a Better Bubble™

ProPublica

When Is “Recyclable” Not Really Recyclable? When the Plastics Industry Gets to Define What the Word Means.

8 months ago

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up to receive our biggest stories as soon as they’re published.

Is there anything more pathetic than a used plastic bag?

They rip and tear. They float away in the slightest breeze. Left in the wild, their mangled remains entangle birds and choke sea turtles that mistake them for edible jellyfish. It takes 1,000 years for the bags to disintegrate, shedding hormone-disrupting chemicals as they do. And that outcome is all but inevitable, because no system exists to routinely recycle them. It’s no wonder some states have banned them and stores give discounts to customers with reusable bags.

But the plastics industry is working to make the public feel OK about using them again.

Companies whose futures depend on plastic production, including oil and gas giant ExxonMobil, are trying to persuade the federal government to allow them to put the label “recyclable” on bags and other plastic items virtually guaranteed to end up in landfills and incinerators.

They argue that “recyclable” should apply to anything that’s capable of being recycled. And they point to newer technologies that have been able to remake plastic bags into new products.

I spent months investigating one of those technologies, a form of chemical recycling called pyrolysis, only to find that it is largely a mirage. It’s inefficient, dirty and so limited in capacity that no one expects it to process meaningful amounts of plastic waste any time soon.

That shouldn’t matter, say proponents of the industry’s argument. If it’s physically capable of being recycled — even in extremely limited scenarios — it should be labeled “recyclable.”

They are laying out their case in comments to the Federal Trade Commission as it revises its Green Guides, documents that define how companies can use marketing labels like “recyclable” or “compostable.” The guides are meant to curb greenwashing — deceptive advertising that exaggerates the sustainability of products. They were last updated in 2012, before the explosion of social media advertising and green influencers; the agency declined to answer questions about the revision or give an idea of when it will be done.

The push for a looser definition of “recyclable” highlights a conundrum faced not just by companies represented by the Plastics Industry Association, but by members of the Consumer Brands Association, whose plastic-packaged products fill grocery shelves across the world. (Neither trade group, nor ExxonMobil, wanted to elaborate on their positions advocating for a more liberal use of the word “recyclable.”)

Under increasing pressure to reckon with the global plastics crisis, companies want to rely on recycling as the answer. But turning old plastic into new plastic is really, really hard.

Products made with dyes, flame retardants and other toxic chemicals create a health hazard when they’re heated for recycling. That severely limits the types of products you can make from recycled plastic. And most items are too small for companies in the recycling business to bother sorting and processing, or they are assembled in a way that would make it far more costly to strip them down to their useful elements than to just make new plastic. Plastic forks? Straws? Toys given out in fast food meals and party favor bags? Never actually recycled. In fact, only 5% of Americans’ plastic finds new life.

Environmental experts worry that if the FTC sides with the industry, companies could slap the “recyclable” label on virtually anything.

Though the agency only pursues a few greenwashing cases a year, its guides — which are guidelines instead of laws — are the only national benchmark for evaluating recycling claims.

They’re used by companies that want to market their products in an honest way. They also serve as a reference for state officials who are drafting laws to try to reduce plastic waste.

By 2032, for example, most single-use packaging sold in California will need to be recyclable or compostable.

What good will such laws be, environmental experts worry, if those words mean nothing?

For at least three decades, the industry has misled the public about what really is recyclable.

Take a close look at any plastic product and you’ll likely see a little number stamped on it called a resin identification code; it distinguishes what kind of plastic it’s made of. Plastic bags, for example, are labeled No. 4. Only some No. 1 and No. 2 plastics are widely recyclable. In each case, the number is surrounded by the iconic “chasing arrows” symbol, which has come to denote recyclability, regardless of whether that product can actually be recycled.

The design was created in the 1980s by a group of chemical companies working with Exxon and BP; Grist recently published a fascinating story about the effort.

Around that time, the plastic industry was contending with the nation’s growing awareness that its products were the root of an intractable pollution problem. States were weighing legislation to deal with it. And the American Plastics Council was convening meetings to head off threats. The council discussed the arrows, which they described as “consumer tested,” according to meeting notes obtained by the Center for Climate Integrity, an advocacy group that works to hold the fossil fuel industry accountable.

The industry persuaded 39 states to require the use of the symbols. Their purpose, the notes said: “to prevent bans.” They pursued the strategy despite warnings from state regulators who predicted the arrows would lead consumers to overestimate the recyclability of plastic packaging.

By 1995, state attorneys general were telling the FTC that’s exactly what was happening.

The agency ruled in 1998 that brands could continue using the codes with the recycling symbol, but could only display them prominently — by printing them next to the brand name, for example — if the product was recyclable for a “substantial majority” of consumers. If not, the symbols could be stamped in a less obvious place, like the bottom of containers.

These mandates did little to ease consumers’ confusion. “You mean we’re not supposed to throw plastic bags in recycling bins?” a colleague recently asked me.

During a tour of the New York facility that sorts the city’s recyclables, I saw the result of a million well-intentioned mistakes — countless bags sloshing over conveyor belts like the unwanted dregs at the bottom of a cereal bowl.

A conveyor belt at the Brooklyn facility that sorts most of the material collected via curbside recycling in New York City (Sharon Lerner/ProPublica)

They’re notorious for clogging equipment. Sometimes, they start fires. And when they get stuck between layers of paper, the bags end up contaminating bales of paper that are actually recyclable, condemning much of it to the landfill.

If companies started printing the word “recyclable” on them, I wondered, how much worse could this get?

When you see something labeled as “recyclable,” it’s reasonable to expect it will be made into something new after you toss it in the nearest recycling bin.

You would be wrong.

The current Green Guides allow companies to make blanket “recyclable” claims if 60% of consumers or communities have access to recycling facilities that will take the product. The guides don’t specify whether facilities can just accept the item, or if there needs to be a reasonable assurance that the item will be made into a new product.

When the agency invited the public to comment in late 2022 on how the guides should be revised, FTC Chair Lina M. Khan predicted that one of the main issues would be “whether claims that a product is recyclable should reflect where a product ultimately ends up, not just whether it gets picked up from the curb.”

Strangely, that statement ignored the agency’s own guidance. An FTC supplement to the 2012 Green Guides stated that “recyclable” items must go to facilities “that will actually recycle” them, “not accept and ultimately discard” them.

The industry disagrees with the position.

“Recent case law confirms that the term ‘recyclable’ means ‘capable of being recycled,’ and that it is an attribute, not a guarantee,” said a comment from the Plastics Industry Association. Forcing the material to be “actually recovered” is “unnecessarily burdensome.”

Citing a consumer survey, ExxonMobil told the FTC that the majority of respondents “agreed that it was appropriate to label an item as recyclable if a product can be recycled, even if access to recycling facilities across the country varies.” The company’s comments argued against “arbitrary minimum” thresholds like the 60% rule.

The FTC also received comments urging the agency to tighten the rules. A letter from the attorneys general of 15 states and the District of Columbia suggested increasing the 60% minimum to 90%. And the Environmental Protection Agency told the FTC that “recyclable” is only valid if the facilities that collect those products can reliably make more money by selling them for recycling than by throwing them away in a landfill.

The industry argues that recycling is never guaranteed. Market changes like the pandemic could force facilities to discard material that is technically recyclable, wrote the Consumer Brands Association. There is “simply no consumer deception in a claim that clearly identifies that a product is capable of being recycled,” the group wrote, despite the fact that “an external factor several times removed from the manufacturer results in it ultimately not being recycled.”

And what if consumers stopped seeing as many products marketed as recyclable? That could “dramatically” lower recycling rates, the group wrote, because consumers would get confused, seeming to imply people wouldn’t know if they could recycle anything at all.

“Wow, that’s some weird acrobatics,” Lynn Hoffman, strategic adviser at the Alliance for Mission-Based Recycling, said of the industry’s uncertainty argument. The group is a network of nonprofit recyclers that supports a zero-waste future.

Hoffman acknowledged the inefficiencies in the system. The solution, she said, is to improve the true recyclability of products that can be reliably processed, like soda bottles, by tracking them as they pass through the supply chain, being transparent about where they end up and removing toxic chemicals from products.

Calling everything “recyclable” would be a huge mistake, she said. “We have to be realistic about the role that recycling plays,” she added.

No matter how well done, it doesn’t fix the bigger crisis. Not the microplastics infiltrating our bodies or “plastic smog” in the oceans or poisoned families living in the shadow of the chemical plants that produce it.

In fact, research has shown people can produce more waste when they think it will be recycled. When North Carolina began rolling out curbside recycling in different towns, researchers analyzed data on household waste before and after the change. They found that overall waste — the total amount of trash plus stuff in the recycling bin — rose by up to 10% after recycling became available, possibly because consumers felt less guilty.

“They get their blue bins, and they worry less about the amount of trash they generate,” said one of the researchers, Roland Geyer, a professor of industrial ecology at the University of California-Santa Barbara. “I’m probably guilty of that too.”

Do You Have Experience in or With the Plastics Industry? Tell Us About It.

by Lisa Song

As Millions of Acres Burn, Firefighters Say the U.S. Forest Service Has Left Them With Critical Shortages

8 months ago

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up to receive our biggest stories as soon as they’re published.

On July 18, federal wildfire managers placed the nation under a designation known as Preparedness Level 5 — bureaucratic code for all hands on deck or, as one veteran wildland firefighter called it, “fire DEFCON.” In layman’s terms, Preparedness Level 5 means that the country’s wildland firefighting resources are spread thin, more blazes are imminent, and supervisors of local crews are reluctant to allow them to travel far from home to help elsewhere. This marks only the fourth time in the past two decades that the country has reached such a state so early in the calendar year. So far, more than 5 million acres have burned nationwide, tripling last year’s total, and there are still months to go in fire season.

Nine days after the country entered Preparedness Level 5, the U.S. Forest Service — the largest of the five federal agencies responsible for fighting wildfires, with more than 11,000 firefighters — said that it had reached 101% of its hiring goal for 2024. However, firefighters on the ground say that the agency is understating how badly depleted their ranks are.

Overall numbers are hard to obtain, but according to data provided by a dispatcher who works for the Bureau of Land Management, 2,417 nationwide requests for crucial fire resources — everything from radio operators to task force leaders — had gone unfilled through July 26. Those requests were delivered to all five federal agencies as well as to state and private organizations. What was especially alarming, the dispatcher said, was the lack of experienced firefighters: “It tells us we have critical shortages in certain particular middle- and upper-level operational qualifications.”

Eric Franta, who works at a Forest Service helicopter air base in Oregon, told me his unit was staffed at only 75%. (In a profession where fears of workplace retaliation are widespread, the only wildland firefighters willing to share their names are those that have roles with the National Federation of Federal Employees, the union representing wildland firefighters. Franta is a union steward.) Another Forest Service wildland firefighter in Oregon said, “We’re not able to fill any crews.” Firefighters in California are reporting similar issues. According to interagency data obtained by ProPublica, 90 of the approximately 270 Forest Service fire engines in the state were unavailable for service on Aug. 12. Engines may be unavailable for a variety of reasons, such as mechanical maintenance or crews on mandatory leave, but firefighters say this number is unusually high. On the same day, according to the data, at least a third of the statewide Hotshot crews — elite teams that fight large wilderness fires — were not staffed sufficiently to operate as intended.

Why the U.S. Is Losing Wildland Firefighters

In March, ProPublica reported that the nation’s wildland firefighting force was experiencing an exodus, especially among its most highly qualified firefighters. In the past three years, the Forest Service lost 45% of its permanent employees, forcing it to fill its ranks with inexperienced firefighters. Those inside and outside the service cite numerous reasons for the departures. Wildland firefighters are compensated poorly; base pay is $15 an hour, roughly what a fast-food server makes. (In 2021, Congress passed a measure that added a temporary retention bonus for firefighters, which is still in effect but has not been made permanent.) The federal civil service structure makes it difficult for wildland firefighters to maintain a career. And the Forest Service especially has been slow to address the health risks involved with suppressing wildland fires. Although the Department of Labor now considers cancer a work-related illness for wildland firefighters, the multiagency preparedness guide for incoming recruits still doesn’t mention the word.

When asked about the disparity between its 101% staffing figure and the dire assessments of firefighters on the ground, a Forest Service spokesperson wrote, “We have some gaps in critical leadership roles due to departure of experienced leaders and managers with years of knowledge and expertise.” The spokesperson added, “If those roles are not able to be filled by qualified and experienced individuals, it can result in operational inefficiencies.”

During one day last week, the federal government reported 123 newly started fires. A number of them were in and around Idaho’s Boise National Forest, where Morgan Thomsen, a union steward and a Forest Service firefighter on a Wyoming helicopter crew, was working. There were not enough firefighters to fill the crews to catch them all, he told me. “The new fires are all big now too, but hardly anyone is on them,” he texted. “The system is being stressed and can’t deal with it. Now, it depends on the weather and site conditions whether these fires will be put out before they burn down houses and so on. We’ve effectively lost our asses and are triaging.”

by Abe Streep for ProPublica

Uvalde Police Failed to Turn Over All Body Camera Footage From Robb Elementary Shooting, Department Says

8 months ago

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up to receive our biggest stories as soon as they’re published.

This article is co-published with The Texas Tribune, a nonprofit, nonpartisan local newsroom that informs and engages with Texans. Sign up for The Brief Weekly to get up to speed on their essential coverage of Texas issues.

Officials in Uvalde, Texas, revealed on Wednesday that they failed to release some officer body camera and dashboard footage related to the 2022 Robb Elementary School shooting as required by a settlement agreement with news organizations that sued for access.

After the city released hundreds of records on Saturday to news organizations, including ProPublica and The Texas Tribune, an officer informed the Uvalde Police Department that some of his body camera footage from the May 24, 2022, shooting was missing, according to a news release from the city.

In response, police Chief Homer Delgado ordered an audit of the department’s servers, which turned up “several additional videos.” The city did not say which officers or cruisers the missing footage belonged to.

According to information that Uvalde police initially provided to Texas Department of Public Safety investigators, seven of the 25 responding officers had their body cameras turned on the day of the shooting. Records released on Saturday only included footage from five of the officers’ body cameras. Whether the city’s discovery of additional materials is limited to the two remaining body cameras or includes additional footage from more officers is unknown.

The department shared the newly discovered footage with District Attorney Christina Mitchell for review. Delgado also ordered an internal affairs investigation into how the error occurred. That probe will determine which department employees are responsible and what disciplinary actions may be warranted, according to the news release.

“I have ordered an immediate review of all footage collection and storage protocols within UPD and will institute a new process to ensure our department lives up to the highest standards,” Delgado, who joined the department last year, said in a statement. “The Uvalde community and the public deserve nothing less.”

It’s unclear whether Mitchell, who did not immediately respond to a request for comment, had access to the footage as she evaluated whether officers should be criminally charged for the flawed response to the shooting in which 19 children and two teachers died.

A grand jury in June indicted former Uvalde school district police Chief Pete Arredondo and officer Adrian Gonzales on felony child endangerment charges. Both men pleaded not guilty. No Uvalde Police Department officers have been charged.

News organizations, including the Tribune and ProPublica, sued several local and state governmental bodies more than two years ago for access to records related to the shooting. The city settled with the new organizations, agreeing to provide records that had been requested under the state’s Public Information Act, including body camera footage from all responding officers. Three other government agencies — the Texas Department of Public Safety, the Uvalde Consolidated Independent School District and the Uvalde County Sheriff’s Office — continue fighting not to release any records.

City officials did not respond to requests for comment but said in a statement that they would evaluate the judge’s order governing the release of documents to ensure that they comply with the settlement terms reached with the news organizations.

Reid Pillifant, an associate attorney with Haynes Boone, a law firm that represents the news organizations, said he appreciated the Police Department’s “quick response in conducting an audit to ensure all relevant materials are shared with the public as soon as possible.”

The Tribune, ProPublica and FRONTLINE independently obtained a trove of investigative materials through a confidential source. That trove includes the body camera footage of two Uvalde police officers — Jesus Mendoza and Joe Zamora — that was not released on Saturday. The newsrooms analyzed Mendoza’s 25-minute-long body camera footage and his interview with state investigators as part of an investigation into law enforcement’s botched response that included a documentary and revealed that while the children knew what to do when confronted with a mass shooter, many officers did not.

Zamora’s body camera footage, which is only about eight minutes long, appears to show him at the house belonging to the gunman’s grandmother, whom the teen shot in the face before going to the school.

In the footage, a crying woman can be heard saying, “I knew it was my nephew.” She adds, “he didn’t want to live anymore.”

by Zach Despart, The Texas Tribune, and Lomi Kriel, ProPublica and The Texas Tribune

Struggling to Keep or Find Housing After Maui’s Wildfires? Tell Us Your Story.

8 months ago

People on Maui have heard the stories: neighbors forced from their homes not by last year’s wildfires, but by property owners seeking to take advantage of the housing shortage. In some cases, tenants have said property owners have rented to government aid programs that offered top dollar to shelter wildfire survivors. In others, landlords have rented to others who will pay more.

Civil Beat has teamed up with ProPublica to more deeply examine what many say is a secondary housing crisis stemming from the loss of thousands of homes in the wildfires. We want to know how widespread these issues are, who’s responsible, who’s been harmed and what can be done about it.

To do this right, we need to hear from anyone who has been touched by this issue. You can help us ensure our stories are comprehensive and nuanced and that they reflect what is happening in your life. If you’re a property owner or landlord, we want to hear your thoughts on the governor’s emergency order barring most evictions and rent increases. If you are a property manager, real estate agent or someone else with expertise in Maui’s housing market, we’d like to hear from you. If you work for a government agency, contractor or nonprofit aid group, we’d like to hear from you, too. And, of course, we want to hear from renters: people who had to leave their homes so wildfire survivors could move in, those who faced rent increases, those who have been told their leases will not be renewed and those who have left Maui.

by Nick Grube, Honolulu Civil Beat

Maui Residents Have Been Forced From Their Homes to Make Room for Wildfire Survivors. Property Owners Are Profiting.

8 months ago

This article was produced for ProPublica’s Local Reporting Network in partnership with Honolulu Civil Beat. Sign up for Dispatches to get stories like this one as soon as they are published.

A year ago, after a deadly wildfire displaced thousands of residents of Lahaina, Hawaii’s governor and lieutenant governor invoked a state law blocking most evictions and prohibiting price gouging. The emergency order soon became a tool to prevent widespread displacement of all Maui residents, including people struggling to pay rent because they had lost work due to the fire.

Despite that order, some Maui property owners have capitalized on the crisis by pushing out tenants and housing wildfire survivors for more money. Among those displaced: a couple and their two young children who, according to court records, were evicted so their landlord’s son could move in while renting his own home to the Federal Emergency Management Agency’s housing program for $8,000 a month.

Some property owners have brought in more than twice the going rate for a long-term rental by signing up with FEMA or another aid program. They have received lucrative property tax breaks for housing wildfire survivors, in some cases worth more than $10,000 a year.

Other landlords have forced out tenants and sought people who will pay more. Over the course of several months, one landlord tried to evict his tenants for different reasons, even claiming that Maui’s mayor needed to use the house as a “command center to rebuild Lahaina.” (A spokesperson for the mayor said that claim was false.) After the tenants moved out, two of them saw their ocean-view apartment listed online for $6,800 a month rather than the $4,200 they had paid. Asked about the higher price, the landlord told Civil Beat and ProPublica that the apartment has been cleaned up and is now furnished.

Complaints about evictions and rent increases have circulated for months. Housing advocates say Gov. Josh Green’s administration hasn’t moved aggressively enough to tighten the rules and that the Hawaii attorney general has overlooked abuses.

Even before the fires swept across Maui, rental housing on the island was among the most expensive in the country. The loss of so many homes was bound to increase prices. But tenants, housing advocates, government officials and even landlords say high prices offered by FEMA, the state and private aid organizations have encouraged property owners to chase the money. State Sen. Angus McKelvey, who lost his own home in Lahaina, called it “FEMA fever.”

Jo Wessel, a Colorado landlord, said she tried to sign up with FEMA after her tenants fell behind on their rent and electricity bills. She said a property management company working for FEMA offered her $6,500 a month, which according to court records was more than twice what she charged for the two-bedroom condominium in Kahului. Although the governor’s order bars evictions for nonpayment of rent or utilities, Wessel told Lea and David Vitello and their two children on Jan. 6 that they had five days to pay up or leave, according to documents reviewed by Civil Beat and ProPublica. Two weeks later, FEMA inspectors knocked on the Vitellos’ door to see if their home was suitable for wildfire survivors. “We didn’t see it coming,” Lea Vitello said.

The Vitellos refused to leave when their lease expired at the end of January, and Wessel eventually took them to court. It took until April for the Vitellos to find a new place and move out. Wessel said the delay caused her to miss out on the FEMA contract, but she was able to sign up with a nonprofit housing program willing to pay about $400 more per month than what she was charging the Vitellos. Wessel said she thought the Vitellos had taken advantage of the governor’s order and that they still owe her money. Although the Vitellos left a few months ago, Wessel’s court case against them continued until this week, when a judge dismissed it.

Those who have been forced out are contending with a housing market where the median rent has jumped 44% since before the fires, according to an Argonne National Laboratory study released last week. Some people who’ve been pushed out since the fires told Civil Beat and ProPublica that they haven’t yet found a permanent home.

Peter Sunday, whose family was evicted so their landlord’s son could move in, said he paid just $1,900 a month for their three-bedroom cottage and that the cheapest place he has found since is twice as much. He, his wife and their two young children have moved from place to place while they search for something stable.

Adrienne Sunday and her husband, Peter Sunday, move a container in the storage unit that holds most of their belongings in Kula, Hawaii, in July. (Kevin Fujii/Civil Beat)

Malcolm Vincent, the landlord’s son, said in a court filing that he lived in a garage on family property after he rented his home to FEMA and while he was waiting for the Sundays to leave. When called by Civil Beat and ProPublica, Vincent said he was busy and hung up. In response to a text message, he wrote, “Stop.” Ann Siciak, the Sundays’ former landlord, did not respond to interview requests.

State and federal officials said they didn’t intend for their housing programs to encourage landlords to kick people out to make room for wildfire survivors, but they had to offer lucrative rates in order to secure housing quickly. “We’re not incentivizing,” FEMA Region 9 Administrator Bob Fenton said in an interview. “What we’re doing is being competitive.”

The Green administration acknowledged that “some bad actors have not complied” with the governor’s order. Officials urged tenants to report unscrupulous landlords to the state attorney general.

Green said in an interview that he, too, has heard about landlords who have kicked out tenants to make more money, but he said they “represent the extreme minority.” Much more common, he said, are stories of people who did the right thing and provided shelter to thousands of people.

“I was very clear that we didn’t want to displace anybody, but there are a million different forces at play here,” Green said. “Every moment, every week, you just had to try to prevent predatory behavior. There’s a lot of that. That’s one of the lessons I learned from this crisis.”

Hawaii Gov. Josh Green, left, and Maui County Mayor Richard Bissen speak during a tour of wildfire damage in Lahaina a few days after the fire. (Rick Bowmer/AP)

State officials pointed to a sharp drop in eviction cases filed in court since the fire as evidence that the governor’s order is “doing what it was designed to do: stop unlawful evictions and keep families and survivors housed.”

But tenants’ rights groups and lawyers said court cases, the only public paper trail of evictions, don’t show the complete picture. It’s time-consuming and risky for a tenant to fight an eviction in court; if they lose, they’ll have a record that could make it harder to rent another place. Many tenants simply move out after getting a notice to vacate the property, even when they think their landlord is breaking the law.

“We know this is happening,” said Jade Moreno, a researcher and policy analyst for the Maui Housing Hui, a tenants’ rights organization. “We hear the stories all the time.”

