-making she’d come to expect from the fund sponsor. “This action feels out of band for me,” she said in an interview. “The case appears weak and politically motivated.”

For over 25 years, the SPLC has tracked the activity and influence of extremist groups across the country. Its “Hate Map” lists over 1,200 groups with connections to white nationalism, the neo-Nazi movement, antigovernmentalism and a plethora of other ideologies that it says are rooted in hate.

The tool has been widely cited by journalists and academics for years, and, up until last year, the FBI utilized SPLC research to assist in law enforcement efforts. The map has drawn scrutiny under the Trump administration, whose supporters are among some of the right-leaning groups the organization has labeled extremists.

In a letter addressed to top White House aide Stephen Miller last year, several of those groups called the map a “smear tactic” and called upon the Trump administration to remove references to the SPLC’s work from the federal government.

Attorneys for the SPLC, in court papers, pointed out how language from the letter wound up in an incident report opened by the FBI one month later justifying an investigation.

The Justice Department’s ultimate accusation was unorthodox. Prosecutors alleged that the SPLC’s longtime practice of paying confidential “field sources” to monitor extremist groups like the Ku Klux Klan constituted a fraudulent diversion of donor funds.

The SPLC pleaded not guilty to 11 counts of wire fraud, giving false statements to a federally insured bank and conspiracy to commit money laundering. Former federal prosecutors called the indictment “stretched” and “not valid,” and whistleblower reports to Democratic lawmakers said that the prosecution was rushed despite weak evidence.

The Justice Department did not respond to a request for comment. Earlier this week, it arrested Heidi Beirich, a former SPLC employee, on charges connected to the case. Prosecutors allege that she facilitated secret payments to informants inside extremist groups. Beirich’s attorney said that she is innocent and the case is “without merit.”

“I can understand that if overwhelming evidence were to emerge publicly in the course of proceedings, a temporary pause might be warranted,” Piccolo wrote to Fidelity Charitable. “But that is not where things stand.”

While company representatives sent rote responses and promised to pass along her inquiries, Piccolo told ProPublica that she has yet to receive a thorough explanation of their actions. She has stopped funding her Fidelity Charitable account and plans to move her existing balance to a different sponsor.

After the fund sponsors moved to cut off the SPLC, 16 state attorneys general, all Democrats, registered their objections in a letter.

“As attorneys general, many of us are the chief regulators of nonprofits, charities, and charitable trusts in our states, and serve as representatives of the public and donor intent,” they wrote. “This decision raises serious concerns that you are allowing the DOJ’s selective political targeting of a charity to impact your donor-advised giving decisions.”

They said their concerns were amplified by the sponsors’ refusal to disclose other charities whose donations they’d paused.

They have not received a response.

Powell, the former Vanguard Charitable attorney, said the sponsors are unlikely to be moved by public blowback.

“I don’t see this as being earth-shattering enough where it’s going to drive any immediate change,” he said. “These are sponsoring organizations that are aligned with financial institutions, which are traditionally adverse to risk. Once policies are in place, it takes a lot to change something.”

But in the future, he expects large account holders will want more from the fund sponsors than just moving their money between organizations.

“I think that any change is going to be driven by donors who are asking questions about how their philanthropy is defending democracy.”

The post Wall Street’s Nonprofits Use Selective, Opaque Logic to Defund Charities appeared first on ProPublica.

In the competitive world of youth sports, few organizations have a reach as vast as the Amateur Athletic Union. 

With 760,000 athletes and coaches nationwide, the AAU hosts competitions in dozens of sports across the country. This summer alone, hundreds of thousands of children competed in AAU events for elite young athletes: a staggering 100,000 at the world’s largest volleyball championship in Orlando, Florida; 8,000 at its storied basketball championships at Disney World; more than 15,000 at the Junior Olympics in Iowa.

To the hundreds of thousands of parents whose children play under the red, white and blue AAU badge, the organization offers more than a place to compete. The AAU promises their children will be safe — that its coaches are vetted, monitored and trained; that strict rules govern how adults interact with children; and that it responds effectively to allegations of abuse within its ranks. 

But that trust is misplaced, according to an investigation from ProPublica and The Washington Post. The AAU is failing on nearly every level to adequately protect the hundreds of thousands of children in its care from sexual abuse, the investigation found, misleading the public about its prevention measures and suppressing allegations of sexual misconduct. 

In doing so, the AAU is breaking many of the pledges it made in the wake of a 2011 sex abuse scandal involving its CEO and young basketball players. AAU leaders at the time said they would build a “new culture in which the overarching priority” was protecting young athletes, committing the organization to sweeping safety reforms. But they did not implement the majority of those reforms, ProPublica and The Post found, putting many children at risk. Some AAU athletes have had devastating experiences. 

The AAU does not offer child abuse prevention training, though it claims to the public that it does. It does not verify whether coaches take the training it does offer, though it calls the course “mandatory” on its webpage for parents.

The AAU has become a haven for coaches suspected of abuse, ProPublica and The Post found, based on a review of public disciplinary lists and interviews with current and former executives from six national sports governing bodies and other key stakeholders. Those sports officials say the AAU has earned a reputation as a place where coaches can escape discipline and are not bound by strict safety laws, making it more difficult to protect young athletes. ProPublica and The Post identified eight coaches who continued to work with children under the AAU in the last five years after being banned or suspended by other youth sports organizations — even though the AAU pledged in 2012 that it would ban such coaches. 

Serious allegations of sexual misconduct against coaches in the AAU are handled by its Board of Review, a group of four elected AAU members and a chair whose names are not made public. Asked about written guidelines for when to ban coaches, one former member who sat on the board for nearly 25 years said the group “just decided on our feelings.”

The abuse reporting hotline AAU promised to create as part of the reforms redirects to the AAU’s general office line with no option to report abuse, though callers can press 5 to reach a department for “medal orders.”

Instead of protecting children, the AAU has prioritized building an ever-bigger footprint across youth sports through cheap and easy team registrations, ProPublica and The Post found, allowing it to dramatically grow its revenue in recent years.

The scope of the consequences for young athletes nationwide is impossible to quantify, ProPublica and The Post found, because the AAU operates with a secrecy that is unusual for a nonprofit that serves children.

The AAU declined to answer questions from ProPublica and The Post over the course of more than a year, including whether the organization trains its coaches, how it investigates abuse claims, and how it enforces policies and safety rules. It would not verify if specific coaches overseeing AAU-registered teams had been authorized and background-checked by the AAU, as its rules require. While other youth sports organizations post public lists of coaches found to have abused children, the AAU does not.

In a statement, the AAU said it is “committed to protecting its athletes through comprehensive protection policies overseen by our Compliance Department.”

Athlete protection “is at the forefront of our safety measures such as a verified identity check and mandatory background screenings for all non-athlete AAU members, including coaches,” it said. The statement also cited “supplemental medical benefits” and “mandatory concussion protocols” as measures that it said prioritized the “physical well-being of its members.” 

“These safety measures reflect our ongoing commitment to providing a safe, secure, supportive, and trusted environment where athletes can thrive,” the statement said.

The AAU also took action on one point raised by the news organizations. After ProPublica and The Post asked the AAU last year whether it actually mandated training for coaches, as its website claims, the organization quietly changed its website to say the training was “encouraged.”

For the first time, using thousands of pages of internal, legal and court records and interviews with key stakeholders, ProPublica and The Post were able to document how the AAU handled some child sex abuse claims in the years after it promised reform. Several years after allegations were made against a former AAU president, ProPublica and The Post found, its review board exonerated another top AAU executive accused of sexual abuse by a former player without interviewing a single witness or considering a past allegation from a different player, court records show. A current AAU official, Jim Fox, said he believed the AAU’s handling of the case was an attempt to “cover it up.”

The AAU has taken other steps that have had the effect of keeping sexual abuse claims out of the public eye, ProPublica and The Post found. Clauses in AAU registration forms require all claims against the AAU to be resolved through confidential arbitration hearings instead of jury trials in open court. The AAU uses those agreements to quash lawsuits over child sex abuse claims — arguing in court that children who say they were victimized by their coaches had signed away their right to sue when they registered for an AAU team, records show. That practice is extremely rare in sex abuse cases at other major youth sports organizations, according to attorneys, court records and sports groups, and was mostly banned by a Biden-era law in 2022.

ProPublica and The Post found that the AAU has attempted to force sex abuse claims into arbitration as recently as 2024, in the case of a lawsuit filed by a teenage girl in Florida who said she had been abused by her AAU volleyball coach. The case was settled out of court last year.

The AAU declined to comment on this practice or any of these cases, saying it could not comment on “legal matters.” 

The AAU’s use of arbitration agreements meant that even in a high-profile case in which an AAU coach was convicted of decades of prolific abuse, the AAU itself escaped scrutiny. 

The co-director of an influential basketball club in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, Greg Stephen, was accused of sexually exploiting more than 400 of his young basketball players in 2018 and sentenced to 180 years in prison on multiple charges. But arbitration clauses prevented his former players from suing the AAU, ProPublica and The Post learned, even though boys’ families initially argued that the AAU was partly responsible because it had failed to enforce its 2012 safety policies, including a ban on coaches sharing bedrooms with players.

A judge sided with the AAU and ruled that the victims could not sue the wealthier parent organization, allowing the AAU not to respond to the claims in court. The club, Barnstormers Basketball, denied the claims.

The Barnstormers’ AAU-provided insurance limited payouts for sexual abuse claims to $1 million, said Guy Cook, the families’ lawyer, the equivalent of a few thousand dollars for each young victim.

Cook said the AAU had grown “sophisticated” in its attempts to suppress child sex abuse lawsuits: “It’s not unlike what the Catholic Church has done.”

In 2018, in the wake of revelations about sexual abuse by USA Gymnastics doctor Larry Nassar and other powerful figures in Olympic sports, Congress created a new oversight system to prevent sexual abuse. The law charged the U.S. Center for SafeSport with investigating allegations of sexual abuse in sports overseen by the U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Committee — made up of national sports governing bodies like USA Gymnastics — and enforced strict new rules about safety and training. 

But the AAU exists outside of that system, allowing it to benefit from a gap in the law. Because it is not a sanctioned national sports governing body, the AAU is not overseen by SafeSport and does not have to follow its rules or mandate that coaches take its trainings. ProPublica and The Post found that it does not abide by SafeSport suspensions or bans.

“It should scare parents,” said former Florida state Sen. Lauren Book, a child sex abuse survivor and prevention advocate who was a member of a task force established by AAU to reform its abuse prevention practices in 2011. Along with most other members of the task force, she said she has since lost faith in the organization. 

“What AAU does is protect institution over children,” Book said. “They have never done the right thing when it comes to child protection.”

Broken Promises

Before he was caught at the center of a scandal, Bobby Dodd saved the AAU. When the former youth basketball coach took the helm of the nonprofit in 1992, it was struggling. It had been founded in the 19th century to oversee amateur sports, but Congress had given that role to the U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Committee and its national sports governing bodies in 1978. The AAU’s relevance had been declining since.

Dodd saw youth sports for what they would soon become: a booming business. He built the AAU of the 1990s and 2000s into the juggernaut of youth basketball, the home of virtually every future NBA star; invested in a Junior Olympics brand that brought in thousands of children from across track and field; and moved the organization’s headquarters to the ESPN Wide World of Sports complex inside Disney World.

Under Dodd, there were few barriers to becoming an AAU coach: Anyone who paid a $16 membership fee could start a team, no background check required. By joining the AAU, basketball and other sports clubs got perks like cheap and easy liability insurance. More importantly, they got access to a circuit of organized tournaments, from local weekend events to major national championships.

But along with Dodd’s stewardship of AAU came criticism that the fast-growing organization was becoming a free-for-all.

After a 2004 Seattle Times investigation found dozens of people with felony convictions were coaching AAU-sanctioned teams in Washington and Idaho, including a coach who was a convicted murderer, Dodd pledged to consider background checks for AAU’s 65,000 coaches. “We are going to try to ensure more integrity in the process,” Dodd told the paper.

The AAU still had not introduced those background checks when, in 2011, ESPN reported that two men had accused Dodd of molesting them as youths in the 1980s, when he was their basketball coach. Dodd denied the allegations but stepped down as president, collecting a $1.5 million payout from the organization and putting the AAU back in an uncomfortable spotlight. He was not charged with a crime, and he could not be reached for comment.

Again, the organization promised change. 

Under a new president, Louis Stout, the organization convened a task force of child safety experts. It vowed in June 2012 to implement all of the task force’s recommendations, which it called “historic child protection measures.” 

The AAU rolled out mandatory background checks. It also pledged to train all adults in child sex abuse prevention and create policies that would “prevent adults from being alone with children.” Participation was a privilege, AAU vowed, not a right: “Anyone who is prohibited from participating in an organization that serves youth or who violates the AAU’s child protection policies should be barred.” 

The most important change, the AAU said, would be cultural. Child safety would now be “an overarching priority.”

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Within a matter of months, there were signs that little was actually changing.

That year, the AAU gave a 2012 leadership award to a man named Rick Butler, one of the country’s most prominent girls’ volleyball coaches at the time. Butler had been instrumental in building AAU volleyball into a powerhouse. 

But he had also been banned by USA Volleyball from coaching girls since 1995, after the sport’s governing body concluded that he had had sexual intercourse with three teenage players years earlier, when he was in his late 20s to mid-30s. Butler’s attorney called them “legal, consensual relationships in the 1980s,” noting that there was no law or rule against coach-player relationships at the time.

Months before giving Butler the award, the AAU had promised it would bar anyone “banned by other youth-serving organizations” from coaching children. 

But Butler continued coaching girls under the AAU until 2018. That year, USA Volleyball pulled its affiliation with the AAU over Butler’s membership, and the AAU subsequently banned Butler, according to a letter reviewed by ProPublica and The Post. Butler’s attorney said he has not been accused of more recent misconduct.

Stout died unexpectedly in September 2012, just a few months after he committed the AAU to the list of reforms. (After an interim period, Roger Goudy, who had run the AAU’s volleyball program for decades, was elected president in 2014.)  

When the AAU published its first youth protection handbook in December 2012, there was no rule barring coaches banned by other groups. The handbook did say it was following another key reform: All AAU coaches were now taking an “educational course.” 

The organization had repurposed training it had used since before the Dodd scandal — an online seminar called “Double Goal Coach” from the nonprofit Positive Coaching Alliance. The course was focused on sports psychology and coaching techniques, not sexual abuse prevention training. The AAU claimed that “all registered non-athletes” were taking the course, even though no one verified whether they did, according to officials, stakeholders and a person directly familiar with the training. 

“It’s never been mandatory,” said Peg Adams, a longtime regional official at the AAU who spent more than two decades reviewing abuse claims against AAU coaches as part of its Board of Review. “It should be, but that’s something they [AAU] have to work out.” 

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When they were first announced, the AAU’s child safety rules, if implemented, would have put the organization at the vanguard of youth sports. But in 2018, Congress passed a landmark new sports safety law, known as the Safe Sport Act, that forced much of the rest of the sports world to make sweeping changes.

Under the new law, the U.S. Center for SafeSport was charged with investigating sexual abuse allegations in all 50 national sports governing bodies, the organizations that oversee and set rules for specific sports. SafeSport could ban or suspend accused coaches in these groups, placing their names in a searchable public database known as the SafeSport list. It required adult coaches and volunteers to take SafeSport-provided child abuse prevention training annually and follow strict new safety rules governing how they interacted with athletes. 

But because the independent AAU is not a national governing body, SafeSport could not require the AAU to follow its disciplinary list, rules or training. Only a few provisions tucked at the end of the 2018 bill applied to the AAU — including a requirement that all sports groups “offer and provide consistent training … regarding prevention and reporting of child abuse.” Only Congress, not SafeSport, could enforce that provision.

The new Center for SafeSport was far from perfect. Underfunded and understaffed, the center quickly racked up a backlog of unresolved complaints and closed many others without findings or with what critics said were inadequate investigations. 

SafeSport has since resolved many of those issues, improving its process to resolve cases more quickly and cut down its backlog, the organization said. In a statement, the center’s new CEO, Benita Fitzgerald Mosley, an Olympic gold medalist, said the organization “acknowledges the challenges we have met as the first national sport safeguarding organization in the world. We are on surer footing today.” 

SafeSport also drove up costs for the governing bodies, who were required to help fund the center’s investigations and often pay for expensive background checks and compliance staff. That meant higher membership fees for their athletes. 

The AAU was not required to pay for any of that. So while governing bodies and SafeSport inched toward reform, ProPublica and The Post found, the AAU did not.

“People Tried to Cover It Up”

In 2018, the year that the Safe Sport Act took effect, the AAU faced a test of its most significant promise: to remake its culture to protect children. 

That January, a woman named Ashlee Orndorff claimed on social media that she had been groomed and sexually abused as a teenager by an AAU executive, its second vice president, Matt Williams, who was also a paid employee of the organization at the time. 

Orndorff had been a teenage basketball phenom in the tiny unincorporated town of Hawthorne, Nevada, two hours outside of Reno. She won three state titles and was named the state Gatorade player of the year during her senior year of high school in 2000, setting records that she still holds. But for many of the years that she excelled on the court, Orndorff said, she had carried a terrible secret: Williams, her AAU club coach, had been sexually assaulting her. The abuse began when she was 15, she said, and carried well into her adulthood, resulting in the birth of a child she gave up for adoption at 19.

Williams was more than just a storied coach. He founded the Western region’s most prominent AAU basketball brand, Jam On It, which generated revenue for the AAU through the enormous tournaments it hosted every year.

After Orndorff’s allegations, the AAU pledged to investigate, saying Williams had “volunteered” to be placed on administrative leave. Orndorff’s allegations went before the AAU’s Board of Review a month later. The small group of AAU members, one elected to represent each region, had no training in law, investigation or child sexual abuse, according to Adams, the former board member. 

Transcripts reviewed by ProPublica and The Post show the hearing frequently resembled a contentious criminal trial. Williams had a lawyer, but Orndorff said she had not been able to afford one at the time. 

In a statement to the AAU, Williams denied sexually abusing Orndorff as a minor. But he admitted that he fathered Orndorff’s child, who was born when she was 19 and he was over 30 and just a year out of coaching her — a violation of the organization’s policy against having sexual relationships with former players, which was part of the 2012 reforms. The attorney asked Orndorff if her “anger” at Williams “is what has prompted this complaint.” 

“No, sir,” she responded. “Being fingered by my coach at 15 in a gym and him making me think that that is all that I was good for, was to be his sexual satisfaction, that is where my fucking anger comes from. Next question.”

The board did not interview any witnesses or introduce records that could corroborate Orndorff’s account. Orndorff had submitted a 34-page narrative of the alleged abuse that included dates, locations and names of potential witnesses, 10 of whom later corroborated aspects of her story in depositions for a 2019 lawsuit she filed against Williams and Jam On It, according to a review of thousands of pages of court records. (Williams and Jam On It denied wrongdoing. Orndorff settled the case in 2023, and Williams died from cancer the following year. An attorney for Williams’ estate did not respond to a request for comment.)

Adams, who is a former Georgia gymnastics coach and gym owner, sat on the board during the Williams case. She said board members did not interview any witnesses because Orndorff had not provided a separate list of their names and phone numbers.

The hearing also did not consider an accusation of sexual abuse against Williams by a different player in 2005, the case records show. Rod Seaford, the board chair and the attorney running the hearing, had personally responded to the allegations in 2005, court records show. But Seaford did not mention them at the hearing, and Adams said Seaford had not told her they existed. (The girl who made the accusation declined to speak to police or the AAU at the time, records show, and that case did not proceed. Now an adult, she did not respond to an interview request from ProPublica and The Post.) Seaford declined multiple requests for comment.

By May 2018, within six months of learning of Orndorff’s allegations, the Board of Review cleared Williams of wrongdoing and reinstated him to his $84,000 position as an AAU officer. He was free to coach at Jam On It.

Internal records show that the board cited a lack of evidence and questioned Orndorff’s credibility because of an admitted history of drug use and what the board called “disturbing” discrepancies in her story. She had alternately claimed, for example, that Williams had “taken her virginity” at 15 but that they had first had sex when she was 16. In the hearing, Orndorff tried to explain that she had been referring to Williams digitally penetrating her when she was 15. 

Adams spent more than two decades on the Board of Review before leaving in 2024. She was never aware, she said, of any written rules used to decide whether a coach should be allowed to return to working with children. 

“I think we just decided on our feelings,” Adams said of the board’s process. 

She told ProPublica and The Post that the board had not considered sanctioning Williams for having a relationship with Orndorff because there was no regulation against having relationships with former players at the time. The AAU said in 2012 it had implemented that rule.

“It certainly would be [a violation] now,” Adams said. “And after, well — it was not a very pleasant — that was one of my unhappiest decisions.”

Orndorff said she still carries with her the trauma of Williams’ abuse. She left college during her freshman year as a result of the relationship with Williams, she said, eventually turning to drinking and drugs for much of her adult life. She is now 44 and says she has been sober since 2017.

But the AAU’s handling of the case when she was finally ready to step forward has made it much more difficult for her to heal. “I tried so hard to get the truth out, and I don’t know why I couldn’t do it,” Orndorff said, her voice choked with emotion.

Jim Fox, a youth basketball executive who records indicate joined the AAU Board of Directors after the case was resolved, said he believed the “old boys’ network” of the AAU had worked to suppress Orndorff’s allegations to avoid “embarrassment.” Fox tried to convince the board again to ban Williams in 2022, internal AAU records revealed in the court case show, citing new evidence in Orndorff’s civil suit, but it refused to even consider the case.

“Anybody could look at it and see that it was true,” Fox, a former probation officer, said of Orndorff’s allegations. “People tried to cover it up.”

Goudy, the president, died in 2020. Fox told ProPublica and The Post that Williams was stripped of his membership shortly after a new president, Jo Mirza, was elected in October 2022. Mirza, who court records show also advocated to terminate Williams’ membership in 2022, did not respond to multiple requests for comment.

“Short, Fast, Easy and Quick”

Something did change inside the AAU in 2021: It started making money.

Since 2015, the nonprofit had been spending more than the $20 million it took in annually, losing money each year.

But that year, the AAU’s revenue jumped to $24 million, and two years later, the number had grown to $34 million. In 2024, the most recent year the AAU’s nonprofit tax returns are public, the organization brought in nearly $44 million. It reported cash and investment reserves of around $30 million — triple what it held in 2019.

The organization’s momentum wasn’t in basketball. It was everywhere else. In boys’ volleyball, the AAU had become the dominant force, and in sports like martial arts, gymnastics and flag football, it was staking out a growing presence. The expansion meant that the AAU was increasingly competing with national sports governing bodies overseen by SafeSport. 

In swimming, some large clubs joined the AAU, where they could register less serious swimmers for $20 apiece instead of the more than $70 cost of USA Swimming. In 2023, USA Swimming’s registrations fell by almost 5%.

AAU meets are “short, fast, easy and quick,” said Chris Davis, whose juggernaut Georgia swimming club, SwimAtlanta, has moved hundreds of kids to the AAU. “I could theoretically have a senior in high school run the meet. I don’t have to have an official.” Davis said he opts to use officials, and all of his coaches take SafeSport training because they are also members of USA Swimming. 

The AAU’s cheaper fees weren’t the only selling point. On one swimming website’s list of reasons for clubs to switch to the “easier” AAU, the top of the list was a lack of “mandatory training hoops.” 

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By 2023, five years after the SafeSport Act’s passage, the AAU was publicly acknowledging that the law required all organizations to offer some form of child sex abuse prevention training, even if it isn’t created by SafeSport. Its new youth protection handbook cited the law — and said that the AAU’s mandatory course, offered through the Positive Coaching Alliance, now included “child abuse prevention training.”

Jason Sacks, the CEO of the Positive Coaching Alliance, told ProPublica and The Post in a statement that the material “was not an official training by any stretch.” It constituted “a few slides with resources.” 

The links to those resources from AAU’s website are currently broken.

As an organization, Sacks said, PCA’s focus is not sexual abuse prevention but youth sports culture, with trainings that emphasize positivity and character development. He noted its courses can play a role in preventing emotional and physical abuse by discouraging coaches from mistreating athletes. But Sacks said they “are not currently built to satisfy the Safe Sport Act requirements.”

Though some 20,000 AAU coaches took the PCA course in its earliest days, Sacks’ statement said, those numbers have declined steadily in the decade since. In 2024, AAU reported more than 100,000 adult volunteers.

On Nov. 10, 2025, ProPublica and The Post reached out to the AAU with questions about whether the organization offered sexual abuse prevention training and if the PCA course was mandatory for all coaches. 

Eight days later, the AAU approached PCA, Sacks said in his statement. Officials had two requests: “They wanted to incorporate more abuse prevention material in the PCA online coach course training, and make it mandatory for all coaches.”

“SafeSport Does Not Apply”

SafeSport’s public disciplinary list quickly became a central part of the sports landscape. By 2025, there were more than 2,500 coaches on the list — some temporarily suspended during investigations and hundreds more banned permanently from any sport that fell under the U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Committee. 

Though they were not required to do so by law, many independent organizations, including Pop Warner and Little League, implemented rules to keep coaches on the list out of their programs, too. In 2012, the AAU had said it would bar anyone “banned by other youth-serving organizations.” But it never adopted the rule, according to a review of its written policies.  

Instead, ProPublica and The Post found, the organization has become known as a refuge for coaches who are suspended or banned by SafeSport and national governing bodies.

“The AAU has absolutely developed a reputation that they are the place to go if you are banned from our world,” said the president of one national governing body, who asked not to be named because he still works with the AAU.

The issue has been raised repeatedly to the U.S. Center for SafeSport, top governing body officials, attorneys and former SafeSport executives told The Post. 

ProPublica and The Post identified eight people who coached AAU-affiliated teams within the last five years despite being banned by SafeSport or national governing bodies. The AAU’s director of compliance, Aaron Oandasan, would not verify if any of them were registered with the AAU, but ProPublica and The Post confirmed they were coaching teams registered with the organization through interviews with parents, administrators or the coaches themselves, as well as online records and social media posts.

Among them were three elite gymnastics coaches who had been suspended by either USA Gymnastics or SafeSport over emotional and physical abuse allegations in the wake of the Nassar revelations but continued working with AAU athletes. Another was a fencing club owner who started advertising his gym as affiliated with AAU while SafeSport investigated allegations of sexual misconduct against him that it eventually substantiated. And a Georgia basketball coach who was suspended for three years by SafeSport over allegations that were not publicly disclosed even took his team of boys to AAU nationals. 

Last year, a regional governing body official said he reached out to the AAU to warn it about a local volleyball club owner who had told parents he planned to join the AAU to evade a SafeSport suspension for alleged sexual misconduct. 

The AAU’s response to the official was curt, the official told ProPublica and The Post: “SafeSport does not apply.”

Adams, the former review board member, said that the AAU does not check the SafeSport list unless it receives a report about a coach. The AAU then conducts its own investigation, she said, because it does not trust SafeSport. That is because SafeSport is prohibited from sharing confidential details of cases, she said, but also out of concern that the center punishes coaches for frivolous reasons.

“At times, SafeSport hasn’t liked the way somebody dressed or they drank in college,” she said, without providing examples. SafeSport’s vice president, Hilary Nemchik, called Adams’ characterization “not accurate” and “concerning.” 

“SafeSport’s cases are proven through evidence, and our process allows for appeals by the accused,” Nemchik said.

Adams said the AAU board does sometimes ban coaches who have been barred by SafeSport.

She recalled one case in which the board ruled that a coach banned by SafeSport should be allowed to continue working with the AAU. That coach was later seen acting inappropriately with an AAU athlete, Adams said, and the AAU banned him at that time. She declined to name the coach, and because the AAU does not make a public list of banned members, the claim is not verifiable.

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One of the coaches who was still working with children under AAU following a SafeSport suspension was Elias Perez in Southern California. 

Aleesa Bravata told SafeSport last year that Perez, her former volleyball coach, had groomed and inappropriately touched her while she was in high school.

But a few weeks after his name appeared on SafeSport’s disciplinary list, temporarily suspending him, Bravata saw Perez’s truck in the parking lot of the local volleyball gym. Perez was still coaching. 

Bravata had met Perez when he began coaching the girls’ volleyball team at her high school in Huntington Beach, California. He was 33; she was 16, a junior. As her senior season began, she said, Perez began to isolate her from her teammates and text her with increasing frequency about things other than volleyball, including making comments about her appearance.

ProPublica and The Post reviewed interviews and records that were part of SafeSport’s investigation, including text messages between Bravata and Perez, and corroborated parts of her story with a former coach in whom Bravata confided while she was still in high school.

In September 2024, around the time Bravata turned 18, Bravata said Perez asked her for a ride home from training because his car was broken down. Parked outside Perez’s apartment, Bravata said her coach told her, “You know how I feel about you.” 

She asked him what he meant. Bravata said she remembers his reply word-for-word: “I’m going to put this in a way you understand. I have a crush on you, I like you, I want to hold your hand and take you on dates.” 

“I froze,” Bravata told ProPublica and The Post. “It scared me.” 

Perez went inside, Bravata said, but a few days later, he asked her to come to his apartment to drop off a set of keys to the high school gym. Parked outside his apartment, Bravata recalled that she sat in the passenger seat of her truck and, with the door open, Perez came to stand close to her, his body between her legs. 

Bravata told Perez that she didn’t want to have sex, she said, and Perez said he would never do anything that made her uncomfortable. Then, she said, Perez began to touch her, rubbing his fingers under her bra strap and touching the waistband of her pajama pants. 

Perez tried to kiss her, Bravata said, and Bravata turned her head. He then took her wrist, she said, and pressed her hand against his clothed penis, which was erect under his loose pants. When he let go, Bravata said, her hand dropped loosely into her lap. 

Bravata got out of the passenger seat to return to the driver’s side, she said, and Perez asked her, “Hey, if anyone asks, Eli accidentally touched your ass, right?” 

With the volleyball season over, Bravata and Perez stopped spending time together. Later in her senior year, her confused feelings turned to something else: “It took me till the end of the school year to realize that he had been grooming me, basically brainwashing me,” she said. 

Bravata confided in a former coach, SafeSport records show, who escalated the issue to school administration and the school resource officer. By then, Perez had left the high school. Bravata said Huntington Beach police told her that because it was possible the incidents had occurred when she was no longer a minor, the district attorney was unlikely to prosecute. (The police declined to release any records to ProPublica and The Post because the case is still open.)

In August 2025, when Bravata learned Perez was coaching a team of 14- to 15-year-old girls at Balboa Bay, a prestigious local volleyball club, she called SafeSport’s reporting hotline. 

Within weeks, SafeSport issued a temporary suspension against Perez while it finished its investigation — a measure it typically takes only in limited cases where allegations are serious and recent. 

Perez did not respond to requests for comment. But in an interview with a SafeSport investigator, a transcript of which was reviewed by ProPublica and The Post, he denied any inappropriate contact with Bravata, saying that they had rarely texted and had not been close.

Balboa Bay was a member of two organizations: USA Volleyball, which is legally bound by SafeSport, and the AAU, which is not. So while Balboa Bay eventually stopped Perez from coaching girls on its USA Volleyball teams, it allowed him to continue coaching teenage boys on its AAU-affiliated teams for several months.

The club director, Travis Turner, said he initially decided to keep Perez because AAU rules did not forbid it and the alleged misconduct had not taken place at Balboa Bay. After ProPublica and The Post reached out to him in November, Turner said, he decided to fire Perez. He said he had not initially understood the severity of SafeSport suspensions. 

This April, SafeSport issued a permanent ban against Perez for sexual misconduct and an intimate relationship “involving a power imbalance,” its online database shows. 

But Bravata said she fears that there is nothing to prevent Perez from finding another AAU club — and another chance to coach children.

The post A Youth Sports Giant Promised Reforms to Protect Kids From Sexual Abuse. Most Never Happened. appeared first on ProPublica.

A robot was on fire. Again.

It was the summer of 2024, and the cutting-edge robots inside General Dynamics’ sweltering artillery factory near Dallas were catching fire with startling regularity, according to four former workers there. This wasn’t ideal, as the plant was supposed to be churning out urgently needed artillery shells for Ukraine. The robots, giant metal arms with clamps for hands, would end up drenched in oil, which would then — no surprise — combust as they moved steel blocks heated to 1,800 degrees into and out of a machine that periodically erupted columns of fire. One blaze that summer melted a robot’s cables, putting it out of commission for a week.

Only weeks earlier, defense officials and executives had touted the factory’s innovative new machinery, imported from Turkey, at a gala opening ceremony. But employees were already used to spectacular mishaps, fiery and otherwise. “After the second, third, fourth time, it just became almost normal,” one former worker said. “It got to the point where I was not surprised by anything that happened there.”

Instead of producing shells in an efficient and streamlined fashion, the pricey machines kept failing in bizarre ways. The robot arms would swing out of control, smashing into carefully calibrated equipment, and sometimes they would unexpectedly drop hunks of steel 5 feet down to the floor. The factory’s signature device, meant to precisely stretch the steel for the artillery shells, instead often cracked it beyond repair. Then there were the giant press machines, which required regular pounding with a sledgehammer to function properly but still botched the shaping of nearly every shell. “We really didn’t have any standardized practice,” said Quantel White, a former employee. “It was just a bunch of guys taking turns going at the machine with a sledgehammer every night.” To workers, even the factory buildings themselves came to feel doomed, with acrid smoke hanging in 100-degree heat over foundations seemingly sinking into the earth.

The situation never improved. The U.S. Army, which funded the factory, ordered work halted on two of its three production lines in August 2025. By then, General Dynamics had blown eight deadlines. Work on the third production line continued, but the facility never produced a single usable shell, according to a report from the Department of Defense’s inspector general in July.

The fiasco has cost American taxpayers $533 million, according to the Army. But the Army has not held General Dynamics or a key Turkish subcontractor — which provided the factory’s much-hyped but little-proven equipment — publicly accountable for the failures. Nor has it made General Dynamics pay a penny back. 

Just the opposite: General Dynamics, one of the world’s largest defense companies, has been showered with new contracts, continuing its track record as one of the greatest beneficiaries of Pentagon spending. The company is still in charge of the factory. It recently announced that it will fix things there by bringing in another much-hyped but little-proven technology.

“It’s an absolute disaster,” said one former official in an Army office supervising the project. “The Army should’ve gone after recovering money from General Dynamics,” added the official, who, like others interviewed for this story, spoke on the condition of anonymity. 

Publicly, the Army has been tight-lipped about what, exactly, went wrong at the factory, located in a sprawling suburb called Mesquite. The inspector general report described the failure but offered few specifics. It didn’t name the companies involved, much less any of the individuals responsible. The report’s recommendations were tepid: The Army should determine whether the contract was “appropriately issued,” how “the money was spent” and whether it can recoup any of it. It should also “identify and implement a solution” for producing more artillery. Army officials deflected blame, telling the inspector general that they didn’t do anything wrong. 

In a detailed statement to ProPublica, the Army said it will recover funding for the project by getting unspecified discounts from General Dynamics on production orders. “The Army is exercising rigorous oversight to ensure every dollar invested delivers capability to the warfighter,” the statement read. “Where vendors fail to meet contract specifications, as seen at the Mesquite facility, we are evaluating contract performance, seeking recoupment of funds, and pivoting resources.”

As for General Dynamics, it has given no public explanation whatsoever. The company has said that it “met or exceeded requirements,” according to the inspector general report. General Dynamics declined an interview request from ProPublica. Company spokesperson Jeff Davis said ProPublica’s reporting “fundamentally mischaracterizes the circumstances and falsely impugns our record of employee safety and truthfulness with our customer.” He continued: “An article based on this foundation would be a materially false and misleading hit piece.” Davis did not respond to ProPublica’s request that he specify the alleged errors.

ProPublica reconstructed how the project went awry through interviews with 36 current and former employees of General Dynamics, the Army, the Pentagon and the White House. ProPublica also reviewed internal company documents as well as photographs and videos taken inside the factory. 

Those involved described a project that was rushed and ill considered from the start. Congress paved the way, removing government contracting guardrails — meant to ensure taxpayer money isn’t wasted — so that Ukraine-related defense projects could be funded quickly. The Army took advantage, handing General Dynamics lucrative no-bid awards without knowing whether the machines it planned to use could perform the desired work. The Army’s due diligence was inadequate, four former Army and General Dynamics officials told ProPublica.

Compared to the multibillion-dollar budgets of other DOD projects, the financial cost of the Texas debacle is small. But the lack of consequences for the companies involved, in the view of defense-spending critics, is symptomatic of a larger problem: a deep-rooted culture at the Pentagon and in Congress in which expensive failures lead only to more spending. Such critics fear that extreme cases like this one could become more common if the Trump administration succeeds in boosting the defense budget from $1 trillion to $1.5 trillion. The administration is also seeking tens of billions of dollars for its war against Iran and pressuring defense companies to quickly ramp up weapons production. 

“Too often the contractors have no accountability for their mistakes,” defense budget researcher William Hartung said. The Texas failure, he said, “is a foreshadow of what’s to come if the Trump administration gets the budget it asked for.”

The Pitch

Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in February 2022 felt like an emergency to the Biden administration. For General Dynamics, it was an opportunity. And Firat Gezen was ready with a pitch.

In six years running General Dynamics’ Ordnance and Tactical Systems business, Gezen had earned a reputation as a deft strategist and salesman. At 50, he wasn’t an engineer, and he had no experience running factories. He had spent decades working on the financial side of the weapons business. With a ready smile and a delivery as smooth as his perfectly bald head, he knew how to woo corporate leaders and Pentagon arms buyers alike. 

Gezen was also shrewd. In 2020, after the Army sought to diversify its artillery supplier base by contracting with a small Pennsylvania company, Gezen swooped in and bought that company. That allowed General Dynamics to maintain its stranglehold over the production of metal bodies for the standard American artillery shell, referred to by its caliber: 155 mm. “Firat throws his arm around you and talks to you nicely,” one former Army official said. “But he’s got, like, five things that he’s the sole provider of, and it’s exclusive. He’s got you locked up forever.”

That put General Dynamics in an ideal position. Russia and Ukraine were firing thousands of shells back and forth each day. The United States was a key supplier to Ukraine, but decades of disinvestment had left the U.S. artillery industry emaciated. In March 2022, Congress passed the first in a series of bills allocating billions of dollars for Ukraine-related causes, including boosting artillery production. The next month, President Joe Biden pledged to send shells to Ukraine, and he wanted to move fast. But first someone had to make them.

The 155 mm shell has been a military workhorse for a century, owing to its simple, lethal power. Packed with TNT, the 33-inch cylinder can travel 10 miles when shot out of the barrel of a howitzer and send fragments flying hundreds of feet upon impact. But decades of asymmetric warfare in the Middle East, in which the United States relied largely on drones and bombs, had led some to believe the days of artillery battles were waning. By 2022, General Dynamics was the only producer of 155 mm metal shell bodies in the country, mainly in a century-old facility in Scranton, Pennsylvania.

Given that, the company was an obvious candidate to meet the sudden new demand. General Dynamics could simply replicate Scranton’s traditional manufacturing method, which dated back to the time of the Korean War. But in meetings with Pentagon officials in the fall of 2022, Gezen proposed an alternative: What if the Army funded a state-of-the-art production line that used a promising new technique?

Central to this proposal was a virtual unknown in the world of American defense: Repkon. The company had been operating in its home country of Turkey for decades, providing “turnkey production facilities in the metal forming industry.” (Coincidentally, Gezen himself was born to Turkish parents in the United States.) 

But Repkon had never received a Pentagon contract, and certainly not for its signature metalworking process called “flow-forming.” Whereas the Scranton method mainly involves molding ultrahot steel in giant forging presses, Repkon added a step in which a fast-spinning machine squeezes and rolls out the metal like clay on a potter’s wheel. The advantage, Gezen told defense officials, is that the same equipment could produce shells of various calibers. Most important, Repkon had a production line already available, meaning General Dynamics could start making shells faster than if it had to procure traditional equipment piece by piece.

Warning signs abounded. Army officials learned that the production line that Repkon wanted to sell had been designed to produce an older, simpler model of 155 mm shells, which was made with different steel. It wasn’t clear that the Turkish equipment could even work with the steel used to make the newer 155 mm model, as the equipment had never actually produced it, according to four former General Dynamics and Army officials. Repkon said other countries were using the machines to produce the older model. But the Army and General Dynamics could not inspect those active production lines, Repkon told them, citing customer privacy. 

The Army could have balked at all of this and insisted on learning more about the capacity of the Repkon machines to perform the desired work. But learning more would’ve taken time, and time seemed in short supply. “There was incredible pressure to go fast,” a former Army official said. Everybody moved forward.

In November 2022, the Army raced to give General Dynamics the first in a series of contract awards for the project that would ultimately be worth nearly $600 million if carried to completion. The next month, Congress granted the DOD extraordinary powers to award money for Ukraine-related causes without the usual contracting safeguards, dropping competitive bidding requirements and restrictions on so-called undefinitized contracting actions. UCAs allow a company to begin work even before finalizing the terms of its contract with the government. One defense executive compared them to “building the airplane as you’re flying it.”

The Army made the most of its expanded powers, awarding General Dynamics a number of UCAs without considering alternate proposals in a competitive bidding process. (The Army told ProPublica it selected the company because of its unique artillery production experience.) 

In fact, the Army was so enamored with the proposal that it decided to order even more than Gezen had pitched. Instead of contracting for one Repkon production line, the Army signed up to buy three. Without knowing whether any of them would work.  

Gezen had never overseen a project this ambitious. Until then, he had mainly presided over smaller expansions of existing factories that used traditional methods. But he was optimistic it would work. “He’s extremely aggressive, willing to take risks,” one former colleague said. 

Some of the Army’s scrutiny of the proposal occurred only after it began awarding contracts for it. The service and General Dynamics sent staffers to Turkey to inspect Repkon’s machinery, but they never inspected a full production line in action and there weren’t enough experts who could spot potential defects in the equipment, four former General Dynamics and Army officials said. Crucially, before greenlighting the deal, the Army did not require General Dynamics to demonstrate that it could use the Repkon equipment to complete the entire production process and make shells that met the Army’s specifications. (The Army told ProPublica that “formal testing could not occur prior to full machinery installation.”)

If the typical contracting safeguards had been in place, perhaps everything that followed could have been prevented. If the Pentagon had been forced to open the project to competitive bidding, it would have had to consider other proposals in a painstaking review process. If restrictions on UCAs had been in effect, the Pentagon would have had to slow down and finalize the terms of the deal before allowing it to proceed, which might have surfaced its fatal flaws. 

But one man’s due diligence is another man’s red tape. Soon, Repkon’s flow-forming machines were sailing across the Atlantic, heading eventually for Mesquite.

“This Is Actually Hell”

On May 29, 2024, the mood in Mesquite was triumphant. After two short years of planning, the factory was opening, and defense officials and executives gathered there to celebrate.

“Our nation’s defense relies not only on our soldiers and other servicemembers in uniform but on production facilities like this one,” then-Army Secretary Christine Wormuth told seated dignitaries. She stood at a podium branded with the General Dynamics logo, with two howitzers posed behind her. She thanked the company’s CEO, Phebe Novakovic, and Gezen by name. “It’s a pleasure to highlight the fantastic work you all have done,” she said.

But everything was not as fantastic as it appeared. Artillery shells displayed around the plant that day had been shipped in from elsewhere, three former workers told ProPublica. A worker picked one up and was startled to discover it was fake — seemingly made of plastic. General Dynamics had already failed to perform a scheduled first article test, meant to demonstrate the facility could produce shells that met the Army’s specifications. The facility was supposed to start cranking out shells soon, but machines were barely functioning.

Soon problems seemed to explode out of every corner, according to interviews with 12 former factory workers. For one thing, the flaming robot arms also kept smashing into things. They slammed into computer numerical control machines, breaking their windows and bending their doors. They knocked over shells. They bashed into safety fences. Workers talked about the arms going “rogue” and began calling one of them “Johnny 5” after a sentient military robot from a 1980s movie. 

Even simple equipment failed with slapstick regularity, six workers said. Conveyor belts broke down. Automated carts got lost. Safety gates meant to shut down machines when workers approached did not shut down machines when workers approached. A pipe exploded, spraying water up to the ceiling. Parts on Repkon machines deformed, leading a worker to discover that they were made with Chinese steel, possibly in violation of federal regulations. (The Army said it has no evidence of such violations.)

Smoke hung in the air; it rolled off the press machines when robots sprayed them with lubricant. Workers could feel the smoke in their lungs. When they blew their noses after shifts, their mucus was black. A worker complained to the Occupational Safety and Health Administration about a “respirable hazard” at the factory, according to an OSHA record and spokesperson. The agency opened an investigation in October 2024, and an inspector visited the facility. The smoke-spewing press machines were scheduled to be operating on the day of the visit, but for some reason they weren’t running during the inspection, according to four former workers. OSHA issued no penalties, the agency told ProPublica. Staffers started to think it wasn’t just Repkon’s faulty equipment to blame for problems at the factory — it was General Dynamics’ management, too.

The plant could reach Sahara Desert temperatures when the furnaces or presses were on. “This is actually hell,” one worker thought to himself. It was hotter still inside cabinets containing drives that controlled critical machines, where it was regularly 140 degrees, two former workers told ProPublica. An outside inspector warned in an email reviewed by ProPublica that, at that temperature, “you would not only have drives failing but also human lives failing.”

Every day seemed to bring more of the same: another machine broken, another frantic effort to repair it, another batch of misshapen shells tossed into the discard pile. As 2024 became 2025, little seemed to get better.  

With so few shells passing inspection stations along the production line, many workers had nothing to do. A cat-and-mouse game ensued. Bored staffers spent endless hours gazing at their phones, leading supervisors to restrict phone use. So workers began bringing crossword books. Managers nixed those. Some workers were seen sleeping, so supervisors took away chairs.

“We sat around twiddling our thumbs, trying to find work, trying to figure out what was going on,” said Natashia Passmore, a former production technician in the plant. “It was a waste of government money, and it was a waste of our time.”