“The Greed Is Sickening”

Although most people refer to FEMA when they complain that emergency housing programs have skewed the market, the state of Hawaii pays similar rates for its own program. And in November, in an effort to entice property owners, the governor revealed just how much money could be made housing people who were homeless after the fire.

Thousands of wildfire survivors were living in hotel rooms at the time, costing the state at least $1 million a day; meanwhile, vacation rental homes that would have been cheaper sat vacant. So Green announced that the state would pay a premium to anyone who housed survivors.

For landlords who typically rented to locals, the numbers offered by the state were stunning: $5,000 a month for a studio or one-bedroom home; $7,000 for a two-bedroom; $9,000 for a three-bedroom; and $11,000 for a four-bedroom.

Early on, FEMA also concluded that it would have to pay vacation rental rates. FEMA won’t publicize what it pays, saying it varies by property. But contracts reviewed by Civil Beat and ProPublica show the agency has paid $5,000 to $9,050 for a one- or two-bedroom unit. For three- and four-bedroom homes, it has paid $9,000 to $11,400, according to two landlords who spoke to Civil Beat and ProPublica.

Contracts for the Federal Emergency Management Agency’s housing program obtained by Civil Beat and ProPublica show that landlords have brought in prices well above the market rate for long-term rentals on Maui. State and federal officials have said they had to offer high prices in order to convince property owners to shelter wildfire survivors. (Obtained by Civil Beat and ProPublica. Highlighted by ProPublica.)

Once people knew what they could get, Maui-based property manager Claudia Garcia started getting calls. Property owners, many of whom lived on the mainland, asked if Garcia could help them lease to FEMA or raise their rents to keep pace. She said she refused because she didn't want to help them take advantage of the crisis. “The greed is sickening,” said Garcia, whose firm manages more than 100 rentals on the island. “It’s just not right what they’re doing.”

The Legal Aid Society of Hawaii got calls, too, but from tenants. In the first seven months after the fire, the number of Maui residents who sought help with evictions grew by 50% compared with the seven months before the fire, according to the organization.

The high prices offered by the state and FEMA forced at least one nonprofit that was sheltering victims of the fire to bump up its offers to property owners. “Short-term rental owners did shop us,” said Skye Kolealani Razon-Olds, who oversees the Council for Native Hawaiian Advancement’s emergency housing and recovery programs. “They provided us with FEMA rental rates and asked if we could match it.”

Razon-Olds said the nonprofit has received 19 complaints from tenants who said they were being forced out of their homes so their landlords could rent to FEMA. She said her organization convinced FEMA to stop dealing with those owners.

In February, six months after the fire, FEMA announced that it would reject properties if it learned tenants had been illegally forced out “so landlords could gain higher rents from the FEMA program.” Officials told Civil Beat and ProPublica that FEMA has found fewer than 10 cases in which a landlord wrongfully ended a lease in order to participate in the housing program. In all those cases, FEMA removed the properties from the program.

State and federal officials characterized their rates as a compromise between vacation rental and long-term rates. The rates publicized by the state are maximums, state officials said; in practice, Hawaii is paying significantly less — about $228 per night rather than $267. That works out to about $6,800 per month rather than $8,000.

After state and local officials raised concerns, FEMA asked the Argonne National Laboratory to study whether housing programs had caused property owners to increase rents or displace residents.

Researchers concluded that the loss of housing in the fires was the biggest factor in the rapid increase in rental prices and that there wasn’t enough data to know how much housing programs had contributed. However, they noted that the Hawaii Office of Consumer Protection received about 700 housing-related complaints from August 2023 to April, most related to lease terminations or rent increases. Those complaints and subsequent investigations, researchers wrote, indicate that the “behavior of some landlords may have changed leading to secondary displacement or increased costs for some renter households outside of the burn area.”

One landlord, however, said it wasn’t until she was approached by a property management company working for FEMA that she decided to house wildfire survivors. The company offered Mara Lockwood $7,000 a month — about $2,300 more than what she had collected for her two-bedroom condo overlooking Maalaea Bay.

Lockwood took the deal, not just for the extra income, but because she would be exempt from property taxes for at least a year, which she said will save her about $12,000 annually. But she was conflicted. As the owner of a Maui real estate company, she saw the asking prices for rentals rise, and she kept hearing stories of people getting pushed out of their homes so that their landlords could earn more money.

“Kicking somebody out to rent to FEMA to make more money is a horrible thing to do to people,” Lockwood said. “But when you’re given an opportunity and money is involved — and you have to follow the money — then some people are going to do that.”

“That’s What The Law Allowed”

For every case in which it’s clear a tenant is being kicked out so their landlord can make more money, there are many more that aren’t as obvious, said Nick Severson, the lead housing attorney for the Legal Aid Society of Hawaii. “Sometimes we’ll have emails or texts or statements from the landlord that say, ‘I need you out of here so I can rent this for $8,000 a month to FEMA,’” he said. “But usually it’s not that lucky. It’s a little bit more covert, which makes it hard to push back on.”

Screenshots of text messages show that four days after Christmas, a landlord informed her tenant that he had to give up his rental unit so her family could rent it to FEMA. The landlord, who gave the tenant more time to move after he objected, told Civil Beat and ProPublica that she didn’t end up renting to the agency. (Obtained by Civil Beat and ProPublica)

That’s partly because the state law prohibiting price gouging during an emergency provides landlords with some wiggle room. Renters can be evicted if a landlord or family member is moving in or if the renter has violated the terms of their lease, as long as it’s not related to nonpayment of rent, utilities or similar charges. And landlords can push people out at the end of a fixed-term lease without providing any reason. In several cases reviewed by Civil Beat and ProPublica, landlords have cited those exceptions in evicting tenants and have gone on to rent their properties to wildfire survivors for more money.

Property owners acknowledge that they’re bringing in more money through housing programs than they did before the fire. According to the Hawaii attorney general, the governor’s emergency proclamation prevents landlords from raising their rent unless it was agreed to before Aug. 9 or the landlord can show their costs have increased.

And yet the attorney general has held property owners accountable in relatively few cases. The office has concluded that landlords violated the governor’s order in just 28 of the 200 complaints of illegal evictions and rent increases it had received as of June 3. (Another 30 were still under investigation.) Fenton, the FEMA regional administrator, said the attorney general’s office concluded that just one of the cases FEMA referred had violated the proclamation. The attorney general’s office can levy civil penalties of up to $10,000 a day, but it hasn’t.

“We have the emergency proclamation, but it doesn’t prevent anyone from evicting tenants and raising rent,” said Anne Barber, a Maui real estate broker who works with Garcia in her property management firm. “There is no accountability.”

In February, a tenant complained to the Hawaii attorney general that he was being forced out of his home by a landlord whom he said was planning to rent his home to FEMA. An official with the attorney general’s office told the tenant that the landlord wasn’t obligated to renew the lease and that merely participating in FEMA’s housing program wasn’t a problem. (Obtained by Honolulu Civil Beat and ProPublica. Highlighted by ProPublica.)

The attorney general’s office said in a written statement that it “provides people with opportunities to do the right thing and correct their actions. If individuals continue to choose not to comply, then the Attorney General can and will seek legal remedies.”

The Green administration said it has revised the emergency proclamation to address the needs of the community; at one point, the governor added language barring unsolicited offers to buy property in areas affected by the fires. But, administration officials said, the governor’s power is limited. For example, they said he has no authority to force landlords to extend leases. Green’s staff said lawmakers must look at the price-gouging law and make needed changes.

In one case, Maui landlord Gregory Lussier filed an eviction case against six people living in a four-bedroom home in Kahului. He told Civil Beat and ProPublica that he wanted the tenants out because some of them had left and the remaining ones had stopped paying the full rent, which was about $4,000, but he knew the governor’s order prohibited him from evicting them for not paying. In his Jan. 5 notice to the tenants and the eviction case he filed in court against them a week and a half later, he cited several violations of the lease, including prohibitions on pets, smoking, illegal activity, expired vehicle registrations, and obscene or loud language. Before the case went to trial, the tenants moved out.

Although Lussier rented the property to FEMA’s housing program for $11,000 a month, he said that’s not why he filed eviction proceedings. “There was no premeditated scheme to force the tenant to leave so we could get a FEMA rental agency lease,” he said in an email. However, court records call into question his version of events. Lussier said the lease with FEMA’s outside property manager started Feb. 1 and he believes he signed the rental agreement the day before. He said he didn’t explore renting to the housing program until after the property was vacant and that the process of signing up took “several weeks.” But video of a hearing shows that Lussier and three of his tenants appeared in court on Jan. 29, where the tenants denied his allegations that they had violated the lease. Lussier declined to explain the discrepancy to Civil Beat and ProPublica.

Maui attorney Jack Naiditch said he’s gotten several phone calls from property owners who want to exploit loopholes in the emergency proclamation so they can take advantage of FEMA’s prices. He said he’s turned them away: “I’m not going to put my name on the line for somebody who’s fibbing.”

But he has represented a number of property owners in court, including Sunday’s landlord; some of them have later rented their homes to house wildfire survivors. He declined to discuss specifics of their cases.

When Sunday appeared in court in April, he pleaded with the judge to let his family stay in their home. “Frankly, this is cold, your honor,” Sunday said. “A single man wants to evict a family of four to move into a home which he has admitted is for his own financial benefit and gain.”

“There’s nothing I can do about that,” the judge said. “That is what the law allows. So that needs to be taken on with the governor, our mayor or Legislature, because there are people who very likely take advantage of that.”

Four days after the Sundays received their eviction order, Green responded to residents’ complaints and made it harder to claim the exception that Sunday’s landlord had cited. Now, a landlord or family member who claims they need to move into a property must provide a sworn statement saying they’re not accepting money from an aid program to house survivors.

That same day, Sunday said, his family packed the last of their belongings as a process server threatened to call the sheriff if they lingered too long. They put most of their belongings in a storage unit and gave away all of their pets and backyard farm animals — 18 chickens, nine ducks, two dogs and a pair of cats. They have to relocate again this week.

Sunday doesn’t know what to tell his kids about the constant shuffling and when they’ll see their pets again. “I can’t give them any kind of peace,” he said, “without lying to them.”

Opal Sunday carries a box of crafts from the Sunday family’s storage unit in Kula, Hawaii, in July. (Kevin Fujii/Civil Beat)

Struggling to Keep or Find Housing After Maui’s Wildfires? Tell Us Your Story.

Clarification, Aug. 16, 2024: This story has been updated to clarify, in a subsequent reference, that Bob Fenton is a regional administrator for the Federal Emergency Management Agency.

by Nick Grube, Honolulu Civil Beat

Historic Gun Suit Survives Serious Legal Threat Engineered by Indiana Republicans

8 months ago

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up for Dispatches, a newsletter that spotlights wrongdoing around the country, to receive our stories in your inbox every week.

Republicans in Indiana’s legislature passed a bill this year intended as the final blow to a long-running lawsuit filed by the city of Gary against gun manufacturers seeking to hold them accountable for local illegal gun sales.

The lawmakers even included language making the bill retroactive to ensure that it would apply to the Gary suit, which was filed nearly a quarter century ago.

On Monday, that effort failed.

Indiana Superior Court Judge John Sedia ruled that while the law barring cities from pursuing lawsuits against the gun industry is constitutional, applying it retroactively would “violate years of vested rights and constitutional guarantees.” It was a rare courtroom setback for makers of firearms in the U.S.

On Tuesday, Gary Mayor Eddie Melton applauded the judge. “This ruling reinforces the importance of the independence of each branch of government,” he said in a written statement. The ruling, he added, ensures that the city’s rights are “protected and upheld.”

State Rep. Ragen Hatcher, whose father served as Gary’s first Black mayor, was similarly pleased. “This is a major win that our community deserves,” the Democratic legislator said in a statement.

Gary’s case is the last of a generation of civil suits that made similar claims against the gun industry. Attorneys for gun manufacturers and retailers filed for the case to be dismissed based on the new Indiana law, which placed the power to sue solely with the state’s attorney general.

The bill’s backers made no secret that the Gary case was the bill’s target. It included language to make it retroactive to Aug. 27, 1999 — three days before the city filed its lawsuit. But that decision appears to have doomed the industry’s challenge.

The defendants, which include Glock, Smith & Wesson and several other of the nation’s largest gunmakers, argued in a hearing before Sedia last week that the city no longer has the authority to pursue its claims that gunmakers have failed to address an epidemic of illegal gun sales associated with violence in and around Gary.

Philip Bangle, arguing for Gary, countered that, in practical terms, the bill was “special” — specifically aiming at Gary’s suit — and not allowed under the state constitution.

Bangle, an attorney from the Brady center, a nonprofit centered on gun violence prevention, told the judge that similar suits from other towns were not an issue. “There’s none being contemplated; there’s none being threatened; and frankly, looking at what Gary has had to endure these last 25 years, I doubt that any of these bodies would want to,” he added.

In siding with Gary, Sedia cited a 2003 Indiana Supreme Court decision that says a state law cannot be applied retroactively if it violates constitutionally protected rights.

Judge John Sedia begins proceedings for the Gary hearing on Thursday. (Taylor Glascock for ProPublica)

The General Assembly can bar cities from bringing lawsuits against gun manufacturers, but it cannot end this lawsuit, Sedia wrote. “To avoid manifest injustice, the substance of this lawsuit must be taken to its conclusion.”

A representative for the gunmakers said an appeal is coming. “Respectfully, the Superior Court got it wrong,” said Lawrence Keane, senior vice president of the National Shooting Sports Foundation, a trade association representing several of the defendant gunmakers. “The defendants will immediately appeal to the appellate court to correct this error.”

State Rep. Chris Jeter, author of the bill aimed at disrupting the lawsuit, disagreed with Sedia’s assertion that applying the law retroactively would violate the state constitution. “Municipalities are a creature of state law,” he said. “They aren’t people; they have no rights.”

But Jody Madeira, a law professor at Indiana University and critic of legislators’ efforts to kill the lawsuit, was thrilled by the judge’s ruling. The main takeaway is clear, she said: State lawmakers “cannot use legislative hoodwinking” to disrupt the lawsuit and Gary will get its day in court.

For now, the ruling thwarts the latest attempt by the gun industry and its allies to disrupt the case. Filed in 1999, the suit was one of several that decade from major cities against the nation’s most successful gunmakers.

Recognizing the threat the flood of lawsuits posed, the gun industry gathered its political influence to lobby federal lawmakers. They supported federal legislation strong enough to effectively immunize the industry from civil suits. Once passed, the suits fell one by one. All except Gary’s.

The case had notably approached a significant milestone that similar lawsuits had not. As the year began, it was nearing the end of the discovery phase, where the two sides would continue an exchange of thousands of records, providing plaintiffs a chance to glimpse inside the internal decisions and policies of gun manufacturers. It is unclear when or if that process will resume.

by Vernal Coleman

After Nike Leaders Promised Climate Action, Their Corporate Jets Kept Flying — and Polluting

8 months ago

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up to receive our biggest stories as soon as they’re published.

On dozens of occasions since 2020, a private Gulfstream jet belonging to Nike has touched down at Moffett Field, a federally owned airfield on the banks of San Francisco Bay.

The Silicon Valley site’s most notable feature is a hulking building known as Hangar One, which in the 1930s housed a U.S. Navy airship and today is a conspicuous landmark along U.S. 101.

It also happens to sit about a 30-minute drive from one of Nike CEO John Donahoe’s homes. He became the Oregon-based company’s top executive in January 2020, bought a condo in Portland and registered as an Oregon voter. But he also maintained a home in the Bay Area community of Portola Valley. His previous job was leading a tech company in Santa Clara, and his wife worked at Stanford University until September.

Nike’s jets landed at Moffett more than 100 times in the first three and a half years of Donahoe’s tenure, flight-tracking records show. Landings at Moffett stopped in July 2023 but became more frequent at a nearby airport with a similar drive time to Portola Valley.

Donahoe and Nike executive chairperson Mark Parker have made clear that climate change is a crisis demanding urgent action. “It’s about leading with actions, not words,” Parker said in Nike’s 2019 corporate responsibility report. “We are more committed than ever to help save the planet,” Donahoe said in a 2022 company video.

Yet Nike has failed to shrink one aspect of its carbon footprint that the two men directly influence: travel on the private jets, which emit far more carbon per passenger than commercial airliners.

One of Nike’s private jets takes off from the airport where the company has a hangar in Hillsboro, Oregon, in July. (Dave Killen/The Oregonian)

Nike’s jet travel is up. Company disclosures show that its private planes last year emitted almost 20% more carbon dioxide than they did in 2015, which the company uses as a baseline for its climate goals. The flights are one small reason Nike and its supply chain produced roughly as much carbon dioxide in 2023 as in 2015, despite the company’s commitment to sharply reduce emissions.

The company owns two Gulfstream G650ERs. Flight-tracking records show that their destinations include New York City, where the company has a corporate office, and Paris during the Olympics and in April, when Nike unveiled its Olympic uniforms.

In July, a Nike jet flew down to San Jose, California, and back to its base in Hillsboro, Oregon; it then took off two days later for Idaho, where Donahoe and his wife were photographed at the Allen & Co. conference in Sun Valley, an annual gathering dubbed “summer camp for billionaires.”

Vacation spots Nike jets have traveled to include Cape Cod, where Parker owns a home. Since 2020, the planes have landed there at least 15 times. They’ve touched down in the Cayman Islands at least six times since 2021.

But the Bay Area has been a magnet. It was an out-of-the-way pit stop for an Oregon-bound flight after Donahoe delivered the spring commencement keynote at West Virginia’s Marshall University in 2023. It has been a weekend destination with Friday landings and Sunday returns to Oregon. (The jets averaged about 10 flights a year to Moffett Field in the two years before Donahoe’s hiring, when he was a Nike board member and lived in California, versus an average of about 30 a year from 2020 through mid-2023, while he was Nike’s CEO.)

More than 30 times, one of the company’s private jets flew down to Moffett and back to Oregon in the same day, sometimes spending as little as 25 minutes on the ground.

If those flights ferried a single person in one direction, turning what would be one commercial flight into two by private jet, it would release 160 times as much carbon per passenger as if the person flew commercial, said Phillip Ansell, director of the Center for Sustainable Aviation at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. He called this arrangement “completely inexcusable.”

“In the current climate where aviation does not yet have a viable route to fully decarbonize, we need to see these types of flights come to a halt,” Ansell said.

Nike did not make Donahoe and Parker available for interviews and declined to say why the jets frequented Moffett Field and, more recently, San Jose Mineta International Airport.

The company said in a statement that its jet passengers comprise a variety of people who are essential to its business objectives, including executives, employees, athletes, entertainers and others. The jets improve productivity and address security concerns for executives, Nike said, calling private flights a standard practice among large global companies.

As for curbing carbon pollution, the company said that “we focus on Nike’s areas of greatest impact,” noting that the bulk of its emissions come from the production of materials for its sneakers and apparel.

Nike CEO John Donahoe in front of a Nike jet. In an Instagram post by the University of North Carolina’s head women’s basketball coach, Courtney Banghart, she thanks him for a “lift.” (Screenshot by ProPublica)

Celebrities including Taylor Swift, Drake and Kylie Jenner have drawn scrutiny for their profligate jet-setting in the face of the planet’s record-breaking temperatures. And in the business world, CEOs are increasingly being allowed to use corporate jets for personal use, according to Equilar, a data firm that studies executive compensation. In 2018, 36% of S&P 500 companies included the perk in CEO pay packages. By last year, that had grown to 45%.

But Nike, the world’s largest athletic apparel company, stands apart: It has staked a claim as a corporate leader on the environment, joining thousands of companies pledging to voluntarily slash carbon emissions in line with the Paris Agreement on climate change.

Nike also stands out for disclosing more about its private jet travel than its peers. A review by ProPublica and The Oregonian/OregonLive of the disclosures of 30 companies, including 18 of Nike’s self-identified peers, found no others that publicly report emissions from corporate jets. Roughly half report emissions from business travel, which can include jet use.

Get in Touch

ProPublica and The Oregonian/OregonLive plan to continue reporting on Nike and its sustainability work, including its overseas operations. Do you have information that we should know? Rob Davis can be reached by email at rob.davis@propublica.org and by phone, Signal or WhatsApp at 503-770-0665. Matthew Kish can be reached by email at mkish@oregonian.com, by phone at 503-221-4386, and on Signal at 971-319-3830.

In addition to reporting rising emissions from its jets, Nike’s disclosures show that it is behind on its ambitions for reducing its overall contribution to climate change. The company said in 2016 that it would halve its total emissions; instead they have grown slightly since 2015.

Meanwhile, since December, Nike has laid off 20% of its dedicated sustainability staff, The Oregonian/OregonLive and ProPublica have reported, and lost another 10% through internal transfers or voluntary departures.

Nike’s growing private jet use sets the wrong tone from the top, said Charles Elson, founding director of the Weinberg Center for Corporate Governance at the University of Delaware.

“It’s, ‘Do what I say, not as I do,’” Elson said. “Flying private aircraft all over the place certainly isn’t a bold action in support of climate responsibility. That’s the problem. Your actions and your words seem to diverge in unflattering ways. It is not a good look.”

Private jet use represents less than a tenth of a percent of all Nike’s emissions. The overwhelming majority come from production and shipping by the company’s overseas suppliers. But the jets generate 6% of the carbon coming from assets that Nike owns, a share that has grown as Nike has powered its buildings around the world with renewable energy.

Donahoe, whose $29.2 million compensation last year made him one of America’s highest-paid executives, has an arrangement with Nike that allows him to use the jets for more than business. He can fly in them for personal travel at his own expense. He has reimbursed Nike more than $700,000 for such trips in the last two years, securities filings show.

In addition, the company has given the chief executive $293,000 in free personal travel since 2020 as part of his compensation. Parker, the executive chairperson, has received $494,000 in free personal use of the jets in that time.

The jets’ flight paths can be found on the website of ADS-B Exchange, which crowdsources location readings from airplane transponders. The flight records don’t show who is on board, but in some cases flights coincided with news coverage and social media posts indicating their purpose.

Nike’s jets have landed at golf destinations around the country. They visited Augusta, Georgia, ahead of the Masters Tournament in 2022 and again in 2023. A Nike jet has joined the roughly 1,500 other private jets that crowd the small airport during the tournament, making it so busy that Golf Digest has described it as a “bonafide Heathrow.”

In 2022, Donahoe golfed in a morning pro-am event before the Memorial Tournament at Muirfield Village Golf Club, outside Columbus, Ohio. Social media photos show Donahoe playing with Rory McIlroy, a golf star Nike sponsors.

One of Nike’s corporate jets landed in Columbus the day before the golf event; it returned to Oregon after the pro-am ended, flight records show.

Photographs posted to Instagram from a Nike fan account show Donahoe golfing at an event outside Columbus, Ohio. At right in the second image is Rory McIlroy, a Nike-sponsored golf star. Flight records show one of Nike’s corporate jets landed in Columbus the day before the event and returned to Oregon after it ended. (Screenshot by ProPublica)

Traveling by private jet is far more polluting than flying commercial.

Ansell, the sustainable aviation expert, said a fully loaded Gulfstream G650ER flight releases about 4.5 times as much carbon dioxide per passenger as a Boeing 737, the workhorse commercial airplane. If the Gulfstream is carrying only a single passenger, it’s about 80 times as polluting, he said, because the private aircraft’s weight and fuel consumption stay roughly the same.

Nike’s Gulfstream models can be configured to carry as many as 19 passengers. It’s unknown how many people typically travel on them.

“It is patently irresponsible to be using luxury G650s for flights that carry only a few passengers,” Ansell said.

The pollution from Nike’s jets adds up. Last year, they generated roughly the same amount of carbon dioxide as a passenger car driving 10.9 million miles, company disclosures and an Environmental Protection Agency emissions calculator show. (Imagine driving a car around the equator 438 times.) It was roughly equal to the amount of carbon pollution that would be released by burning 4.7 million pounds of coal.

While Nike’s corporate jets have been generating more carbon, the company last year recorded a 65% decline compared to 2015 in emissions from another source: commercial air travel by rank-and-file employees.

Four former employees said the company has restricted worker travel in recent years. They said their managers didn’t cite the need to reduce emissions but instead the need to save money. Nike, in a statement, said its employees also had embraced remote meeting tools since the pandemic, allowing them to “operate effectively without extensive travel.”

By contrast, the company’s jets are used for transportation to “specific high-level meetings and events that require executive presence,” Nike said, “and cannot be conducted remotely.”

Ryanne Mena and Jeff Frankl of ProPublica contributed research.

by Rob Davis, Agnel Philip and Alex Mierjeski, ProPublica, and Matthew Kish, The Oregonian/OregonLive

A Wisconsin Tribe Built a Lending Empire Charging 600% Annual Rates to Borrowers

8 months ago

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up for Dispatches, a newsletter that spotlights wrongdoing around the country, to receive our stories in your inbox every week.

In bankruptcy filings and consumer complaints, thousands of people across the country make pleas for relief from high-interest loans with punishing annual rates that often exceed 600%.

Although they borrowed small sums online from a slew of businesses with catchy names — such as Loan at Last or Sky Trail Cash — their loans stemmed from the same massive operation owned by a small Native American tribe in a remote part of Wisconsin.

Over the past decade, the Lac du Flambeau Band of Lake Superior Chippewa Indians has grown to become a prominent player in the tribal lending industry, generating far-reaching impact and leaving a legacy of economic despair. A ProPublica analysis found companies owned by the LDF tribe showed up as a creditor in roughly 1 out of every 100 bankruptcy cases sampled nationwide.

That’s the highest frequency associated with any of the tribes doing business in this sector of the payday loan industry. And it translates to an estimated 4,800 bankruptcy cases, on average, per year.

ProPublica also found that LDF’s various companies have racked up more than 2,200 consumer complaints that were routed to the Federal Trade Commission since 2019 — more than any other tribe in recent years.

“THIS IS THE TEXTBOOK DEFINITION ON LOANSHARKING,” one Californian with an LDF loan complained in all caps in June 2023 to federal regulators. The person, whose name is redacted, argued that “no one should be expected to pay over $11,000 for a $1,200 loan,” calling the 790% rate “beyond predatory.”

In a separate complaint, a Massachusetts customer wrote, “I thought this kind of predatory lending was against the law.”

Such confusion is understandable. Loans like these are illegal under most state statutes. But tribal-related businesses, including LDF, claim that their sovereign rights exempt them from state usury laws and licensing requirements aimed at protecting consumers. And so these businesses operate widely, facing little pushback from regulators and relying on the small print in their loan agreements.

As LDF climbed in the industry, it kept a low profile, garnering little publicity. For years it operated from a call center above a smoke shop in the community’s small downtown, before moving to a sprawling vocational training building, built in part with federal money, off a less visible, two-lane road.

But staying under the radar just got harder. Court filings show that LDF tribal leaders and some of their nontribal business partners have come to an agreement with consumers in a 2020 federal class-action lawsuit filed in Virginia. Nearly 1 million borrowers could finally get relief.

The deal calls for the cancellation of $1.4 billion in outstanding loans. Tribal officials and their associates would also pay $37.4 million to consumers and the lawyers who brought the suit. Although they settled, LDF leaders have denied wrongdoing in the case, and its president told ProPublica it adheres to high industry standards in its lending operations.

A final resolution of the case will take months. If approved, the total settlement would be the largest ever secured against participants in the tribal lending industry, lawyers told the court.

“This is a big one,” said Irv Ackelsberg, a Philadelphia attorney who has faced off in court against other tribal lenders and followed this suit closely. “Is it going to stop tribal lending? Probably not because it’s just a fraction of what’s out there.”

The LDF tribe is central to the suit but is not named. Nor is LDF Holdings, the corporate umbrella over the various lending subsidiaries.

A sign along the road at the entrance to the Lac du Flambeau reservation (Tim Gruber for ProPublica)

Knowing that both those entities likely would have been entitled to sovereign immunity, lawyers for the borrowers chose a different approach. Instead, they brought the case against members of the tribe’s governing council; high-level employees of LDF’s lending operations; and a nontribal business partner, Skytrail Servicing Group, and its owner, William Cheney Pruett.

Pruett also denied wrongdoing in the case. He did not respond to requests for comment from ProPublica.

The proposed settlement notes that the tribal leaders and their partners understood that continuing to defend the case “would require them to expend significant time and money.” LDF, under the settlement, can continue its loan operations.

In emails to ProPublica, LDF President John Johnson Sr. defended the tribe’s lending business as legal and beneficial to both borrowers and the tribal members. He said the loans help people “without access to traditional financial services,” such as those with bad credit histories and people facing financial crises. Many borrowers, he said, have had positive experiences.

He also emphasized the economic benefits to the tribe, including jobs and revenue for vital services. “Please make no mistake: the programs and infrastructure developed through LDF Holdings’ revenue contributions have saved lives in our community and are helping preserve our culture and way of life,” he wrote in an email.

Johnson, who is a named defendant in the suit, and other tribal leaders declined requests to be interviewed.

John Johnson Sr., tribal president of Lac du Flambeau, helps set up a tribal flag during a youth spearfishing event earlier this year. (AP Photo/John Locher) Partnerships Fuel Lending

Historically, some financial services firms formed alliances with tribes, gaining an advantage from the tribes’ sovereign immunity. For years, consumer lawyers and even federal prosecutors have raised questions about whether some tribal lending operations were just fronts for outsiders that received most of the profits and conducted all the key operations — from running call centers to underwriting and collecting.

The LDF tribe is one of only a few dozen of the nation’s 574 federally recognized tribes that have turned to the lending business as an economic lifeline. Typically those tribes are in isolated areas far from large population centers needed to support major industries or hugely profitable casinos. Online lending, or e-commerce, opened opportunities.

“If you look at the tribes who do it, they tend to be rural and they tend to be poor,” said Lance Morgan, CEO of a tribal economic development corporation owned by the Winnebago Tribe of Nebraska. “Because they don’t really have any other options to pursue from an economic development standpoint. They just don’t. That’s why this appeals to some tribes.”

He said his tribe considered getting into the lending industry but decided against it.

Tribes in the U.S. still suffer from the legacy of racism and betrayal that saw the U.S. government steal land from Native Americans and destroy cultures. Now, with limited economic resources and taxing options, tribal governments draw upon federal grants and subsidies to help fund essential community services — support promised in long-ago treaties, laws and policies in exchange for land. But these programs have proven to be “chronically underfunded and sometimes inefficiently structured,” according to a 2018 report from the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights.

On the LDF reservation, which is home to about 3,600 people, the median household income is under $52,000, and 20% of the population lives below the federal poverty line, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. On lands that are chock-full of lakes, streams and wetlands, the LDF people operate a fish hatchery, hunt deer and cultivate wild rice. The tribe also has a casino, hotel and convention center.

LDF says its lending revenue helps fund essential tribal services, including preserving the natural environment. (Tim Gruber for ProPublica)

LDF entered the loan business in 2012 and has set up at least two dozen lending companies and websites on its way to massive expansion, a ProPublica examination found. LDF owns the companies and works with outside firms to operate its businesses, which offer short-term installment loans.

Unlike traditional payday loans, these are not due by the next pay period but have longer terms. Borrowers show proof of income and typically authorize the company to make automatic withdrawals from their bank accounts.

Get in Touch

To do the best, most comprehensive reporting on this opaque industry, we want to hear from more of the people who know it best. Do you work for a tribal lending operation, either on a reservation or for an outside business partner? Do you belong to a tribe that participates in this lending, or one that has rejected the industry? Are you a regulator or lawyer dealing with these issues? Have you borrowed from a tribal lender? All perspectives matter to us. Please get in touch with Megan O’Matz at megan.omatz@propublica.org or 954-873-7576, or Joel Jacobs at joel.jacobs@propublica.org or 917-512-0297. Visit propublica.org/tips for information on secure communication channels.

Details of the tribe’s business operations are not public. A July 2014 tribal newsletter reported that LDF had three lending companies employing four tribal members. By 2022, an LDF attorney told the Virginia judge that LDF Holdings, the lending parent company, employed about 50 people on the reservation. Johnson told ProPublica it currently employs 170 people “who live on or near the reservation,” of which 70% are tribally enrolled.

Each year, on reservation land, LDF now hosts the Tribal Lending Summit, a gathering of staff, vendors and prospective partners. Attendee lists posted online show dozens of representatives of software companies, call centers, marketing firms, customer acquisition businesses and debt collection agencies.

After this year’s event, in June, the LDF business hosts posted a congratulation message on social media: ”Here’s to another year of growth, learning, and collaboration! We look forward to continuing this journey together and seeing you all at next year’s summit."

Business Practices Under Fire

Like many operators in this corner of the lending industry, LDF has been forced to defend its business practices in court. It has been subject to at least 40 civil suits filed by consumers since 2019, ProPublica found.

The suits typically allege violations of state usury laws and federal racketeering or fair credit reporting statutes. Johnson, in his statements to ProPublica, said LDF follows tribal and federal regulations, and he cited LDF’s sovereign status as the primary reason state laws on lending don’t apply to its business practices.

“Expecting a Tribe to opine on and/or submit to State regulatory oversight is akin to expecting Canada to submit to or speak on the laws of France,” he wrote.

Most suits against LDF’s lending companies settle quickly with the terms kept confidential. Consumers can be at a disadvantage because of the arbitration agreements in the fine print of their loan contracts, which attempt to restrict their ability to sue.

Karen Brostek, a registered nurse in Florida, borrowed $550 in 2017 from LDF’s Loan at Last at an annual percentage rate of 682%. The contract required her to pay back $2,783 over nine months.

Karen Brostek Received a Loan from LDF with a 682% Annual Percentage Rate

The agreement with LDF required her to pay $2,233 in finance charges on a $550 loan.

Source: Karen Brostek’s loan agreement (Lucas Waldron, ProPublica)

It wasn’t her first foray into short-term borrowing. She said her salary did not cover her expenses and she had “to borrow from Peter to pay Paul.”

Karen Brostek outside her home in Brooksville, Florida (Bob Croslin for ProPublica)

Loan at Last tried numerous times to collect the debt, even threatening in one phone call to have her jailed, she said. Finally, in August 2019, she satisfied the obligation.

Brostek sued LDF Holdings in small claims court in Pasco County in 2021. The suit cited Florida laws that make it a third-degree felony to issue loans with APRs over 45%.

The parties settled within weeks. Brostek recalls receiving about $750. LDF’s Johnson did not comment on Brostek’s case in his response to ProPublica.

She said she does not begrudge the tribe making money but said, “We need to find another way to help them so they don’t feel they’re backed into a corner and this is their only alternative.”

A Groundbreaking Settlement

The Virginia class-action suit claimed that LDF’s governing council delegated the daily operations of the lending businesses “to non-tribal members.” Mirroring allegations in other civil actions, the suit claims that LDF’s partnerships were exploiting sovereign immunity to make loans that otherwise would be illegal.

According to the plaintiffs, LDF Holdings entered into agreements that allow nontribal outsiders to handle and control most aspects of the lending businesses. That includes “marketing, underwriting, risk assessment, compliance, accounting, lead generation, collections, and website management for the businesses,” the suit said. For years, the president of LDF Holdings was a woman who lived in Tampa, Florida. She is a named defendant in the suit, which says she is not a member of the tribe.

Johnson told ProPublica that early on the tribe lacked expertise in the industry and that its partnerships were simply an example of outsourcing, “a standard practice in many American business sectors.”

His statement added, “Recruiting outside talent and capital to Indian country is a mission-critical skill in Tribal economic development.”

The amount of revenue that comes to the tribe is undisclosed, but the class-action suit says the contract with one of its partners, Skytrail Servicing, resulted in only “a nominal flat fee” for LDF.

The 2014 servicing agreement between Skytrail Servicing and LDF is sealed in the court record, and details about the arrangement are largely redacted. In one filing, Skytrail Servicing denies an allegation from the plaintiffs that the tribe received only $3.50 per originated loan.

In a separate filing in the suit, Johnson, the tribal president, said LDF’s lending profits are distributed to the tribe’s general fund, which helps pay for the tribal government, including essential services such as police, education and health care.

The legal strategy crafted by the Virginia consumer protection firm Kelly Guzzo PLC relied heavily on a 2021 federal appeals court decision that concluded that tribal lending was off-reservation conduct to which state law applied. The court found that while a tribe itself cannot be sued for its commercial activities, its members and officers can be.

The class-action suit alleges that tribal officials and their associates conspired to violate state lending laws, collecting millions of dollars in unlawful debts. “In sum, we allege that they are the upper level management of a purely unlawful business that makes illegal loans in Virginia, Georgia, and elsewhere throughout the country,” lawyer Andrew Guzzo said in a September 2022 hearing, referring to LDF officials.

“What I’m trying to say, in other words, is this isn’t a case that involves a lawful business, such as a real estate brokerage firm, that happens to have a secret side scheme involving a few rogue employees,” he said. “The people that are overseeing this are overseeing a business that makes unlawful loans and nothing else.”

The most consequential aspect of the settlement plan is the debt relief it would offer an estimated 980,000 people who were LDF customers over seven years — from July 24, 2016, through Oct. 1, 2023. Those who had obtained loans during that period and still owed money would not be subject to any further collection efforts, canceling an estimated $1.4 billion in outstanding debt.

Eligibility for cash awards is dependent on the state where borrowers live and how much they paid in interest. Nevada and Utah have no interest rate restrictions, so borrowers there aren’t entitled to any money back.

The tribal officials who are listed as defendants have agreed to pay $2 million of the $37.4 million cash settlement. The remaining amount would come from nontribal partners involved in five of the tribe’s lending subsidiaries.

That includes $6.5 million from Skytrail Servicing Group and Pruett, a Texas businessman who has been involved in the payday loan industry for more than two decades.

The largest portion of the settlement — $20 million — would come from unnamed “non-tribal individuals and entities” involved with LDF’s Loan at Last, the company that gave Brostek her loan.

The consumer attorneys are not done. They noted in a memorandum in the case that other LDF affiliates who did not settle in this instance “will be sued in a new case.”

How We Estimated the Size and Impact of the Tribal Lending Industry

Because tribal lenders are not licensed by states, there is very little public information about the size of the industry.

Bankruptcies give a rare window into the prevalence of the industry because when people file for bankruptcy, they must list all the creditors they owe money to. Bankruptcies are filed in federal court and are tracked in PACER, the federal courts’ electronic records system. But PACER charges a fee for every document viewed and cannot be comprehensively searched by creditor list, making it impractical to identify every bankruptcy case with a tribal lender.

Instead, we selected a random sample of 10,000 bankruptcy cases using the Federal Judicial Center’s bankruptcy database, which lists every case filed nationwide (but does not include creditor information). We looked at Chapter 7 and Chapter 13 cases — the types used by individuals — filed from October 2020 to September 2023. We then scraped the creditor list for each of these cases from PACER and identified which cases involved tribal lenders.

We ultimately identified 119 cases with LDF companies as creditors — 1.19% of our total sample, the most of any tribe. Extrapolating these figures across all 1.2 million Chapter 7 and Chapter 13 bankruptcy cases during these three years gave an estimated 15,000 cases involving LDF loans during this period (with a 95% confidence interval of +/- 2,600). That comes out to an estimated 4,800 cases per year, on average. Many factors can contribute to bankruptcy, and LDF loans were not the only debts these bankruptcy filers faced. Still, these figures showed that LDF stood out among other tribal lenders and had a substantial presence across bankruptcies nationwide.

We also looked at consumer complaint data that we acquired through public records requests to the Federal Trade Commission, which collects complaints made to various sources including the Better Business Bureau, the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau and the FTC itself. We focused our requests on several categories we found to be related to lending products, such as payday loans and finance company lending. Our tallies are likely an undercount: Complaints against tribal lenders may have fallen under other categories, such as debt collection, though our explorations found this to be less common. We found more than 2,200 complaints about LDF companies since 2019, the most of any tribal lending operation.

We compiled hundreds of tribal lending company and website names that we used to search through the creditor and complaint data. However, due to the ever-shifting industry landscape in which websites often go offline while new ones pop up, it is possible that we did not identify every complaint and bankruptcy involving tribal lenders.

Mariam Elba contributed research.

by Megan O’Matz and Joel Jacobs

Washington State Solar Project Paused Amid Concern About Native Cultural Sites

8 months ago

This article was produced in partnership with High Country News, which was a member of the Local Reporting Network in 2023-24. Sign up for Dispatches to get stories like this one as soon as they are published.

A company developing an industrial-scale solar panel array on Badger Mountain in Eastern Washington has paused permitting activities on the project amid concerns about impacts to Indigenous cultural sites.

The decision comes on the heels of an investigation by High Country News and ProPublica this year, which found that a land survey funded by the developer, Avangrid Renewables, had omitted more than a dozen sites of archaeological or cultural significance on the public parcel included in the project area. This survey is required by the state before it can permit the project so construction can begin.

In a June 27 letter to the state agency responsible for approving the project, Avangrid wrote that it will be pausing project planning for two to three months “while we re-evaluate public comments, including from our project landowners and affected tribal nations.”

The Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation have objected to the Badger Mountain solar project for years, according to tribal business councilmember Karen Condon. They officially registered their opposition in May 2023, citing the foods, medicines, archaeological heritage sites and other cultural resources found on the mountain. They were joined shortly after by the Confederated Tribes and Bands of the Yakama Nation. Both tribal nations have the right to access and use public lands in their ancestral territory, which includes the state-owned parcel on Badger Mountain.

Due to concerns from tribal nations and state agencies, the Energy Facility Site Evaluation Council, whose members are appointed by the governor, had previously ordered a redo of the cultural resources survey.

“While we are pausing permitting activities, Avangrid is continuing to evaluate other elements of the Badger Mountain project,” a company spokesperson said in an email to HCN and ProPublica.

The future of the Badger Mountain solar project is unclear. Avangrid’s spokesperson wrote, “We have a strong relationship with [Washington’s Department of Natural Resources] on our operating projects and value their participation in advancing clean energy in the state and will continue to work with them to advance new clean energy projects.”

The DNR, which acts as the landlord for the parcel and evaluates the environmental and cultural impacts of projects on it, said the pause is a chance to have more discussions with tribes and potential stakeholders. “Each time people [go] out to the area, more and more archaeological sites and plant resources are seen and more concerns arise,” Louis Fortin, scientific consultation manager at the department, wrote in an email to HCN and ProPublica.

Fortin noted that some leases with private landowners expired in December 2023, and that some of the landowners are not renewing those leases. The majority of the project is on private lands, suggesting that a major portion of the project may no longer be viable for reasons unrelated to cultural resources. Avangrid declined to answer inquiries about private landowners’ concerns.

In March, a group of Wenatchi-P’squosa people and their supporters gathered on Badger Mountain to demonstrate against the proposed solar development, which would impact critical foodways and sites of archaeological heritage.

After hearing of Avangrid’s pause in operations, one of the Wenatchi-P’squosa organizers, Darnell Sam, told HCN and ProPublica he isn’t confident tribal concerns will meaningfully alter the course of development. “I still don’t trust the process,” he said, noting that the developer has already invested millions of dollars in the project. Sam is the traditional territories coordinator for the Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation, where the Wenatchi-P’squosa people are enrolled, but said this view is his own and does not necessarily reflect the opinion of his office.

His mistrust, he explained, is due in part to what he’s seen his neighbors at the Yakama Nation go through. For years, the nearby Yakama Nation has opposed a pumped hydro storage project, which has also been the subject of an HCN and ProPublica investigation into how a federal agency dodged its consultation obligations, about 200 miles south of Badger Mountain. Despite tribal objections, that development has continued to advance.

“We’re not against green energy,” Sam said. “But where’s the responsible place for it to be?”

by B. “Toastie” Oaster, High Country News

In Rural Tennessee, Domestic Violence Victims Face Barriers to Getting Justice. One County Has Transformed Its Approach.

8 months ago

This story describes an attempted murder in a domestic violence case.

This article was produced for ProPublica’s Local Reporting Network in partnership with WPLN/Nashville Public Radio. Sign up for Dispatches to get stories like this one as soon as they are published.

Before rural Scott County remade itself into a model for managing domestic violence, Jade Peters didn’t know where to turn for help. Her ex-boyfriend was stalking her and threatened to kill other men who talked to her.

She knew he had a gun, but so did many people in Scott County, and she didn’t think the justice system would take her seriously.

If you or someone you know needs help, here’s a guide on how to navigate Tennessee’s justice system for domestic violence victims.

One night in 2009, Peters was walking up her steps when she saw someone approaching. As he got closer, she realized it was her ex-boyfriend. She fumbled with her keys, trying to set off her car alarm.

He pulled his hand out of his pocket. A sudden bright light pierced the darkness — the flash of a gun firing.

The bullet tore through Peters’ mouth and throat, with fragments lodging in her spine. When she was able to drag herself into her house to call for help, she remembers avoiding her reflection in the mirror, not wanting to see what damage the bullet had done.

Jade Peters at her home in Scott County, where she was shot by an ex-boyfriend. After her recovery, Peters became a lawyer and has represented domestic violence victims.

A few years ago, Scott County decided that the system that Peters and other domestic violence victims across the state contended with wasn’t good enough. Tennessee consistently has one of the highest rates of women killed by men, and most of those homicides are committed with a gun. Yet, over the years, the state has loosened its gun laws, making it easier for people to buy and carry firearms. While the state bars domestic abusers and people with felony convictions from having guns, WPLN and ProPublica found that those laws are rarely enforced.

Tucked into the Appalachian foothills along the Kentucky border, Scott County recognized that victims in rural areas face unique barriers. There are few resources, like domestic violence shelters. Law enforcement and the courts typically lack staff and training. And cultural attitudes about domestic violence and guns can make officers and judges less likely to believe women or more reluctant to take firearms away from abusers.

The county completely overhauled the way it handles domestic violence cases. It brought most of the agencies that deal with domestic violence into one building called the Family Justice Center. It then started one of the state’s only court programs solely dedicated to handling domestic violence cases.

And vitally, the county took steps to better ensure that people subject to domestic violence charges or protection orders don’t have guns.

Peters said that if the reforms had existed when she needed them, she would have known where to get help. “It would have made a difference,” she said.

Separating dangerous people from their guns is an issue that much of the country grapples with. But in Tennessee, “it’s even more inconsistent in these rural communities,” said Heather Herrmann, who oversees a statewide group that studies domestic violence homicides. She said in rural areas, judges are more likely to consider things like whether accused abusers hunt or have jobs that require guns.

First image: Oneida, Tennessee, is one of the small towns in Scott County. Second image: The Scott County Family Justice Center brings together the district attorney’s office, emergency housing, a domestic violence officer and other resources so victims only have to make one stop to get help.

In rural Lewis County in Middle Tennessee, for example, Judge Mike Hinson said protecting gun rights weighs heavily in his decisions. It can be hard to justify signing an order of protection — which can bar someone from coming near the victim, contacting them or having firearms — if a gun wasn’t involved in the domestic violence incident, he said.

“It’s those close cases where I try to balance a person’s rights — because they do have a Second Amendment right, and they do have a right to protect themselves, and they do have a right to get a job,” Hinson said. “That’s the tougher balance.”

It’s a balance he acknowledged he doesn’t always get right.

Even if a judge orders someone to give up their guns, there’s a glaring gap in Tennessee’s system. It’s one of about a dozen states that allow someone to give their gun to a third party like a friend or relative instead of a law enforcement agency or a licensed firearms dealer. And it doesn’t require that the person be identified to the court. In such cases, someone could say they gave up their guns but still have access to them, advocates for domestic violence victims say.