The Dumpster Fire

Tension rose between the Americans hired by General Dynamics and Turkish workers sent over by Repkon. The Repkon team was there to install the equipment, but it seemed equally flummoxed by the problems. General Dynamics workers found them evasive. They would give curt responses to questions in English but then be seen holding long, animated conversations in Turkish outside during frequent smoking breaks. A carelessly discarded cigarette butt sparked a real-life dumpster fire, three former workers said. 

Repkon was especially secretive about the flow-forming machines, refusing to answer most questions about their operations. General Dynamics workers could tell when Repkon was testing one of them, because they would find metal shards scattered on the floor around it later. The shards looked like alligator teeth. “Oh, the tooth fairy was here,” one worker would think to himself.

Paranoia set in. Repkon refused to share passwords needed to control important equipment, according to five former General Dynamics employees. Sometimes workers would be startled by the sight of a machine moving by itself and realize it was being controlled by someone in Turkey. Spooked, General Dynamics workers tore out hardware to cut off remote access to the machines, two former workers said.

Rumors swirled among the Americans that the Turks were purposefully sabotaging machinery — or perhaps even engaged in some convoluted form of espionage. “It was astonishing how little progress we would make, month after month, year after year,” one former General Dynamics worker said. “People started speculating, ‘I wonder if they’re spying on us.’” General Dynamics assigned someone to shadow the Repkon workers in the factory, two former staffers said. (The Army said it has no evidence of sabotage or spying.)

Even the buildings themselves — a trio of vast, anonymous boxes tucked into the crook of two freeways — were plagued with problems. Walls cracked, and daylight became visible around window frames. Doors began dragging on concrete floors. When it rained, water would flood in — “like a tsunami,” one former worker said. The foundations appeared to be shifting or sinking, six former employees said. It was as if the whole dysfunctional factory — its fires and smoke, its idle workers and haywire machines — was being slowly sucked down into the earth.

Faced with the kaleidoscopic array of problems, the response from General Dynamics managers always seemed to be to plow forward. “Every single time they opened their mouths, it was: ‘We need to get into production,’” one former worker said. “Production is the only thing that mattered.”

“Nobody Wins”

As the situation at the factory deteriorated, General Dynamics and the Army told a very different story to the public.

In April 2024, General Dynamics CEO Novakovic told investors: “In the U.S., we are rapidly increasing ammunition production with the opening of our Texas facility.” General Dynamics failed to conduct a scheduled first article test in Mesquite that same month.

That July, two months after the opening ceremony, Novakovic told investors that “the first line is running and producing as we anticipated.” In fact, the first line was not producing any usable shells, six former plant workers told ProPublica. 

In September Doug Bush, then the Army’s acquisition czar and a key figure overseeing the project, said “there have been no major delays” to the Army’s goal of producing 100,000 artillery shells each month — a goal for which the Mesquite factory was critical. “Any delays you’ve had have been measured in, I would call them weeks, not months, certainly not years,” Bush told reporters. He downplayed the problems, describing them as merely a matter of adjusting a machine “so that it puts out shells just so, versus a little bit off.”

The next day, a laborer in Mesquite photographed the work of a machine meant to begin giving the shells perfectly smooth noses; it had instead mangled the metal into something that resembled the swirl of soft-serve ice cream.

Also in September, Secretary Wormuth touted the Army’s artillery ramp-up at a conference, saying, “part of what’s enabling that are things like the brand-new plant that we opened up in Mesquite.” One month later, an Army contracting officer sent General Dynamics a letter of concern about its performance at the facility. The company missed the Army’s deadline for completing the first production line one month after that. (Wormuth declined to comment.)

Despite it all, Gezen remained optimistic through the fall of 2024. The issues in Mesquite were mere delays, he thought, and there were plans in place to fix them, according to a person familiar with his thinking. “If Firat’s guilty of something, it’s not wanting to see the truth in the matter,” a former colleague said. He “has a tendency to not want to listen to bad news.” General Dynamics announced Gezen’s retirement in January 2025. Some industry insiders believe he was pushed out in part over Mesquite. (Gezen denied that but declined to sit for an on-the-record interview.)

The split screen of blown deadlines and rosy public comments continued into the second administration of President Donald Trump. In April 2025, General Dynamics missed the completion date for the second production line. That same month, Novakovic told investors, once again: “We are rapidly increasing munitions capacity and production with the opening of our projectile facility in Texas.” The company missed another first article test two months later.

As the failures mounted, a sinking feeling took hold in Army offices. The service assembled a team to assess the situation in the factory, which produced a report that gave little confidence the problems could be fixed. Finally, in June 2025, the Army told General Dynamics it was considering terminating the contract awards for the plant, a defense trade publication reported at the time. Two months later, the service ordered work halted on two of the factory’s three production lines.

But the Army did not unilaterally terminate the contract awards. “A termination for default would’ve taken years through the legal system, because General Dynamics wasn’t going to accept that,” a former Army official told ProPublica. “Nobody wins except the lawyers.”

This would not be the last act of generosity from the Trump administration to General Dynamics. In December 2025, according to the inspector general’s report, the government paid the company $26.3 million in “progress payments” for the second and third production lines in Mesquite, although neither line had ever produced a usable shell.

A Novel Solution

Two months ago, General Dynamics made an announcement that conjured a sense of déjà vu. To fix the problems at the factory, the company would team up with yet another unheard-of partner promising technological innovation. The solution this time? Artificial intelligence.

A news release from General Dynamics and the new company, Deterrence, was filled with techno-business jargon. “AI-enabled capabilities” and “intelligence and connectivity” would be added at Mesquite and other General Dynamics factories, the companies wrote. “AI transforms production facilities into strategic assets,” Deterrence’s CEO said in the release. “We’re building autonomous manufacturing systems that learn, adapt, and scale in real time.”

These pronouncements have baffled former Mesquite workers. “What are they talking about? There’s nothing to learn or adapt or scale,” one said. “It’s all broken.” 

General Dynamics is doing this even as it replaces most of the Repkon equipment with traditional machines like those used in Scranton. How AI will wrest miracles from decades-old technology is unclear. But General Dynamics told investors it expects to be in production next year, and the Army told the inspector general that’ll amount to 20,000 shells a month.

Compared with Repkon, Deterrence is perhaps an even less conventional choice. Deterrence was established just three years ago and has never received a DOD contract. Its website gives no indication it has ever helped to manufacture anything. Its three founders have no prior defense experience. One of them worked at Tesla; the other two created a startup that enabled people to lock and unlock buildings with smartphones. Deterrence did not respond to a request for comment.

General Dynamics also pledged to put $200 million into the project. That’s a small sum for a company that generated more than $50 billion in revenue last year and gave CEO Novakovic a compensation package worth more than $25 million. (Meanwhile, the company furloughed or laid off most of the Mesquite workers.)

The Army says it won’t spend any more money on the project, but it has hardly blackballed General Dynamics. Since the Army shut down work on two production lines in Mesquite one year ago, General Dynamics Ordnance and Tactical Systems has received contract awards totaling $2.5 billion, the Army told ProPublica. (The service said this was for “distinct production lines and critical national defense requirements” unrelated to Mesquite.)

Repkon’s American offshoot is now at work setting up a TNT factory after receiving a no-bid contract from the Army worth $435 million. TNT is the primary explosive fill in 155 mm shells. Repkon Turkey’s CEO co-founded the American company, which was originally named Repkon USA. In March, it changed its name to Paligen Technologies. Some interpreted this as an effort to create distance from the Mesquite disaster. Paligen told ProPublica that it and Repkon are “different and wholly separate companies.” Repkon Turkey did not respond to requests for comment.

The one thing that key decision-makers appear to agree on is that they are absolutely not to blame. Gezen, the former General Dynamics executive, told ProPublica that the company and the Army did nothing wrong. In a brief conversation at his apartment door in a ritzy section of Washington, D.C., in May, Gezen maintained his sunny optimism. The Repkon equipment was a good option, and it may still be a good option, he said, holding an iced coffee in one hand and restraining a large dog with his other. In any case, he added, “it was the fastest option available.”

Bush, the Army’s former acquisition chief who had assured reporters there were “no major delays” to increasing artillery production, also declined to be interviewed. In a terse conversation in May, peering out from his half-closed front door in Northern Virginia, he told ProPublica: “All of this was done through appropriate procedures.”

Others who were involved, speaking on the condition of anonymity, engaged in mutual finger-pointing: The White House demanded too much too fast, Repkon and General Dynamics overpromised, the Army didn’t perform due diligence and Congress underwrote the whole thing. 

The United States still is not close to producing the promised 100,000 shells per month, a former Army official told ProPublica in June, although other investments to increase 155 mm production have turned out better. Ukraine still needs those shells, the official said, but attention has once again shifted. In the Middle East, it’s other munitions that the Trump administration has rapidly burned through during its war with Iran. Trump officials are now calling for ramping up production in those areas — and fast.

“Conventional ammo is back on the back burner,” the official said. “Everything now is about interceptors, missiles.” 

General Dynamics makes components for those too.

The post Fiasco in the Factory: Taxpayers Funded a $533 Million Artillery Plant That Made Nothing appeared first on ProPublica.

The video clip lasted less than two minutes, but Tonya Webb remembers every second as heartbreaking.

The grainy surveillance footage, dated June 29, 2024, showed a teenager in an anti-suicide smock being dragged violently by other teens across the floor at Middle Tennessee Juvenile Detention Center. As guards watched, the teens pulled the smock over the boy’s head, exposing his naked body. Then they stuffed him, limbs flailing, into a cell.

One guard pushed the door closed, locking him in, and the boy pressed his face against the sliver of a cell window. The guard flashed the teens a thumbs-up.

Webb, a medication supervisor at the facility, saw the video when a co-worker showed it to her and knew she was looking at a serious violation of state policy. An incident like this one, in which employees encouraged youths to restrain another youth, would require staff to notify both the state and the boy’s family within 24 hours.

Webb said she raised questions about the incident with the compliance director for the facility. The director said she’d handle it, but after weeks went by with no sign of a state investigation, Webb confronted the deputy to the facility’s executive director.

“I know you’ve seen the video,” Webb recalled telling her. “Nothing’s being done about it.”

According to Webb, the deputy said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Webb found her response baffling, as word of the attack had spread rapidly among staff and the footage was stored on the facility’s own security system.

WPLN and ProPublica obtained a recording of the video; Webb did not provide it. We asked the state’s Department of Children’s Services if it received an incident report from the facility on or around June 29, 2024. The department confirmed it did not. Webb later reported the incident to DCS.

A Tennessee businessman named Jason Crews was the executive director of the private company that ran Middle Tennessee Juvenile Detention Center at that time. He’s also the CEO of Wayne Halfway House, a separate company that had employees overseeing the detention center and that contracts with the state to operate other juvenile facilities. Crews did not reply to written questions about this incident, nor did his deputy and compliance director.

Interviews with dozens of former staff and youth, along with a review of emergency call logs, company records and state documents, reveal how Wayne Halfway House’s leaders failed to report suspected physical and sexual abuse to state officials across Crews’ facilities and prevented the public from learning about violent attacks by reducing the number of 911 calls. The state is now investigating incidents we uncovered.

According to Wayne Halfway House and Middle Tennessee Juvenile Detention Center employees who worked closely with corporate executives, there was an expectation that serious incidents be kept secret, and the directive came from Crews.

“You always call Jason and nothing gets reported without his permission — and that’s wrong,” said Kim Watts, the company’s former human resources director. She was fired in 2024 when “the company decided to go in a different direction,” according to her termination paperwork.

Liz Ryan, who oversaw juvenile justice programs for the Biden administration, reviewed a detailed summary of the incidents WPLN and ProPublica compiled, the corresponding state laws and policies and the company’s responses. “Wayne Halfway House Inc. and its leadership, including CEO Jason Crews, appear to have demonstrated a documented pattern of disregard for state law, federal law and professional standards,” said Ryan, who provided training and guidance to state and local governments about best practices for youth in the system.

“They’re putting kids’ lives at risk,” she said. “Absent immediate and vigorous state oversight and intervention, this seems like a disaster waiting to happen as allegations of this nature are warning signs in need of immediate examination.”

In a statement, Wayne Halfway House said the company follows state policy and law and “vehemently denies” that Crews or his company have ever discouraged staff from reporting serious or life-threatening incidents to the state or 911. It described its former employees as “untrustworthy sources” with a “clear bias” against the company and their allegations as “substantially flawed.”

Crews briefly spoke with the news organizations in April during a guided tour of one of his facilities, but he subsequently declined multiple requests for a formal interview. Wayne Halfway House provided detailed responses in writing to three rounds of questions.

DCS said that confidentiality laws limit the agency from commenting publicly about specific youth or investigations, but that it is looking into these incidents. “DCS is comparing the information provided with Department and provider records to determine whether required incident and abuse reports were made, whether appropriate medical care and notifications occurred and what actions were taken in response,” the agency said in a written statement. The results of its investigation will not be made public, it said.

Over much of the last decade, Tennessee has pushed to expand juvenile prison capacity — and to do so, it turned to Crews. Most youth in state custody for committing crimes are held in his facilities, which accommodate nearly 300.

About six weeks after the incident with the teen in the video, the state gave Wayne Halfway House a more lucrative contract to turn Middle Tennessee Juvenile Detention Center, located an hour south of Nashville, from a juvenile jail into a prison. Crews now runs all three of Tennessee’s highest-security youth prisons.

The youth in the video, Thomas Jarvis, recently turned 20. He recalls the attack as the worst ordeal of his years bouncing between facilities in Tennessee. Days after the incident, he said, he was taken to a hospital for an evaluation, then treated at a mental health crisis center.

Jarvis buried the trauma of the attack so deep that he never told his mother, grandmother or state caseworker, who was like a father to him.

His mother, Crystal Smith, heard about the incident for the first time in June, when we showed her the footage. Sitting at her dining room table in Northern Alabama, with laundry drying on the back of the chairs, she watched in horror as her son was dragged across the screen. “That’s my baby that they did that to,” she said. “That’s not right.”

Her elbows resting on the table and shoulders slumped, she wondered out loud what else had been kept secret.

---

For decades, Crews was a minor player in Tennessee’s juvenile justice system, running just two midsized facilities. But as the state sought operators for its youth prisons, he saw an opening, he told WPLN and ProPublica in April.

Crews’ facilities began accepting teens who other private providers lacked the capacity or desire to handle, becoming an important resource for the Department of Children’s Services. When the state needed a new operator for its largest private youth prison in 2020, it gave Crews the contract.

Mountain View Academy is a high-security facility surrounded by barbed-wire fencing that houses youth who have committed the most serious offenses, including rape and murder. The state also places youth there who have committed nonviolent crimes.

Under its previous operator, Mountain View had been plagued by riots that drew negative press and infuriated locals. Staff called police in the sleepy East Tennessee town of Dandridge regularly for months. In one news report, the town’s mayor said the situation was “not fair to the citizens of Dandridge.”

When Crews took over the Mountain View contract, he promised to get the facility under control. He called the facility a “beast nobody could tame.” Especially in the first months, Crews said, he was a daily presence at the facility, showing up every morning before the kids woke up and helping instill a sense of structure into their routine. But there were still riots, violence and life-threatening injuries inside the prison, according to a lawsuit and interviews with former staff and youth.

One major change was that under Crews, the facility’s problems were kept out of the public eye, former employees said.

The company’s written policy, in effect in early 2020, which WPLN and ProPublica obtained, stated that staff should call 911 “immediately” during a disturbance or riot, but multiple employees said leaders told them something different: Never call for outside help unless Crews or his deputies gave permission. This mandate pressured employees to handle many medical emergencies internally, without calling for help, according to interviews with nine former employees and youth.

WPLN and ProPublica obtained the 2024 version of the company’s emergency response plan for how to handle a riot or disturbance. The directive to call for help immediately was no longer in that policy. “Before law enforcement or emergency services enter our buildings at any time, Jason Crews, CEO must and will be called, no exceptions,” the policy read. It instructed staff to follow law enforcement’s instructions “if Law Enforcement has been called under the authorization of Jason Crews.” A new point was added that reads, “If possible, the disturbance is handled internally.”

In a statement, Wayne Halfway House denied that it ever prevented or discouraged staff from “initiating emergency response in life-threatening scenarios,” calling that allegation “categorically false.” The company pointed to other parts of the 2024 policy, like one for youth medical emergencies, which required staff to call 911 immediately.

The company also shared a new policy for how to handle riots, which went into effect in August 2025 and removes the mandate to call Crews. Now the policy says that staff should notify facility leadership and the company’s state director before police enter the building during a riot or disturbance. The purpose of the plan, the company said in a statement, is to ensure leadership is “simultaneously” notified about emergencies while staff call for help. “Our policies prioritize providing for the safety of all involved and putting our best resources into action when they’re needed the most,” the statement read. “In the rare instances that law enforcement response is required, our policies ensure appropriate staff are notified.”

Wayne Halfway House’s relationship with the police and the community has improved, according to law enforcement. In an interview with WPLN and ProPublica, Dandridge Police Administrative Sergeant Kevin Bunch said, “Call volume and the amount of time that a detective has to spend in this facility has greatly reduced since Mr. Crews’ company took over.”

Just nine months after Crews took over Mountain View, the company’s approach to 911 calls was put to the test.

Late on Nov. 21, 2020, guard Heather Boyd sat in the facility control room and received a radio call from a colleague begging her to call the police. Watching on the surveillance cameras, Boyd saw more than a dozen youth attacking a few guards. Following procedure, she tried to call her supervisor, according to a lawsuit that she later filed against Wayne Halfway House. When 20 minutes passed with no response, she called 911, which sent officers to quash the attack.

Days later, the company fired Boyd and at least two other guards, including one who was taken to the hospital. In an interview with WPLN and ProPublica, Boyd said company leaders told her they were firing her for “calling outside help” and breaking protocol. In the lawsuit, Boyd described the unofficial policy as “gross negligence and malfeasance.”

“I thought I’d done something to save somebody’s life,” she told us. “You shouldn’t have to choose a person’s life over your job.”

Wayne Halfway House denied many of Boyd’s claims in court, including that the company had a policy stopping staff from calling 911 during a life-or-death emergency and that she was wrongfully fired. Both parties quickly settled the case. The company said in a statement that it cannot comment about the settlement agreement due to its confidentiality requirement. It denied that any of the guards were fired for calling 911.

Two experts on correctional medical care said not every emergency at a facility like Mountain View requires a 911 call. But when it comes to injuries, medical staff should be involved in the decision.

In February 2024, however, Mountain View nurse Brandi Buchanan said she faced pressure not to call 911 despite her own professional judgment. She had witnessed teens attacking a guard in a dorm, smashing his ribs, pepper-spraying him and repeatedly kicking his head.

“We need to call the police,” Buchanan recalled telling other guards. “I’m sure he has internal injuries.” But the guards overruled her.

“I thought I’d done something to save somebody’s life. You shouldn’t have to choose a person’s life over your job.”

Heather Boyd, a former guard at Mountain View Academy who said company leaders told her they were firing her for “calling outside help” and breaking protocol

“We don’t do that,” she remembers one company veteran saying. Instead, employees called the operations manager, who was off duty and on a date. An agonizing 20 minutes later, she said, the manager arrived, and his date drove the injured guard to the hospital. The operations manager did not respond to a request for comment about this incident.

“At that point, I was like, ‘They care more about their reputation than their employee’s literal life,’” Buchanan said. She put in her notice shortly after.

Wayne Halfway House said in a statement to WPLN and ProPublica that the attack was “diffused before law enforcement response was needed” and “contained within a matter of minutes.”

The guard, Jason Zaske, suffered a lacerated spleen, a concussion and broken ribs, according to a GoFundMe set up on his behalf. “He thought he was dying,” Zaske’s wife told local media. The guard was unable to work for weeks.

Crews was angered by the wife’s public comments and wanted to fire Zaske, according to Watts, the company’s HR director at the time, who said she advised him not to. “I was like, ‘You can’t terminate somebody who just got injured at work,’” Watts recalled. Zaske wasn’t fired and went back to work at the company. He and his wife declined to comment for this story but confirmed he no longer works there. The company did not respond to Watts’ allegations but said it continued paying Zaske while he was recovering without putting him on workers’ compensation, which would have reduced his pay.

Several months after the Zaske incident, Watts was terminated by Wayne Halfway House. At first the company said her termination was for failing to meet job expectations, but Watts replied citing her latest performance review in which Crews said she was “a tremendous asset to the company.” The company sent her a revised termination letter saying it was going in a different direction. After she left the company, Watts filed a sex discrimination complaint against Wayne Halfway House with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, which declined to investigate.

---

WPLN and ProPublica spoke with more than three dozen former employees of Wayne Halfway House and former residents who said they knew of serious problems that endangered youth and staff inside the company’s facilities. Of those, more than a dozen said that Wayne Halfway House failed to report grave safety failures as required, preventing the state from learning about problems in its facilities.

In Tennessee, juvenile justice providers are required to report abuse and other serious incidents in their facilities to the state Department of Children’s Services, which then decides whether to investigate. Facilities must notify the state of significant incidents — including serious injuries to youth, escapes or restraint use — within 24 hours.

Wayne Halfway House said it designates specific facility leaders to report serious incidents directly to the state, which the company said is “consistent with best practices.” But a dozen lower-level former staff members said they didn’t trust management to file reports or to do so thoroughly, and two former managers said they felt pressured by the company not to report at all even though they were authorized to do so. One of those managers, who spoke on the condition of anonymity out of fear of career repercussions, said Crews told them to stop reporting as much to the state because it would make the company look bad.

Separate from a facility’s requirements to DCS, Tennessee law requires individuals to report any suspected child abuse, including physical and sexual abuse, to the department immediately. Nine former Wayne Halfway House staff members said they feared for their jobs if they reported serious incidents, including some suspected cases of child abuse, directly to the state. Several of them said they were pushed out after doing so. “The rebuke would be harsh and sometimes up to and including termination if we reported out,” said Mario Brown, a former therapist at Mountain View Academy. Brown was not fired from the company.

The company said that it did not fire staff for reporting abuse and that staff members have an individual legal responsibility to report child abuse and neglect to the state. Employees scared about retaliation could report anonymously to DCS, the company said. “WHWH is well aware that terminating an individual for them reporting incidents of this severity would create potential legal liability for the company.”

Webb, the former medication supervisor at Middle Tennessee Juvenile Detention Center, said that around the time when Jarvis was forced into a cell by other teens, management failed to report another violent altercation to the state. A surveillance video from 2024 shows the facility administrator, Lynda Odom, grabbing a girl by her wrists, backing her into the corner of the room and pulling her into a headlock. “I’m grabbing your neck because you need to stop,” Odom yelled as the girl struggled. Two other staffers helped to break them up, and one dragged the girl away screaming.

WPLN and ProPublica obtained a recording of the video; Webb did not provide it.

Webb said she went to the company’s director of compliance, Kelly Banks, who was visible in the video attempting to hold Odom back, and asked her if she was going to report the restraint to the state. Banks said she would handle it, according to Webb. Banks did not respond to requests for comment.

Odom, who no longer works at the facility, said that she followed proper procedure in restraining the girl and that no one had reached out to her to investigate the incident. “There was nothing to report,” she said when WPLN and ProPublica reached her by phone.