Listen to the WPLN Story

Scott County saw that gap and decided to change its firearms form, requiring abusers to name the person who is holding their guns and list their address. That person has to sign to verify they have the guns. Scott is the only one of Tennessee’s 95 counties that has done this, victim advocates say. They have asked the Tennessee Administrative Office of the Courts to change the form statewide, but the office says the legislature would have to do that.

It’s difficult to measure Scott County’s success because the numbers are so small. But data from the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation shows that while domestic violence incidents have fallen slightly across the state, in Scott County, they’ve dropped by more than half, from nearly 250 in 2009 to an average of less than 100 in recent years. Victims are seeking protection orders from the courts more than they did before the reforms — a sign that there’s more trust in the system, victim advocates say. And far more requests are being approved.

Domestic violence pamphlets at the Scott County Family Justice Center “Some People, It Was Just a Bad Day”

No other rural county in Tennessee has yet followed Scott’s lead. And throughout the state, old attitudes prevail. On the other side of Nashville from Scott County is a region of rolling hills and cropland where guns and hunting are also a big part of life.

This area of Middle Tennessee is represented in Congress by Rep. Andy Ogles, a Republican who in 2021 sent out a Christmas card of his family holding guns. (Ogles didn’t respond to calls or emails from WPLN and ProPublica but has told reporters he didn’t regret the card.) Jason Aldean’s controversial music video, “Try That in a Small Town,” was filmed at a courthouse in the area and served as an anthem of old-school, small-town values that critics said was a racist rallying cry for vigilante justice and gun violence. (Aldean has defended the song and video.)

That culture permeates all the way up the justice system to judges, Herrmann said.

“When you have a really insular community, a really gun-focused community, and often a community that maybe has some misconceptions or stereotyping of what domestic violence is and what it means, then you have judges, not always, but often, who carry those same beliefs,” she said.

Judges in Tennessee have an incredible amount of power in how they run their courtrooms, which can greatly affect domestic violence cases. If a case lacks obvious physical signs of abuse, judges may fall back on their own notions about domestic violence, which research shows favors defendants.

Hinson said he sees himself as a representative for the culture of Lewis County. The county proudly boasts one of the largest collections of mounted trophy heads in North America. The old courthouse has a bullet hole from when a man going through a divorce brought a gun to confront his wife. The new courthouse is across the street from a store advertising that “we sell ammo.” With only about 12,500 residents, the county is the type of place where most people know each other, which can make domestic violence cases difficult.

The Lewis County Museum of Natural History in downtown Hohenwald boasts one of the largest collections of mounted trophy heads in North America. Downtown Hohenwald, where the Lewis County Justice Center is located

Since 2014, many of those cases have gone before Hinson, a Lewis County native with icy blue eyes and gray hair.

Some folks around Lewis County call him “the people’s judge”: He often wears a quarter-zip sweater or a button-down shirt in court instead of a judicial robe. And he speaks plainly, like he’s talking to a friend he ran into at the store instead of someone in a jailhouse jumpsuit.

Hinson’s casual attitude and off-the-cuff remarks caused him to be suspended by the Administrative Office of the Courts’ Board of Judicial Conduct in 2021. In one case, in which he denied a woman an order of protection, the board said he made a “demeaning” comment, telling the couple that another judge would “wade through the bullshit” in their divorce. He later apologized for the remark.

Sometimes, Hinson said, he finds the law constricting and prefers to take his own approach. Once, that resulted in him dismissing hundreds of traffic tickets because he thought the community was being overly targeted. It made him popular among some residents — and less so with the Tennessee Highway Patrol.

“I don’t believe the law was made for us to worship,” Hinson said. “I believe the law is a tool.”

Judge Mike Hinson grew up in rural Lewis County, Tennessee. He says the area has shaped who he is and how he runs his courtroom.

That applies to the domestic violence cases he sees in his courtroom, which, he said, often result from addiction. It’s a struggle Hinson himself relates to. He said he had a drinking problem and anger issues that ended his last marriage — something he shares with the men who appear before him in court.

“Some people just might need a little anger management,” Hinson said. “Some people, it was just a bad day and the only time it’s ever happened.”

Hinson also said he thinks some women overuse protection orders to gain the upper hand in a divorce case or custody battle.

“This is stuff that we hear from every corner of the state,” Herrmann said. “In these small towns in particular, people talk. They know what the judge has said to other people. They know how other people’s cases have gone.”

“I’m Gonna Take His Side”

Some victims who went through Lewis County court said Hinson’s sympathy for the men made them feel dismissed or like they were the ones being reprimanded. Multiple victims asked not to be named because it’s a small community and they worried it could affect their cases. WPLN and ProPublica also sat in on Hinson’s court.

In February, Hinson admonished a woman who sought a protection order against her ex-boyfriend after he fired a gun into the ceiling during an argument. Instead of granting the order of protection, Hinson put the man under a no-contact order, which didn’t require him to give up his firearms.

He told the man he couldn’t reach out to the woman, but he also told the woman her ex-boyfriend wouldn’t be held responsible if she contacted him first and he replied. If that happens, Hinson said, “I’m gonna take his side.” And he urged her not to do what some women do, reaching out to their partners after leaving court to work out their problems. “We’re not going to be doing that,” he told her.

A month later, another woman in Hinson’s court seemed surprised by the way the judge spoke to her estranged husband after he assaulted her. Instead of chastising him about his behavior, Hinson appeared to try to motivate her husband by telling him his wife thought he was “a great guy.”

The woman, sitting in the courtroom that day, leaned over to a victim’s advocate and said, “I never said that.”

Scott County’s New System

About 200 miles away, as the early morning fog cleared over the Scott County Justice Center in May, men slowly trickled into the courtroom under a sign in Greek that translates roughly to “a man’s character is his fate.” Their work boots thudded on the floor as they found seats on the wooden benches.

“All rise,” the bailiff said. “Domestic violence court is now in session.”

First image: A domestic violence hearing in Scott County. Second image: A woman tells Judge Scarlett Ellis about her reasons for seeking a protection order during a domestic violence court case.

The men had already been convicted of domestic violence or were subject to protection orders. They were there so that Judge Scarlett Ellis could monitor whether they were keeping up with their probation appointments and other conditions like mental health and addiction treatment.

She looked up over her glasses with a kind smile at the group of men in front of her, the way a teacher might greet her class. Then one by one they stood in front of her. Ellis peppered them with questions: How has therapy been going? Have you avoided contact with your victim? What have you learned in batterers intervention class?

Ellis’ approach is encouraging but not lenient. When it’s clear that the men before her have made strides toward changing their behaviors, she doesn’t hesitate to tell them. One man stood at the podium, his hands clasped behind his back as he responded to her questions with, “Yes, ma’am,” and, “No, ma’am.” He had an interview later that day for a better-paying job, he told her.

“You’ve changed your life,” she told him. “I can see it. I really can.”

Ellis can use her discretion to have those who are doing well come to court less often. But if they’re not complying, she can also extend their probation or send them to jail.

Later in the day, when victims came to the domestic violence court for new cases to be heard, they were ushered by a court advocate into a back room to keep them separate from the men they say abused them. It’s one of many victim-centered changes the court has made. When their protection order hearing comes up, the victim stands at one podium, the offender at another, with the court advocate and a sheriff’s deputy between them.

Domestic violence court is held on a separate day from other cases to protect victims’ privacy.

“I was already embarrassed with what all had happened and being assaulted and then to have to be in a room with people who had done drugs and stole from others was just more embarrassing and belittling,” one person wrote in a community needs assessment that was conducted before the court was created.

Ultimately, a judge’s orders are only as strong as their enforcement, which Scott County has also tried to address. Like many rural counties, the Scott County Sheriff’s Department is small and understaffed. But it has a dedicated domestic violence officer to help victims.

“I’m their voice,” Deputy Danielle Gayheart said in a raspy twang. “They’ve done their side of it” by getting the order of protection, she said.

First image: Ellis presides over the domestic violence court in Scott County. Second image: Deputy Danielle Gayheart is a domestic violence officer with the Scott County Sheriff’s Department.

Gayheart has listened to jailhouse phone calls to see if an abuser was contacting a victim. She also checks social media. Once, a man posted a picture of himself hunting deer with a gun. When she sees those things, she’ll charge people with violating protection orders.

“When it comes to anything like that, I’m your girl,” she said.

“We Repeat What We Don’t Repair”

One of the keys to holding defendants accountable in Scott County is its batterers intervention program. In other rural counties, attending one can mean a long drive: In Lewis County, for example, the closest one is over an hour away. Judges in those places often won’t list it as a court condition because it’s too hard to get to. But Scott County’s class is 10 minutes from the courthouse.

During one class, six men crowded around folding tables pushed together in a square. “We repeat what we don’t repair” was scrawled on a white board on the wall.

Kathi Hall, a facilitator with Scott County’s batterers intervention program, said many of the men grew up in abusive households and have to unlearn behaviors they saw as kids.

The facilitator led them through an exercise on how to recognize the signs of anger in their bodies and stop it before they take it out on someone else. Feeling hot-headed? Try sticking your head in the freezer. Feeling restless? Take a walk. Clenching your teeth? Chew a piece of gum. Many of the men are still in the relationships that put them in court, so creating these plans is urgent.

While the 26-week class is court-ordered, the men weren’t shy about participating.

“I’m not real good at showing my feelings,” one man said. “I never have been. You know, I was raised —”

“You don’t wear your feelings on your sleeve,” another chimed in from across the table.

“That’s right,” the first man said. “Growing up, you know, I was raised that you’re a man. You’re not supposed to show that because nobody gives a shit. You’re supposed to be stronger than that.”

Attendees gather around tables at the batterers intervention program in Scott County. The men were mandated by the court to attend the class.

Programs like this one have led to change, according to Peters. After the shooting, her ex-boyfriend pleaded guilty to attempted murder and was sentenced to prison. Peters recovered from her wounds and went back to school to become a lawyer, representing clients in Ellis’ domestic violence court.

She said men in Scott County know that when they’re brought to court on a domestic violence charge, there will be serious consequences.

“Men are somewhat afraid of that,” Peters said. “They’re very aware that you can be dispossessed of firearms for a year, that you can lose a lot of your rights, that you can be sentenced to programs and court appearances.”

She said that empowerment for victims and accountability for offenders has had an impact beyond just the court program — the system change has led to broader cultural change in Scott County.

“There’s still women who are in bad situations,” Peters said. “It’s just that now there’s more help for them.”

Mariam Elba contributed research.

by Paige Pfleger, WPLN/Nashville Public Radio, photography by Stacy Kranitz, special to ProPublica

Uvalde City Officials Release Shooting Records That Provide New Details, Reaffirm Previous Reporting

8 months 1 week ago

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up to receive our biggest stories as soon as they’re published.

This article is co-published with The Texas Tribune, a nonprofit, nonpartisan local newsroom that informs and engages with Texans. Sign up for The Brief Weekly to get up to speed on their essential coverage of Texas issues.

Police video, audio, texts and emails released Saturday by Uvalde, Texas, city officials offer new details about the Robb Elementary school shooting while also largely reaffirming reporting about law enforcement’s failure to engage a gunman who killed 19 children and two teachers.

In one report, a Uvalde municipal police officer said that law enforcement had to rely on a parent to use bolt cutters to break the locks to the gated fence the shooter had scaled to enter the school. That same officer also indicated in his report that he overheard a female relative of the shooter discuss how he’d expressed suicidal thoughts the night before the May 24, 2022, massacre. And in a 911 call, the shooter’s uncle pleaded with police to speak to the teenager, saying he believed he could talk him down. The call, however, came six minutes after law enforcement killed the gunman.

Text exchanges between Uvalde officers also provide insight into their frustrations after Texas Department of Public Safety Director Steve McCraw blamed local police in the days following the shooting.

A Texas House of Representatives report released two months later, by contrast, spread blame onto the scores of local, state and federal law enforcement officers — including McCraw’s at least 91 DPS troopers — who also responded to the scene and failed to take charge.

The day after McCraw’s public comments, Uvalde Police Lt. Javier Martinez, who was shot within the first few minutes of the response, said that he had received a call from U.S. Sen. John Cornyn, a Texas Republican.

In a text detailing the conversation, Martinez said the senator told him McCraw “should NOT have done that.” Martinez said he told Cornyn that McCraw had “screwed us all” and that the local officers were all receiving death threats.

Cornyn’s spokesperson declined to comment, while McCraw did not immediately respond. An attorney for Martinez and the Uvalde police officers said that he was not aware of the text exchange. Martinez did not respond to a message inquiring about it.

Velma Duran, the sister of Irma Garcia, one of the two teachers killed in the Robb Elementary School shooting, confronts Texas Department of Public Safety Director Steve McCraw after he finished testifying to the state House in 2023. (Evan L’Roy/The Texas Tribune)

Most other records released by the city, such as body camera footage and audio of 911 calls from children inside the classrooms, were detailed in previous reporting from The Texas Tribune, ProPublica and FRONTLINE after the news organizations independently obtained hundreds of hours of investigative material through a confidential source.

The Saturday release is the first major disclosure of documents by a government agency involved in the flawed response to the deadliest school shooting in Texas history. It was part of a settlement agreement in a lawsuit between the city and the news organizations. Three other government agencies — the Texas Department of Public Safety, the Uvalde Consolidated Independent School District and the Uvalde County Sheriff’s Office — continue fighting not to release any records.

Former Uvalde Mayor Don McLaughlin, who is now a Republican candidate for the Texas House, said in a phone interview Saturday that the other government entities in the lawsuit should follow the city’s example.

“The only way we’re going to know what truly happened is for everybody to release their records, put them out there,” McLaughlin said. “Mistakes were made. There’s no denying that. Take your lumps.”

By now, law enforcement’s failures during the response to the Uvalde shooting are well documented, including the fact that officers wrongly treated the shooter as a barricaded subject, rather than an active threat, and failed to confront him for 77 minutes. No officer took control of the response, which prevented coordination and communication between agencies. According to records released Saturday, for example, a DPS aircraft official struggled to coordinate logistics for two helicopters, SWAT team members and the San Antonio Police Department because they couldn’t reach an incident commander.

The newsrooms published 911 calls that showed the increasing desperation of children and teachers pleading to be saved and revealed how officers’ fear of the shooter’s AR-15 prevented them from acting more quickly. In a collaboration with FRONTLINE that included a documentary, the newsrooms also showed that while the children in Uvalde were prepared, following what they had learned in their active shooter drills, many of the officers who responded were not.

The U.S. Justice Department later published a report that heavily criticized the delayed response and said that some victims would have survived had officers followed their training.

According to the records released Saturday, Uvalde municipal police officer Bobby Ruiz Sr. said in an incident report after the shooting that law enforcement had to rely on a parent to cut a lock on the gates of a fence around the school. Once the gate was open, students and teachers began running toward the opening.

“I ran up along with two other male individuals in which we hurried the students and school staff behind cover,” the officer said.

Ruiz was then sent to the nearby house where the gunman lived with his grandparents. The teenager had shot his grandmother in the face and taken his grandfather’s truck to the school. Ruiz said that while at the house, he overheard a relative say they’d stayed up with the gunman the night before after he expressed a desire to die by suicide.

If you or someone you know needs help, here are a few resources:

  • Call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 988
  • Text the Crisis Text Line from anywhere in the U.S. to reach a crisis counselor: 741741

In one 911 call, the shooter’s uncle, Armando Ramos, urged police to let him speak with the shooter, confident he could persuade him to stop.

“Everything I tell him, he does listen to me,” a distraught Ramos said. “Maybe he could stand down … or turn himself in.”

But his nephew was already dead, killed minutes earlier by police after he emerged from a classroom closet and fired at them.

An attorney for the news agencies as well as the uncle of one of the children killed at Robb Elementary said information about the shooting — and law enforcement’s response — helps grieving relatives get closure and will better prepare authorities for future massacres. They pushed other agencies to follow the city’s move and release records.

Jesse Rizo’s 9-year-old niece Jackie Cazares was one of the fourth graders killed. He was elected to the Uvalde school board in May and has pushed the district to release information the news organizations have requested. He said the piecemeal nature the public releases is spurring residents to suspect government officials are involved in a cover-up.

“And then we begin to lose faith and trust,” he said. “And the longer that things get delayed getting made public, then the more of a lack of trust we have.”

Jesse Rizo, the uncle of shooting victim Jackie Cazares, in 2022. Rizo was elected to the Uvalde school board in May. (Evan L’Roy/The Texas Tribune)

Brett Cross, the father of 10-year-old Uziyah Garcia, who was also killed that day, said that he is infuriated that the city released information to media organizations through the settlement without first notifying families. He demanded more documents be released.

“They need to show everything, the world, how this actually is,” Cross said. “This isn’t something that we can just turn off. The world gets to turn off the TV and walk away. We don’t get to. We have to live this daily.”

Two state district judges in Texas have ordered the county, DPS and the school district to release records related to the shooting. All three have appealed the decisions.

Only the city has settled with the news organizations, saying in a statement Saturday that it wished to comply with the court order and end a legal battle.

DPS representatives and a school district spokesperson did not immediately return calls or emails Saturday. Uvalde County Sheriff Ruben Nolasco said in a statement that the potential release of records was “under the purview” of the office’s attorney.

Only a handful of responding officers have been publicly disciplined and no trial date has been set for the two who were indicted by a grand jury in June. Those two men — Pete Arredondo and Adrian Gonzales — pleaded not guilty. An attorney for Gonzales called the charges “unprecedented.”

Uvalde city officials chose to release records against the longstanding wishes of District Attorney Christina Mitchell, who is preparing to prosecute those two school district officers, including the agency’s former chief, for alleged inaction. Mitchell has argued that releasing records will interfere with those cases.

Attorneys representing the news organizations have said there is no proof to support her claims and that agencies cannot withhold the records under state laws.

Laura Prather, a media law chair for Haynes Boone who represented the news agencies in the legal fight for the records, called the city’s release a “step toward transparency,” though she noted the legal battle continues.

“Transparency is necessary to help Uvalde heal and allow us all to understand what happened and learn how to prevent future tragedies,” Prather said.

Crosses and rosaries hang in front of Robb Elementary this year in memory of the victims of the 2022 shooting. (Eric Gay/AP Photo)
by Lomi Kriel and Lexi Churchill, ProPublica and The Texas Tribune, and Zach Despart, Terri Langford and Kayla Guo, The Texas Tribune

Inside Project 2025’s Secret Training Videos

8 months 1 week ago

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up to receive our biggest stories as soon as they’re published.

Project 2025, the controversial playbook and policy agenda for a right-wing presidential administration, has lost its director and faced scathing criticism from both Democratic groups and former President Donald Trump. But Project 2025’s plan to train an army of political appointees who could battle against the so-called deep state government bureaucracy on behalf of a future Trump administration remains on track.

One centerpiece of that program is dozens of never-before-published videos created for Project 2025’s Presidential Administration Academy. The vast majority of these videos — 23 in all, totaling more than 14 hours of content — were provided to ProPublica and Documented by a person who had access to them.

The Project 2025 videos coach future appointees on everything from the nuts and bolts of governing to how to outwit bureaucrats. There are strategies for avoiding embarrassing Freedom of Information Act disclosures and ensuring that conservative policies aren’t struck down by “left-wing judges.” Some of the content is routine advice that any incoming political appointee might be told. Other segments of the training offer guidance on radically changing how the federal government works and what it does.

In one video, Bethany Kozma, a conservative activist and former deputy chief of staff at the U.S. Agency for International Development in the Trump administration, downplays the seriousness of climate change and says the movement to combat it is really part of a ploy to “control people.”

“If the American people elect a conservative president, his administration will have to eradicate climate change references from absolutely everywhere,” Kozma says.

In the same video, Kozma calls the idea of gender fluidity “evil.” Another speaker, Katie Sullivan, who was an acting assistant attorney general at the Department of Justice under Trump, takes aim at executive actions by the administration of President Joe Biden that created gender adviser positions throughout the federal government. The goal, Biden wrote in one order, was to “advance equal rights and opportunities, regardless of gender or gender identity.”

Sullivan says, “That position has to be eradicated, as well as all the task forces, the removal of all the equity plans from all the websites, and a complete rework of the language in internal and external policy documents and grant applications.”

Trump has tried to distance himself from Project 2025, falsely saying that he knew nothing about it and had “no idea who is behind it.” In fact, he flew on a private jet with Kevin Roberts, president of the Heritage Foundation, which leads Project 2025. And in a 2022 speech at a Heritage Foundation event, Trump said, “This is a great group and they’re going to lay the groundwork and detail plans for exactly what our movement will do and what your movement will do when the American people give us a colossal mandate to save America.”

A review of the training videos shows that 29 of the 36 speakers have worked for Trump in some capacity — on his 2016-17 transition team, in the administration or on his 2024 reelection campaign. The videos appear to have been recorded before the resignation two weeks ago of Paul Dans, the leader of the 2025 project, and they are referenced on the project’s website. The Heritage Foundation said in a statement at the time of Dans’ resignation that it would end Project 2025’s policy-related work, but that its “collective efforts to build a personnel apparatus for policymakers of all levels — federal, state, and local — will continue.”

The Heritage Foundation and most of the people who appear in the videos cited in this story did not respond to ProPublica’s repeated requests for comment. Karoline Leavitt, a spokesperson for the Trump campaign who features in one of the videos, said, “As our campaign leadership and President Trump have repeatedly stated, Agenda 47 is the only official policy agenda from our campaign.”

Project 2025’s 887-page “Mandate for Leadership” document lays out a vast array of policy and governance proposals, including eliminating the Department of Education, slashing Medicaid, reclassifying tens of thousands of career civil servants so they could be more easily fired and replaced, giving the president greater power to control the DOJ and further restricting abortion access.

Democrats and liberal groups have criticized the project’s policy agenda as “extreme” and “authoritarian” while pointing out the many connections between Trump and the hundreds of people who contributed to the project.

“Trump’s attempts to distance himself from Project 2025 have always been disingenuous,” said Noah Bookbinder, president of the watchdog group Citizens for Responsibility and Ethics in Washington. “The discovery that the vast majority of speakers in Project 2025 training videos are alumni of the Trump administration or have other close ties to Trump’s political operation is unsurprising further evidence of the close connection there.”

Several speakers in the videos acknowledge that the Trump administration was slowed by staffing challenges and the inexperience of its political appointees, and they offer lessons learned from their stumbles. Some of the advice appears at odds with conservative dogma, including a suggestion that the next administration may need to expand key government agencies to achieve the larger goal of slashing federal regulations.

Rick Dearborn, who helped lead Trump’s 2016 transition team and later served in the Trump White House as deputy chief of staff, recalled in one video how “tough” it was to find people to fill all of the key positions in the early days of the administration.

The personnel part of Project 2025 is “so important to the next president,” Dearborn says. “Establishing all of this, providing the expertise, looking at a database of folks that can be part of the administration, talking to you like we are right now about what is a transition about, why do I want to be engaged in it, what would my role be — that’s a luxury that we didn’t have,” referring to a database of potential political appointees.

Dan Huff, a former legal adviser in the White House Presidential Personnel Office under Trump, says in another video that future appointees should be prepared to enact significant changes in American government and be ready to face blowback when they do.

“If you’re not on board with helping implement a dramatic course correction because you’re afraid it’ll damage your future employment prospects, it’ll harm you socially — look, I get it,” Huff says. “That’s a real danger. It’s a real thing. But please: Do us all a favor and sit this one out.”

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented) “Eradicate Climate Change References”

The project’s experts outline regulatory and policy changes that future political appointees should prepare for in a Republican administration.

One video, titled “Hidden Meanings: The Monsters in the Attic,” is a 50-minute discussion of supposed left-wing code words and biased language that future appointees should be aware of and root out. In that video, Kozma says that U.S. intelligence agencies have named climate change as an increasingly dire threat to global stability, which, she says, illustrates how the issue “has infiltrated every part of the federal government.”

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

She then tells viewers that she sees climate change as merely a cover to engage in population control. “I think about the people who don’t want you to have children because of the” — here she makes air-quotes — “impact on the environment.” She adds, “This is part of their ultimate goal to control people.”

Later in the video, Katie Sullivan, the former acting assistant attorney general under Trump, advocates for removing so-called critical race theory from public education without saying how the federal government would accomplish that. (Elementary and secondary education curricula are typically set at the state and local level, not by the federal government.)

“The noxious tenets of critical race theory and gender ideology should be excised from curriculum in every single public school in this country,” Sullivan says. (Reached by phone, Sullivan told ProPublica to contact her press representative and hung up. A representative did not respond.)

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In a different video, David Burton, an economic policy expert at the Heritage Foundation, discusses the importance of an obscure yet influential agency called the Office of Information and Regulatory Affairs. The Trump administration used OIRA to help roll back regulations on economic, fiscal and environmental issues. Under Biden, OIRA took a more aggressive stance in helping review and shape new regulations, which included efforts to combat housing discrimination, ban the sale of so-called ghost guns and set new renewable fuel targets.

Burton, in the Project 2025 video, urges future political appointees to work in OIRA and argues that the office should “increase its staffing levels considerably” in service of the conservative goal of reining in the so-called administrative state, namely the federal agencies that craft and issue new regulations.

“Fifty people are not enough to adequately police the regulatory actions of the entire federal government,” Burton says. “OIRA is one of the few government agencies that limits the regulatory ambitions of other agencies.” (Burton confirmed in a brief interview that he appeared in the video and endorsed expanding OIRA’s staffing levels.)

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

Expanding the federal workforce — even an office tasked with scrutinizing regulations — would seem to cut against the conservative movement’s long-standing goal of shrinking government. For anyone confused by Project 2025’s insistence that a conservative president should fill all appointee slots and potentially grow certain functions, Spencer Chretien, a former Trump White House aide who is now Project 2025’s associate director, addresses the tension in one video.

“Some on the right even say that we, because we believe in small government, should just lead by example and not fill certain political positions,” Chretien says. “I suggest that it would be almost impossible to bring any conservative change to America if the president did that.”

A Trump Government-in-Waiting

The speakers in the Project 2025 videos are careful not to explicitly side with Trump or talk about what a future Trump administration might do. They instead refer to a future “conservative president” or “conservative administration.”

But the links between the speakers in the videos and Trump are many. Most of those served Trump during his administration, working at the White House, the National Security Council, NASA, the Office of Management and Budget, USAID and the departments of Justice, Interior, State, Homeland Security, Transportation and Health and Human Services. Another speaker has worked in the Senate office of J.D. Vance, Trump’s 2024 running mate.

Sullivan, the former DOJ acting assistant attorney general in charge of the department’s Office of Justice Programs, which oversees billions in grant funding, appears in three different videos. Leavitt, who is in a training video titled “The Art of Professionalism,” worked in the White House press office during Trump’s first presidency and is now the national press secretary for his reelection campaign.

A consistent theme in the advice and testimonials offered by these Trump alums is that Project 2025 trainees should expect a hostile reception if they go to work in the federal government. Kozma, the former USAID deputy chief of staff, says in one video that “many” of her fellow Trump appointees experienced “persecution” during their time in government.

In a video titled “The Political Appointee’s Survival Guide,” Max Primorac, a former deputy administrator at USAID during the Trump administration, warns viewers that Washington is a place that “does not share your conservative values,” and that new hires will find that “there’s so much hostility to basic traditional values.”

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In the same video, Kristen Eichamer, a former deputy press secretary at the Trump-era NASA, says that the media pushed false narratives about then-President Trump and people who worked in his administration. “Being defamed on Twitter is almost a badge of honor in the Trump administration,” she says.

Outthinking “the Left”

The videos also offer less overtly political tutorials for future appointees, covering everything from how a regulation gets made to working with the media, the mechanics of a presidential transition process to obtaining a security clearance, and best practices for time management.

One recurring theme in the videos is how the next Republican administration can avoid the mistakes of the first Trump presidency. In one video, Roger Severino, the former director of the Office of Civil Rights in the Trump-era Department of Health and Human Services, explains that failure to meticulously follow federal procedure led to courts delaying or throwing out certain regulatory efforts on technical grounds.

Severino, who is also a longtime leader in the anti-abortion movement, goes on to walk viewers through the ins and outs of procedural law and says that they should prepare for “the left” to use every tool possible to derail the next conservative president. “This is a game of 3D chess,” Severino says. “You have to be always anticipating what the left is going to do to try to throw sand in the gears and trip you up and block your rule.” (In an email, Severino said he would forward ProPublica’s interview request to Heritage’s spokespeople, who did not respond.)

Operating under the assumption that some career employees might seek to thwart a future conservative president’s agenda, some of the advice pertains to how political appointees can avoid being derailed or bogged down by the government bureaucrats who work with them.

Sullivan urges viewers to “empower your political staff,” limit access to appointees’ calendars and leave out career staff from early meetings with more senior agency officials. “You are making it clear to career staff that your political appointees are in charge,” Sullivan says.

Other tips from the videos include scrubbing personal social media accounts of any content that’s “damaging, vulgar or contradict the policies you are there to implement” well before the new administration begins, as Kozma put it.

Alexei Woltornist, a former assistant secretary for public affairs at the Department of Homeland Security, encourages future appointees to bypass mainstream news outlets like The New York Times and The Washington Post. Instead, they should focus on conservative media outlets because those are the only outlets conservative voters trust.

“The American people who vote for a conservative presidential administration, they’re not reading The New York Times, they’re not reading The Washington Post,” Woltornist says. “To the contrary, if those outlets publish something, they’re going to assume it’s false. So the only way to reach them with any voice of credibility is through working with conservative media outlets.”

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

And in a video about oversight and investigations, a group of conservative investigators advise future appointees on how to avoid creating a paper trail of sensitive communications that could be obtained by congressional committees or outside groups under the Freedom of Information Act.

“If you need to resolve something, if you can do it, it’s probably better to walk down the hall, buttonhole a guy and say, ‘Hey, what are we going to do here?’ Talk through the decision,” says Tom Jones, a former Senate investigator who now runs the American Accountability Foundation.

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

Jones adds that it’s possible that agency lawyers could cite exemptions in the public-records law to prevent the release of certain documents. But appointees are best served, he argues, if they don’t put important communications in writing in the first place.

“You’re probably better off,” Jones says, “going down to the canteen, getting a cup of coffee, talking it through and making the decision, as opposed to sending him an email and creating a thread that Accountable.US or one of those other groups is going to come back and seek.”

Do you have any information about Project 2025 that we should know? Andy Kroll can be reached by email at andy.kroll@propublica.org and by Signal or WhatsApp at 202-215-6203.

Videos prepared by Lisa Riordan Seville, Mauricio Rodríguez Pons and Chris Morran. Mariam Elba contributed research.

by Andy Kroll, ProPublica, and Nick Surgey, Documented

Watch: 14 Hours of Never-Before-Published Videos From Project 2025’s Presidential Administration Academy

8 months 1 week ago

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up to receive our biggest stories as soon as they’re published.

ProPublica and Documented obtained more than 14 hours of never-before-published videos from Project 2025’s Presidential Administration Academy, which are intended to train the next conservative administration’s political appointees “to be ready on day one.”

Project 2025, the controversial playbook and policy agenda created by the Heritage Foundation and its allies for a future conservative presidential administration, has lost its director. In recent weeks, it faced scathing criticism from both Democratic groups and former President Donald Trump, whose campaign has tried to distance itself from the effort.

But Project 2025’s plan to train an army of political appointees who could battle against the so-called deep state government bureaucracy remains on track. Video trainings like these are one of the “four pillars” of that plan, says Spencer Chretien, the associate director of Project 2025, in “Political Appointees & The Federal Workforce.”

For transparency, we are publishing the videos as we obtained them.

The Heritage Foundation and most of the people who appear in the videos cited in this story did not respond to ProPublica’s repeated requests for comment. Karoline Leavitt, a spokesperson for the Trump campaign, said, “As our campaign leadership and President Trump have repeatedly stated, Agenda 47 is the only official policy agenda from our campaign.”

Conservative Principles

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In “Conserving America,” Matthew Spalding, a vice president at Hillsdale College, sets out the landscape for the Presidential Administration Academy by talking about common conservative principles.

Hillsdale College is a small, Christian liberal arts school in Michigan known both for its great books curriculum, which is centered on reading the classics of the Western canon, and for having been a feeder of staffers for the Trump administration.

The History of the Conservative Movement

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In “The History of the Conservative Movement,” Christopher Malagisi, the executive director of outreach for Hillsdale College’s Washington, D.C., campus, gives a history that spans from the early-20th century Progressive Era to the 1964 defeat of Barry Goldwater and the “Reagan revolution.”

Appointees and Policymaking

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In “Why Your Service Matters: How Presidential Appointees at All Levels Impact Policy,” three Heritage Foundation experts discuss the role that political appointees play in making policy.

They talk about the importance of planning ahead to “hit the ground running” and call the first 100 days of an administration a “honeymoon period” for policy implementation.

Appointees and the Federal Workforce

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In “Political Appointees & The Federal Workforce,” Chretien discusses the critical role that he says political appointees play in carrying out the vision of a conservative administration.

Chretien served in the Trump administration as special assistant to the president and associate director of presidential personnel.

Presidential Transitions and Appointee Hiring

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In “Presidential Transitions & Appointee Hiring: What You Need To Know,” Ed Corrigan and Rick Dearborn outline how an aspiring political appointee can get a foot in the door during a presidential transition.

Dearborn is a former White House deputy chief of staff in the Trump administration, as well as executive director of Trump’s presidential transition team in 2016.

Corrigan has had a long career as a Senate staffer. He was part of Trump’s transition team and is now the president and CEO of the Conservative Partnership Institute, a prominent think tank based in Washington.

Federal Background Checks and Security Clearances

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In “Deep Dive on The Federal Background Investigation & Security Clearance Process,” Kirk gives an overview of the federal government’s background check process, including what disqualifies an individual, like substance abuse issues, and what does not.

Kirk, an associate director of Project 2025, served in the Office of Personnel Management during the Trump administration.

What It’s Like to Serve as an Appointee

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In “The Political Appointee’s Survival Guide,” Bethany Kozma, who was the deputy chief of staff at the U.S. Agency for International Development during the Trump administration, talks with six other former Trump administration staffers about what it’s like to serve as a political appointee in the federal government.

Time Management for Appointees

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In “Time Management for Political Appointees,” Katie Sullivan explains how political appointees can maximize their time in government by vetting whom they meet with and not allowing career civil servants to fill their calendar with meetings.

Sullivan is the former acting assistant attorney general in charge of the Office of Justice Programs, a grant-making agency inside the Justice Department.

The Art of Professionalism

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In “The Art of Professionalism,” Chris Hayes and Leavitt discuss tenets of how to act with professionalism while serving in government.

Hayes worked for the Leadership Institute, a think tank that offers leadership and management resources for the conservative movement.

Leavitt worked in the Trump White House press office and is now a spokesperson for Trump’s 2024 reelection campaign.

Staffing an Office

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In “How to Staff Your Principal,” Jeff Small discusses the day-to-day work of serving closely with a senior government official like a cabinet secretary.

Small is a former senior adviser to the interior secretary and a chief of staff to Rep. Lauren Boebert, R-Colo.

Left-Wing Code Words and Biased Language

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In “Hidden Meanings: The Monsters in the Attic,” Sullivan and Kozma discuss supposed left-wing code words and biased language that future appointees should be aware of and root out.

How to Work With the Media

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In “How to Work With the Media,” Alexei Woltornist talks about how political appointees should navigate the modern media environment, including bypassing mainstream news sources and focusing on conservative outlets because those are the only ones conservative voters trust.

Woltornist is a former assistant secretary for public affairs at the U.S. Department of Homeland Security.

Government Oversight and Investigations

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In “Oversight & Investigations,” Mike Howell, Tom Jones and Michael Ding explain what government oversight entails, the ins and outs of public-records laws and how political appointees should think about when and when not to put sensitive communications in writing.

Howell is the executive director of the Heritage Foundation’s Oversight Project.

Jones runs the American Accountability Foundation, a conservative investigations group.

Ding is a lawyer for America First Legal, which is aligned with Trump.

The Federal Budget Process

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In “The Federal Budget Process,” Michael Duffey explains key budgetary policies, such as the difference between appropriations and authorization bills and discretionary versus mandatory spending.

Duffey served in the Office of Management and Budget during the Trump administration.

The Administrative State

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In “The Administrative State: What it is & How to Address the Problem,” Paul Ray explains what the so-called administrative state does and how a conservative administration could use its authority to rein in government regulation.

Ray is a former Trump administration lawyer who served as the administrator of the Office of Information and Regulatory Affairs during the Trump administration.

Federal Regulatory Process

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In “How to Promulgate a Rule,” David Burton discusses how the federal government’s regulatory process works and the role of the Office of Information and Regulatory Affairs.

Burton is a senior fellow in economic policy at the Heritage Foundation.

Lessons Learned From Trump Administration About Passing New Regulations

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In “Taking the Reins: How Conservatives Can Win the Regulations Game,” Roger Severino talks about what lessons conservatives learned about passing new rules during the Trump presidency and how to be more effective in a future conservative administration.

Severino is a vice president for domestic policy at the Heritage Foundation and the former director of the Office of Civil Rights in the Department of Health and Human Services during the Trump administration.

Executive Orders

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In “Executive Order Drafting & Implementation,” Steven G. Bradbury explains the process of writing and carrying out executive orders, drawing on experience from the Trump presidency.

Bradbury is a distinguished fellow at the Heritage Foundation and a former counsel in the Department of Transportation during the Trump administration.

Advancing the President’s Agenda

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In “Advancing the President’s Agenda as a Political Executive,” Donald J. Devine and James Bacon discuss different strategies for promoting the president’s policies as a high-ranking political appointee.

Devine is the former director of the Office of Personnel Management under President Ronald Reagan.

Bacon is a former special assistant to the Presidential Personnel Office, serving during the Trump administration.

Navigating Policymaking

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In “How to Get Your Policy Through the Agency,” Dan Huff talks about how to navigate the policymaking process in the executive branch.

Huff is a former legal adviser in the White House Office of Presidential Personnel, serving during the Trump administration.

Working With Congress

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In “Congressional Relations: How to work with Members,” Hugh Fike and James Braid talk about what executive branch political appointees should know and expect about working with congressional offices and elected officials.

Fike and Braid both formerly worked on legislative affairs in the Office of Management and Budget during the Trump administration.

Coalition Building

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In “Building Winning Coalitions to Advance Policy,” Paul Teller and Sarah Makin discuss what strategies political appointees can use to work with pro-life, gun-rights and other outside advocacy groups to pass policies.

Teller is a former special assistant to the president and a senior aide in the Office of the Vice President, serving during the Trump administration.

Makin is a former deputy assistant to the president and former director of outreach in the Office of the Vice President, serving during the Trump administration.

Social Media Messaging

(Obtained by ProPublica and Documented)

In “Best Practices in Social Media to Advance Policy,” Ben Friedmann explains how political appointees can most effectively use social media to promote conservative policies and messages.

Friedmann is a former deputy assistant secretary for digital strategy in the U.S. State Department.

Videos prepared by Lisa Riordan Seville, Mauricio Rodríguez Pons and Chris Morran.

by Andy Kroll, ProPublica, and Nick Surgey, Documented

Utah Supreme Court Rules That Alleged Sexual Assault by a Doctor Is Not “Health Care”

8 months 1 week ago

This article was produced by The Salt Lake Tribune, which was a member of ProPublica’s Local Reporting Network in 2023. Sign up for Dispatches to get stories like this one as soon as they are published.

Sexual assault is not health care, and it isn’t covered by Utah’s medical malpractice law, the state’s Supreme Court ruled on Thursday. The decision revives a lawsuit filed by 94 women who allege their OB-GYN sexually abused them during exams or while he delivered their babies.

In 2022, the group of women sued Dr. David Broadbent and two hospitals where he had worked, wanting to seek civil damages. But a judge dismissed their case because he decided they had filed it incorrectly as a civil sexual assault claim rather than a medical malpractice case. The women had all been seeking health care, Judge Robert Lunnen wrote, and Broadbent was providing that when the alleged assaults happened.

The Salt Lake Tribune and ProPublica covered the decision, speaking with women about the lower court ruling that made it harder for them to sue the doctor for his alleged actions. After that story ran, the state Legislature voted to reform medical malpractice law to exclude sexual assault. But the new law didn’t apply retroactively; the women still had no way to sue.

So they took their case to the Utah Supreme Court, where their attorneys argued that the lower court judge had made an error in his decision. The high court agreed. Broadbent’s alleged conduct, it found, was not a part of the women’s health care — and therefore, not covered by Utah’s medical malpractice laws.

“Here, the [women] do not allege they were injured by any health care that Broadbent may have provided them,” Justice Paige Petersen wrote in the unanimous ruling. “Rather, they allege that he abused his position as their doctor to sexually assault them under the pretense of providing health care.”

“The point of their claims is that his actions were not really health care at all,” Petersen added.

Stephanie Mateer was the first woman who spoke out publicly about Broadbent, detailing her experience on the “Mormon Stories” podcast in 2021. In the episode, she described what she said was the painful way the doctor examined her, how it left her feeling traumatized and how she discovered online reviews that echoed her experience.

She said on Thursday that she cried “tears of relief” when she read the Utah Supreme Court’s ruling, and that she hopes it gives other alleged victims the courage to speak up and to seek their own justice.

Adam Sorenson, an attorney for the women who sued, noted on Thursday that it’s been almost two years since Lunnen threw out their case — which he said was a “sad and disappointing day.”

“But the Utah Supreme Court’s decision today affirms everything these women have said from the beginning, and tells every person in Utah that sexual abuse by a health care provider never has been, and never will be, ‘health care,’” he said.

“It is difficult to describe how good it is to hear that from our highest court,” he continued, “but any joy I feel is nothing compared to the women who suffered sexual abuse, [who] were told it was just health care, have fought for three years, and can now say that the law in Utah is on their side on this important issue.”

For the women who sued, having their case characterized as malpractice reduced the time they had to sue to two years and limited the amount of money they could receive for pain and suffering.

With the Utah Supreme Court’s decision, the case now returns to Lunnen’s courtroom. Their suit alleges that Broadbent inappropriately touched their breasts, vaginas and rectums, without warning or explanation, and hurt them. Some said he used his bare hand — instead of using a speculum or wearing gloves — during exams. One alleged that he had an erection while he was touching her.

An attorney for Broadbent has denied these women’s allegations, saying they are “without merit.” The OB-GYN agreed last year to stop practicing medicine while police and prosecutors investigate.

He was charged in June in 4th District Court with one count of forcible sexual abuse, and prosecutors say their investigation is continuing. Broadbent is expected to make his first court appearance Monday.

Broadbent’s attorney did not respond to a request for comment on Thursday. Neither Utah Valley Hospital nor Mountainstar Health, which owns Timpanogos Hospital, reacted to the ruling in statements released Thursday. Both hospitals are named as defendants in the lawsuit, and both emphasized that Broadbent had privileges to practice at their facilities but was not an employee.

by Jessica Miller, The Salt Lake Tribune

Developers Halt Louisiana Grain Elevator Project That Would Disrupt Black Historic Sites

8 months 1 week ago

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up for Dispatches, a newsletter that spotlights wrongdoing around the country, to receive our stories in your inbox every week.

A development company abruptly halted plans for a sprawling grain export facility in Louisiana this week after a three-year campaign led by members of a Black community who said it would have ripped through rural neighborhoods, old plantation tracts and important historic sites. At the start of a meeting on Tuesday, Greenfield LLC announced that it was “ceasing all plans” to construct the $400 million, milelong development in the middle of the town of Wallace in St. John the Baptist Parish.

After a company spokesperson made the announcement in a small Wallace church, community members seated in the pews burst into jubilant cheers.

“It is an unbelievable victory, and it shows what happens when communities fight,” said Joy Banner, a Wallace resident who has led resistance to the facility as the co-founder, along with her sister Jo Banner, of a group called the Descendants Project. “The erasure of the Black communities didn’t work.”

The proposed Greenfield development, which would have been one of the country’s largest grain facilities, was the subject of a May 2022 ProPublica investigation that revealed how a whistleblower had issued a complaint to state authorities about the project — including evidence that consultants involved with it had buried her findings. An archaeological report she’d drafted on behalf of Greenfield — concluding that the development would harm Wallace and nearby historic sites including several plantations and an old cemetery — was gutted to exclude any mention of that harm.

The consulting firm that issued the report previously told ProPublica that it’s not uncommon for the firm to change drafts of reports after clients review them and that it “was not required by Greenfield or anyone else for that matter to make changes” the firm does not support. Greenfield did not respond to ProPublica’s questions about its consultants removing the findings from the report.

The report was part of a federal Army Corps of Engineers permitting process that requires developers to consider the impacts of their projects on communities and cultural and historic sites.

Several federal agencies raised concerns about the project. The Advisory Council on Historic Preservation, which is the lead federal agency overseeing preservation policies, wrote in a June 2022 letter, prompted by ProPublica’s reporting, that the area around Wallace should be considered for protected historic designation. “The significance of an historic district located in or encompassing the community of Wallace would be inextricably linked to the community’s living, ongoing experience of the district and their sense of place in the larger landscape,” the letter to the Corps said.

Months later, the Corps rejected the archaeological report as “insufficient.” The agency concluded instead that the development would likely harm historic plantations, including the Whitney Plantation, a nationally recognized memorial to the enslaved, as well as nearby communities and historic burial grounds. The Corps ordered Greenfield to conduct a new study. But when Greenfield submitted the revised assessment, the Corps responded with a letter stating that “the report just doesn’t demonstrate adequate engagement” with the mostly Black communities impacted by development.

In May 2023, the National Trust for Historic Preservation, the country’s leading preservation nonprofit, designated the 11-mile stretch of the Mississippi River around Wallace as one of the country’s most endangered historic places. The group called it “an intact cultural landscape in an area otherwise oversaturated with heavy industry.” Not long after, the National Park Service launched a yearlong process to consider designating the stretch of land as a national historic landmark district, which can help protect the area from development. That process is likely to conclude this summer. Last August, the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services chimed in with a letter of its own, urging the Corps to consider likely “environmental burdens and health inequities” that the grain facility could contribute to.

The area around the former plantation land where Greenfield planned its development is home not just to the Whitney Plantation museum and memorial but also another standing plantation, historic burial sites and communities whose residents trace their ancestry directly to people enslaved on the land. Wallace, where the Banners live, was founded by Black Civil War soldiers who fought against the Confederacy and by people who’d been enslaved nearby. The facility, a massive system of conveyors and 54 silos that would transport and store grain to be delivered around the world, would have been erected directly adjacent to Wallace homes.

Erin Edwards, the consultant-turned-whistleblower who drafted the initial cultural resources report, resigned from the consulting firm after her draft was radically edited.

“I wrote a report that brought up the challenges they would face building there, and the impacts it would have, and they completely ignored it,” Edwards told ProPublica this week. “But you cannot hide or deny that much history. And you cannot deny that there are people and communities who are connected to and love this place and want to save it.”

Greenfield said in a statement that the extended timeline of the Corps’ consultation process for the permit led to the company’s decision to terminate the project. “We did everything in our power to keep this project on track. The Army Corp of Engineers has chosen to repeatedly delay this project by catering to special interests,” Greenfield said in a statement. “Today, sadly, we are no closer to a resolution than we were when we began this process.”