WPLN and ProPublica played the video for leaders at Handle With Care, the restraint training company used by Wayne Halfway House. The company said it “does not teach headlocks as restraint techniques.”

Crews declined to respond to questions about the incident. According to Wayne Halfway House, Webb was later fired for creating a hostile work environment. Webb said company leaders asked in her termination meeting if she had kept the videos of youth being harmed; she believes the company fired her for insisting leaders report incidents to the state.

Sexual relationships between staffers and incarcerated youth are illegal under any circumstances, but nearly two dozen former employees and teens said they suspected abuse was taking place in Crews’ facilities.

Five former staff members said they did not report suspected sexual abuse as required under state law because they were scared of retaliation from leadership, and two said they didn’t know it was a requirement.

Two former employees, one from Mountain View and the other from Standing Tall Music City, a Wayne Halfway House facility in Nashville, recalled talking to company leaders about specific cases of staff suspected of sexually abusing youth. They said they were not aware of the incidents being reported to the state.

The former Standing Tall employee, who spoke on the condition of anonymity out of fear of retaliation from the company, described confronting a female guard after finding her in a room with a youth alone. The former employee said they suspected the guard was sexually abusing the youth and reported it to the facility administrator, hoping he would begin an investigation. But a federal report that tracks sexual abuse in prisons showed no employee abuse or harassment of youth was reported to or investigated by the state in that facility in 2021.

Wayne Halfway House said it reported this incident to the state last week after WPLN and ProPublica asked the company about it.

Brown, the former Mountain View therapist, recalled a separate incident of suspected sexual abuse, which he did go on to report: a child whom he watched deteriorate session after session. Eventually, Brown said, the boy told him that a nurse at the facility had sexually assaulted him. Although Brown worried about getting fired, he reported the alleged abuse to the state. Shortly after, the child was moved out of the facility.

Wayne Halfway House said in a statement that it has documentation that rebuts Brown’s version of events but cannot comment further because of confidentiality reasons.

Brown eventually resigned. “It got to the point where this had weighed heavily on my mental health,” he said.

His main regret, he said, was leaving behind youth who trusted him.

Brown later returned to work for Wayne Halfway House, he said, because of his dedication to the kids. He no longer works for the company.

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Years before Jarvis was dragged across the floor of Middle Tennessee Juvenile Detention Center, he was badly injured inside another Crews facility, according to Jarvis’ DCS case file. That time, too, the facility failed to report the incident to the state as required.

Jarvis landed in September 2021 at Hollis Academy, Wayne Halfway House’s flagship facility in rural Middle Tennessee. He had been there for several weeks when the company requested DCS move him to another provider. Right after, his case manager picked him up and took him to a routine doctor’s appointment at the health department. His file, which his family shared with WPLN and ProPublica, states that a medical provider discovered he had bruises in various stages of healing covering 80% of his body. Jarvis said the other youth had assaulted him.

“With this amount of bruising staff had to be aware,” a child abuse report submitted to DCS read.

A DCS investigator looked into the case and interviewed facility leadership. The facility, he said, never reported the injury to Jarvis’ state case manager or to the state as required. The documents don’t mention any repercussions for the facility, and DCS said it cannot comment because of juvenile confidentiality laws.

Wayne Halfway House declined to comment about this specific incident, citing a youth’s right to privacy. The company said it was not able to file a report for a youth no longer at the facility. But documents show that Jarvis had been at the facility for weeks when the bruising occurred.

Jarvis spent nearly three and a half years in state custody after being charged with arson for lighting his stepdad’s three-wheeler on fire. He was released from Mountain View in March 2025 following a court hearing.

Incarceration seems to have only worsened his trauma, said his grandmother Chris Stone, who took him in to live with her. Jarvis still seems angry, Stone said, and sometimes he threatens suicide. He never discusses what happened to him inside.

Inside her dimly lit brick home in Northern Alabama, with curtains drawn against the summer heat, Stone wept while recalling the assault her grandson endured while he was already at a low point. She still struggles to understand why the facility never informed her or other family members — and she wrestles with anger and guilt.

Sitting on the couch, she turned to her grandson, her blue eyes fixed on him. “Thomas, with my temper, something would have went down,” she said. She told him she never would have let the company hide what happened.

He sat silently beside her, without meeting her eyes.

The post “They’re Putting Kids’ Lives at Risk”: How Abuse in a Tennessee Businessman’s Juvenile Prisons Remained Under Wraps appeared first on ProPublica.

I file a lot of Freedom of Information Act requests. I’ve been requesting staff lists from both Trump administrations, and I have tracked thousands of federal political appointees in order to publish financial disclosures in searchable databases. 

Much of that data was sourced from the Office of Personnel Management, which maintains a trove of information about who works in the federal government. But that agency’s FOIA department was thrown into chaos as Elon Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency fanned out across federal agencies to cut employees in early 2025.

Getting records from the agency has since become an increasingly Kafkaesque process, one that in early July of this year bounced me between three different seemingly abandoned email inboxes and two web portals. Aside from the fact that my once-routine requests now languish for months, just asking for documents has become its own kind of shell game.

“They just let the whole Privacy team go,” a now-former FOIA specialist at OPM told me by email in February 2025, referring to public records office staff. The specialist was cut the next day.

Here’s how the process worked at most agencies before the Trump administration and DOGE destroyed the offices that managed these requests: You would send a simple email with a text description of the documents you want. That’s it. 

It didn’t mean you would get the records in the most timely manner, or would get the records you wanted at all. But it was a simple process, and it often worked. 

According to OPM data, more than 600 government information specialists (staffers who administer FOIA and the Privacy Act) have resigned or been fired since the start of the second Trump administration. Within OPM itself, 12 information specialists left, seven of whom were laid off. (There was one new hire in that time period.) 

Reached by phone, the former FOIA specialist told me the cuts made the office less efficient, less able to perform its function and threatened the statutory laws they are required to fulfill. 

At the end of the 2025 fiscal year, over 1,600 FOIA requests were still in OPM’s backlog, seven times more than at the end of fiscal year 2024. The average processing time for a simple request at the agency slipped to over 84 days — twice as long as the year before.

Indeed, I noticed my records requests were taking longer, and they were increasingly steered toward web portals. Such was the case in early July, when I attempted to submit a request to OPM for human resources data. When I clicked “log in,” I was confronted with a message reading, “Something went wrong while processing your action. Please contact admin@ains.com for assistance if the problem persists.”

I emailed the address, but the message bounced back to me. AINS, it turned out, was no longer the name of the company — it is now known as Opexus. Opexus has received more than $50 million in federal contracts, according to a Bloomberg report, and has come under fire for lax cybersecurity standards after two of its employees were indicted for deleting and compromising government data. (One pleaded guilty in April, and the other was convicted in May). On its website, Opexus claims to process FOIA requests for 80% of federal institutions.

OPM’s website still listed contact information for a FOIA public liaison, someone who is supposed to help the public understand the records process and assist with requests. When I emailed the address, I got an automated response reading, “I am no longer at OPM. If you need assistance with a FOIA matter, please contact FOIA@opm.gov.”

So I did. I immediately got another automated message. This one told me to submit my request to the National FOIA Portal, a cross-government site that allows you to submit a FOIA request to any agency. 

So I did that, too. Afterward, I finally got a response that acknowledged my request — from the same OPM portal that was throwing an error any time I tried to use it.

Stymied by the lack of response from the agency itself, I reached out to Opexus support, explaining that I was a FOIA requester and that the OPM site wasn’t working. I got a response from someone named Stephen, saying, “I have escalated this issue to our engineering team.” When I followed up a few days later, Stephen said, “I have identified the root cause of the issue and am currently working with the OPM administrator to implement the necessary fix.” Further questions on the support ticket thread weren’t answered.

On July 23, 13 days after I had filed the support ticket with Opexus, I got another response asking me again what error I was getting. I told them I was still getting the same message. A few hours later, I tried logging back in. The site was fixed.

In a statement, Opexus said it became aware of the issue on July 10 when a customer support case was opened. Incidentally, that was the day I had opened one. The statement noted access to the portal was restored on July 23, and that the issue did not prevent OPM from receiving FOIA requests through alternate submission methods. The company said that “there is no evidence that customer data was accessed, lost, or compromised” and that the issue was isolated to OPM’s portal. 

The statement added that Opexus recognizes “how important uninterrupted access to FOIA request systems is for the public.”

OPM did not respond to a request for comment.

I’m still waiting for the records.

The post Is There Anyone Who Can Respond to My FOIA Requests? Anyone? appeared first on ProPublica.

Despite hundreds of millions of dollars spent on environmental cleanup, more than half the yards in a section of Omaha, Nebraska, that used to surround a lead smelter still have enough contamination to cause high blood-lead levels in kids, according to tests by the Flatwater Free Press and ProPublica.

The findings were consistent across the city’s older urban core — in the historically Black neighborhoods north of downtown, the predominantly Hispanic areas to the south and the more white and affluent areas in midtown. However, homes closest to where a lead smelter and other downtown factories operated tended to have slightly higher concentrations than those farther out.

As part of the Environmental Protection Agency’s Superfund program, the federal government and the city of Omaha have been attempting to remove lead from Omaha’s yards since the late 1990s. 

The EPA’s cleanup standard for Omaha was set in 2009 and is based on health recommendations from 1994. Since then, research has shown that lower exposures can cause IQ loss in kids and heart attacks in adults. Twice in the last 15 years, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention lowered what it considers a high blood-lead level. An EPA risk model found that to protect most kids according to those new health guidelines, soil levels would have to be below 100 parts per million — about 10 grains of rice in a 10-pound bucket of dirt.

The Flatwater Free Press and ProPublica tested 388 homes in the Omaha Superfund site and found that 208 had levels over 100 parts per million.

But the EPA has never required that level of cleanup in Omaha or as a national remediation standard. Current EPA policy for the Omaha cleanup site directs contractors to dig up and replace yards if tests show they contain more than 400 parts per million of lead — about a marble’s worth of the metal dispersed across a 10-gallon bucket of dirt. Last week, the Flatwater Free Press and ProPublica reported that 1 in 10 of the homes we tested that were remediated still has a lead concentration over that threshold. 

The risk worries Natalie Thorpe, whose 3-year-old daughter tested high for lead as a baby. When the history and English teacher bought a house in Omaha, she knew about the Superfund site, but friends assured her the EPA had taken care of any problems with the dirt. Instead, her yard has enough lead to be risky but not enough to qualify for government cleanup.

“It feels a little bit like being a sitting duck,” Thorpe said.

EPA spokesperson Kellen Ashford said removing lead in soil is only one factor in protecting communities. Because no level of lead in the body is safe and it would be impossible to remove all lead from a site, the agency works with local health officials to protect the community from lead risks in other ways, he said. 

Those include establishing the Omaha Lead Registry, a website where people can search for the highest lead level and remediation status of any property in the site. The EPA also funds the Douglas County Health Department’s lead poisoning prevention program, which performs home visits when a child tests high for exposure to the toxic metal. 

Cleanup, combined with these other layers of protection, has led to a dramatic decline in elevated blood-lead levels in Omaha, Ashford said. (While the percentage of kids testing high for lead has dropped significantly, as it has nationally, kids in the Omaha site still test high for lead at rates above the national average.)

Work on lead has historically been focused on protecting people from extreme poisonings, often caused by paint, said Tom Neltner, who heads the lead poisoning prevention nonprofit Unleaded Kids. As more public health experts have acknowledged the risks of smaller exposures, they’ve had to examine soil more closely. Confronting that will require new research and renewed advocacy, he said.

But even with updated science, politics have complicated potential cleanups. The first step in any cleanup is to identify which properties deserve attention. So the EPA typically tests soil to screen for potential problem areas. If results hit a certain level of lead concentration, it kicks off a more in-depth process of monitoring that site and discussing cleanup options. In 2024, President Joe Biden’s EPA lowered that recommended screening level to as little as 100 parts per million. 

Cleaning up to 100 parts per million would have carried enormous costs. About 40% of U.S. homes exceed those levels, according to a 2024 study by some of the country’s top researchers of lead-contaminated soil, and it could cost $500 billion to $1.4 trillion to clean up all of them. The authors argued the government could take a more cost-effective approach by covering lead-laced soil with clean soil or mulch rather than digging it out. 

Last year, the Trump administration rolled back Biden’s standards in what it said was an effort to speed up cleanups of the highest-risk areas, raising the lowest screening level from 100 parts per million to 200 parts per million.

However, some local and state governments, as well as other countries, have committed to standards of 100 parts per million or lower.

Norway recommends risk assessments for any dirt that children have regular access to that has more than 100 parts per million of lead in it. In 2006, the country required all playgrounds and daycares be remediated to that level.

Even in the United States, some areas have lower limits. Minnesota requires replacing any soil that has more than 100 parts per million of lead around the home of a child with a high blood level, said Minnesota Department of Health spokesperson Scott Smith. In April, New Orleans announced plans to clean up its parks after an investigation by Verite News and KFF Health News found more than half of the 80 sites the organizations tested had levels above 100 parts per million.

California has cleaned up properties to 80 parts per million of lead, its screening level for potentially risky soil, though residents of properties exceeding that threshold more often receive safety education rather than a new lawn, said Seth John, a University of Southern California earth sciences professor.

This summer the EPA is testing soil around Omaha as part of an investigation that may help the agency determine if it should expand the site’s boundaries or lower the amount of lead that would qualify for cleanup. The agency expects to share its findings by October 2027, Ashford said.

Earlier research suggests there may be more homes with lead-soil concentrations over 100 parts per million than the Flatwater Free Press and ProPublica identified: EPA testing found 84% of the Superfund site in Omaha — more than 36,000 properties — had areas with lead concentrations above 100 parts per million, according to a March 2024 email sent by an EPA manager to a Nebraska Department of Environment and Energy official. 

But trying to determine what the agency might do in Omaha is difficult because the EPA has applied its new guidance in different ways, setting higher lead levels for cleanup at some Superfund sites and lower levels at others.

Without cleanup, there are several things Omaha residents can do to lower their risk, said Neltner of Unleaded Kids. Maintaining ground cover like grass reduces the amount of lead dust that can spread from the dirt to kids’ hands and bodies, he said. The EPA also recommends washing hands and taking shoes off inside. 

Those are easy things that lower risk, Neltner said, but he noted that they’re not a long-term solution. 

“We have to keep doing what we can,” he said. “We need our leadership at local, state and federal levels to support people in finding solutions.”

The post More Than Half the Homes in East Omaha Have Unsafe Lead Levels. That Doesn’t Mean the EPA Will Clean Them Up. appeared first on ProPublica.

What Happened: More than 60 House Democrats are pressing Department of Veterans Affairs Secretary Doug Collins for answers about how the agency’s mental healthcare has been increasingly strained under President Donald Trump’s second administration. The lawmakers sent the secretary a letter last week asking questions about the state of VA care, citing a ProPublica investigation from this spring that revealed the agency’s mental health workforce has been plummeting and veterans have been left in the lurch.

What They Said: The letter was spearheaded by Rep. Judy Chu, who is a psychologist and represents a district in Southern California. “Caring for our nation’s Veterans is a fundamental responsibility,” the letter says. “That includes ensuring access to high-quality mental health care.”

The lawmakers demanded that the VA disclose details about its shortage of mental health providers and the impact on veterans. It also pushed the agency to lay out how long veterans have to wait for care.

As ProPublica has detailed, while the VA has long had a shortfall of mental health providers, the situation has gotten far worse under the current Trump administration. Hundreds of mental health staffers have left the VA and not been replaced.

Background: ProPublica’s investigation recounted the troubling experiences of both mental health providers and of veterans seeking care.

With so many staffers leaving and not being replaced, the remaining providers have often been stretched remarkably thin.

A psychologist who worked for a VA in Arizona recounted how some of her one-on-one sessions were replaced with online group sessions that included as many as 35 veterans. The therapist said their remaining individual sessions were sometimes limited to as little as 16 minutes.

“It was always bad,” said the psychologist. “And now it’s at a breaking point.”

In VA exit surveys that ProPublica obtained, mental health staffers who quit often wrote that they were no longer able to provide high-quality care.

“Mental Health is understaffed, burned out,” wrote one New York-based staffer who was leaving. “There is not enough mental health care for the Veterans who need the services.”

Veterans, meanwhile, have started to fall through the cracks.

Jason Beaman, a Navy and Army vet, was shuffled among therapists who later left until he finally had enough. “I just quit. I don’t want to mess with the therapist anymore,” Beaman told us this spring.

Why It Matters: After Trump returned to office last year, his administration promised to deliver veterans “the highest quality care.”

The VA is the country’s largest healthcare system, serving 9 million veterans. Those men and women face many mental health issues at a higher rate than the general population. They die by suicide at roughly twice the rate.

VA mental health staff have developed deep expertise in addressing the particular needs of vets. Indeed, studies have shown that vets get better care at the VA than through private providers.

“VA psychologists are best in class,” said Russell Lemle, former chief psychologist for the San Francisco VA Health Care System and now a senior policy analyst at the Veterans Healthcare Policy Institute. “When you lose them, the veterans are the ones who pay the price.”

ProPublica reported that in January, the department had around 500 fewer psychologists and psychiatrists than it had at the same time last year. Recent VA data shows those head counts continue to decline.

Response: In response to questions from ProPublica, VA spokesperson Quinn Slaven defended the agency. “The Trump Administration is solely focused on measuring VA’s success by how well it serves Veterans,” Slaven wrote in an email. “This commonsense approach has led to dramatic improvements for Veterans, families, caregivers, and survivors across the country.”

Slaven said that the VA completed a record number of mental healthcare appointments in the past fiscal year while also lowering veterans’ wait times.

The VA previously declined our request for an interview. Instead, spokesperson Peter Kasperowicz accused ProPublica of attempting to mislead the public by “cherry picking issues that are limited to a handful of sites and in many cases were worse under the Biden Administration.”

After ProPublica shared the findings of its investigation and the names of veterans who would appear in it, the agency reached out to several to inquire about their care and offer help.

The congressional letter gives the VA until Aug. 14 to respond.

The post House Democrats Demand Answers From Trump’s VA on Vets Struggling to Access Mental Healthcare appeared first on ProPublica.

Since he returned to office, President Donald Trump’s administration has upended foreign aid. It’s labeled well-established, long-running programs as “not aligned with American interests” and slashed their budgets. 

Still, the billions of taxpayer dollars Congress has allocated for foreign aid programs must be spent; lawmakers have insisted the government continue to fund humanitarian aid, global health and pro-democracy causes around the world. With most of the old programs now gone, however, we wanted to know: What is the Trump administration doing with that money now?

Recently, we published our investigation that found one answer to that question in a little-known bureau of the State Department that has dramatically transformed under Trump. For decades, the Bureau of Democracy, Human Rights and Labor, known as DRL, has supported  human rights in some of the most oppressive countries in the world. Now, our reporting found,  it’s planning to direct funds to controversial groups supporting right-wing causes in Europe and elsewhere. 

Our full story lays out some of the groups the government has considered funding, which include a British free-speech organization that has fought against bans on “gay conversion therapy” and a British American think tank created this year to focus on “existential threats to Britain, to America, and to our shared Judeo-Christian civilisation.” (Administration officials dropped that grant after significant pushback from Congress.) 

One proposed grant particularly caught our attention: Trump administration officials suggested funding research on crime against minority populations in South Africa. 

It’s clear from sources we spoke with that the key targeted minority population in question is the white ethnic group known as Afrikaners. Afrikaners were responsible for creating the nation’s infamous and brutal racially segregated apartheid system. Previously, DRL staff had been told to begin the process of awarding funds to a group called Lex Libertas, which was founded by a controversial figure who has called for Afrikaner self-governance. The group is currently fundraising to place 3,000 white crosses on the National Mall in remembrance of attacks on South African farmers.

The proposed grant was later opened up to allow a broader set of invited groups to apply for $1 million of funding, though it is still intended for the same purpose, according to people with knowledge of the process. The State Department declined to say whether Lex Libertas will be among those invited to compete, citing ongoing deliberations, but said the Trump administration has serious concerns about the human rights situation in South Africa that need to be addressed. Lex Libertas did not respond to questions about the organization or the proposed grant.

Former diplomats who have worked extensively on human rights told us they were shocked that the victimization of white South Africans would be prioritized over the serious issues elsewhere in the region. 

“It’s laughable to suggest that on the African continent, the prime issue of human rights concern is whites in South Africa,” one former agency official said when we asked him about the grant. South Africa is plagued by violence, but extensive research has found that white South African farmers are not victims of crime at higher rates than other groups.

Experts also described the proposed grant to fund research into violence against Afrikaners as keeping with the Trump administration’s overall stance toward South Africa.

For decades, the U.S. relationship with the country has been symbolized by our massive support for HIV care, Mattie Webb, a professor at the Virginia Military Institute who studies South Africa and U.S. foreign policy, told us. 

Since Trump returned to office, there’s been a stark shift as the administration has strengthened ties with borderline white nationalist groups that are considered fringe in South Africa. 

“The U.S. is very clearly shifting its priorities away from aid that would benefit far more people in South Africa to this narrow focus on the white minority,” Webb said.

In the last 18 months, Trump has argued there is a genocide of white South Africans and used claims that white people are subjected to disproportionate violence to justify cutting off U.S. funding for HIV treatment and research. And even as he’s barred nearly all new refugees from the United States, he’s welcomed white South Africans, fast-tracking their entry.  

There have long been tensions between South Africa and the U.S., former diplomats told us, but the aid the U.S. provided saved lives and helped sustain a working relationship that is vital to U.S. national security and economic interests. Now, by seeking to fund a movement antagonistic to the South African government, the U.S. risks driving a wedge between the two nations.

Other grants also raised red flags for experts and lawmakers. Political appointees at the State Department are considering funding a British free-speech organization that has fought bans on discredited therapy practices that attempt to convert gay people to heterosexuality. That proposed $5 million grant would provide support for people facing “deplatforming” and advocate against “restrictive online safety and hate speech laws,” according to a document we reviewed. (The organization’s founder said it had “neither applied for nor been awarded a grant from the US State Department or any other branch of the US Government” but did not respond to our other questions.) And a call for proposals recently released by the bureau would fund research, conferences and cultural engagements in wealthy democracies to develop “civilizational self-confidence in Europe.” 

Not all the proposed funding is directed to controversial groups, our reporting found. But even some of the grants slated to fund more traditional human rights projects skirt federal requirements for competitive bidding that are meant to deter waste, fraud and abuse. Instead, officials are trying to direct millions to handpicked organizations, according to sources and documents. 

In response to questions about our reporting, the State Department stressed that the process of awarding grants is ongoing and that multiple offices provide input, writing that “programs are still in active deliberation and receipt of a grant is not guaranteed to any organization that does not meet all requirement and standards for federal grants.” 

We are continuing to report on foreign aid and the Trump administration’s policies in South Africa. If you have tips or information we should know about either of these issues, please feel free to get in touch with us! Reach out via phone or Signal to Anna Maria Barry-Jester at 408-504-8131 or Sharon Lerner at 718-877-5236.

The post What Is the Trump Administration Doing With Foreign Aid Money? appeared first on ProPublica.

Elvis Brooks thought he had an airtight case when he applied for compensation from the state of Louisiana after he was wrongfully convicted in a fatal bar shooting that kept him in prison for more than four decades.

The 69-year-old New Orleans native has never wavered in his claims of innocence, insisting since his 1977 arrest that the cops had the wrong guy. But it would take nearly 45 years and a prosecutor admitting he failed to turn over key fingerprint evidence before the courts threw out Brooks’ conviction.

That decision made Brooks eligible for up to $480,000 under a program created by Louisiana lawmakers to pay those wrongfully convicted in a state with one of the highest rates of overturned guilty verdicts. But Louisiana Attorney General Liz Murrill, the top prosecutor in the state, has vigorously fought Brooks’ compensation claim, asserting in court filings that he is still guilty and therefore should not receive any money at all.

And it isn’t just Brooks: Since taking office two years ago, Murrill has opposed all but one of 23 compensation claims brought by people whose convictions have been vacated by the courts. These include cases in which the men were exonerated through DNA or blood evidence and others in which police are accused of fabricating evidence. Once, Murrill even threatened to block an exoneree’s ability to obtain a license to practice law if he didn’t drop his claim.

Civil rights attorneys say Brooks’ case is one of the most egregious examples of a wrongful conviction in recent years. Murrill has been pushing the court since September 2024 to reject his compensation claim and also to reinstate a manslaughter charge against him. The case is pending before a district court judge in New Orleans; attorneys are scheduled to appear for the next hearing Monday.

When Brooks heard what Murrill was trying to do, five months after he’d filed his claim, he said he was flooded with anger and disbelief. Once again, he said, the state was trying to rip away his good name and falsely brand him a killer.

“She knows people are innocent but she doesn’t care,” Brooks said of Murrill during a recent interview, his voice rising with frustration. “She wouldn’t want nobody to do this to one of her loved ones.”

Some states that have more recently created compensation funds have experienced startup problems. In Michigan, narrow criteria and confusion over eligibility have prevented exonerees from getting paid. But in Louisiana, conservative politicians who oppose the very existence of a compensation fund and therefore fight nearly every claim have proven to be the biggest obstacle.

Gov. Jeff Landry, a Republican who served as attorney general for eight years, during which time he hired Murrill as the state’s solicitor general, opposed 10 of 12 compensation claims during his tenure. Both have staked their political careers on a tough-on-crime agenda. By contrast, Murrill’s more moderate Republican predecessor, Buddy Caldwell, who served as attorney general from 2008 to 2015, opposed just 33% of all claims.

Murrill’s hard-line tactics, particularly in Brooks’ case, stand out among her peers in other states, said Jeffrey Gutman, a professor emeritus at the George Washington University Law School and a national expert on compensation funds.

“I can’t think of an attorney general who has been quite as aggressive in trying to prevent people from getting compensation,” Gutman said.

Murrill, through her spokesperson, declined interview requests and did not answer questions regarding her opposition to the compensation fund. Both she and Landry have made their views on the fund clear during recent legislative sessions. Murrill told lawmakers last year that defending the state against these claims consumes an enormous amount of time and resources and that the fund should be abolished altogether. And in June, Landry vetoed a bill passed unanimously by the Republican-controlled Legislature that would have increased the amount paid to the wrongfully convicted. In his veto statement, Landry painted many of the exonerees as “convicted criminals” whose only interest is money.

Murrill’s opposition doesn’t necessarily mean that Brooks and other exonerees won’t eventually be compensated. The claims are ultimately decided by one of a number of district court judges, whose approach to this issue may vary. But it ensures that a process the law says should take no more than five months could instead drag on for years, exacting financial hardship and emotional pain on people who have already endured decades of both, said Herbert Larson, an attorney representing exonerees and a senior professor at the Tulane University Law School.

“If they’ve got DNA evidence that points at somebody else, if they’ve got fingerprints that point at somebody else, if it looks like sloppy police work, then we should pay the money and not spend the next two years litigating it,” Larson said. “That’s not a very effective use of time and money on the part of the attorney general.”

Brooks filed his application in 2024, but more than two years later, his case has yet to be heard by a district court judge. After having 42 years of his life stolen — missing his son’s childhood and losing his parents and three siblings while he was behind bars — Brooks said he shouldn’t continue to suffer at the hands of the state.

“It’s miserable and it’s frustrating, the games they play,” he said. “But if they think I’m going to give up, wave the white flag, they got me wrong.”

Conflicting Evidence and a One-Day Trial

On most days, Brooks can be found riding his bicycle down to Tricou and Douglas streets in New Orleans’ Lower 9th Ward, where he was raised, or through the French Quarter, where as teens, he and his friends would go to meet girls.

But there is one place he avoids: a vacant lot at the intersection of Dauphine and Alabo streets. That’s where the Welcome Inn once stood, and where a murder took place that would change his life.

In July 1977, a man named Cecil Lloyd was seated at the bar in the local dive when he was shot to death during an armed robbery. Less than three weeks later, police arrested 19-year-old Brooks.

There was no physical evidence tying him to the killing, and a dozen people testified that Brooks was at a family party at the time of the shooting. But three white witnesses said they saw the perpetrators in the dimly lit room and picked Brooks, who is Black, out of a photographic lineup. Although studies have shown that witnesses often have difficulty correctly identifying suspects of another race, and despite the fact that the three witnesses gave conflicting descriptions, the jury found him guilty of first-degree murder after a one-day trial.

What the jurors weren’t told is that fingerprints lifted from beer cans held by the robbers did not match Brooks’, or that police suspected the same men had robbed several people less than a block away just before the Welcome Inn robbery, according to prosecutor records discovered by Brooks’ attorneys 40 years later. The victims of the earlier crime were shown a photo of Brooks and ruled him out as a suspect.

After his conviction, Brooks was sent to the Louisiana State Penitentiary at Angola at a time when the maximum-security prison was considered one of the most violent in the country. Three years after Brooks arrived, his brother Errol, who was serving a 99-year sentence there for armed robbery, was stabbed to death.

“Angola was a madhouse,” Brooks said. “A hellhole.”

While Brooks served his life sentence, the criminal justice system was being revolutionized through the introduction of DNA evidence and, with it, proof that innocent people had been convicted. This led to a deeper look into other factors contributing to wrongful convictions, including prosecutorial misconduct and mistaken eyewitness identifications, especially those made by witnesses with different racial backgrounds from the suspects.

As a result, the number of exonerations nationwide increased from 25 in 1989 to 259 in 2022, according to the National Registry of Exonerations, a project operated by universities in Michigan and California. By 2025, Orleans Parish, where Brooks was convicted, had the highest rate of exonerations among U.S. counties with more than 300,000 residents, according to the registry.

Many states reacted to the rise in exonerations by creating funds to compensate those who were wrongly convicted. Louisiana established its fund in 2005 and today is one of 39 states, in addition to the District of Columbia, that compensate the wrongfully incarcerated. But it is far from a rubber-stamp process.

“It’s miserable and it’s frustrating, the games they play. But if they think I’m going to give up, wave the white flag, they got me wrong.”

Elvis Brooks, exoneree

To be eligible, a person has to have been imprisoned as a result of a conviction that was later vacated by a court. Applicants, like in all states with these funds, must then prove their innocence. Having a conviction thrown out is not enough to do so: A court can vacate someone’s conviction for a number of reasons, including an ineffective attorney or significant errors committed by the judge or prosecution. But that only means there were problems with the original trial. It is up to the person applying for compensation to present evidence that they did not commit the crime.

In many states, innocence in the compensation process is proven by a “preponderance of evidence,” which attorneys understand to mean that there is more than a 50% chance that the person is innocent. This is the standard used in civil cases. The threshold is higher in Louisiana and some other states, where applicants are required to prove they are innocent by “clear and convincing” evidence. This is supposed to leave little doubt in the judge’s eyes that they did not commit the crime.

That’s the hurdle Brooks must clear to receive any money from the state.

Exonerated but Not Paid

Brooks filed for compensation in April 2024, just a few months after Murrill and Landry took office. He didn’t know much about the process, he said, except that it was meant to help people like himself get back on their feet after a wrongful conviction. Brooks assumed it wouldn’t take long at all, maybe a few months. But like nearly all the others, his request was met with fierce opposition from the attorney general’s office.

Murrill, seen by many as a future candidate for governor, has earned the reputation as a fighter unapologetic about the methods she is willing to use to enact a conservative agenda, both in the political world and the courtroom.

Verite News and ProPublica interviewed the attorneys of 17 of the people whose compensation claims Murrill opposed. The majority expressed shock at her tactics. When Landry was attorney general, his office regularly spoke with defense attorneys and assured them that the attorney general would not stand in the way of compensation in the rare times the office agreed that a former prisoner was innocent, according to two of the attorneys. Landry did not respond to a request for comment.

Those conversations no longer happen under Murrill, the attorneys said. In nearly every case, Murrill’s office has insisted that the exoneree either is guilty or has failed to sufficiently prove his innocence.

Of the 23 people who have had active claims under Murrill, four so far have been awarded compensation. The rest are pending. Of the successful claims, two of the men were cleared by DNA evidence, while blood serum evidence was used to prove innocence in the third. Yet Murrill opposed all three, delaying their compensation for nearly two years. (In the fourth case, Murrill dropped her opposition to Patrick Brown’s claim after the victim testified that the exoneree was innocent).

Jarvis Ballard is one of the four. He spent 23 years in prison before his 1999 rape conviction was vacated after his DNA was not detected in any of the blood or semen samples found at the scene. In addition, the victim reported two men committed the crime; however, three men, including Ballard, were prosecuted and convicted. The other two men testified that Ballard was not involved.

The St. Bernard Parish district attorney’s office admitted in a 2021 statement that the office had made a mistake in prosecuting him. “DNA evidence, witnesses recanting their prior statements and polygraph testing all supported the ‘actual innocence’ claims of Jarvis Ballard,” district attorney Perry Nicosia wrote.

In another case, Darrill Henry was sentenced to life in prison in 2011 for a double homicide. Nine years later, New Orleans Criminal District Court Judge Dennis Waldron threw out his conviction after DNA evidence found under the fingernails of one of the victims cleared him, saying there was “clear and convincing evidence that he is indeed factually innocent of the crime.”

And in a third case, Sullivan Walter was sentenced to 40 years in prison in 1986 for burglary and rape, among other charges. He was only 17 at the time but was tried as an adult. His conviction was overturned in 2022 when blood evidence ruled him out as the perpetrator.

“This is horrible,” Criminal District Judge Darryl Derbigny said to Walter as he ordered his release from prison, according to news reports. “I’m at a loss of words to express the sorrow and the anger I have at the treatment you’ve been dealt by the system.”

But in all three cases, Murrill told the courts that despite the DNA or blood evidence, the men did not sufficiently prove their innocence.

“They’re taking a position that is inconsistent with what many prosecutors argue every day in seeking conviction,” Zac Crawford, staff attorney at Innocence & Justice Louisiana, a nonprofit law firm specializing in wrongful convictions, said about Murrill’s office. “Prosecutors frequently use DNA testing to match someone to a crime as a means of getting a guilty verdict, and they are not willing to concede that that same evidence also proves innocence.”

Murrill hasn’t confined her fight against compensation claims to the courts, having used threats to prevent at least one exoneree, Calvin Duncan, from even pursuing a claim. After serving 28 years of a life sentence for murder, he accepted a plea deal to secure his release in 2011. Ten years later, a district court judge ruled that he was factually innocent and threw out his conviction, citing the suppression of exonerating evidence by police, among other factors.

When Duncan filed for compensation in 2023, Murrill issued a threat, Duncan said during a recent legislative hearing: drop the claim or she would charge him with perjury for falsely saying he was exonerated. At the time, Duncan was pursuing a law license. He said Murrill added a second warning: If he didn’t drop the claim, she would report him to the bar association to prevent him from getting his license.

Duncan said he reluctantly agreed to withdraw his compensation application, with the understanding that Murrill would then drop the matter. But she didn’t keep her word, Duncan told legislators. During Duncan’s campaign last year for New Orleans criminal court clerk, Murrill sent him a letter threatening “further action from this office” if he didn’t stop referring to himself as being exonerated. “You have not proven you were actually innocent,” she told him.

She then used his plea deal against him, saying, “You knowingly and voluntarily pled guilty to manslaughter and armed robbery.”

Duncan, who declined to comment, won his election but was stripped of his office after legislators, with Landry’s support, eliminated his position. His campaign manager said Duncan has paused his pursuit of a law license in part because of his race for court clerk and Murrill’s persistent threats.

Malcolm Alexander spent nearly 38 years in prison before being exonerated through DNA evidence in 2018. Despite the opposition of Landry, then attorney general, Alexander was later awarded compensation, though he said these claims aren’t all about money. Even more important is that when a judge awards an exoneree compensation, it comes with a definitive ruling that the person is, in fact, innocent.

So while Murrill’s desire to deprive exonerees of money is terrible, Alexander said, her efforts to prevent them from having their names officially cleared are truly reprehensible.

“It Wasn’t Right From Day One”

Brooks was 60 years old and had been in Angola prison for nearly two-thirds of his life when his legal team discovered a wealth of new evidence that appeared to conclusively prove his innocence. Among these items were fingerprints lifted from beer cans held by the shooters during the Welcome Inn bar robbery and fatal shooting. And those fingerprints did not match Brooks’.

In January 2019, Brooks’ legal team filed a motion to overturn his murder conviction. Leon Cannizzaro, the New Orleans district attorney at the time, objected, telling the court that his office did not purposefully withhold any evidence.

Brooks said he was ready to wage a lengthy legal battle to prove he was not a murderer. But five months later, Cannizzaro approached Brooks with an unexpected offer: If he agreed to plead guilty to manslaughter, his life sentence would be reduced to 42 years and he would be allowed to walk out of Angola prison. Brooks agonized over the decision. The idea of standing up in court and saying he had killed someone was unimaginable. But he also didn’t want to die an old man on a rusted prison cot. So he took the deal.

Two years later, as Brooks was struggling to adjust to life outside of prison and still strapped with a felony record, his legal team found a memo in a pile of records they had requested from the district attorney’s office that detailed a 2019 internal meeting with one of the prosecutors at Brooks’ murder trial. He admitted that they didn’t turn over the fingerprint evidence and that it would have been helpful to Brooks’ case, according to the memo.

The meeting had occurred just two weeks before Cannizzaro offered Brooks the plea deal. If Brooks had known about the prosecutor’s admission, he said, he never would have accepted the plea.

“It wasn’t right from day one,” Brooks said.

In 2022, when presented with this new information, the district court agreed. It ruled that the district attorney withheld crucial evidence when offering the plea deal and threw it out along with Brooks’ conviction. Current New Orleans District Attorney Jason Williams declined to retry the case, clearing the way for Brooks to file his compensation claim two years later.

Cannizzaro could not be reached for comment. In a statement issued after Brooks’ 2019 release from prison, the former district attorney said he offered Brooks the plea deal because his office believed he was “rehabilitated and will not go out and reoffend.” Cannizzaro rejected the idea that Brooks was wrongfully convicted, saying at the time that if he were innocent, Brooks and his attorneys would have turned down the deal. “Notably, they did not,” he said.

Murrill is now using that discredited plea deal against Brooks, just as she did in Duncan’s case, in an attempt to quash his compensation claim. In a September 2024 motion, Murrill claimed that by vacating Brooks’ manslaughter conviction while he was a free man and not a prisoner, the court essentially pardoned him. And under the state constitution, only the governor has the power to issue pardons. As a result, she has asked that the court reinstate the manslaughter charge against Brooks.

Murrill did not, however, address the fact that the court vacated the deal because prosecutors intentionally withheld key information, according to court records.

In her motion, Murrill said she only learned the plea deal had been thrown out when Brooks filed his claim. And that, said attorney Harry Daniels, who represents Brooks, is when she started the effort to reinstate charges against him. “It’s only when he started demanding what he’s entitled to for being wrongfully convicted that this even became an issue,” Daniels said.

Brooks has described applying for compensation as torturous, a barricade that is constantly preventing him from being able to move forward. And life has been difficult: His only source of income is his $994-a-month Social Security payment, enough to rent a one-bedroom apartment in a low-income senior center.

There are moments, though, he said, when he allows himself to dream about what he would do with the money. The first would be to buy a bigger headstone for his family gravesite, where his parents, four siblings and a nephew are buried in a single plot in the Green Street Cemetery. All but one died while he was wrongfully imprisoned. There is room on the headstone for only three of the seven names.

“I want to put all our names on there,” he said. “Give them some respect, especially my momma.”

The post He’s Eligible for Up to $480,000 After Being Wrongly Imprisoned for 42 Years. The State Says No. appeared first on ProPublica.

Texas state Rep. James Talarico voted in five elections using his parents’ address after purchasing a home for himself nearby, a practice that may have violated state voting laws, ProPublica and The Texas Tribune found.

This comes weeks after Talarico accused Attorney General Ken Paxton, his opponent in the race for U.S. Senate, of voter fraud for similar actions. The news organizations reported in July that Paxton voted using an address where his estranged wife, state Sen. Angela Paxton, said he hasn’t lived for two years.

Paxton has made eradicating voter fraud a cornerstone of his time in office by advocating strict enforcement of the law, including in cases against voters who allegedly used false addresses when casting ballots. Paxton’s campaign has said he is a “lawful, registered Texas voter” but has repeatedly declined to answer detailed questions about his residency and voting history.

Piecing together Talarico’s voting history is more difficult than it is for Paxton. Talarico, unlike the attorney general, redacts his address on the Travis County voter rolls under a state law that allows some public officials to shield personal information for safety reasons. But unredacted records Talarico’s campaign provided the newsrooms show that he listed his parents’ address on his voter registration in November 2021.

He purchased a home in June 2022 but did not change his voter registration address until September 2024, the news organizations’ review of Travis County records shows. The new address is redacted, but Talarico’s campaign previously told the newsrooms that he currently lives and is registered to vote at the north Austin home he owns.

Talarico’s campaign declined to answer questions about his residency and voting history, including when he began living at the home he owns. Campaign spokesperson JT Ennis said “right-wing actors” had made “credible threats” about trying to locate Talarico and his family.

Texas law requires that residents register to vote where they live. This ensures they are voting for those who actually represent them. The provisions of the law, however, are “broad and vague,” said Andrew Cates, a Texas ethics attorney.

Courts have previously ruled that there is no single way to determine a voter’s residence, and prosecuting such cases requires proof that a voter “knowingly” or “intentionally” broke the law.

Given this, Cates said he doubts that either Talarico or Paxton committed voter fraud, but he said Paxton should be held to a higher standard. As the state’s top lawyer, Paxton is responsible for enforcing election laws and has aggressively pursued alleged violators.

“When the top officials go looking for people to skewer for it, and then do it themselves, it really smacks of hypocrisy,” Cates said.

In 2024, Paxton helped oust judges on Texas’ highest criminal court who prevented him from unilaterally prosecuting election crimes. And, two weeks before this year’s primary election, Paxton announced the creation of an election fraud tip line. His office warned Texans that “it is illegal to misrepresent your residence on election records or to establish a residence for the purpose of influencing the outcome of an election.”

Paxton’s unyielding stance on election crimes fueled charges from Talarico and other critics that he considers himself above the law.

“Our Republican secretary of state here in Texas has already said that our elections are safe and secure,” Talarico said at a Houston campaign event last month. “But as our state’s attorney general, Ken Paxton has gone on a voter fraud witch hunt. Turns out, he was committing voter fraud the whole time.”

Last week, Paxton hit back.

In a news release and on social media, Paxton said Talarico broke state law, citing reports from conservative news outlets suggesting the Democrat had not lived in the district for at least a year when he was elected to the Texas House in 2022. Talarico, Paxton said, “blatantly committed election fraud showing a complete disregard for Texas residency requirements.”

Records provided by Talarico’s campaign appear to show that he did comply with residency requirements during the period scrutinized by the conservative outlets.

In October 2021, Talarico announced he would move to the area where he grew up after Republicans redrew his Texas House district to favor their party.

Talarico updated his address to his parents’ home in the new House district on his voter registration, on his driver’s license and with the U.S. Postal Service on Nov. 5, 2021, according to records his campaign provided. Those include a photo of his voter registration application and screenshots of receipts from the Texas Department of Public Safety and USPS. Talarico also rented a 10-foot U-Haul moving truck for six hours that day, according to a screenshot of a receipt.

The changes happened three days before the one-year cutoff, making him eligible to run for that seat.

The records also contradict a claim by one of the conservative outlets that there was no evidence Talarico moved to his parents’ house when he registered to vote there. Paxton seized on that report to accuse Talarico of voter fraud during the 2022 election.

The newsrooms’ findings about Talarico are different because they analyzed the period after the lawmaker purchased a home and found that he continued to vote using his parents’ address. Talarico’s house is in the same county as his parents’ home, which is about 6 miles away. It is in the state House district he represents but in different jurisdictions for some local elections.

Asked about the apparent discrepancy in Talarico’s voter registration and residency, his campaign shifted blame onto the attorney general.

“This is a lame attempt by Ken Paxton to deflect from his own hypocrisy and career of corruption,” Ennis said in a statement, nodding to Paxton’s legal troubles.

Paxton was impeached by the Texas House in 2023 and investigated by the Department of Justice over corruption charges. The state Senate acquitted him, and the federal government dropped its case. Paxton also spent nearly nine years under indictment for felony securities fraud charges that were dropped in 2024.

For his part, Paxton and his campaign on Monday again did not answer questions about the news organizations’ finding that he voted six times over a two-year period while registered at a Collin County home where he appeared to no longer live. It is unclear where Paxton lived during that time, but the publications’ reporting has linked him, and a woman believed to be his girlfriend, to a home in neighboring Denton County since February. As the home is in a different county, voters there select an entirely different slate of local officials than in Collin County.

Paxton spokesperson Madison Cercy doubled down on accusations that Talarico was ineligible to be elected to his seat and also committed voter fraud.

“The only person who has committed voter fraud in the Texas Senate race is James Talarico,” she said. She did not provide evidence of Talarico’s alleged lawbreaking beyond the reports from the conservative outlets.

Matthew Wilson, a political science professor at Southern Methodist University, argued Paxton’s and Talarico’s cases highlight how easy it can be to “run afoul of the letter of the law,” even as Republican lawmakers push for more stringent enforcement of voting restrictions.

“I think it could be reasonably used as a charge of hypocrisy against either of them because both of them have condemned the other for an action quite similar to what they themselves appear to have done,” Wilson said.

The post James Talarico Accused Ken Paxton of Voter Fraud. His Own Voter Registration Is Raising Questions. appeared first on ProPublica.

In the last 10 months, residents in neighborhoods across Omaha, Nebraska, have contacted the city and federal government after tests by the Flatwater Free Press and ProPublica showed they had enough of the toxic metal in their yards for the dirt to be dug up and replaced under Environmental Protection Agency rules.

But the responses they’ve received have been inconsistent.

Three of them received new testing and were promised additional cleanup. Yet others were denied a new cleanup or told the news organizations they never heard back. 

One resident said the city tested her yard, found it exceeded the EPA’s lead contamination level and sent her a letter saying cleanup was necessary. Months later the city backtracked, saying she did not qualify because she lived outside the primary cleanup zone. Another said she called 14 times before the city told her it would not retest because she hadn’t built or demolished anything in her yard since the EPA replaced the soil in 2012. 