The Corps said the process is necessary to ensure compliance with the law. “Greenfield Louisiana LLC has proposed a project in a setting with many cultural resources and adjacent to a community with Environmental Justice concerns,” the Corps said in a statement. “The potential impacts to these resources require specific efforts under applicable laws and regulations.”

Wallace lies in a stretch of communities along the Mississippi River in Louisiana often referred to as Cancer Alley because of the high concentration of pollution-emitting industrial sites. For generations, communities have fought harmful development projects but have usually lost, and one petrochemical plant or industrial facility after another has been erected.

Wallace has been an exception to this steady expansion. In 1992, a coalition of community and civil rights groups and environmental advocates fought off plans by the Taiwan-based plastic company Formosa to build a rayon plant on the same plot of land Greenfield later purchased. The plant, which the company said would be a boon to the local economy, was expected to produce dangerous levels of toxic industrial pollution.

Instead, for the next two decades, the land was used to grow sugar cane. Then, in 2021, Greenfield launched its plans to develop the land for industrial use. The company said it would provide hundreds of needed jobs, and it soon began pounding massive metal test beams into the fields around Wallace. Nearby residents claimed at the time that the developer was acting as if the project was a foregone conclusion.

“This community has had to fend off two major corporations over the course of two generations that would have wiped Wallace off the map,” said Pam Spees, an attorney with the Center for Constitutional Rights, which represents the Descendants Project. “That they have succeeded in spite of the massive challenges, power imbalances and the divide-and-conquer tactics used by these corporations and their local government counterparts is a testament to the resilience, dedication and love of the Banners and others who stood and fought for Wallace, and the brightest hopes of their ancestors who founded it.”

Joy Banner said the communities in her region would be served best by a responsible, community-driven tourism effort that would preserve and maintain memorial sites centered on the history of slavery and Black struggle. This year, the group announced that it had acquired the Woodland Plantation, across the river from Wallace. The plantation was the site of the 1811 German Coast uprising, in which hundreds of enslaved people, inspired in part by the Haitian Revolution, took up arms and planned to seize New Orleans as a free territory. U.S. officials and militias killed close to 100 of those involved in the uprising.

“We are in an area that’s layered with cultural and historical resources and with history that matters to us,” Banner said. “The narrative that there’s nothing here is over. What we made clear is that we already have value here.”

Greenfield has yet to formally withdraw its Corps permit application, and the Corps said it is waiting for that official notice before it considers the project dead. Greenfield still controls the property it purchased for $40 million, which St. John the Baptist Parish last year redesignated for industrial use. (The Descendants Project is suing the parish over that designation. Greenfield has intervened to defend it.)

Ultimately, Banner said, “our vision is that we get to sit together and envision our future, to determine what we want to do in our community, instead of having to settle for people telling us what we need.”

by Seth Freed Wessler

The Government Spends Millions to Open Grocery Stores in Food Deserts. The Real Test Is Their Survival.

8 months 1 week ago

This article was produced for ProPublica’s Local Reporting Network in partnership with Capitol News Illinois. A portion of the reporting in Alexander County is supported by funding from the Pulitzer Center. Sign up for Dispatches to get stories like this one as soon as they are published.

CAIRO, Ill. — More than 100 people congregated in the parking lot of Rise Community Market on its opening day a little over a year ago. As they listened to celebratory speeches, the audience erupted into joyful exclamations: “Mercy!” “Wonderful!” “Wow!” “All right!” Colorful homemade signs raised by local leaders beckoned the crowd to join in: “We!” “Are!” “No!” “Longer!” “A!” “Food!” “Desert!”

For most American cities, the opening of a new grocery store barely warrants a mention. But in Cairo, the government seat of Illinois’ poorest county and the fastest-shrinking one in America, business openings are rare. And for residents who for years had to travel long distances to buy food, it was a magical moment.

“Access to healthy foods and fresh produce is not just about groceries. It’s about justice,” declared Juliana Stratton, Illinois’ lieutenant governor, to the cheering crowd that gathered in Illinois’ southernmost city.

Cairo, she said, had set the stage for what was to come as Illinois embarked on its new grocery store initiative — a $30 million endeavor to build and sustain new food businesses in distressed small towns and urban neighborhoods. Stratton had assisted Cairo leaders in securing state funds from another source because Rise came before the launch of the grocery program, and she told the crowd it would serve as a beacon: “I want you to know, Cairo, Illinois, this is only the beginning, and you are leading the way.”

Within months, however, the store fell on hard times. Rise struggled to compete with national chains on pricing and then faced additional challenges when a walk-in cooler broke a few months later, making it impossible to keep perishables on the shelves between orders. Although sales were initially strong, they slumped as residents fell back into old shopping patterns, patronizing the two nearby Dollar General stores or traveling to Walmart and other supermarkets at least 30 miles outside of town. As fewer customers came in, the store had less money to restock its most popular items. Shelves grew emptier.

Clarissa Dossie, a cashier at Rise since its opening, said that during the worst months, people would come in, look around and say, “Dang, where the groceries at?”

By December, six months after it opened, Rise was in peril.

Clarissa Dossie, 32, checks out a customer using a gift certificate in November. In early February, shelves were nearly empty. Without enough revenue to stock the shelves, managers were in a tough spot.

Over the past decade, state and federal governments have invested millions of dollars in creating grocery stores in food deserts — defined by the U.S. Department of Agriculture as any low-income urban neighborhoods without a grocery store within a mile, and any rural communities without one within 10 miles. These programs continue to expand.

Established in 2011 during Barack Obama’s presidency, the Healthy Food Financing Initiative marked the federal government’s first coordinated effort to tackle the grocery gap. Since then, Congress has allocated an average of $28 million annually across three federal agencies responsible for its administration. Then in 2021, the program received an unprecedented funding surge to $183 million, boosted by federal pandemic recovery funds to the USDA.

In addition to Illinois, numerous states, including Pennsylvania, New York, California, Ohio, Minnesota and Kansas, have implemented programs of their own, as have several municipalities, including New Orleans and Houston.

The concept appears straightforward: Use government funds to help build stores, shorten the trek for fresh food, and in the process, make people healthier and bolster the local economy. In distressed communities, grocery stores have been shown to anchor business development, help grow the tax base and even boost home values, according to one study of Pennsylvania’s program. The converse is also true: “Without the grocery store, communities just have a really hard time succeeding economically,” said Christopher Jones, a senior vice president with the National Grocers Association.

But the way Rise Community Market has struggled in Cairo illustrates how these programs fall short. Because what happens after a store opens is just as important — and despite the up-front financial investments, that hasn’t been solved at all.

When Subsidies Aren’t Enough

Many stores that receive subsidies shutter their doors soon after opening or fail to open at all. Capitol News Illinois and ProPublica examined 24 stores across 18 states, each of them either newly established, preparing to open or less than five years old when they received funding through the federal USDA Healthy Food Financing Initiative in 2020 and 2021. As of June, five of these stores had already ceased operations; another six have yet to open, citing a variety of challenges including difficulties finding a suitable location and limited access to capital.

Illinois’ record is similarly disappointing. In 2018, Illinois officials highlighted the opening of six grocery stores that had received startup funds over several years from a $13.5 million grocery initiative of former Gov. Pat Quinn’s. Four of them have closed.

Despite the expansion of USDA’s program, the federal agency has not studied how long the grocery stores it helps to open actually stay in business or why some of them close. Illinois never did a comprehensive review of its prior program either but as part of its new effort has funded a study of what’s causing food deserts, including the challenges facing independent grocers.

Emerging stores struggle for many reasons. Food deserts are, by definition, areas with depressed economies and often declining populations, but certain problems repeatedly bubble to the top.

“The main concern with them is prices,” said Dossie, explaining why some Cairo residents haven’t done much shopping at Rise. The 32-year-old mother of five was unemployed before she became one of the store’s first employees. She shops there to support Rise and because she doesn’t have a car, but she wishes it could offer discounts like chain grocers. “I know, me personally, I have a big family and I need to be able to get bulk for a cheaper amount.”

Her concerns are backed up by an emerging body of academic research suggesting that the conventional wisdom about how to overcome food deserts — building stores in underserved areas — overlooks the fact that prices matter as much as proximity. For all the benefits the opening of a store can bring to a community, if it can’t compete on pricing, it will struggle to survive.

However, it’s exceedingly difficult for independent stores to compete on pricing because they must pay more than national chains to stock their shelves. Although the price differences for shoppers may be only nominal for most individual items, they can add up on a full cart.

Until 40 years ago, the federal government actively tried to help with this: Competition regulators rigorously monitored mergers and enforced the Robinson-Patman Act, a 1930s-era law intended to prevent suppliers from offering better pricing to big retailers than to independent stores. By the 1980s, however, some economists argued that allowing big retailers to expand and negotiate favorable deals would bring lower prices for all. The Robinson-Patman Act, and an underlying desire to protect small businesses, remained popular with the public, so Congress never moved to repeal it, but regulators increasingly stopped enforcing it. This era gave rise to a rash of consolidations and a huge building boom by the likes of Walmart and Kroger. And as the power of retail chains grew, more small businesses folded.

A 2023 USDA report shows that four grocery chains now capture a third of U.S. food sales, marking a major shift in how people buy their food. Rural areas have even fewer choices. In more than 200 regional markets, most of them across the Midwest and South, Walmart and Sam’s Club claim at least 50% of grocery sales, according to an analysis by the Institute for Local Self-Reliance, which advocates for reversing corporate concentration to strengthen communities. Walmart-owned stores claim 60% of grocery sales in the three-county market that includes Cairo.

Cairo sits between the Ohio River, left, and the Mississippi, right, at the southernmost tip of Illinois.

Places like Cairo, population 1,600, have paid the price: Its residents have spent more money on gas and rides, or settled for less nutritious options at dollar stores. About 17% of Cairo families don’t have a car, according to USDA’s food atlas. The town saw little economic benefit from the estimated $6.4 million annually Cairo spent in recent years on groceries, most purchased out of state. (Cairo is a short drive from both Missouri and Kentucky.)

Now, the pendulum appears to be swinging back amid the shock of rising grocery prices. In a 2021 speech, President Joe Biden declared, “We’re now 40 years into the experiment of letting giant corporations accumulate more and more power. … I believe the experiment failed.” Biden has appointed anti-monopoly advocates, including Federal Trade Commission Chair Lina Khan, who contend that lax enforcement has proven harmful to small businesses, workers, communities and consumers paying higher prices in places where most competitors have been driven out.

Stacy Mitchell, co-executive director of the Institute for Local Self-Reliance, said government funding for grocery stores is important to overcoming high startup costs, but without broader solutions to keep these stores open, “we’re throwing money away.”

“We have to level the playing field,” Mitchell said. “If we don’t have the enforcement of fair competition, these stores are going to be squeezed out the same way that many independent grocery stores have been squeezed out.”

First image: Theresa Delsoin, left, a member of the co-op-style grocery, checks out with store employee Gita Martin. Delsoin has changed her shopping habits to support the store. Second image: The 83-year-old prepares salmon croquettes with groceries she purchased at Rise Community Market. She said the store “is important because it belongs to us.” “Lettuce, Oh My Goodness”

It was the arrival of fresh produce that marked a turning point for Steven Tarver, a longtime resident of Cairo.

“We started getting beautiful things — lettuce, oh my goodness,” said Tarver, a friendly community organizer with diamond-studded ears and a hint of a swagger, who helped lead efforts early on to culminate community support behind the idea of opening a co-op.

“Can you imagine at home on a Tuesday, with your skillet going good and that ground beef getting all brown and then you skim all that and you put your McCormick’s in there. And then you got your cheese already sitting over there and you got some salsa and you look in the vegetable box and there’s no lettuce.

“And you think, ‘Man, I can’t go around the corner. I gotta go to Walmart — 35 miles away.’”

Rise board member Steven Tarver facilitates a community engagement forum on housing and other social issues at Cairo’s Junior/Senior High School in April.

Tarver’s obsession with the lettuce became an inside joke among his neighbors who joined him in developing the store. But for him, it was about way more than tacos. The lettuce symbolized a chance for better health in a county where premature deaths are far more common as in other parts of Illinois. And it served as a salve for the despair that had gripped the town for years.

“Now,” he says, “I am lettuce full. I buy lettuce when I don’t need it. Because this has been a hot commodity in my world.”

More than 3 million Illinoisans — more than a quarter of the state’s population — live in food deserts. People of color are far more likely to live far from a traditional grocery store — the result of complex and sometimes racist practices, including unfair lending and persistent financial neglect from both public and private sectors. That’s why some advocates resist the “food desert” phrase: They say the situation is not a naturally occurring phenomenon but the result of deliberate policies; they call it “food apartheid."

Many of those dynamics were at play in Cairo, positioned at the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi rivers and, at one time, a thriving transportation hub. It drew people from across the region to its entertainment venues and retail shops, including dozens of food markets— one on nearly every corner.

Yet the town’s fortunes dwindled as river ports were replaced by trains and then interstates elsewhere. The Civil Rights era inflicted particularly severe wounds upon Cairo’s Black community as white business owners, refusing integration, abandoned the town.

Like much of rural America, Cairo continued to shrink. But it managed to hang on to a grocery store until 2015, when its last independent store, Wonder Market, closed its doors in the middle of town, not far from where Rise is today.

Work crews were invited to harvest what they could from the remains of Wonder Market, Cairo’s last independent grocery store, which closed in 2015, to be used in the new co-op grocery store. Because the store had limited startup funds, it relied on used and borrowed equipment and some donated labor. The sun sets over Rise Community Market. Second image: The store’s grand opening was in 2023.

Then, in the second half of the decade, the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development stepped in and demolished several public housing complexes, displacing hundreds of people. Speaking to a congressional panel in 2017, then-HUD Secretary Ben Carson described the community as “dying.”

The negativity infuriated people like Tarver. It also fueled them. They courted housing developers and prospective business owners to invest in the town. Some made commitments — one even posted a sign announcing plans for a new grocery store. But all the deals eventually fell through or were short-lived.

When hope of a grocery store evaporated, U.S. Sen. Tammy Duckworth’s office reached out to Dollar General on behalf of Cairo officials in 2018 to request the addition of produce at its stores. A corporate spokesperson said that Dollar General informed Duckworth’s office at the time that it did not have plans to add produce to either store but would keep the request in mind for the future. Town officials said they didn’t hear anything more from Dollar General in the years that followed.

Finally, in late 2021, a team of rural development experts from the University of Illinois Extension and Western Illinois University suggested they could build a cooperative grocery store, a local ownership model that some distressed towns are trying out.

By then, it felt urgent. The town needed a lifeline.

After 18 months of planning, in June 2023, the store opened — with balloons, signs and cheers. The team had raised $750,000 in private donations and government grants to support the store, including $186,000 in state funding from a program to help disadvantaged communities, funded by marijuana sales.

For Tarver, it was also validation that their efforts had paid off and could again.

“It means a lot because it was going to be able to show others that’s been talking and downplaying Cairo and saying that ‘we don’t have’ and ‘we can’t do’ that we can if we’re given the opportunity,” Tarver said. “Now, we could talk about housing, we could talk about a hospital, we could talk about other things and meet some voids.”

The Downturn

The frustrations started immediately.

Just before the grand opening of Rise, the two Dollar Generals that had rebuffed requests to add fresh foods to their shelves reopened after renovations, stocked with expanded freezer and refrigerator sections. One of the stores even added an entire row of fresh produce.

A Dollar General spokesperson said in a statement this week that the company made the decision to remodel its two Cairo stores in the fall of 2022 as part of an ongoing, nationwide store improvement program. “We were unaware of any planned grocery co-op when those decisions were made,” the company said.

Robert Edwards, Rise’s manager, said over the last year he’s done his best to keep prices competitive. He even goes into Dollar General and the out-of-state Walmart people most frequent to check what competitors are offering. He works with a wholesaler out of Indiana that purchases in bulk for multiple independent stores, an attempt to leverage the lowest prices they can.

But there are some deals that the store just can’t afford to match. “There are things I can go to Walmart and buy cheaper than I can get from my wholesaler,” Edwards said, though supplier contracts don’t allow him to do that.

He also said some suppliers simply won’t mess with a small store. For months, Edwards watched in frustration from the parking lot as a Frito-Lay truck made deliveries at the Dollar Generals just to the north and south of Rise while it refused to stop at the co-op.

He and others stress to residents that the spending at the co-op benefits the community and that the cost of gas to travel 30 miles makes up much of the difference in prices. But the reality is that people, especially large families, are continuing to leave town for most of their shopping.

Rise manager Robert Edwards sits at the Rise cafe, which closed in October because of low sales; it later reopened as a deli, which costs less to run. Edwards closes up after receiving a weekly shipment of groceries.

The store experienced other problems as well. Eager to fill a void in this one-restaurant town, the co-op board members opened an adjacent cafe that sold hot pizza, fried chicken and sides. But it didn’t bring in customers like they’d hoped and bled thousands of dollars instead, forcing its closure in October. It also drained what savings the store had.

Around the same time, the walk-in cooler that the store had purchased secondhand to save money broke, taking with it about $2,000 worth of meat, produce and dairy products it contained. Without the cooler, the store could keep only about 16 gallons of milk on its shelves — a major issue since milk is a key product that brings people into grocery stores.

The store leadership started a GoFundMe, but it raised only about $1,600, a fraction of the $55,000 sought to help replace the cooler and other equipment as well as to restock the store.

Rise was on the brink of closure as bills went unpaid and food orders were skipped. During a reporter’s visit in late December, there was very little fresh meat or produce on the shelves: a few pieces of chicken in the meat cabinet, a handful of brown bananas in the produce section, gallons of milk set to expire in the next day or two. And only a few heads of wilting lettuce. People began to lose confidence in the store, driving more customers away.

Workers and community leaders pleaded with people to do what shopping they could there. Theresa Delsoin, an 83-year-old author, teacher and retired Peace Corps volunteer, wanted to set an example: She spent more than $500 at the store between Thanksgiving and Christmas.

“I could go on Amazon and buy a jar of honey from anywhere in the world. But I don’t. Because I want to support our store,” she said as she prepared salmon croquettes and a few side dishes in her home from food purchased at Rise.

Dossie, the clerk, said people told her she should start looking for a new job. She told them she wasn’t giving up and that they shouldn’t either: “I’m not jumping ship because we hit a rough patch.”

The store tried to entice people in with coupons and special deals. It brought Santa in for the kids. But not enough people were filling up carts. Grocery stores bank on the holidays to carry them through the slower months that tend to follow. That clearly wasn’t going to happen at Rise.

A few days before Christmas, Edwards sat in his office at the back of the store and wondered how he’d make payroll for his seven employees. In the end, he delayed his own paycheck so that others could receive theirs on time.

Crucial Stores, Hard Answers

State Rep. Mary Beth Canty, who lives near Chicago and sponsored the bill that became Illinois’ grocery initiative, has seen evidence that the investment might not be effective on its own. Last year, to research solutions to food deserts, Canty visited a small supermarket in the tiny town of Winchester, about 50 miles west of the state capital in Springfield, that had been hailed as a success story.

John Paul Coonrod, the store’s board president and chair, said he told Canty during her visit that the state’s initiative amounted to a “drop in the bucket” for what small grocers need to survive.

Great Scott! Community Market did well at first, but it later lost customers to a Walmart and then a new Dollar General that included a grocery market. It was hard to compete, and the store closed just a few months after Canty’s visit — five years after it opened.

First image: A Dollar General at the edge of Cairo’s city limits began selling fresh fruits, vegetables and meats the same month Rise Community Market opened. Second image: Some Cairo residents opt for the one-hour round-trip drive to a Walmart Supercenter in Sikeston, Missouri.

John Shadowens, an economic development educator at the University of Illinois Extension, is part of the state-funded group surveying grocery stores across Illinois to identify their main obstacles to staying in business. At seven forums in recent months, Shadowens heard store owners voice consistent concerns about increasing costs of supplies, utilities and labor due to Illinois’ rising minimum wage. However, their primary obstacle, he noted, is their inability to procure food at prices that are competitive enough to attract the customers they need to stay in business.

There aren’t any easy answers. The renewed push for more aggressive antitrust action on grocery pricing remains a contentious proposal. And even if it’s successful, it’s not a fast-acting solution.

A USDA Rural Development spokesperson said the Healthy Food Financing Initiative is helping; in addition to new stores, it has funded farmers markets, delivery services and community groups. For instance, the program recently awarded $1 million to a partnership in southern Illinois working to improve grocery stores’ access to low-cost loans.

Illinois’ new program has partnered with university experts to assist startups and focuses solely on small, independent stores, unlike the previous one, which also supported the development of discount chain Save A Lot stores, an Illinois Department of Commerce and Economic Opportunity spokesperson said.

And for the first time, government-owned stores in Illinois are eligible to apply for state aid. Chicago is the first major city in the nation to consider this option, though underwriting losses with taxpayer funds is controversial.

Reflecting on discussions with grocery store operators during the research team’s travels to various locations across Illinois, Shadowens said he remains hopeful, though he finds it increasingly hard to do so: “We have hours behind the windshield to talk about this: Are we truly helping, or are we providing an autopsy on a patient that’s just not dead yet?”

For now, Cairo’s store is hanging on. In June, the festive balloon arch that punctuated the store’s opening reappeared to mark its one-year anniversary. Edwards, the store manager, said at the member meeting that followed that Rise had received the second half of a philanthropic grant earlier this year, allowing the store to pay off debt, resume regular food shipments and replenish its shelves.

There have been other changes as well. For instance, to replace the shuttered cafe, which required a cook and clerk, the store opened a made-to-order deli at the beginning of the year, which has been more popular among the lunchtime crowd and requires only one employee. In March, after months of waiting, the store was approved to accept government food benefits given to low-income pregnant women and families with young children, commonly known as WIC, which has boosted sales by more than $1,500 monthly.

Edwards talks to co-op members at a meeting during the one-year anniversary celebration of the grocery store in June. “I work for you. Each and every one of you are an owner,” he said, encouraging the group to provide feedback on what he keeps in stock.

But sales remain well below where they need to be for the store’s long-term sustainability. It takes about $70,000 a month in sales to break even; Rise has averaged less than half of that in the first six months of this year. When you add up the money spent by Cairo citizens everywhere they shop, they’re spending an estimated $530,000 monthly on groceries, based on sales data for recent years. (This estimate is derived from overall sales data in a three-county region, adjusted for Cairo.) That means that they are spending only about 5% at Rise, when they’d need to spend at least 13%.

Edwards said he’s hopeful the store can reach that point within another year because he understands its importance goes beyond the critical food it provides. It’s also a job and economy creator, a hub of community life and a beacon of hope. It’s crucial to the identity of a place teetering on the brink. In the first few months it was open, Rise hosted a wedding reception, food tasting event, health care expo, a pumpkin carving contest and, for several Wednesdays, a mobile food pantry organized by a local nonprofit. He gave away just-expired food to people stretched out in a line in the store’s parking lot.

“Kroger would never let a food pantry set out in their parking lot giving out free food because it’s going to hurt their sales. It did hurt sales on those days,” Edwards said. “But we’re here to serve the community.”

Charmaine Crismon, an employee at Rise Community Market, delivers milk to a mobile food pantry operating from a van in the store’s parking lot in September. Arrowleaf, a local nonprofit, used the parking lot while its nearby food pantry underwent renovations. Bre’Anna Puckett and her children attend the one-year anniversary celebration for Rise Community Market on June 17. Rise Community Market board member Steven Tarver does some dinnertime shopping in December.

Alex Abbeduto, formerly of Capitol News Illinois, contributed reporting. Photo editing by Peter DiCampo.

by Molly Parker, Capitol News Illinois, photography by Julia Rendleman

This Guardian Enriched Herself Using the Finances of Vulnerable People In Her Care. Judges Let It Happen.