The EPA and the city have spent decades cleaning up residential properties in east Omaha after a century of pollution from a lead smelter and other factories downtown. The EPA had set a lead level that it uses to determine which properties to clean up, and the news organizations’ tests found these residents’ yards were over the limit.

But the city said that according to EPA rules, it can’t rely on testing by the newsrooms or any other groups to drive testing and cleanup decisions.

Peter Olson thought he was one of the lucky ones. His yard was one of thousands that the federal government had dug up and replaced since cleanup began in 1999. But a Flatwater Free Press and ProPublica soil test conducted in September showed he had too much of the toxic metal in the yard. When his wife contacted the EPA, Olson hoped a federal employee would offer another test and cleanup.

Instead, all the agency could do was examine a small area in the backyard where a deck once stood, according to an email Olson shared from an EPA project manager for the site. The rest of the yard, including an area that was high for lead in the news organizations’ tests, was ineligible, the agency said without explaining why.

The city told Mary Royers it could test her soil because a shed had been demolished and a garage had been built in her backyard, which could have disturbed or uncovered contaminated soil. Unlike with Olson, the city analyzed the whole yard and agreed to clean up several areas around her house. 

Olson said he and his wife agreed to the more limited testing the EPA offered them, though they worry about what might be in the rest of their yard. They’re currently waiting for the testing.

Omahans’ dirt generally qualifies for cleanup if it has more than 400 parts per million of lead in it — about the equivalent of a marble dispersed in a 10-gallon bucket of soil. The EPA adopted that standard in 2009. To date, contractors have dug up and replaced nearly 14,000 yards, mostly in a 27-square-mile area on the city’s east side, which has been declared a federal Superfund site. In 2015, the agency handed over remaining remediation work to Omaha.

Asked about the different responses residents have received, EPA spokesperson Kellen Ashford said in an email that each property is unique, and new sampling depends heavily on whether site conditions have changed because of construction or demolition that might have disturbed or exposed the soil.

“EPA strives to be fair and equitable in its decision-making process while adjusting to changes in agency policies, funding, and cleanup approaches,” he said.

Steve Zivny, who leads Omaha’s Lead Information Office, also said these decisions are made on a case-by-case basis. The city is able to test and clean up within the site but must seek approval from the EPA before doing any work outside those boundaries. The city is paid with settlement money from the smelter and other polluters.

Recently, the city sent letters to some residents outside the boundaries of the Superfund site saying they needed cleanup but reversed course after the EPA said the homes would not qualify, Zivny said.

Amy Haney lives about a half-mile outside the site’s western edge, a boundary the EPA drew by estimating where only a small percentage of homes were likely to have high lead levels. As a result, Haney’s home was never tested. But a Flatwater Free Press and ProPublica test found it had nearly 1.5 times the level that would qualify for a lead cleanup. 

The result felt like a “kick in the gut,” she said. The news organizations tested 35 properties within a three-quarter-mile radius of Haney’s home. Four, including Haney’s house, were above the cleanup level.

Haney contacted the city, which told her the EPA would retest her home this summer.

While the EPA has cleaned up homes outside the site in the past, Ashford said any sampling beyond the site’s bounds right now is for investigative purposes only, and those homeowners may not be eligible for remediation. 

The agency’s priority is cleaning up within the Superfund site as well as properties that impact children, he said.

Even when kids test high for lead, however, the city and the EPA don’t always retest yards.

Sabrina, a north Omaha resident whose soil we tested, said doctors found lead in three of her children. (She asked that her last name not be published to protect their identities.) In 2020, after her daughter’s blood-lead test, the city and a nonprofit replaced windows that contained lead-based paint. But they didn’t test the yard.

The only information Sabrina said she received about the dirt was the EPA test results from 2003 that showed the yard didn’t qualify for cleanup.

“I felt like that was kind of a lazy response,” Sabrina said. Despite the window replacements, doctors have found lead in her other kids’ blood.

The Flatwater Free Press and ProPublica tested her soil in May and found the lead was over the cleanup level and twice as high as the EPA’s 2003 test records showed. 

Sabrina requested a new test, but the city denied it, saying no work had been done on the property and it couldn’t rely on the newsrooms’ results. 

Zivny said the city has asked the EPA to revisit that decision in light of her children’s blood test results.

The post Lead Contamination Is Still a Problem in Omaha. Why Is the City Cleaning Up Some Yards and Not Others? appeared first on ProPublica.

Texas Gov. Greg Abbott responded with fury after Corpus Christi officials announced in March that this Gulf Coast region of more than 500,000 people could face unprecedented restrictions as its water supply dried up.

The state had already committed over $750 million in low-interest loans to the city’s plans for a desalination plant, a project that would add 30 million gallons a day to the region’s water supply. But the project had gone nowhere.

“You know what they did? They squandered it, and then they changed their plan and then they were indecisive about what to do,” Abbott said of city officials in a heated response to a reporter’s question at an unrelated March press conference.

“What Corpus Christi leaders have to do is make a decision,” Abbott said. “We can only give them a little time more before the state of Texas has to take over and micromanage that city and run that city to make sure that every resident who goes to the water tap and turns it on, they are going to be getting water out of their faucet, not because of what local leaders are doing but because of what the state of Texas will do.”

Even as Abbott was demanding that Corpus Christi get its act together, another agency, whose entire board Abbott appoints, was also coming undone.

In late June, board members of the Nueces River Authority learned that funding for a desalination plant the agency hopes to build, separate from the city’s, is months from running out. Additionally, the agency was spending more than it was taking in, and other contracts that had kept the authority financially afloat had been canceled.

Although the river authority’s project is a critical part of efforts to expand the region’s water supply, so far, the governor hasn’t threatened to take over the agency’s day-to-day operations. He’s consistently placed the burden of responsibility on the NRA board.

But Abbott has previously demonstrated that he can use his authority to compel other agencies to act: In March, he instructed a different river authority not to reduce Corpus Christi’s water allocation from Lake Texana. He also had the state’s environmental agency waive regulations so the city could move groundwater from Nueces County, which includes Corpus Christi, to its water treatment plant.

As far back as October 2022, while he was campaigning for reelection, Abbott said in an interview with KRIS 6 News that the state was working with the city and Nueces County on a desalination plan. If the city did not pursue the project, “then the state of Texas will do it for them,” the governor said. But the state is not currently involved in the city’s desalination project.

The governor appoints all 21 members of the NRA’s board and designates its president. With a majority vote of the river authority board, Abbott also can remove any board member for inefficiency, neglect of duty or misconduct. He has no such control over the Corpus Christi City Council.

Political scientists and water policy researchers who reviewed the situation told KRIS 6 News that Abbott’s decision to pressure Corpus Christi while leaving the NRA to address its problems largely on its own reflects a selective use of power. While recent rains have helped delay, though not prevent, an immediate water emergency for Corpus Christi, experts say the region still needs to develop new infrastructure projects to secure its long-term water supply.

Should water supplies drop below certain levels, Corpus Christi residents and businesses — including oil refineries and petrochemical plans — would be required to cut water use by 25 % under the city’s current Level 1 water emergency plan. Households would be capped at using 6,000 gallons of water per month, landscape watering would be banned and there would be surcharges imposed on those who exceed their allotments.

“The city of Corpus Christi needs a lot of help, it doesn’t need threats, and the Nueces River Authority is in way over its head,” said Cal Jillson, a political science professor at Southern Methodist University. “The water crisis in Corpus Christi and beyond in Southeast Texas is serious, and it’s not clear that anyone has the breadth of authority and resources to deal with it.”

What Power Does Abbott Have?

The public troubles for the NRA bubbled up as far back as March, when the agency’s then-chief operating officer sent a letter to board members accusing Executive Director John Byrum of making “materially inaccurate” statements about the authority’s finances related to the planned desalination project.

KRIS 6 reached out to the governor’s office in the spring about the accusations.

“Every member of a Texas board or commission should uphold the highest standards of integrity, transparency, and accountability in service of the people of Texas,” Abbott press secretary Andrew Mahaleris wrote in a statement. “Governor Abbott expects a thorough investigation into the allegations brought forth and for the Board to act swiftly once the investigation is complete.”

The board eventually cleared Byrum of “intentional wrongdoing,” but the NRA declined to release a copy of the investigation to KRIS 6 in response to a public information request; the Texas office of the attorney general has not yet ruled on whether the report can be withheld. The news organization asked the governor’s office for his response to the investigation and the board’s decision, but he did not respond.

The river authority’s unstable finances became even more apparent at a board meeting in late June, when the agency’s chief financial officer confirmed the NRA could be out of money for the desalination project by the end of August if certain contracts didn’t materialize. Since then, three of the agency’s desalination contracts, which the authority was depending on to stay afloat, expired and have not yet been renewed. KRIS 6 News asked the governor’s office whether it was aware of the agency’s continuing problems. Mahaleris again referred the news organization back to board members.

“The NRA Board oversees the agency’s operations and finances,” Mahaleris wrote June 27. “The Governor appoints board members to the state’s water authorities but does not manage their day-to-day operations. …The Governor expects accountability from appointed boards.”

While Abbott has no direct legal authority over the NRA’s policy decisions, he can use the power of his office to publicly pressure them, Ron Beal, a retired Baylor University School of Law professor whose work on Texas administrative procedure has been routinely cited by the Texas Supreme Court, wrote in a response to KRIS 6 News.

“He can say that when each member’s term ends, if the water project is not on its way, they will absolutely NOT be re-appointed to the job!” Beal wrote. “In other words, he cannot force them legally to follow his orders, but there is no doubt he has the bully pulpit and if anyone can pressure everyone to work together NOW and get it done ASAP, it is the Governor!!!!”

In a written statement to KRIS 6 News for this story, Abbott again placed responsibility on both the Corpus Christi City Council and the NRA board but did not address most of the specific questions asked.

“Despite the temporary reprieve granted by recent rain, the Governor’s expectations for the region have not changed. … The Corpus Christi City Council created this crisis through repeated failure to act on desalination,” Mahaleris wrote. “The Council remains responsible for securing reliable water for their citizens. The Nueces River Authority Board is responsible for the agency’s finances” and the desalination project.

The governor’s office did not answer questions about whether Abbott has taken steps to coordinate among the city, the NRA and other stakeholders, or about what “accountability from appointed boards” looks like in practice.

Even as the governor’s office has publicly distanced itself from the NRA’s operations, it has fought to keep from releasing its own communications with the river authority’s leadership.

KRIS 6 News filed a public information request on July 2 seeking emails, text messages, meeting notes and correspondence between the governor and members of his staff and Byrum, the NRA executive director, and NRA board President Eric Burnett. The request covered the river authority’s desalination project and any state funding, grants or loan guarantees related to those efforts.

The governor’s office confirmed on July 17 that it had records that met the parameters of the request. It did not release them. Instead, the office asked the attorney general’s office for permission to withhold the documents. The office argued that the records relate to a proposed water facility project for which state funding may be sought and that releasing them would “seriously disadvantage Texas,” but did not explain how. Abbott’s office also said the records reflect policy advice between the governor’s office and representatives of another state agency; this type of communication can sometimes be withheld under the state’s public information law.

The river authority has struggled to keep up with the demands of the desalination project, which is estimated to cost $6.4 billion. Design work on the pipeline that’s supposed to deliver the desalinated water stalled because the river authority hasn’t offered the company building it a new contract. Byrum, the executive director, has claimed President Donald Trump promised funding for the project, but the river authority has never actually made a formal request to the White House.

Jillson pointed to a fundamental mismatch between the NRA and the scale of the desalination project it’s trying to complete. The NRA staff is small, with an annual budget of up to about $5 million. It’s governed by unpaid, part-time board members who historically meet quarterly to provide broad direction.

He said the governor should direct someone in his office to determine whether the NRA has the personnel and expertise to execute a project of this scale and, if it doesn’t, to act on that finding. Without that kind of direct link between the governor’s office and the agency, Jillson said, “what you’re saying is, ‘We expect these guys to oversee themselves.’”

Byrum wrote in a response to KRIS 6 News that the authority “has the experience to oversee” the project and the option to hire additional staff if required.

The river authority did recently secure one large contract for the project: In May, the NRA selected Israel-based IDE Technologies as its development partner for the desalination plant.

Abbott toured a desalination facility in Israel run by IDE in January 2016. At the time, IDE said Abbott “expressed his intention to partner with Israeli technology companies such as IDE to develop and deploy water solutions for Texas,” as reported by Wastewater Digest.

KRIS 6 News asked if the governor, or anyone in his office, was involved in the NRA’s selection of IDE.

Byrum wrote that the “Governor’s office was not involved.” KRIS 6 News asked the governor the same question, but his spokesperson did not respond.

The Takeover Question

Abbott has a record of curbing the power of Texas cities like Corpus Christi to govern themselves. In 2015, he signed a bill that overrode a voter-approved fracking ban in Denton in North Texas and blocked cities from banning or restricting oil and gas drilling. In 2023, he signed the so-called “Death Star” bill, which preempted city authority over eight policy areas, including labor, natural resources, insurance and property.

Republican state Rep. Denise Villalobos, who represents the Corpus Christi region, previously told KRIS 6 that Abbott directed her to draft a bill that would create a state-level water infrastructure authority, something she compared to the state’s highway department.

If adopted by the Legislature when it meets next year, such an authority would take many decisions about future water supplies away from locals.

Villalobos did not comment for this story. Abbott’s office did not answer questions about the proposed legislation.

Corpus Christi City Manager Peter Zanoni told KRIS 6 this summer that his office had looked into how a takeover would work and found no examples in Texas of the state stepping in to run a water operation or water corporation. The closest parallel, he said, is the state’s ability to take over ailing school districts.

Abbott’s threat to take over Corpus Christi’s desalination project runs into other unsettled legal territory the governor’s office has not addressed publicly, said Gabriel Collins, a lawyer and research fellow at Rice University’s Baker Institute for Public Policy who studies water and energy policy.

Under Texas law, surface water, meaning rivers and lakes, is public property, giving the state a clear line of authority. Water pumped from the ground is considered private property, belonging to the person who owns the land above it, and is regulated locally.

Desalinated seawater fits into neither category. Collins said a legal case could theoretically be made that water drawn from within 3 miles of shore falls under state jurisdiction, but he said he isn’t aware of anyone making that argument in this context.

“That would be a massive shift in water policy in the state of Texas,” Collins said.

But the legal question may be less important than a practical one, Collins said. Would a state takeover of Corpus Christi water regulators, even if it could be done, actually make a difference?

“Or would you be better off resolving those fundamental problems by having the state be a catalyst and a facilitator financially that helps the local political authorities solve a problem?” Collins said.

The post Greg Abbott Blasted Corpus Christi for Its Water Crisis. A River Authority He Has Power Over Is Falling Apart. appeared first on ProPublica.

Decades after the last plume of lead-laced smoke rose from a smelting plant in Omaha, Nebraska, the Flatwater Free Press and ProPublica found lead in concentrations that pose a threat to people’s health in soil throughout east Omaha. 

Our investigation began more than two years ago, when Leah Keinama, who previously worked for a food security nonprofit, could not find up-to-date information about lead contamination for gardeners in Omaha. Keinama, now the director of civic journalism at the Nebraska Journalism Trust, and reporters at the Flatwater Free Press knew about the city’s refining history, so they teamed up to find out whether concerns about lead exposure were still warranted all these years later.  

The Environmental Protection Agency declared a 27-square-mile area within the city a hazardous waste zone, known as a Superfund site, after the American Smelting and Refining Company closed in the 1990s. That prompted a lengthy period of testing and remediation. Today, unless Omaha residents pay for private testing, there aren’t many avenues to find out how much lead is in their soil if their property had been tested by the city and EPA in the past.

A Community-Informed Investigation 

Throughout our reporting, we heard from hundreds of Omaha residents who said they didn’t know about the city’s lead history. Some said they believed that because the EPA had already cleaned up thousands of properties that had high concentrations of lead in the soil, there was nothing to worry about. 

Our goal was to reach people in every neighborhood in and around the Superfund site. So we knocked on doors, hung up flyers around town, visited a community health center, attended multiple events, partnered with local libraries, and spoke to a college classroom to invite people to sign up for free soil testing. We also posted our online form in various social media channels and shared the news with other local media. We made our reporting available in Spanish, as roughly 10% of residents living within the Superfund site don’t speak English.

Flatwater Free Press initially partnered with local libraries and a community-based organization to distribute do-it-yourself kits with instructions on how to collect a soil sample. We received fewer than 100 samples using this method before switching to a sign-up system in which residents indicated they wanted our team to collect soil from their yard.

After a resident signed up for testing, a member of the reporting team (usually Keinama or Flatwater Free Press reporter Chris Bowling) went to their home, put on latex gloves, wiped down a stainless steel spoon with an unscented wipe and scooped about 3 to 4 tablespoons of soil from the middle of the yard into a sealable vial. We made sure not to collect samples too close to the house or too close to the road, which the EPA has found can be overly contaminated by paint or the remnants of leaded gasoline, respectively. When demand for testing increased, we hired two part-time soil collectors.

We sent labeled samples to Accurate Analytical Testing, an EPA-accredited lab, for $10 per test. Once we received the results from the lab, we informed residents (unless they had opted out of receiving their result) and put together a guide to answer some of their top questions. 

Our soil collection process differed from the EPA’s method of taking multiple composite samples from five sections of the yard. We chose to take a single sample from one area of each yard to reach more people and keep costs reasonable. In a few cases, we took multiple samples from the same yard and tested each sample individually but used only the highest result for our analysis.

The EPA said sampling a single area “can be strongly biased high or low” compared to composite sampling. However, several of the nine environmental contamination experts we spoke to said single samples can offer broad conclusions about contamination in an area when enough are collected, which several experts felt we had achieved. Some said our sampling would likely underestimate contamination on a property. 

Other experts said our testing method would not accurately depict lead levels across a particular yard because of how variable the contamination can be. At the same time, experts also told us the EPA’s method of gathering multiple composite samples can still miss hot spots or underestimate contamination. 

What We Found

Over the past two years, we used the EPA’s sampling protocol as guidance to collect soil from 620 homes in and just outside of the Omaha Superfund site. (We’re continuing to collect samples from the nearby cities of Bellevue, Nebraska; Carter Lake, Iowa; and Council Bluffs, Iowa.)

We matched each home at which we took a soil sample with Omaha’s lead registry, which includes details like the address’ remediation status and results of the EPA’s testing, and compared our test results with historic data. Some homes that had previously undergone the EPA’s remediation process had high levels of lead contamination, our analysis found.  

• We tested 150 previously remediated yards. One in 10 of those yards’ results came back with a concentration greater than 400 parts per million, the level the EPA used to decide which yards to clean up.
• Nearly all of the previously remediated yards that tested above 400 parts per million are within 100 yards of another property that originally tested above the EPA cleanup threshold but was never remediated. A third had two such neighboring properties. That proximity could mean that the previously cleaned-up yards we tested were recontaminated by properties where the soil was never replaced, one expert said.
• Many of the 241 homes we tested within the Superfund site that had never been remediated also showed high levels of lead. Of those homes, 1 in 20 had a concentration higher than 400 parts per million, according to our test results.
• Across Omaha, 41% of the 620 yards we tested had more than 100 parts per million in their soil sample, a level that an EPA model shows could cause high blood-lead levels in children. Within the Superfund site, more than half of the almost 390 yards we tested had more than 100 parts per million. 

Our testing shows that lead contamination at levels that pose a risk to residents’ health is fairly widespread — even in sites that the EPA previously addressed.

Throughout our reporting, we spoke to nine experts in environmental and lead contamination to make sense of our findings. Several said the EPA should do more testing and possibly cleanup in Omaha.

We asked the EPA about our findings. The agency said it will work with the city of Omaha to “investigate the outcomes you have noted” and work with the city and property owners to take corrective action if needed in accordance with 2009 cleanup guidelines.

The post The EPA Doesn’t Typically Retest Homes in the Country’s Largest Residential Lead Superfund Site. So We Did. appeared first on ProPublica.

Shortly after buying her house in 2022, Mary Royers learned from a man across the street that her Omaha, Nebraska, neighborhood was contaminated with lead. But her yard, like thousands of others, had been cleaned up, the neighbor said.

Royers wanted to be sure. So the 36-year-old educator checked a website where the city tracks the soil test results of every home in a 27-square-mile area surrounding the site of an old lead smelter. She saw “remediated” written in bright green letters. The federal government had completed the work two decades ago. An expert must have tested the dirt and determined the problem was solved, she thought.

Relieved, Royers set about sowing the garden of her dreams. Hours disappeared as she thrust her hands into the soil, tearing up the grass and planting purple coneflower for bees to harvest and prairie grass to sway in the breeze.

“You have the green light from the city. That means everything’s safe,” she said. “I remember thinking, ‘Thank God I don’t have to worry about that.’”

But a soil test conducted last fall by the Flatwater Free Press and ProPublica found otherwise: Royers’ yard still has more than 1.5 times the level of lead that the Environmental Protection Agency’s cleanup was supposed to have eliminated.

Reading the emailed results, she felt “gut-wrenching disbelief,” she said.

“All I could think about was the dirt under my nails and all over my face,” said Royers, who has largely given up gardening for now. She explained later, “It felt like a betrayal of that trust.”

Since 1999, the EPA has spent $273 million digging up and backfilling nearly 14,000 yards across east Omaha to address contamination left from the smelter and other factories downtown. It’s the largest residential lead cleanup in the country. And the agency’s Superfund program has repeatedly heralded it as a success.

But, it turns out, Omaha’s soil might not be as safe as officials have advertised. The news organizations tested soil from more than 600 properties, including 150 that the EPA said had been cleaned up. In those tests, 1 in 10 yards marked as remediated still had enough lead to qualify for cleanup under the original guidelines. And nearly a quarter of the properties we tested in east Omaha could qualify for further study under new guidance released by the Trump administration last fall.

The results suggest the EPA has more work to do, said Howard Mielke, a longtime researcher of lead-contaminated soil who’s considered one of the field’s foremost experts. Not only should the agency clean up the areas that tested above the remediation level, he said, but it also should test other homes.

“If you find a couple of high results, chances are many high results will be nearby,” said Mielke, an adjunct professor at the Tulane University School of Medicine.

Some experts and environmental advocates said our findings reflect weaknesses in the EPA’s approach to cleaning up residential lead sites, which can leave a lot of lead behind.

Jeff Tittel, former director of the Sierra Club in New Jersey, the state with the most Superfund sites, said he repeatedly watched the EPA declare its work done after wrongly assuming everything had been cleaned up.

“On paper, everything’s wonderful,” he said, “but at the sites, there’s still chaos.”

The EPA declined an interview request with senior officials overseeing the Omaha cleanup.

In an emailed response, spokesperson Kellen Ashford said the EPA is committed to cleaning up contaminated sites to protect residents and the environment. “The diligent cleanup efforts have led to a dramatic decrease in elevated blood lead levels” in Omaha, he said. (While the percentage of kids testing high for lead has dropped significantly, as it has nationally, kids in the Omaha site still test high for lead at rates above the national average.)

Ashford said the EPA could not assess the news organizations’ results without further investigation, but property owners can reach out to the EPA or the city of Omaha, which now manages the site for the federal government, if they have concerns.

“Because it would not be possible to completely remove all lead,” Ashford said, the EPA and the city also try to educate the community about lead risks and precautions.

The city is already responding to the news organization’s findings.

The day after receiving her results, Royers forwarded them to the city’s lead office, asking if anything could be done. An employee tested her dirt and found even higher levels than the news organizations did. The city plans to clean the yard up again in August, Royers said.

But the EPA and the city have refused to clean up or test properties of others who have reached out about their high lead results.

The agency has also not said what it plans to do about properties that are below the current cleanup level but above President Donald Trump’s new screening level, which could prompt further action. Any update would come after a new site study the agency plans to release in October 2027, Ashford said.

Royers and her partner, Stephen Matthews, are thankful for the new cleanup, but they wonder: How many other Omahans may be misled or unaware about lead contamination in their yards?

“We’re one house out of thousands,” Matthews said.

What Might Have Gone Wrong

It’s difficult to identify why some cleaned-up properties still test high for lead.

That’s in part because Omaha’s lead problem is almost as old as the city itself. The American Smelting and Refining Company produced lead to make batteries, cover cables and enrich gasoline for more than a century. After the smelter closed in 1997, the EPA estimated the plant and other factories had dumped 200,000 tons of lead dust — enough to fill at least 1,600 rail cars — across Omaha’s east side.

At the time, the Superfund program, which had started only a decade before, was still trying to figure out how to clean up residential sites like Omaha’s, then home to 125,000 people. Old factory sites could be bulldozed and excavated, the contaminated material carted away. But the Omaha site involved people’s homes and yards.

The agency tested nearly every yard in east Omaha and came up with a plan: It would dig up and replace parts of yards that had a concentration of more than 400 parts per million of lead — the equivalent of a marble in a 10-pound bucket of dirt.

But that meant that some properties were cleaned up while neighboring ones that had only slightly lower levels of lead were not.

Hewing to that kind of strict standard doesn’t make sense, said Gabriel Filippelli, an Indiana University earth sciences professor and longtime lead researcher.

“From a scientific standpoint, a 390 is the same as a 410,” Filippelli said. “It’s the same as a 400. They’re all about the same value.”

Failing to clean up neighboring properties can also lead to recontamination over time. When it’s windy and the ground is dry, tiny lead particles in the dirt — generally about one-hundredth the width of a human hair — become airborne and spread, Filippelli said.

When the Superfund program started, the agency cleaned an entire yard if its average lead level among multiple samples was over the limit.

But by the time the Omaha cleanup started, the method had changed. In Omaha, it divided yards into five sections: two in the backyard, two in the front yard and a thin ring around the home’s perimeter called the dripline, which often contains the most contaminated dirt but can also contain remnants of lead paint.

The agency took multiple samples per section of yard and replaced a section’s soil only if the average was over 400 parts per million. This approach could lead them to miss hot spots or leave behind areas that have high lead levels but are just under the cleanup threshold. Contractors also did not dig up the driplines if another part of the yard wasn’t over the limit.

This could explain why the Flatwater Free Press and ProPublica’s testing found that about 1 in 20 homes that didn’t qualify for cleanup originally now tested above the cleanup threshold. In addition, the news outlets found several properties outside the Superfund site that were over the limit.

In the early days of the cleanup, Don Preister, a longtime Omaha lead advocate and former state senator, argued for the EPA to clean up entire yards and to lower the level of lead that would qualify for remediation, calling the agency’s solution a half-measure.

But the EPA decided that its approach made the most of limited money and prioritized the highest-risk areas. One EPA manager told Omahans in 2004 that the choice to remove only sections of yards was “economical,” according to meeting records.

“It brought out feelings of hurt,” Preister said of the EPA’s choice. “Children are likely to still be impacted, and their health affected.”

The EPA’s national guidelines did advise against “‘patchwork clean-up’ patterns which are prone to recontamination” when adjacent sections are high. But the agency didn’t give clear guidance on how to implement that, several former site managers said, and some felt they had to follow the rules strictly or risk violating federal law or agreements with companies paying to clean up their pollution.

Ashford acknowledged that the agency has to adhere strictly to its cleanup plans but said in some cases, like an industrial site near a residential area, the EPA may clean up to a lower level to prevent recontamination.

Another problem was that east Omaha was full of older homes that contained lead paint that could recontaminate cleaned soil over time. Following local pressure, the EPA agreed to test homes’ paint. If it contained lead, the agency repainted the outside. But the EPA did not repaint houses whose soil did not also qualify for cleanup. Studies in urban areas have found homes with deteriorating paint have contaminated nearby gardens.

Ashford said an EPA study found most lead-based paint contamination in Omaha was within 6 feet of the house.

Brenda González Rocha, who has lived in her south Omaha home since 2020, thinks both soil and paint are to blame for the lead that doctors found in her 4-year-old daughter’s blood. Her basement had lead paint, which she hired a company to fix.

But although the EPA cleaned up her yard in 2012, the Flatwater Free Press and ProPublica tests found levels of lead that are higher than before the agency remediated it. González is surrounded by properties with lingering lead. A yard down the street that had high lead levels was never remediated. The banks of the nearby highway were never dug up and replaced. The house next door has lead paint on it, according to the city lead website.

Ashford said it’s unlikely that wind-blown dust from one house to another would recontaminate cleaned areas with enough lead to surpass the cleanup level.

But nearly all the remediated properties the newsrooms tested that were over the cleanup threshold are within 100 yards of a property that originally qualified for remediation but wasn’t cleaned up. A third had two such neighboring properties.

González’s eight kids, between 8 months and 22 years old, love to play outside. They jump on the trampoline, ride bikes and play soccer. Now González is anxious whenever they’re in the yard.

“I worry that this could affect their quality of life,” she said. “I would feel bad if something happened to them during their development. I would feel responsible.”

“Benign Neglect”

Once the EPA chooses a fix for a Superfund site, it is generally required to review the site every five years to update the public on the progress of the cleanup. But the ways those reviews are done leave unanswered questions about whether the solution is working and how much lead is in Omaha today, said experts who examined the reports for the Flatwater Free Press and ProPublica.

In their reviews, government officials in Omaha track how intact the grass is on top of the new soil. If it is exposed or has been disturbed, it could be a sign that any remaining lead is no longer safely underground and could blow around.

But they don’t retest a representative sample of properties.

Cleanups often take several tries to get right, said Tittel, the former New Jersey Sierra Club director, and recontamination or missed contamination can be a huge problem.

Tittel said he has seen similar patterns in New Jersey. In 1979, Tittel helped show EPA employees where the Ford Motor Company dumped industrial waste into abandoned mine pits. Since then, he has seen the mess declared a Superfund site, marked safe, become a Superfund site again and spawn a lawsuit that Ford settled in 2009 as locals continued discovering more hazards.

“It’s sort of a benign neglect when it comes to these sites,” Tittel said. “Government just wants to get it over with because it’s taking so long. They end up cutting corners or looking the other way.”

A Ford spokesperson said the company takes its environmental responsibility seriously and has been working with state and federal officials to clean up the site.

Retesting soil does not appear to be standard at other sites, according to reviews examined by the Flatwater Free Press and ProPublica. But it should be, said Debbie Chizewer, a managing attorney with the environmental law group Earthjustice. Without ongoing testing, the EPA can’t really know if its solution is working, she said, and residents won’t know how toxins in the environment are impacting their health.

“I think for the five-year review to be meaningful, you need to do testing,” she said.

Ashford said the EPA retests properties on a case-by-case basis, such as when construction disturbs the soil. The periodic reviews, which in Omaha have led to an ongoing reevaluation of the site’s cleanup level, allow the EPA to ensure these unique, complex sites protect people and the environment over time, he said.

Steve Zivny, who leads Omaha’s Lead Information Office, also said new testing and cleanup decisions depend on factors such as whether kids live at the home and whether they have tested for a high lead exposure.

The EPA’s reviews of the Omaha site do point to some potential problems. In 2024, inspectors found 98% of the lawns had been disturbed, indicating a risk that buried lead could be exposed. That includes having weeds, bare soil or demolished buildings. But the EPA tested only 32 sites where homes had been demolished and found six exceeded the cleanup level. To them, that indicated the solution was “generally protective; however, more data should be collected to support this conclusion,” according to the report.

Those figures, however, trouble Ian von Lindern, who oversaw lead cleanup at an Idaho Superfund site for more than 30 years. He doesn’t doubt the federal government did a good job hauling away tons of toxins in Omaha. But he’s sure they couldn’t get all of it.

At the Idaho site, the EPA requires people to request permits from a local health district before digging in their yards. Local health employees can also test residents’ dirt, and, if it’s above the cleanup level, it may qualify for further remediation.

Without someone keeping a close eye on the fixes, recontamination can occur as people dig up lead-contaminated soil or unremediated soil is allowed to blow around.

“Those remedies are, I don’t want to use the word failing, but they’re becoming less effective,” he said.

Royers worries many homes in Omaha fit that description.

This summer, the educator is letting the weeds grow freely in her garden. Pretty soon, the city is going to replace it anyway.

The thought makes her feel guilty. More people should know about potential lead in their yard and have access to tests and cleanups. But that would require acknowledging that after decades and hundreds of millions of dollars spent, there are cracks in the cleanup. Royers isn’t sure that will happen.

“The priority is pretending like things are OK,” she said. “Clearly it’s not.”

The post The EPA Spent Millions Cleaning Up a Massive Superfund Site. Our Tests Found Toxic Levels of Lead in Many Yards. appeared first on ProPublica.

Two government watchdog groups have demanded investigations into whether Federal Communications Commission members violated ethics requirements by accepting luxury gala tickets from Paramount as the company sought government approval for its $111 billion acquisition of Warner Bros. Discovery.

The complaints filed by Democracy Defenders Fund and Citizens for Responsibility and Ethics in Washington cite a recent ProPublica investigation that detailed how CBS or its parent company, now Paramount, have for years given FCC commissioners tickets to the Kennedy Center honors gala, which the television network sponsors. The commissioners accepted the gifts even as the FCC was reviewing or about to review major Paramount business decisions, including two megamergers.

Commissioner Olivia Trusty’s most recent financial disclosure said Paramount gave her two tickets to the December 2025 honors gala that together were worth more than $12,000. Trusty was one of two commissioners who voted last year to approve Paramount’s merger with another media company, Skydance.

ProPublica’s investigation found FCC members had long enjoyed a night out at the Kennedy Center courtesy of CBS or its parent company. Seven of the 10 commissioners who served since 2016 accepted tickets worth more than $260,000, according to a ProPublica analysis of ethics disclosures.

FCC Chair Brendan Carr’s financial statements show he has reported accepting honors gala tickets from CBS or its parent company eight times since his 2017 appointment to the commission, totaling over $75,000 in gifts.

Carr, who also voted in favor of the Paramount-Skydance merger last year, sat with his wife in a private skybox at the December gala with Paramount CEO David Ellison and other executives from Paramount and CBS. Such seats sold for $125,000 a ticket, according to Kennedy Center guidelines.

Carr disclosed on his latest financial statement that he accepted tickets from Paramount for himself and a guest to the 2025 gala and reception worth $12,390. Carr did not respond to a request from ProPublica to clarify the apparent difference in value between those tickets and the skybox seats. 

The FCC only released Carr’s disclosure late on Friday, more than a month after ProPublica had first requested it. The document says the agency certified it on June 22. 

Federal ethics rules ban employees from taking gifts from any entity that does business with, is regulated by or seeks official action from their agency.

“The federal gift regulations and the gratuities statute exist to ensure that government decisions are made on the merits, free from the influence of private benefits,” the Democracy Defenders Fund said in its complaint. “The public must have confidence that the FCC’s merger review process is not compromised by self-dealing or the appearance of impropriety.”

Carr, Trusty and the FCC did not respond to requests for comment. The agency’s inspector general declined to comment. An FCC spokesperson previously told ProPublica that agency ethics officers have for years cleared commissioners to accept the tickets, finding it consistent with ethics law. And Paramount’s chief of communications said it was a decades-long “CBS practice to invite government officials from both parties” to the Kennedy Center show. Carr last year defended the FCC’s approval of the Paramount merger with Skydance, saying it “advances the public interest.”

The FCC’s review of the Paramount-Warner Bros. merger is one of the final federal hurdles facing a historic consolidation of two of the five largest film studios in Hollywood. The deal would unite Paramount Skydance with Warner Bros., bringing under the control of one company Paramount+ and HBO Max streaming services; CBS and CNN; and scores of other major broadcast channels, cable networks and digital platforms.

Four ethics experts told ProPublica that by accepting the tickets, Trusty and Carr had compromised the FCC’s impartiality and should not take part in any upcoming decision on Paramount’s proposed merger.

The Democracy Defenders Fund — led by Norman Eisen, former ambassador to the Czech Republic and White House ethics czar under President Barack Obama — filed its grievance on Thursday with the federal Office of Government Ethics, the FCC’s inspector general and the FCC’s ethics office.

The group said the investigation should examine whether Carr and Trusty broke rules on accepting gifts or broke criminal laws prohibiting federal officials from accepting illegal gratuities.

Carr and Trusty should be required to repay Paramount the “fair market value” of any improper gifts and the federal ethics agency should refrain from certifying Carr’s annual disclosure report until he can prove that he has complied with ethics laws, Democracy Defenders Fund wrote. Its letter to the FCC and the Office of Government Ethics also requests that Carr be disqualified from further participation in the commission’s decision on the Paramount-Warner Bros. Discovery merger.

The nonprofit organization noted that hours after last year’s honors gala ended, Paramount announced it was launching its hostile takeover bid of Warner Bros. Discovery, a move that would later result in a merger agreement that requires FCC approval. About three months later, Carr publicly endorsed the deal on CNBC, promising swift approval.

“The facts that have been reported raise serious questions about the integrity and impartiality of FCC Chairman Carr in particular matters involving Paramount,” including the attempted merger with Warner Bros. Discovery, the letter said.

Citizens for Responsibility and Ethics in Washington, the other group that filed a written protest, requested an FCC inspector general probe of the luxury gifts.

“The reported gifts to FCC officials from businesses that are not only subject to agency regulation but presently engaged in billion-dollar mergers and acquisitions that must be approved by the commissioners themselves are extremely concerning threats to the integrity of FCC operations,” the CREW letter stated.

CREW, founded in 2003 as a nonpartisan organization dedicated to government accountability and ethics, is headed by Donald K. Sherman, a former House Ethics Committee attorney and special assistant to President Joseph Biden.

“Government officials have the power to make decisions that impact huge swaths of the American people,” Sherman said in a statement about the organization’s demand for an inspector general investigation. “With this tremendous power comes a higher ethical standard that apparently wasn’t met. The IG can and must get answers for the public.”

The proposed merger between Paramount and Warner Bros. Discovery has drawn a flurry of legal opposition.

California, New York and 10 other states filed a lawsuit seeking to block the merger under federal and state antimonopoly laws. The Writers Guild of America, the Freedom of the Press Foundation and the Public Interest Project filed similar court challenges in recent weeks.

Paramount has recently agreed to pause its merger until the litigation is resolved or until June 1, 2027, whichever comes first.

The post FCC Commissioners Face Ethics Complaints for Taking Luxury Gifts From Paramount appeared first on ProPublica.

A renewable energy developer has pulled its controversial permit application to build an industrial-scale solar facility on an Eastern Washington mountain sacred to Indigenous nations.

Avangrid, a powerful player in the Northwest’s push for green energy development, sought for at least five years to build a solar plant on Badger Mountain. The project site straddled private as well as public lands. The Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation and the Confederated Tribes and Bands of the Yakama Nation have protected rights to practice cultural traditions, such as food gathering and ceremonies, on Badger Mountain and other ancestral public lands.

A 2024 investigation by High Country News and ProPublica found that Avangrid and a consultant it retained, Tetra Tech, had omitted key archaeological and cultural information from a state-mandated review of the site, which would have been used for a solar farm. Avangrid continued pushing the project despite a state archaeologist’s warning that the planned development would threaten significant historic sites and current ceremonial activity. An elected member of the Colville Tribal Business Council told the newsrooms at the time that the project would destroy roughly half the root vegetable harvest in the area.

An Avangrid spokesperson said then that the company had followed “all relevant law and regulation” with regard to the Badger Mountain solar project and had “taken additional steps to accommodate stakeholder feedback where possible.”

It’s unclear whether the company’s decision to cancel the project had anything to do with Indigenous rights. Avangrid declined to clarify its reasoning to HCN.

The Colville Tribes chair, Cindy Marchand, praised the decision in a statement last week. “While the Colville Tribes certainly appreciates the value of renewable energy such as solar power, sacred sites must remain pristine to pass down to future generations.”

After the publication of HCN and ProPublica’s investigation, some members of the Wenatchi-P’squosa, one of the 12 Confederated Colville Tribes, held a demonstration on Badger Mountain, saying that while they support renewable energy, they’re against facilities being built on important cultural sites. Following the demonstration, Avangrid announced that it would pause development to reconsider tribal input and public response. The public comment process is one of the only avenues available for tribal nations to advocate for their rights regarding land development.

At a meeting of the state’s permitting authority council in July, an Avangrid senior director sought a continued pause of the permitting work, pointing to anticipated construction delays affecting the power grid. At the same meeting, the council chair, Kurt Beckett, characterized concerns over the project’s environmental and cultural impacts as “noise,” but he also said tribal objections should be considered in the state’s permitting decision.

Five days later, Avangrid filed a request to completely withdraw its proposal. And last week, the permitting council formally announced the withdrawal and said it was “closing out existing financial arrangements and notifying interested and agency partners.” It did not provide further comment, referring questions to the developer. The state Department of Natural Resources, which owns the public parcel on Badger Mountain, said it had not received any other requests to develop it for clean energy projects at this time, and a spokesperson did not have additional information about future plans for the site.

No matter the reason for the project’s cancellation at Badger Mountain, the outcome is a good one, said Steven Wynecoop, vice chair of the Wenatchi Advisory Group, an independent body that advises the Colville Tribal Business Council and that organized the 2024 Badger Mountain demonstration.

The mountain is a “very sacred site to us,” said Wynecoop, grandson of the Wenatchi Advisory Group founder Matthew Dick. “Generations, we’ve been going to that mountain for plenty of reasons: medicines, foods like roots and berries.”

The post Solar Developer Cancels Washington State Project on Sacred Indigenous Land appeared first on ProPublica.

A last-ditch legislative attempt to help California school districts keep problematic teachers out of the classroom has collapsed following opposition from unions and the state teacher licensing agency that a proposed searchable database would violate privacy and subject educators to unfair treatment. 

The proposed database, introduced by a Democratic member of the State Assembly in June, would have allowed schools to see if applicants for public school teaching positions had been reported to the state after they were fired or resigned over claims of misconduct. 

The California Federation of Teachers pushed back, warning that teachers could land in the database even if schools had not determined they committed serious misconduct. 

“We would support legislation that targets substantiated reports of egregious misconduct,” said Tristan Brown, a lobbyist with the California Federation of Teachers. “We live in a state with Silicon Valley. The state should be able to support a system that is up to date and tracking substantiated reports of misconduct.” 

Democratic Assemblymember Al Muratsuchi had proposed to make it easier for schools to screen teacher applicants after a KQED-ProPublica investigation published in May. The news outlets revealed how delays and inaction, combined with a lack of transparency, allowed educators to get new jobs after school districts reported them to the state teacher licensing agency for sexual harassment or other misconduct.  

A similar effort by Republican lawmakers to address the issue also hit roadblocks earlier this year. 

“When the safety of a child does not meet a legislative priority, that’s a head-scratcher for me,” said Republican Assemblymember Tom Lackey, who co-authored the first attempt to create the teacher database. “I think being sympathetic to the offender is on the wrong side of this issue.”

Both bills were modeled on a law the Legislature passed in 2025 mandating the creation of a database by next summer that will allow employers to search the names of school support staff, such as bus drivers, custodians and teaching assistants, who are under investigation by their schools or have substantiated complaints of egregious misconduct. 

The database for school support staff passed after months of tense negotiations. Under that system, employees’ names would be removed from the database if school investigations fail to substantiate claims of egregious misconduct. The bill passed despite opposition from unions, but the system that will be put in place is still being refined. 

But that law explicitly does not apply to public school teachers. 

The system currently in place for public school educators is a patchwork with a fair number of gaps. School districts have long been required to report to the state any teacher who is fired or who resigns due to misconduct. But the state’s teacher licensing agency, which collects all of those reports, is restricted by state law in what information the agency can share while it investigates. The state’s disciplinary process typically takes one year, and teachers could be hired during the investigation period without schools knowing about the claims against them.

California’s publicly accessible online database of credentialed educators does indicate, with a red-flag icon, whether those public school teachers have been disciplined by the state. But it does not explain the reason for the sanction or provide a link to any documents. It is only after the state licensing agency recommends an educator be disciplined that prospective employers can request a summary of the case and the agency’s findings.

Without such details, California school administrators must rely on teachers themselves or their previous employers to provide key information. A law passed in 2024 requires teacher candidates to share their complete job history in education and mandates that school districts ask every previous employer whether a candidate had been reported to the credentialing agency for credible or substantiated complaints of egregious misconduct. If so, previous schools must share the relevant information. But that law keeps bad actors out of schools only if teachers and schools keep — and provide — accurate records.

For more than a year, California school administrators have lobbied lawmakers for a better way to protect students from those with a history of misconduct. “A database is needed to provide more complete, timely information so that schools can fulfill their responsibility to put trusted adults in positions that work with students,” said Dorothy Johnson, a lobbyist with the Association of California School Administrators, whose members include superintendents, principals and human resources officials. 

Under the original bill authored by Muratsuchi and sponsored by the school administrators association, teachers would be added to a new database if their school districts have reported them to the state for misconduct. Before making job offers, schools would be required to check the database, accessible only to employers, for names of teachers with substantiated and credible complaints of egregious misconduct. Then, schools would be required to request records about misconduct from the districts that reported them.

Muratsuchi said his office was “immediately confronted with a lot of resistance,” with teachers unions raising concerns over fair treatment of the accused. 

Brown, the lobbyist for the California Federation of Teachers, said the language in the measure was too broad. He said the union would not object to a database that identifies only teachers with substantiated complaints of egregious misconduct, but the bill also states that reports of “possible misconduct” would be included. 

“Our opposition is really focused on making sure we’re looking at dangerous conduct that we can definitively say happened,” Brown said.

Muratsuchi, who pulled language for his bill directly from the previous effort by Republican Assemblymember Kate Sanchez, said his intent was for the database to focus on egregious misconduct reports that were substantiated and credible. Had he had more time, he said, he would have clarified the language through the legislative process and addressed the unions’ concerns. 

But he introduced the bill with just weeks left in the legislative session. 

Seth Bramble, a lobbyist for the California Teachers Association, the state’s most powerful teachers union, wrote in a statement that the proposed database would lead to “employment consequences for innocent teachers based on allegations later determined to be unfounded.” 

“CTA unequivocally supports protecting students, ensuring that credible misconduct information is shared with prospective school employers, and preventing individuals who commit egregious misconduct from moving from school to school,” Bramble wrote.