8 months 1 week ago

When a New York judge appointed Yvonne Murphy to take over the care of Martin Chorost in late 2011, the 63-year-old had diabetes, dementia and a constellation of other maladies. He also had assets worth more than $800,000, which were put at his guardian’s disposal.

Murphy immediately tapped them to hire Beacon Eldercare, which billed itself as “the leading health care assistance firm in Queens,” to provide him with round-the-clock aides.

As it turned out, it was also Murphy’s own private business.

Over the ensuing years, Murphy transferred between $80,000 and $100,000 annually from Chorost’s accounts to Beacon while, separately, she collected tens of thousands of dollars from him in guardianship fees. Before long, the arrangement sparked a complaint from the court examiner charged with reviewing Murphy’s work.

“I believe that the dual roles of guardian and CEO of the agency creates the possibility and potential for a conflict of interest to exist,” the court examiner wrote in June 2015. A court clerk underlined the words “conflict of interest” and drew a star in the margin next to them.

In fact, legal experts told ProPublica, the arrangement was a clear and flagrant violation of New York law, which bars guardians from providing for-profit services like health care or day care to their wards.

But Queens Supreme Court Justice Lee Mayersohn permitted the apparent conflict for years. By the time Chorost died in April 2019, Murphy had transferred more than half his life’s savings — $417,697 in all — to her company. Even then, Beacon sought more, billing his estate for an additional $50,890 in unpaid fees.

I believe that the dual roles of guardian and CEO of the agency creates the possibility and potential for a conflict of interest to exist.

—Court examiner

The examiner in Chorost’s case wasn’t the only one to raise alarms. Over the years, various officials — including a lawyer, a fellow guardian and even a judge — flagged Murphy’s use of Beacon in other cases, with some of them warning that she could be abusing her court-appointed position to enrich herself at the expense of her wards. But in each case, the judge overseeing the guardianship downplayed or overrode the concern.

Those decisions facilitated a lucrative — and potentially illegal — commercial pipeline for one of the court’s most popular guardians, who, over the course of a decade, controlled the money and health care of more than 100 incapacitated people, a ProPublica investigation has found.

Earlier this year, the news organization reported that New York’s guardianship system is failing to protect the elderly and ailing people entrusted to its care. Part of the problem is lax oversight, with court examiners taking years to review the work of the guardians they are tasked with overseeing. Those delays can result in dangerous gaps in information for judges charged with making sensitive decisions about the financial and physical welfare of wards — some of whom, ProPublica found, have ended up living in squalor, including one woman who endured bedbugs, rats and no heat for years. Another died without her guardian noticing, her corpse eventually discovered by a utility worker.

But Murphy’s story illustrates just how culpable judges themselves can be in the system’s breakdown, permitting financial arrangements that experts said were unequivocally improper — even in cases when examiners point out potential problems. Lawyers, advocates and researchers alike say this laissez-faire judicial culture is the product of crushing caseloads, sparse resources and a shallow pool of guardians willing to take the most challenging cases. In New York City, there are just over a dozen judges who handle the 17,411 people in guardianships, data provided by the courts show.

“The easiest way to reduce the workload is not to look for problems,” said Nina Kohn, a guardianship expert at Syracuse University College of Law. “The second-easiest way is when you see problems, to ignore them.”

ProPublica reviewed three years of Beacon’s client lists, which were disclosed in a lawsuit, and discovered that in at least 20 instances, Murphy referred a ward under her care to her own agency. In a dozen cases, she did so as the person’s guardian. In the other eight, she acted in a different role, as a court-appointed care coordinator. That total is almost certainly an undercount since Murphy served in the guardianship system for more than 15 years. Nevertheless, the data gives a clear snapshot of just how profitable the dynamic was for Murphy’s business. In those three years alone, wards accounted for $1.5 million in Beacon revenue, about a quarter of the company’s income, the records show.

Murphy’s problematic conduct did not stop there, though.

Last month, a judge ruled that Murphy had “violated her fiduciary duty” to a wealthy Manhattan woman “in ways that shock the conscience” and barred her from serving as a professional guardian. The searing decision followed years of investigations into whether Murphy steered millions in investments and real estate for her own benefit.

Murphy, who in court records has denied any wrongdoing, did not respond to numerous requests for comment. She’s been similarly unresponsive to legal filings in multiple civil cases, records show. She sold Beacon last April, records show, and her own family and lawyers have said they’ve been unable to reach her since then. As a result, at least three attorneys have stopped representing her, and one said in court in June that “Ms. Murphy has dropped out of sight.”

None of the judges featured in this story would address why they allowed Murphy to use her court-appointed role as guardian to employ her own private business, in apparent violation of state law. Neither would the state Office of Court Administration, which runs the court system.

Courts spokesperson Al Baker said in a statement that “one of the highest priorities of the New York State Unified Court System remains combating abuse of elders and other incapacitated persons, particularly through a more vigorous and responsive guardianship system.”

A guardian is not appointed to engage in self-dealing.

—Rebekah Diller, a guardianship expert at Cardozo School of Law

Baker said the court system “is keenly aware of the structural problems it confronts, such as gaps in the numbers of qualified guardians and other professionals that are available.” Those problems have been the subject of ProPublica’s ongoing reporting.

“These issues cannot be addressed by the court system alone,” Baker said, “but require the participation of our partners in the other branches of government.” Just this year, the state Legislature rejected a modest request for $5 million to bolster the pool of guardians.

Advocates for reforming New York’s beleaguered system said that judges don’t have to wait for structural reforms to protect vulnerable wards from guardians who are leveraging their court-appointed position for personal gain.

“It shouldn’t be a question,” said Rebekah Diller, a guardianship expert at Cardozo School of Law. “A guardian is not appointed to engage in self-dealing.”

A Conflict of Interest?

Almost from the outset, there were signs that Murphy was commingling her private business with her work as a court-appointed guardian.

Just four months after forming Beacon Eldercare in January 2006, court records show she took the daylong course required to become certified as a guardian. By 2015, she was receiving dozens of appointments a year, putting her on track to become one of the system’s most prolific practitioners.

One longtime friend credited that success to Murphy’s networking skills. Sophisticated, confident and well dressed, she made frequent appearances on podcasts, in courthouses and at senior centers, where she marketed herself and her business. And with advanced degrees in social work and forensic psychology, she was able to use her years working in hospitals and a nursing home to capitalize on the business of aging, according to court records.

At Beacon, Murphy stored her wards’ paperwork at the company’s headquarters, where employees accessed the files and corresponded with county clerks and judges, court records show. Even the email address Murphy listed in the court system’s directory — guardianship@beaconeldercare.com — noted the symbiotic relationship.

In a 2020 deposition, Murphy testified, “Most certainly when I’m in court I never ever represent that Yvonne Murphy is the same as Beacon Elder Care being appointed.”

The distinction matters since the state’s guardianship statute bars guardians from being the provider of health care, day care, educational or residential services to their wards “whether direct or indirect” unless the court finds that no one else is “available or willing to act” in either capacity.

In the Chorost case, the examiner’s concerns went to a core question: Can a guardian who is referring wards to her own business be trusted to independently assess the care that business provides — or the bills it submits?

Avoiding the Question

The case was not the first in which ProPublica found someone raising that question.

The daughter of an elderly Queens pastor named Thomas Burns had flagged a similar conflict to Mayersohn a year beforehand.

The way you run your business operation leaves me thinking that maybe the Judge handling Pastor Burns’ case should have Beacon Elder Care, Inc. investigated.

—A parishioner writing about Thomas Burns, whose guardian was Yvonne Murphy, CEO of Beacon Eldercare

The judge had appointed Murphy to be a guardian to Burns, who was 90 and had dementia, because his family and friends couldn’t agree on how to best care for him and manage his money. In an affidavit, Murphy sought court approval to hire home health aides supplied by her own company.

Mayersohn approved the request and Murphy then transferred more than $120,000 from Burns’ accounts to Beacon over the next two years — all while collecting nearly $6,700 in guardianship fees — an arrangement Burns’ daughter challenged.

“This dual interest is a conflict,” her attorney wrote in a 2014 motion.

Separately, a parishioner of Burns’ congregation wrote to Murphy and Mayersohn in the summer of 2014 questioning the quality of his care. “The way you run your business operation leaves me thinking that maybe the Judge handling Pastor Burns’ case should have Beacon Elder Care, Inc. investigated,” the congregant wrote.

But Mayersohn, who had been on the bench for a decade at that point, permitted the setup, and there’s no record in Burns’ case file that he addressed the question of Murphy’s dual interests.

The judge also allowed the apparent conflict to persist in Chorost’s case after an examiner flagged Murphy’s use of Beacon in the summer of 2015. Murphy told the official that she conducted “yearly periodic random phone calls to check industry wide rates” and that Beacon’s fees were reasonable.

There’s no record of the judge addressing the examiner’s legal concerns. After a conference in 2015, Mayersohn ordered a health care provider to evaluate “the appropriateness of the services being provided.” That review eventually found that Beacon’s services were “appropriate and beneficial,” the examiner later told the court.

All these people who were supposed to be overseeing things obviously passed the buck and didn’t do their job.

—Barbara Pace, sister of a man for whom Murphy acted as guardian

Barbara Pace, Chorost’s sister, said she had long suspected Murphy was only interested in drawing compensation out of her brother. Murphy, she said, hadn’t even kept up with Chorost’s taxes, resulting in penalties and a federal lien.

“He had a lot of money and ended up with nothing,” said Pace, who lives in Florida. “All these people who were supposed to be overseeing things obviously passed the buck and didn’t do their job.”

Diller, the guardianship expert at Cardozo School of Law, said that for Mayersohn to allow Murphy to act as guardian and care provider simultaneously, he was required to have made a formal finding that no one else was available for either role.

But there’s no such finding in either case, the records show. After the 2015 conference to discuss Murphy’s use of Beacon, Mayersohn appointed her to 11 more guardianships.

A Soft Touch From the Bench

Not all judges avoided the question of Murphy’s apparent conflict of interest.

In 2015, as Mayersohn approved the Beacon payments in Queens, a different judge took issue with them in Nassau County on Long Island. And his handling of the matter suggests that even the barest judicial action could have curtailed Murphy’s use of her own company.

Murphy asked Judge Gary Knobel to approve a $20,656 payment to Beacon for six weeks of home health aides for a blind 19-year-old with “no cognitive abilities of significance,” according to the young woman’s case file.

In a filing, Murphy said the use of her company had been “discussed in chambers at the previous status conference.”

But when Knobel approved the payment, he included a caveat, writing that any future request “shall specifically disclose to the Court any compensation she received or will be receiving as a result of services rendered by” Beacon.

Knobel, a former law clerk who was elected to the bench in 2005, did not respond to ProPublica’s request for comment. But after his decision, payments to Beacon stopped.

“We Will Get Someone Who Is Honest”

Despite the various red flags, judges across New York and Long Island continued to entrust Murphy with the care of vulnerable New Yorkers for years, and she touted these relationships on Beacon Eldercare’s website, listing a number of judges by name, including Mayersohn and Knobel.

Sometimes they appointed her as a guardian and at other times the judges asked her to serve instead in a position known as a geriatric care manager for elderly wards. In both capacities, Murphy was considered a fiduciary, meaning she was required to act for the benefit of the client and not herself. But geriatric care managers, who assess the needs of elderly patients and can also arrange for their services, aren’t licensed or otherwise regulated by the state, and they are not subject to any explicit conflict-of-interest rules.

For Murphy and Beacon, the position proved fruitful.

Consider the case of Alvaro Guevara, a 74-year-old Colombian immigrant who faced “deteriorating physical and other conditions,” according to one of his guardians. In 2015, they appeared in court with their ward to request more control over his health care given the apparent decline.

Supreme Court Judge Bernice Siegal said she would appoint a geriatric care manager to assess Guevara’s needs — and hire home health aides if necessary. Guevara, who had about $305,000 left from a legal settlement, had a request regarding his future caretakers.

“I need somebody who is honest,” he told the judge.

“We will get someone who is honest, and if they are not honest, you will get everything back,” Siegal replied.

Murphy got the appointment, and she enlisted Beacon to provide Guevara services.

For more than two years, Murphy’s company drew on his account, providing 24-hour home care at the cost of roughly $7,500 per month, records show. His guardians sought to defray the fees by moving their ward’s brother in to help out and, eventually, by seeking court authority to send Guevara back to Colombia where his dollar would stretch further and where he could live with family.

But by January 2018, with only about $50,000 left to his name, Guevara refused to move after “representatives of Beacon Eldercare met with and convinced Mr. Guevara and his brother” that applying for public assistance was a better course of action, Christopher Owen, one of his guardians, wrote in a motion. “In my opinion, the foregoing advise was irresponsible and not in Mr. Guevara’s best interest,” he wrote.

There’s no record in Guevara’s case file that Siegal questioned Murphy’s dual roles. And records show that even the judge conflated them: A month after Owen’s motion, she issued an order that listed the geriatric care manager as “Beacon Eldercare,” not Murphy.

Siegal, a longtime guardianship judge, did not respond to ProPublica’s request for comment.

In all, roughly $180,000 of Guevara’s money went to Beacon. By 2019, with Guevara unable to afford rent from his $300 monthly Social Security check and with only $20,000 left in the bank, his guardians moved him into a Queens assisted living facility. That year Beacon didn’t collect from Guevara, but Murphy did, receiving $4,950 in fees from the ward for her services, which included putting together his Medicaid application.

Multimillion-Dollar Deal Raises Suspicion

Murphy’s lucrative run as a favored court appointee officially came to an end last month, when a judge ruled that she had taken advantage of a wealthy ward named Theresa Hastings.

Hastings had ended up in guardianship in 2016 after falling in her apartment, and she and her late husband, Ingo Grezinger, had extensive real estate holdings across New Jersey and New York, including a row of four abandoned brownstones in Harlem.

One of Murphy’s first acts as Hastings’ guardian was moving her into a Queens nursing home, court records show. She then set about marshaling her ward’s assets, including nearly $6 million in holdings from Grezinger’s estate.

But as Murphy took hold of a sizable real estate and investment portfolio, she failed to file the statutorily required reports to the court detailing her ward’s finances and well-being. During that time, judges still approved Murphy’s requests to sell some of Grezinger’s properties, including the four Harlem brownstones.

“[Murphy] consistently involved herself in business dealings using Ms. Hastings’s assets that were clear conflicts of interest and a gross dereliction of her duties.”

—Supreme Court Justice Carol Sharpe, writing about Theresa Hastings, a wealthy ward of Murphy’s

Murphy then helped a Beacon business associate, Patrick Toussaint, acquire those four buildings, according to the recent court ruling. Toussaint testified that Murphy told him about the properties and she negotiated the price with him, the judge wrote. A company Toussaint controlled purchased the townhouses for about $3 million — then sold them months later for nearly $8 million.

In her decision, the judge noted that Toussaint loaned Murphy $200,000 after the deal closed, money that he said she never repaid.

Reached by phone, Toussaint declined to comment.

It wasn’t until September 2019, nearly a year and a half after Hastings died, that Murphy finally filed a report detailing her ward’s finances to the court.

These and other actions worried the court examiner tasked with reviewing Murphy’s guardianship work. The examiner, Alison Arden Besunder, wrote in a December 2019 preliminary report that Murphy had “repeatedly failed to comply” with the law and had “continued to thwart her fiduciary obligations as Guardian.”

In Murphy’s defense, her then-lawyer said Besunder had “grossly mischaracterized” her client’s conduct and wrote that sanctioning her in a case in which she obtained “no financial benefit or personal gain would have a chilling effect on the willingness” of people like Murphy to serve as professional guardians. Murphy took most of the guardianships she was appointed to “out of her compassion for the elderly or incapacitated population,” as well as “her understanding of the Court’s dire need for eligible” professional guardians, her lawyer, Jessica Reznak, wrote in a March 2020 filing.

But the judge was unpersuaded. In a decision issued in July, five years after the investigation began, Supreme Court Justice Carol Sharpe ruled that Murphy’s testimony hadn’t been credible and that she’d “consistently involved herself in business dealings using Ms. Hastings’s assets that were clear conflicts of interest and a gross dereliction of her duties.”

Sixteen years after Murphy became a guardian, Sharpe banned her from serving in that role, removed her from all the cases she’d been assigned to and charged her “for any financial incentives she received” from the estates of Hastings and her husband.

The Manhattan District Attorney’s Office is also probing the matter, as is the public administrator’s office, the city agency that settles the affairs of people who die without wills. Attorneys for the agency have said in court records that they still need to account for how Murphy handled Grezinger’s assets, including the Harlem brownstones.

But they’ll likely have to piece it all together without questioning Murphy directly. With her actions as a court-appointed fiduciary under the microscope, a government attorney recently wrote that the onetime guardian “appears to have intentionally and voluntarily absented herself from the jurisdiction.”

Sophie Chou contributed data analysis.

by Jake Pearson

How a Green Tech Startup With No Climate Experience Secured Millions of Dollars in Government Contracts

8 months 1 week ago

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up for Dispatches, a newsletter that spotlights wrongdoing around the country, to receive our stories in your inbox every week.

The summer heat collected inside a fire station in Reno, the nation’s fastest-warming city, where Nevada’s governor and key local government leaders had gathered in July 2021. They were there to announce what they called a “groundbreaking” step to address climate change through a “landmark partnership” with a little-known green tech company.

“We get to be the city, the county and the state that lead the way into a new day and a new era,” Bob Lucey, then-Washoe County Commission chairperson, told the small crowd of reporters, lobbyists and government officials.

“This is how we fight climate change and protect our state,” proclaimed then-Gov. Steve Sisolak, who’d set a goal of nearly halving the state’s greenhouse gas emissions by 2030.

The governments they led had each given the company, then called Ledger8760 and now known as NZero, contracts on the promise it could provide real-time tracking of carbon emissions from scores of buildings, hundreds of vehicles and the travel of thousands of employees. Such information would allow hour-by-hour decision making to reduce their carbon footprints and move toward their climate goals, according to NZero’s pitch.

It was a bold claim for a company with no track record working with governments and without a scientist or climate expert among its founders or lead employees.

But what NZero’s executive team did have — and what gave it an edge in convincing a state, county and city to bet taxpayer dollars on the company — was a history of helping powerful people get what they want. As lobbyists, well-liked in political circles for their jovial personalities and straightforward deal-making, they had helped Uber battle an intractable taxi lobby and gain entrance to the Nevada market; Tesla win what was at the time the largest tax incentive package in state history; and the NFL’s Las Vegas Raiders secure $750 million in public financing to build a stadium. They’ve represented clients before the Reno City Council and Washoe County Commission and lobbied the Legislature on behalf of the city.

Now, Josh Griffin, NZero co-founder, decided to use those skills to grow his own business.

Beginning in late 2020, Griffin leaned on relationships with government officials to pitch them his new company, according to emails obtained by ProPublica. Over the next three years, he won contracts worth $5.7 million — funds that critics say would have been better used to make actual efficiency upgrades or invest in green power generation. In fact, Griffin convinced government officials, including the administrations of two governors from different political parties, to pay his company more and more money despite NZero’s struggles to deliver on its promise to provide real-time emissions data to make real-time decisions.

Washoe County went months without receiving data tracking electricity usage. A state of Nevada pilot project never delivered real-time data, and a larger project with the state encountered repeated delays. Only the city of Reno realized a working platform with uninterrupted and usable data.

“Their software didn’t do what they said it was going to do,” said Robin Yochum, a former programs manager at the Governor’s Office of Energy, who questioned the contract from the beginning. The statistics that NZero provided to the state during the pilot project were months old because of issues getting data in regular intervals from utilities, she said. The historic data had to be input by hand and wasn’t much better than information the state already had.

“They figured out how to get money from the government and put it into their company, and what did we get for it? Nothing,” Yochum said.

They figured out how to get money from the government and put it into their company, and what did we get for it? Nothing.

—Robin Yochum, a former programs manager at the Nevada Governor’s Office of Energy

Documents obtained by ProPublica show the local and state governments rushed to hire NZero without fully vetting the company against other competitors. A Reno spokesperson said the city tried to find similar companies but couldn’t. A Washoe County spokesperson said officials believed they were “investing in an innovative approach.” The state considered no other companies before hiring NZero for the pilot project.

Yochum, who had seen a past effort by the state to implement a similar platform fail, continued to voice her suspicions about NZero’s promises. She also didn’t think its technology would be the best way to meet the state’s ambitious climate objectives.

“The bottom line is the state needs money to be able to implement retrofits and efficiency measures to make buildings compatible with climate goals,” she said. “You should put your money into upgrading them first.”

NZero’s head of marketing, Kevin Nabipour, said in a written statement that ProPublica’s reporting “portrays a customer experience that is a stark contrast from the one we know and experience routinely with a satisfied group of engaged public sector professionals.”

In an interview with ProPublica, Griffin acknowledged NZero didn’t deliver what it initially promised. Rather than real-time data, the governments got delayed data. But it still benefited his customers, he argued.

“I know we delivered real value,” Griffin said, “even though it was incongruent with when we said we would deliver information and when they received it. It doesn’t mean at all it wasn’t valuable.”

Governments should invest in understanding their emission patterns before putting money toward improvements, he argued. Although his company provided older data, it could still be useful in judging the effectiveness of proposed efficiency projects, he said. “How do you know which one reduces the emissions the most? We’re guiding those decisions,” he said.

As of July, three years after contracting with NZero, the state of Nevada has not used the data to make efficiency upgrades, while Reno relied on the data to help implement a lighting project and Washoe County used the data to help prioritize its capital improvement projects.

Why Track Carbon Emissions?

ProPublica this year is investigating the effectiveness of government and industry efforts to combat the climate crisis and reduce their environmental impact.

Measuring emissions is a key tenet in international treaties aimed at preventing catastrophic climate change by reducing global carbon output. Such tracking is generally done at the city, state or national level through estimates of how much carbon is emitted in a geographical area over a year.

On the corporate side, publicly traded companies began looking for ways to measure their emissions to appeal to environmentally minded consumers and shareholders, and get a jump on expected federal regulations that could require it. This drove a surge in startup companies offering similar platforms.

New ways of monitoring carbon output were being developed, including sensors, smart meters and complicated models to estimate emissions. And although several internationally respected climate agencies had developed standards, there wasn’t an agreed-upon best method.

“It’s all unregulated,” said Danny Cullenward, a climate economist and senior fellow with the Kleinman Center for Energy Policy at the University of Pennsylvania. “There are various private industry standards, but they’re voluntary.”

Griffin and his lobbying partner Matt Griffin, who is not related to Josh, started NZero in 2017 with their friend Josh Weber, a lawyer specializing in electric utility regulations. They believed large-scale energy consumers — particularly the casinos and data centers they represented as lobbyists — should have better electricity consumption data, Josh Griffin said. They should know whether the electrons powering their slot machines, for example, had been generated by a solar or a coal-fired plant. (Around this time, Josh Griffin and Weber ran an ultimately unsuccessful ballot initiative to end the electric utility’s monopoly in Nevada and give consumers a choice of where to buy power. Griffin said the ballot initiative and the founding of NZero were unrelated.)

Utilities had data on exactly where consumers’ electricity was coming from but didn’t readily share it, Griffin said. Nor did consumers know how many pounds of carbon were produced generating the power they used. Griffin said they developed their platform to provide that.

For more than a decade, Nevada governments had conducted periodic greenhouse gas inventories for their jurisdictions, estimating annual emissions from all the sources within their geographic boundaries. NZero offered something different: tracking emissions generated from actual government operations — how much carbon was emitted when, for example, the city’s street lights were on or when the heater ran at city hall.

Griffin argued his platform was perfect for governments because elected leaders had promised to reduce carbon emissions. The Sisolak administration, for example, set a goal of cutting greenhouse gas emissions by 45% by 2030 and 100% by 2050. Officials could “lead by example,” proving to private industry that accountability was possible through accurate data, Griffin said.