The Trump administration singled out teachers unions as obstructions to legislative reforms to protect children when it announced a national crackdown in July on how school districts handle accusations of sexual misconduct by teachers.

“Teachers’ unions’ demonstrated commitment to shield their members from disciplinary action for gross misconduct cannot trump basic moral and legal responsibilities to students and families,” Secretary of Education Linda McMahon wrote in the open letter to state school chiefs. 

McMahon cited KQED and ProPublica’s finding that California’s teacher licensing agency has not revoked the professional credentials of at least 67 educators who school districts determined had sexually harassed students or committed other sexual misconduct. At least 14 of those educators were rehired by other schools. That included San Francisco Bay Area math teacher Jason Agan, who was hired by two schools despite having been fired after an independent panel determined he sexually harassed female students and massaged their shoulders after he’d been warned to stop. Agan was removed from the classroom the day after the story was published. He was replaced by a substitute for the remainder of the school year. 

Agan has denied any sexual motivation in touching students and said during his dismissal hearing at his first school that he touched students only to offer them support.

The Commission on Teacher Credentialing, California’s educator licensing agency, joined the unions in objecting to the bill to add teachers to the misconduct database. Jonathon Howard, the government relations manager for the credentialing agency, told Muratsuchi in a June 19 email obtained by KQED and ProPublica that complying with the proposed legislation would “require Commission staff to commit crimes.” Howard cited state laws restricting what information the teacher licensing agency is allowed to share. 

Muratsuchi’s bill, Howard warned, would expose the agency to “significant liability.” “The Commission does not oppose the goal of ensuring that credentialed educators with substantiated histories of serious misconduct cannot move undetected between schools,” Howard wrote. “However, achieving that goal requires legislation that is legally sound, operationally workable, and fair to the educators whose livelihoods and professional reputations are at stake.”  

Anita Fitzhugh, a spokesperson for the Commission on Teacher Credentialing, previously told KQED and ProPublica that the agency “stands ready to implement any additional public protections that the Legislature authorizes.” 

Within weeks of introducing the bill and following opposition, Muratsuchi scrapped the idea of adding teachers reported to the state for egregious misconduct to the database and instead amended the bill to clarify that the teacher licensing agency may penalize administrators who don’t thoroughly vet applicants. The school administrators association withdrew its sponsorship.

Muratsuchi, whose term expires in December, said he still supports more access to information about educators disciplined for serious misconduct. But with the legislative session ending Aug. 31, time is running out.

“I tried,” Muratsuchi said. “I hope future Legislatures pick up the ball.”

The post For the Second Time, Lawmakers Failed to Fix California’s Warning System for Teacher Misconduct appeared first on ProPublica.

On the northeast edge of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, nearly 1,100 people gathered in late June for the International Bridge Walk across the long span that links two cities with the same name: Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan, and Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario. Both the sun and the sentiments were bright.

“We don’t like to say there’s a border there, because we’re twin cities. We’re one family, the countries of Canada and the United States,” Don Gerrie, mayor of the Michigan Sault (pronounced “Soo”), told the crowd ahead of the annual walk.

He sported a black ballcap that he said was given to him by his counterpart in the Ontario Sault. It featured flags from both nations with the words “Stronger Together” and “Allies and Friends.”

Canadians in cheerful patriotic attire joined the bridge walk, with maple leaves tagging their scarves and socks, shirts and shorts. Americans came out in star-spangled T-shirts heralding the nation’s 250th birthday. But this lively tradition is clouded by an increasingly hostile relationship between the U.S. and Canada.

Traffic over the bridge is way down. And, in recent weeks, President Donald Trump threatened new tariffs in retaliation for thick wildfire smoke wafting into the U.S. When his administration announced an additional 50% tariff on an array of Canadian products, the White House cited “Canada’s discriminatory treatment of American products.” Then, using a separate mechanism, it hit Canada with a further 10% in tariffs.

Following pressure from the Trump administration that delayed it, a new publicly owned bridge, the Gordie Howe, opened Monday between Detroit and Windsor, Ontario. Canada hosted a Canada-only opening ceremony.

Trump wasn’t present for the bridge’s ribbon-cutting, even though he used to cheer the project. Up at the Sault bridge, there was no sign of the region’s congressional representative at the celebration of international friendship, even though, during Trump’s first term, Rep. Jack Bergman, a Republican, hailed relations with Canada.

In 2020, when Bergman was appointed to an interparliamentary group that provides a forum for exchange between Canadian and American legislators, he boasted of the Sault bridge as a point where “millions” cross every year “to conduct business, shop, work and enjoy what each country has to offer.”

Yet Bergman, who is endorsed by Trump in an upcoming contested primary, has been virtually silent on the new tariffs and their blowback in local communities, even as he’s prodded to speak out by many of his constituents. The only references to Sault Ste. Marie in the news items on his website during Trump’s second term are a mention of an infrastructure project and a February 2025 letter to the president about a purported member of a Venezuelan gang crossing the border.

As Canada responds to Trump’s moves with emergency interventions and “buy local” boosterism, significantly fewer Canadians are crossing the border for once-ordinary activities: shopping, eating, fueling vehicles, vacationing or visiting family and friends.

The Sault area lost at least $82.9 million last year in local spending because of decreased crossings, according to an estimate from the International Bridge Administration, which manages the span: $62.7 million on the Michigan side and $20.2 million on the Ontario side.

There were 270,000 fewer total crossings last year at the Sault Ste. Marie International Bridge — nearly a 24% drop from 2024, exceeding similar declines at Michigan’s other border crossings. Based on the currency used to pay bridge fares and information from the Canadian prime minister’s office, the drop is largely due to the loss of Canadian travelers. Halfway into 2026, auto traffic has lingered at the same lower volume, according to the bridge director, while commercial traffic has fallen nearly 15% further. 

Nationwide, the total number of Canadians returning from the United States last year dropped by more than 25%, according to data from the Canadian government.

“What Canadians have done, of course, is they’re boycotting the U.S.,” said Michael Broadway, a geographer and professor emeritus at Northern Michigan University who has researched the travel trends (and joined the bridge walk). Ordinary people can only do so much about federal politics, he said, “but what they can do is they can vote with their feet.”

The Sault bridge spans the St. Mary’s River, just west of the historic Soo Locks that serve as a hinge between two of the largest Great Lakes, Lake Superior and Lake Huron. Soaring high above the water to clear the thousand-foot freighters, it’s a critical gateway for commerce. And it’s the only vehicular border crossing for hundreds of miles in either direction.

The drop in traffic reversed a post-pandemic uptick, said Peter Petainen, bridge director and an Ontario Sault native. Just as the numbers were recovering, he told ProPublica, “the federal tariff dispute occurred and we’ve fallen off.”

Others noted that the turn in how the U.S. approaches noncitizens may have also chilled travel. Stories of Canadians detained in the U.S. are recurring headlines up north. And the Canadian dollar also doesn’t go as far as it once did in the U.S.

Altogether, it’s a problem for Michigan’s rural Upper Peninsula — and also for the publicly owned bridge, which depends on tolls for maintenance and operations. As the bridge authority put it in its five-year plan, issued in December: “Border challenges negatively affecting bridge traffic, trade and tourism may significantly reduce bridge revenue or increase expenditures beyond operational sustainability.”

Wilda Hopper, co-owner of Bird’s Eye Outfitters in the Michigan Sault, feels the change. She said that the drop-off in Canadian visitors was most noticeable in the off-season, when her gear shop and cafe relies on the local community — including those from the Ontario Sault — to carry it through the snowy months.

Between fewer Canadian customers and rising costs, Hopper said, business is down about 27% compared with what it was last summer.

“I can tell you that I’ve spoken to business after business up in the Sault Ste. Marie area, and in the eastern Upper Peninsula, and they’re all feeling the pressure from this,” said Michigan state Sen. John Damoose, a Republican who represents the community in Lansing. “Mackinac Island’s feeling the pressure, everybody is feeling the heat from this deterioration in our relationship with Canada.”

It’s a bewildering fallout, he said. After a brutal ice storm last year, he remembered Canadians crossing the Sault bridge to help Michiganders repair the electrical grid. “This is our best friend in the entire world,” Damoose said.

Only so much can be done about it from the statehouse, though, when it’s Republicans in Washington in the power position. Two of Michigan’s voices in Washington are the Democratic Sens. Gary Peters and Elissa Slotkin. They don’t flatly oppose tariffs, but they have challenged Trump’s approach, calling it, respectively, “chaotic” and “sloppy.” Slotkin has said that, constitutionally, only Congress can levy tariffs or raise taxes. Peters introduced bipartisan legislation that seeks more tariff transparency.

Bergman, who has represented a district that encompasses the Upper Peninsula and an additional northern swath of the state’s “mitten” since 2017, once stressed the critical role Canada plays in Michigan’s economy. He vowed to work with the Canadian Parliament to “expand market access between both our nations” during Trump’s first term. And he championed the president’s new North American trade deal with Canada and Mexico, citing the benefits for Michigan’s farmers, small businesses and consumers.

But Trump’s trade policies have made it hard on many Republicans who once touted free trade. Pete Hoekstra, the U.S. ambassador to Canada and a former Michigan congressman, pivoted dramatically on trade in the Trump era, as ProPublica reported.

Since Trump started his second term, there’s been no mention of tariffs in the press releases, articles and op-eds on Bergman’s website. Along with three of his colleagues in Congress, he criticized Canada’s handling of wildfires that sent thick smoke into Michigan in a recent letter to the prime minister.

ProPublica reached out to Bergman, his office and his campaign multiple times for comment on what’s happening in his district and received no response. Besides Trump’s endorsement, his reelection is supported by the Michigan and U.S. chambers of commerce.

He’s facing two challengers in the Republican primary on Aug. 4. Both of them told ProPublica that the district benefits from sustainable trading relationships.

They also echoed what many of Bergman’s constituents told ProPublica: that residents have had scarce opportunities to connect with the congressman in person. Bergman doesn’t appear to have hosted a public town hall in the district since his first year in office.

Bergman, who has a house in Louisiana, has faced long-standing allegations that he doesn’t even make Michigan his true home. Julie Hoffmeyer, a former member of Bergman’s staff who supports one of his primary challengers, told ProPublica that the congressman refers to his property in the western Upper Peninsula as a “cabin” or a “camp.”

Bergman, responding to past challenges to his Michigan residency, has called his home there his primary residence and noted that he’s a registered voter in the state.

Trump’s quick-shifting trade policies are especially difficult for Michigan’s agriculture industry, the state’s second-largest sector, according to a recent report from the state’s agriculture department. The report, which hasn’t yet been publicly released, said that exports to Canada fell 12.3% last year, “signalling severe strain with a country that is our strongest trading partner.”

Meanwhile, the relationship between the U.S. and Canada is fraying ever further. A White House fact sheet on the new 50% tariff acknowledged the ways that Canadians have changed how they do business.

The White House said that Canadian imports of U.S. motor vehicles dropped by about 22% between April 2025 and March 2026, compared with the same period the year before. And, it said, due to provincial restrictions, Canadian imports of U.S. alcoholic beverages have plummeted.

Mark Carney, Canada’s prime minister, said in a letter posted on social media that the series of tariffs imposed by the U.S. began with ones that were “in direct violation” of the standing North American trade deal — the deal from Trump’s first term that he once celebrated, and that Bergman described as a great economic victory for Michigan.

With the deal up for review this year, the Trump administration declined a long-term extension of the pact. Carney has also widely signaled that Canada is looking beyond its near neighbor for trading partners.

Carney said, in an April video posted on his YouTube channel: “Many of our former strengths, based on our close ties to America, have become our weaknesses — weaknesses that we must correct.”

The post As Trump’s Tariff War With Canada Drags On, This Border Community Suffers Without a Voice appeared first on ProPublica.

By the end of 2020, Kentucky’s newly elected Gov. Andy Beshear had one goal above all others: Keep people alive. The state was battling two merciless threats. COVID-19 was killing hundreds of people each month, and deadly drug overdoses were among the highest in the nation. Calling addiction a disease that breeds in isolation, Beshear worried people would stop seeking treatment for fear of contracting COVID-19. 

So Beshear set out to make drug treatment easier to access. Kentucky joined more than 40 other states in lifting some restrictions on Medicaid, which served most of the Kentuckians enrolled in substance abuse programs: Recovery centers were allowed to offer expensive treatment to clients without seeking approval from state Medicaid insurers.  

By 2023, as the pandemic waned, other states restored Medicaid requirements that treatment centers gain prior approval before providing addiction treatment. Kentucky stayed the course. That year, providers offered more than 1,100 spots for people seeking long-term treatment that allows them to live in a facility, a state record and more slots per capita than any other state.

But as the Medicaid bills for all that treatment started piling up, so did the warnings. 

In 2024 letters to Beshear’s administration and in at least three public meetings, experts across the health industry said that as a result of the 2020 changes, drug treatment providers were billing too much for subpar care that was leading to worse outcomes. By December 2025, the Kentucky attorney general’s office said Medicaid fraud in drug treatment had become a primary “area of concern.”

Despite the warnings, the Beshear administration did little to rein in the skyrocketing state spending. 

Almost all those warnings came true.

In a February 2025 meeting about soaring Medicaid costs, Kentucky Medicaid Commissioner Lisa Lee said the previous year’s spending on behavioral health and addiction treatment had reached an unprecedented $2.3 billion. Stuart Owen, who works for a Kentucky Medicaid insurer, told a state advisory committee months earlier that much of that spending was driven by the drug treatment industry, including “unscrupulous providers who are exploiting the heck out of that for money.” 

The payout was especially lucrative for one company, Addiction Recovery Care. ARC was Kentucky’s largest drug treatment provider and the largest recipient of state funds between 2019 and 2025. This spring, the Lexington Herald-Leader, in partnership with ProPublica, reported on how ARC exploited Kentucky’s loosened spending controls and may have falsified billing.

Beshear has been unapologetic about state spending on drug treatment. In an interview in early June with ProPublica and the Lexington Herald-Leader, he pointed to the continued decline in drug overdose deaths as proof that he made the right choice when he did not force treatment centers to show that costly drug recovery services were medically necessary before treating people for addiction.

“If we’d gone back in time too early and changed things too drastically, how many more people would have died that we’ve saved? With four straight years of drug overdose decreases, they can throw blame at me,” Beshear said. “We’ll talk about dollars, but there are people’s kids that are still alive today because they were able to get addiction treatment services and get them quickly.”

While Kentucky’s overdose deaths declined significantly between 2020 and 2025, experts said the drop was not unique. Other states hit hard by the opioid epidemic also saw year-over-year decreases in fatal overdoses, including states that didn’t loosen Medicaid billing rules, like Tennessee and West Virginia. 

Academic studies mostly agree that the drop in the death rate around the country had more to do with declining opioid prescriptions, an increase in the use of the drug naloxone to reverse overdoses, and less fentanyl in the drug supply. Medicaid and behavioral health experts in Kentucky have said in state hearings that some of the services drug treatment companies billed the most for were not directly associated with a decline in overdose deaths.

Nonetheless, Kentucky’s policies allowed ARC and other companies to bill more and more for services like peer support groups rather than those led by a licensed doctor or therapist. At one time ARC treated about one-third of the Kentuckians seeking drug treatment in the state; more than half of the services it billed for were the same lower-level services that Medicaid experts warned were being abused, according to state data. 

The FBI has been investigating ARC for two years, and more recently, the company’s troubles have intensified. This week the Department of Justice announced it had reached a $16 million settlement with ARC over Medicaid fraud allegations. The company directed employees to falsely bill Medicaid for services like peer support, according to the allegations, which stem from a 2023 whistleblower lawsuit filed by three former ARC employees. 

The settlement resolved the allegations, the Department of Justice said, and there has been no determination of liability. In another investigation, the DOJ last month indicted ARC’s leader, Tim Robinson, for wire fraud and money laundering for a separate alleged scheme to defraud multiple lenders. He has pleaded not guilty to those charges.

The company said in April it “has never knowingly or fraudulently billed Medicaid for services, and there is no evidence that the organization encouraged employees to falsify group notes for billing purposes.” 

ARC has over the last two years been forced to close most of its facilities, resulting in a 56% decrease in long-term residential treatment beds statewide, according to the most recent data available.

By 2025, Republicans had seen enough and passed a bill requiring treatment centers to seek approval from insurers before providing treatment services. Beshear vetoed the bill, saying it “will put up barriers to and delay healthcare for Kentuckians.” Republicans overrode the veto, citing waste, fraud and abuse. 

A Raft of Warnings

At public meetings and in letters throughout 2023 and 2024, Medicaid insurers and actuaries warned that Beshear’s decision not to reinstate the spending guardrails sooner had allowed billing abuse by drug treatment providers to proliferate. 

Some of those Medicaid insurers sent warning letters to providers, some who were suspected of  overbilling, on how to appropriately bill. At least one also tried to limit excessive billing by setting its own guidelines for services deemed “intensive, high cost and/or have the potential for overutilization,” according to a memo from Passport by Molina Healthcare, one of Kentucky’s Medicaid insurers, referring to peer support services. Peer support is similar to a 12-step program. 

In August 2024, the Kentucky Association of Health Plans, which represents the state’s Medicaid insurers, sent a letter telling the state Cabinet for Health and Family Services that weak oversight had allowed “unnecessary” spending on treatment and that the services treatment centers were billing the most for weren’t leading to better health outcomes for patients.

The letter warned that addiction treatment providers were overbilling for services that weren’t based on evidence or provided by a licensed doctor or therapist. 

Part of the solution, the association said in subsequent public hearings, was to reinstate the spending guardrails, known as prior authorization, that Beshear had removed during the pandemic. The prior authorization process is supposed to prevent providers from billing fraudulently or excessively for medically unnecessary services by forcing providers to get permission from insurance companies before administering care.

Tom Stephens, president of the group representing Kentucky’s five Medicaid insurers and the letter’s author, said in an interview that it was not the first time Medicaid insurers had shared concerns with the Beshear administration; it was “simply one example of concerns that had been raised over time.” 

Asked about this letter, Beshear spokesperson Scottie Ellis wrote that the governor “monitored the concerns expressed publicly and those shared with his administration” and that the state health agency worked with Medicaid insurers to address them. Ellis declined to answer follow-up questions about what specific measures the administration took during that time. 

More warnings followed. The next month, Somerset Mayor Alan Keck also wrote to the Beshear administration asking it to reinstate Medicaid spending controls.

Keck, whose rural southeastern Kentucky county was hit hard by opioids, told the state health secretary  that treatment centers across his region were recruiting patients from out of state and using company addresses to establish residency for them in order to bill Kentucky Medicaid. He also said some companies were fraudulently billing Medicaid by misrepresenting the services they provided.

“Our communities are seeing an influx of sober living facilities that are taking advantage of Kentucky’s Medicaid system and the lax requirements that linger from the Covid-19 pandemic,” Keck wrote to then-health Secretary Eric Friedlander.

Keck, who lost a Republican primary for governor in 2023, said recently that Friedlander never responded to his letter. He believes Beshear’s administration should’ve done more to rein in the drug treatment industry’s “explosive growth.”

Beshear’s spokesperson didn’t address questions about whether the administration responded to Keck. 

In November and December 2024, officials from Anthem and WellCare, two Medicaid insurers, reinforced their concerns in meetings with legislators and Medicaid officials.

The state’s own data from that period supports the insurers’ claim that the state was paying heavily for services that required little or no time from licensed doctors and therapists: Kentucky behavioral health providers were paid more than $147 million for peer support services in 2023 and 2024, Lee, the state Medicaid commissioner, told lawmakers in February 2025. During that time, Medicaid payments for psychoeducation jumped from $40.4 million to more than $168 million. 

Psychoeducation is normally a part of regular appointment when a clinician explains a diagnosis and treatment plan to a patient. Most of the money spent in Kentucky on psychoeducation went to ARC. Medicaid insurers warned Kentucky was one of the only states that allowed this service to be billed for separately, and providers were abusing it.

At the heart of all of this was the suspension of prior authorization, which had served as the only check on the overuse and overbilling for low-quality care. Without it, Kentucky’s treatment landscape became a Medicaid free-for-all, said Shelby Steuart, a professor who studies health policy at the University of Maryland. 

“It just became an opportunity for people to make money,” she said.  

When asked about these warnings and the reasons Beshear didn’t reinstate Medicaid spending guardrails sooner, the governor’s office said his decision “helped save lives.”

Ellis, the spokesperson for Beshear, said in an email that amid the public warnings, the Cabinet for Health and Family Services, the state’s health agency, met with Kentucky’s Medicaid insurers “to discuss concerns” about the spike in spending on drug treatment. 

She said that the administration sent a letter in November 2024 to clarify when and how to bill for certain services Medicaid insurers had flagged, which resulted in a more than $100 million decline in billing from 2025 to 2026. But, as the attorney general’s Office of Medicaid Fraud and Abuse Control told lawmakers in December 2025, billing increased by $40 million for other services that experts warned were being abused.

Ellis said the policies should be measured by lives saved. “In the end, actions taken by Gov. Beshear and his administration have decreased overdose deaths for four straight years,” she said.

“Willfully Ignorant, Derelict in Their Duties”

In 2024, ARC disclosed what it called billing errors that resulted in overpayments from the state, according to emails obtained through Kentucky’s open records laws. 

About that time, Kentucky’s Medicaid insurers began to raise questions about excessive billing and started to sever contracts with the company. ARC turned to the state’s health agency for help, asking the health secretary to delay reinstating spending controls and to enact a system that would force Medicaid insurers to continue working with ARC.

“Time is of the essence,” ARC founder Robinson wrote in a September 2024 email to Friedlander.

Beshear’s administration balked at forcing insurers to work with the company, but ultimately declined to reinstate tighter spending controls. That year ARC was paid a record $103 million by Kentucky Medicaid, mostly for services Medicaid insurers warned were being abused.

In a June interview, Beshear defended that decision and denied that his 2020 order led to a rise in Medicaid fraud or abuse.

Beshear said that by the time Kentucky’s Republican-controlled legislature reinstated spending controls in July 2025, he was in the process of coordinating with the state’s health agency to enact some spending guardrails, but acknowledged that “admittedly, the Cabinet was probably taking too long,” he said.

Republicans have accused Beshear of mismanaging the state’s Medicaid program. During the 2025 legislative session, they revoked the governor’s power to make changes to Kentucky Medicaid without their permission. Beshear vetoed that bill, which included a provision to reinstate tighter spending controls, but the legislature overrode his veto. 

Republican Sen. Chris McDaniel, who championed the bill, said in March 2025 that Beshear’s administration “had to be one of three things: willfully ignorant, derelict in their duties, or complicit. It was just too much money in one space for them not to have known better.”

Beshear in June said he’ll take the hit; at the end of the day, he said, the tide of addiction in Kentucky has receded, and it was worth it. 

“If we continue at this pace, there’s a chance we end an epidemic that started in our lifetime,” Beshear said. “Opening up services through Medicaid in general to more people has been one of, if not the, most important things we’ve done to get people back on track.”

The post Andy Beshear Set Out to Make Drug Treatment Widely Available in Kentucky. Fraud and Abuse Followed. appeared first on ProPublica.