To calculate these emissions, however, NZero needed access to data on energy consumption from each government building, including natural gas, electricity and water. But the availability of the data was hit or miss for each address depending on the service provider, what kind of meters were in place and whether the utility was willing to share it.

“There’s nothing you can do if they don’t want to give you the data,” said Connor Taylor, a senior analyst with Verdantix, which sells buyer’s guides on carbon tracking software. “It’s not like anyone’s legally obligated to do it. So it really hinges on the strength of that relationship.”

There’s nothing you can do if they don’t want to give you the data.”

—Connor Taylor, a senior analyst with Verdantix

It turned out real-time data wasn’t available from Southwest Gas, southern Nevada’s largest natural gas provider, and NV Energy, the state’s primary electricity provider, didn’t want to share customer data with NZero.

What Went Wrong

Reno avoided significant problems with NZero’s platform because the city collected the data from NV Energy itself and passed it to NZero for analysis. The city said it didn’t have examples of efficiency projects undertaken because of the data but has used the information to measure how effective some of its projects have been. A spokesperson said it has been “critical for our sustainability goals.”

Early on, NZero was able to tap into Washoe County’s electricity and natural gas usage data from NV Energy, which gave the county a working platform. But it showed information that was a month old, not real-time. Brian Beffort, Washoe County’s sustainability manager, said although NZero didn’t deliver data in real time as promised, the platform has proven essential for tracking progress toward the county’s emissions goals. “Without it I would be shadow boxing,” he said.

When NV Energy cut off the feed, the county lost access to even its month-old data for nearly a year. But NZero continued to collect its $6,000 monthly fee for providing it. Beffort said he didn’t immediately notice the outage and didn’t think it would be fair to penalize NZero for the utility’s actions. The county is working on a fix, but as of July, that process wasn’t yet finalized.

“To be clear, that’s on NV Energy, not NZero,” Beffort said.

The state had a similar problem. Unlike the city or the county, Nevada signed a contract for what was supposed to be a small pilot program. NZero would track real-time emissions from just five state buildings, rather than government-wide operations.

It was Yochum’s job to run the pilot project. Six months into the yearlong contract, NZero was still trying to wrangle data from Southwest Gas. And soon after it settled on a method for inputting historic data for both electricity and gas, NV Energy decided that sending data to third parties violated customer privacy and cut it off entirely.

The real-time data to make on-the-spot decisions about energy usage never materialized, Yochum said.

An NV Energy spokesperson said that in order to protect its “customers’ sensitive data,” the utility “no longer provides data directly to third-party vendors on behalf of customers.”

Influence vs. Research

Governments should carefully vet whether a company offering carbon tracking technology can access data from utilities before signing a contract, Taylor said.

With NZero, the governments tailored their solicitation letters directly to what NZero said it was offering. Yochum said she was told to do so and to structure the contract to avoid a lengthy and competitive process. At the time, contracts valued at less than $25,000 could be approved without a public vote by elected officials.

Although Yochum wouldn’t comment on who told her to do these things, her emails from the time shed light on where the pressure was coming from: “This is a priority for the Governor’s Office,” Yochum wrote in a June 2021 email urging the state’s budget office to expedite the contract.

In a June 2021 email, Robin Yochum, a former programs manager at the Nevada Governor’s Office of Energy, informed the state’s budget office that the NZero contract was a priority for the governor’s office. (Obtained and redacted by ProPublica)

In Yochum’s mind, the pilot project had failed and she expected to move on from NZero, which she described as a good company but not right for the state’s needs. But one month after Yochum wrote a memo detailing where the company’s pilot project had fallen short, NZero submitted a glossy 15-page proposal for nearly $13 million in American Rescue Plan funding for an “expanded partnership” with the state.

Emails obtained by ProPublica show Josh Griffin stepped up his lobbying of the administration, working both the governor’s new energy adviser and his chief of staff, Yvanna Cancela, who explored how to get NZero a $5 million contract without a competitive process. One way would be for NZero to offer its services through an existing state contractor. NZero then signed a partnership agreement with Deloitte Consulting.

When Yochum learned of the effort to avoid a competitive process, she objected.

“I was told, ‘We have to do this. The governor’s office wants to do it, we are going to do it,’” Yochum said.

I was told, ‘We have to do this. The governor’s office wants to do it, we are going to do it.’

—Robin Yochum, a former programs manager at the Nevada Governor’s Office of Energy

Yochum wasn’t the only skeptical state employee. A purchasing official pointed to significant delays in the pilot project and warned that Cancela’s close communication with NZero could “create an appearance of impropriety in a future solicitation,” wrote Gideon Davis, one purchasing officer.

Another argued it might not be the best use of $5 million if the goal were to reduce carbon emissions. The director of the Nevada Department of Administration, Laura Freed, sent a lengthy email with a half-dozen alternative sustainability projects, including prioritizing the purchase of electric vehicles, upgrading state-owned building metering for gas and electricity, and requiring zero-energy use building plans for new buildings. The proposal appeared to go nowhere.

The state has known for years where it needs to make energy improvements. In 2009, the public works department created a list of nearly 2,000 energy efficiency projects, some as simple as changing out fluorescent light bulbs. Fifteen years later, the state is still working to fund those projects. In 2021, public works was awarded $9.4 million for a handful of projects, including changing light bulbs listed as a priority in 2009. Last year, no money went toward the listed projects.

“If I had $5 million to spend to pursue things that would meaningfully advance the state of Nevada’s climate leadership, there are other things I would spend it on, such as energy efficiency upgrades to state buildings,” said one former state employee involved in the project, who asked not to be named because they feared it could hurt their current employment. “That’s the bread and butter. We know the problem buildings. We know the aging infrastructure. We got the backlog of deferred maintenance. You can do some good with $5 million just improving infrastructure.”

The governor’s office ignored the concerns about NZero. Yochum’s frustration over it, in part, led her to resign from the state in March 2023.

Cancela acquiesced when the purchasing department said a competitive process would be required. She told ProPublica she was in charge of pursuing the governor’s priorities and, after consulting with state energy and finance experts, she had determined NZero’s concept “had merit,” but “the appropriate path forward was a competitive bidding process.” The emails also show she was unfamiliar with government purchasing rules and sought guidance.

The request for proposals went out in October 2022. Three companies answered. And in December, NZero, the company that had convinced the state such a project was needed in the first place, was declared the bid winner.

Josh Griffin said he didn’t do anything inappropriate by looking for a way to avoid competition. When he was told the contract had to go out to bid, he stopped lobbying, he said.

“We weren’t trying to lobby our way through it,” he said.

Matt Griffin, who worked as the company’s legal counsel for three years and was listed on early incorporation documents along with other members of the Griffins’ lobbying firm, said he didn’t want to comment. Josh Weber, who is now the company’s CEO, said he wasn’t involved with the company during the negotiations or implementation of the state contract.

Deals Under a New Governor

As the final details of the $5 million contract were being negotiated, Sisolak lost his bid for reelection. When Gov. Joe Lombardo took office in 2023, he abandoned Sisolak’s climate strategy, which NZero had used to justify its proposal. Lombardo’s energy plan focused more on electricity generation (prioritizing natural gas) and transmission than climate action. That signaled a move away from emission tracking.

But the change from a Democratic to a Republican administration didn’t change NZero’s fortunes. As the contract was being negotiated, NZero was lobbying the new administration, in apparent violation of state laws governing the competitive bid process.

“It has come to my attention that employees or representatives of the intended vendor, NZero, have communicated directly with you or others at the state regarding the final stages of this contract,” Davis, the state purchasing officer handling the contract, wrote to Lombardo’s new energy director, Dwayne McClinton. A spokesperson for the governor’s office said Davis wrote to McClinton, who had been on the job only three weeks, to “ensure compliance.” Josh Griffin said he didn’t know to which communication Davis was referring but didn’t believe the bidding restrictions on communication applied during the time the contract was being negotiated.

Jeanne Stoneman, Lombardo’s deputy director of energy, said the administration moved forward with the contract because it saw the potential to help reduce the state’s energy consumption — and energy bills — as well as its carbon footprint. (Stoneman left her position with the state in June.)

Griffin said by the time the contract was signed, NZero had a work-around for getting data from NV Energy. The fix, he said, was for the state to give NZero login information to all of its electricity accounts, which the company promised to keep confidential. (In one email obtained by ProPublica, an NZero staffer advised the Nevada National Guard to turn off two-factor authentication so the company could get into the account.)

Still, the project was plagued by delays and skeptical state employees.

“I did not recall the program providing us with any more detailed information above what we already generate ourselves,” the energy manager for state public works wrote to his supervisor when the energy office tried to schedule a “project kickoff meeting” with Team NZero, as the new partnership with Deloitte was called. Another brought up “serious security concerns” about sharing account login credentials with a third party.

Last November, when the project was supposed to be wrapping up, it had barely begun.

Although the Team NZero project was suffering from severe delays at the end of last year, documents show the team began to resolve the problems in January. In some cases, the resolution was simply to not include entire departments that had been difficult to communicate with. McClinton said in a June interview that energy use in 95% of state buildings is now being tracked in real time.

NZero delivered its capital planning report to the state in April, about a month late and without the data from the departments that didn’t participate. Because of the delays, Team NZero did not close out the project until July, three months after the contract ended. McClinton said that “no decisions or improvements have been made based off the data yet.”

Lombardo’s spokesperson blamed the project delays on difficulty finding a secure way for NZero to access the state’s utility accounts.

“Ultimately, the state was able to provide nZero with limited access to accounts without control features, which ensured minimal external access,” she said.

Deloitte did not respond to a request for comment.

Despite Team NZero’s project delays, Josh Griffin didn’t stop pushing for even more money. During the legislative session in early 2023, Griffin lobbied the Lombardo administration for another $11 million to be included in the governor’s proposed budget. When the administration denied the request, the company turned to the Legislature. In the final hours of the session, lawmakers passed an emergency bill introduced by Senate Majority Leader Nicole Cannizzaro that allocated $11 million to, among other things, track electrical energy consumption in “near real-time.”

“The Governor’s office indicated at the time that they were fully supportive of allocating funding to allow them to keep the program going, and we were happy to find an area of bipartisan cooperation on promoting more climate-friendly government practices,” Cannizzaro’s spokesperson said in a written statement.

To assuage the concerns of skeptical lawmakers, Cannizzaro had assured them that money from the bill would be subject to a competitive bid process. McClinton echoed that in an interview with ProPublica.

But in March, McClinton’s office made another move that would have skirted the competitive process. At the direction of the governor’s office, it attempted to funnel an additional $8.87 million to NZero by amending the contract without putting it out to bid, according to emails obtained by ProPublica. Again, an administration employee flagged the “enormous amount” as inappropriate for a contract amendment, and purchasing officers halted it.

A spokesperson for McClinton said despite the go-ahead on the amendment from his department’s lawyers, he continued to look for other possible vendors and discovered another company was already tracking vehicle emissions for the state. That company was provided more funding to expand its services, and the effort to amend NZero’s contract was dropped. McClinton said his office may still open a bidding process for remaining funds from Cannizzaro’s bill and NZero would be welcome to compete.

Meanwhile, the NZero board has replaced the company’s CEO with Weber, one of the co-founders, and both Josh Griffin and Matt Griffin resigned earlier this year. The company has lost about a third of its employees, according to a LinkedIn estimate. The restructure was unrelated to the Nevada contract, Weber said. He added he’s excited about the company’s future as it refocuses on new tools to help its customers “optimize their efforts to reduce impact on the planet.”

by Anjeanette Damon

Oklahoma’s Oil Industry Touts a Voluntary Fund to Clean Up Oil Wells. Major Drillers Want Their Contributions Refunded.

8 months 1 week ago

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up for Dispatches, a newsletter that spotlights wrongdoing around the country, to receive our stories in your inbox every week.

Oklahoma’s oil and gas industry touts its altruism and environmental stewardship by pointing to a voluntary levy that companies pay on their production, which is then used to clean up orphan wells that have been left to the state.

But some of Oklahoma’s biggest oil companies have opted out of the fund, forcing the state to return millions of dollars that would have otherwise gone to restoring land scarred by discarded drilling infrastructure and contaminated by leaks and spills, according to a ProPublica and Capital & Main analysis.

The list of companies that received such refunds includes some of the Oklahoma oil industry’s household names, such as Ovintiv and Chesapeake Energy Corp. It also includes the two richest people in the state: Harold Hamm, a pioneer in fracking technology and the founder of the multibillion-dollar Continental Resources, and George Kaiser, whose success as head of his family’s oil company helped him buy the Bank of Oklahoma.

All told, dozens of oil companies received refunds worth about $11 million over the past seven years, ProPublica and Capital & Main found. Put another way, for every $100 the state brought in via this funding mechanism, it sent $8.58 back to oil companies.

The Oklahoma Energy Resources Board, created by the Legislature in 1993, collects a 0.1% assessment on oil and gas production that functions like a tax on the state’s largest industry. The roughly $163 million collected — after refunds — since the levy’s inception has funded the restoration of more than 20,000 sites.

If the board had not had to issue the millions of dollars in refunds, it could have restored an additional 1,500 orphan well sites, according to the board’s average cleanup bill. Until they are plugged, these wells can leak a litany of pollutants, from toxic gasses to salty wastewater, presenting an environmental crisis across Oklahoma.

ProPublica and Capital & Main reached out to all 76 companies that requested refunds in the past seven years as well as to the main in-state trade groups, the Oklahoma Energy Producers Alliance and the Petroleum Alliance of Oklahoma. The Petroleum Alliance of Oklahoma, Hamm’s Continental Resources, Kaiser’s Kaiser-Francis Oil Co., Chesapeake Energy and Ovintiv did not respond to requests for comment.

Only two oil producers answered questions: one said she requested refunds to cut down on contact with regulators, while the other dismissed concerns about the refunds, stating that “it’s not that much money.”

Zack Taylor, a spokesperson for the Oklahoma Energy Producers Alliance, wrote in an email that the board “has done very important work cleaning up abandoned well sites all over Oklahoma.” But, he added, “We believe it should be an opt in program so the smaller producers and royalty owners could agree up front whether or not to participate.”

In addition to paying for orphan well site cleanup, the Energy Resources Board’s levy funds pro-fossil fuel marketing campaigns that range from K-12 curricula promoting the industry in classrooms to programming with Mike Rowe, the reality television star known for the show “Dirty Jobs.”

Mindy Stitt, the Energy Resources Board’s executive director, said the state’s oil companies “exemplify what it means to be a good neighbor.”

“They contribute millions of dollars to our programs, even if they must request a refund some years, making significant impacts across our state,” she said.

Oklahoma’s Orphan Well Epidemic

Farmers chat near a well on a farm in south-central Oklahoma. (Mark Olalde/ProPublica)

Not everyone sees it that way.

Don Scott has worked his farm in south-central Oklahoma for years, harvesting hay while carefully avoiding an orphan well that scars one of his fields. The green pump jack stood inoperable on a recent visit to the farm, rust eating through the metal. Salt contamination had turned the soil an unnatural white, the dirt cracking at the base of the well.

The well occupies otherwise productive land and could leak more pollutants into the environment. “And that ain’t counting the aggravation of having to work around it,” said Scott, whose father and grandfather worked in the oil fields and who now laments the state’s orphan well epidemic.

More than 18,000 wells have already been labeled as orphans by the Oklahoma Corporation Commission, the state’s main oil regulatory body. That number is likely to swell, as the state has more than a quarter-million unplugged wells — some active, some already idle — according to data from energy software firm Enverus.

But the money available for cleanup pales in comparison to the task. The Oklahoma Corporation Commission collects its own tax, which has generated only a several-million-dollar orphan well fund. The state quickly exhausted federal money it received from the Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act to plug wells. And drillers have set aside only 0.6% of the projected cleanup cost via financial instruments called bonds, according to a ProPublica and Capital & Main analysis of state data.

This leaves the Energy Resources Board and its voluntary cleanup fund as an important tool in Oklahoma’s struggle to address its unplugged wells.

If the Energy Resources Board fund continues to be voluntary in a state that’s already slow to impose regulations on its most lucrative industry, critics say, then companies should at least be required to set aside enough money to plug their own wells.

“Local industry also has a part to play in funding remediation,” said Kara Joy McKee, director of the Sierra Club’s Oklahoma chapter. “It should be a general obligation of the industry that has received so much wealth from the resources of this state.”

Big Oil, Big Refunds

Some of the state’s major oil producers top the list of companies that requested refunds.

Continental Resources received nearly $1.6 million in refunds over the seven years for which the Energy Resources Board maintains data, while Kaiser-Francis Oil took in about $490,000.

Ovintiv, an $11 billion oil company, was by far the largest recipient, as its subsidiaries and related entities got more than $3.8 million back.

Next on the list, a partnership between large driller Mach Resources and private equity firm Bayou City Energy Management received more than $2.1 million in refunds. Neither company responded to requests for comment.

The Oklahoma City-headquartered Chesapeake Energy, valued at $10 billion, also appeared on the list, getting a more than $400,000 refund.

And companies belonging to the McCasland family, longtime Oklahoma oil producers, filed dozens of requests totalling several hundred-thousand dollars in refunds. One of the family’s companies, Twin D Energy, repeatedly pursued the refund, even when it stood to only get back amounts as low as $2.57, $3.47 and $3.71 in a given year. Tom McCasland III, the president of the family’s companies, said they only request refunds for their own portion of oil production, not for other working interest owners.

“It Ought to Be There Permanently”

Oklahoma has a sunset law that sets the date by which the state must dissolve or renew certain government agencies, and the Energy Resources Board is facing the chopping block. In 2023, its sunset date was pushed back to 2025 to give lawmakers time to decide what to do with the agency. But several bills proposed in this year’s and last year’s legislative session to extend or update the board’s mandate failed.

Instead, the state’s oil trade groups have entered negotiations to draft their own language destined for the Legislature. Some of their ideas threaten to further undermine funding for the board’s cleanup work.

On one hand, the trade groups are discussing provisions to allow the board to plug wells instead of only cleaning up surface contamination. But some oil companies are also aiming to make it easier to avoid paying the assessment that funds the board’s work, potentially only collecting money from drillers who opt in.

“There are people that don’t feel that it is really refundable,” said McCasland, who serves as the Oklahoma Energy Producers Alliance’s chairman in addition to his work with his family’s oil companies. As a result, the negotiations have included discussions about the ease of getting the money back.

Every dollar refunded is one less dollar spent cleaning up the industry’s orphan wells, so landowners like Scott, the farmer with an orphan well on his land, might have to continue waiting to see old, leaking infrastructure removed from their property.

The Energy Resources Board is a “good thing,” Scott said, and it has begun cleanup on his land. So he expressed frustration upon learning that oil companies regularly ask the board for refunds.

“Once it’s paid in,” he said, “it ought to be there permanently.”

by Mark Olalde, ProPublica, and Nick Bowlin, Capital & Main

“A Terrible Vulnerability”: Cybersecurity Researcher Discovers Yet Another Flaw in Georgia’s Voter Cancellation Portal

8 months 1 week ago

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up for Dispatches, a newsletter that spotlights wrongdoing around the country, to receive our stories in your inbox every week.

Until Monday, a new online portal run by the Georgia Secretary of State’s Office contained what experts describe as a serious security vulnerability that would have allowed anyone to submit a voter cancellation request for any Georgian. All that was required was a name, date of birth and county of residence — information easily discoverable for many people online.

The flaw was brought to the attention of ProPublica and Atlanta News First over the weekend by a cybersecurity researcher, Jason Parker. Parker, who uses they/them pronouns, said that after discovering it, they attempted to contact the Georgia Secretary of State’s Office. The office said it had no records of Parker’s attempts to reach out.

“It’s a terrible vulnerability to leave open, and it’s essential to be fixed,” Parker said.

The issue Parker exposed was “as bad as any voter cancellation bug could be” and “incredibly sloppy coding,” said Zach Edwards, a senior threat researcher at the cybersecurity firm Silent Push, who reviewed the flaw at the request of ProPublica. “It’s shocking to have one of these bugs occur on a serious website.” Edwards said that even a basic penetration test, in which outside experts vet the security of a website before its launch, “should have picked this up.”

ProPublica and Atlanta News First jointly alerted the Secretary of State’s Office to the vulnerability and held the publication of their articles until it was fixed.

“We have updated the process to include an error message letting the individual know their submission is incomplete and will not be processed,” Blake Evans, Georgia’s elections director, said in a statement from the Secretary of State’s Office.

In the days after the portal launched last Monday, The Associated Press and The Current each reported the existence of separate security vulnerabilities that exposed voters’ sensitive personal information, including the last four digits of their Social Security number and their full driver’s license number. The Secretary of State’s Office told the news organizations that it quickly fixed the portal. Democrats warned that the system could be abused, as right-wing activists have been challenging tens of thousands of voter registrations in a different process that a 2021 state law expanded. Over the weekend, ProPublica reported that users of the portal had unsuccessfully attempted to cancel the voter registrations of two prominent Republican officials, Secretary of State Brad Raffensperger and Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene.

The flaw found by Parker was different from the two previously reported ones. This one would allow any user of the portal to bypass the screen that requires a driver’s license number and submit the cancellation request without it.

The Secretary of State “needs to consider this an all-hands-on-deck” moment “and hire multiple testing and security firms and stop relying on the public’s goodwill and pro bono security researchers to test the quality of their website,” Edwards said. “At this point, we should assume there are other subtle bugs that could have potentially serious impact.” Edwards said that it would have been easy for a malicious actor to automate cancellation requests to get around security measures built into the website and submit thousands of them.

In a video shared with ProPublica, Parker, who is moving from Georgia to another state, demonstrated how the registration cancellation tool could be exploited in roughly a minute. First, they entered their name, date of birth and county of residence to get past the website’s initial screening page. When the portal asked them for a driver’s license number, Parker right-clicked to inspect the browser’s HTML code — a basic option available to anyone — and deleted a few lines of code requiring them to submit their driver’s license number. Parker then hit submit. A window popped up stating that “Your cancellation request has been successfully submitted” and that county election workers would process the request within a week.

Parker said it took them less than two hours of poking around the website to find the vulnerability.

“Incomplete paper and online applications will not be accepted,” Evans said in the statement. (Parker’s cancellation request would have lacked a driver’s license number.) The Secretary of State’s Office did not respond to individual questions about what testing the portal underwent before launch, the system’s security procedures, what happened to Parker’s cancellation request and how the public could be sure of the portal’s security given the recent disclosures of security flaws.

Cybersecurity Researcher Shows Flaw With Georgia’s Voter Registration Cancellation Website

“The Secretary of State’s Office needs to do better,” said Marisa Pyle, the senior democracy defense manager for Georgia with All Voting is Local, a voting rights advocacy organization. “The state needs to be really intentional about how it rolls out these things. It needs to make sure they’re secure and provide their rationale for making them.”

Jake Braun, the author of a book on cybersecurity flaws in election systems and lecturer at the University of Chicago, said that there is a long history of elections-related websites suffering from easily exploitable security failures, including Russians hacking election infrastructure during the 2016 election and public-interest competitions in which participants breached replicas of state election websites in minutes. Online elections infrastructure, he said, “needs more standards and better standards.”

Edwards said that the portal’s vulnerability-plagued rollout showed the necessity of improving the vetting process.

“Georgia should step up and pass a law saying all new websites in which the public interacts with government documents should have an outside review,” Edwards said. The public “should expect” officials “did some due diligence.”

Do you have any information about the Georgia voter registration cancellation portal, voter challenges or anything voter-related that we should know? Contact reporter Doug Bock Clark by email at doug.clark@propublica.org and by phone or Signal at 678-243-0784. If you’re concerned about confidentiality, check out our advice on the most secure ways to share tips.

by Doug Bock Clark