Crooked Bough News Round-up

— The Costly Blunders in the Army’s $533 Million Fiasco

 

at 8/26/26 4:00am

Former Army Secretary Christine Wormuth joined defense officials for a facility tour at the opening of General Dynamics’ artillery factory in 2024. Sgt. 1st Class Nicole Mejia/U.S. Army The U.S. Army paid General Dynamics $533 million for an artillery factory that failed to produce a single usable shell. Instead of efficient, state-of-the-art production lines, half a billion dollars in taxpayer funding paid for machines that kept failing in bizarre ways, former workers told ProPublica’s Jesse Coburn. Giant robot arms would catch fire. The Texas factory’s signature device often cracked the steel meant for the shells. And workers regularly had to take a sledgehammer to certain machines to try to make them function properly. But the machines still botched nearly every shell. The boondoggle, which included a real-life dumpster fire, was described as an “absolute disaster,” by one former official who worked in an Army office overseeing the project. The official, like others interviewed for the story, spoke on the condition of anonymity. Read More Fiasco in the Factory: Taxpayers Funded a $533 Million Artillery Plant That Made Nothing In a detailed statement, the Army told ProPublica it exercises “rigorous oversight” and that, “where vendors fail to meet contract specifications” — as at the General Dynamics artillery factory — ”we are evaluating contract performance, seeking recoupment of funds, and pivoting resources.” General Dynamics declined an interview request, but the company has said it “met or exceeded requirements,” according to a Department of Defense inspector general report. In a statement, a company spokesperson told ProPublica its reporting “fundamentally mischaracterizes the circumstances,” but did not respond to a request to specify our reporting’s alleged errors. To chronicle what went wrong, Coburn interviewed 36 people who’ve worked for the Army, the Pentagon, General Dynamics and the White House, and he reviewed internal company documents as well as photos and video from inside the factory. Here are the lapses in planning and execution Coburn’s reporting uncovered — and some of the consequences of those mistakes. The Red Flags The Army awarded the project to General Dynamics in a rushed process despite significant unknowns. When Russia invaded Ukraine in 2022, the Biden administration rushed to boost production of artillery shells to support Ukraine’s war effort. General Dynamics was the only company producing the 155 mm metal shell bodies in the U.S. at that time, mainly in a century-old facility in Pennsylvania. The company could have simply replicated the facility’s traditional manufacturing method, which dated back to the time of the Korean War, to ramp up production. But General Dynamics proposed using a state-of-the-art production line from Repkon, a Turkish company virtually unknown in American defense.  Repkon said other countries were already using its machinery to build an older, simpler model of the artillery shells. But it wasn’t clear the Turkish equipment could work with the particular steel used to make the Army’s newer model of 155 mm shells. And Repkon said the Army and General Dynamics could not inspect full artillery production lines in action, citing customer privacy. Repkon did not respond to requests for comment.  The Department of Defense did not competitively bid the project. The Army could’ve insisted that General Dynamics more fully demonstrate that Repkon’s machines could perform the desired work. But that would’ve taken time, and — as a former Army official told Coburn — “there was incredible pressure to go fast.” In November 2022, the Army gave General Dynamics the first in a series of contract awards for the artillery factory. Then, Congress granted the Department of Defense the power to award money for Ukraine-related causes without some of the usual contracting safeguards meant to ensure taxpayer money doesn’t go to waste. That meant the Army could give General Dynamics no-bid awards and the company could start work on the project before finalizing the contract terms with the government. The U.S. ended up ordering three Repkon production lines — instead of just one — without knowing for certain whether they could make shells that met the Army’s specifications. (The Army said it selected General Dynamics because of the company’s unique artillery production experience). The Army did not thoroughly vet the proposal before approving it. Both the Army and General Dynamics sent staffers to Turkey to inspect the Repkon machines. But they never inspected a full production line in action, and they didn’t send enough experts who could identify potential defects in Repkon’s equipment, four former General Dynamics and Army officials told ProPublica. The Army also didn’t require General Dynamics to demonstrate it could use Repkon’s equipment to complete the entire production process and make shells that met the service’s specifications. (The Army said that “formal testing could not occur prior to full machinery installation.”) In 2024, leaders from the Army and General Dynamics gathered in Texas to celebrate the factory’s opening. But the machines were barely functioning.  Here’s how the rushed planning from the Army and General Dynamics played out in the factory. The Consequences In Texas, robotic arms caught fire and smashed into equipment. Twelve former factory workers told Coburn that problems quickly piled up inside the factory. Machines meant to begin giving the shells perfectly smooth noses would, instead, mangle them into swirls that looked like soft-serve ice cream. The robotic arms had a tendency to swing out of control, smashing into things around the factory. Workers talked about the arms going “rogue.” Sometimes, a machine in the factory would be seen moving on its own, controlled remotely by someone in Turkey, spooking workers in the Texas factory.  Workers said smoke hung in the air inside the factory, and it’d reach desert-like temperatures when the furnaces or forging presses were on. Making matters worse, walls cracked, water flooded in when it rained and employees said the foundation of the buildings appeared to be shifting or sinking beneath them. As progress at the artillery plant continued to stall, paranoia grew and rumors swirled among the American workers that the Turkish employees from Repkon might be purposefully sabotaging the machinery. “It was astonishing how little progress we would make, month after month, year after year,” one former worker told ProPublica. “People started speculating, ‘I wonder if they’re spying on us.’” (The Army said it has no evidence of sabotage or spying.) General Dynamics failed to meet a number of milestones at the facility, including failing to perform scheduled first article tests, which would’ve demonstrated the factory could produce shells that met the Army’s requirements.  The Army hasn’t required General Dynamics to pay the money back. General Dynamics, one of the world’s largest defense contractors, and Repkon haven’t been held publicly accountable for the taxpayer-funded failure. The Army also hasn’t made General Dynamics pay back the money. (The service said it will recover funding from the project by getting unspecified discounts from General Dynamics on production orders.) In August 2025, the Army halted work on two of the three production lines at the factory. But the Army didn’t unilaterally terminate the contract awards. In December 2025, the government paid the company $26.3 million in “progress payments” for two production lines — although the lines had never made a usable shell. The Army says it won’t spend any more money on the artillery plant. But since the Army partially halted work at the factory last summer, the same unit of General Dynamics responsible for the struggling facility has won contract awards worth $2.5 billion, according to the Army. (The service said this was for “distinct production lines and critical national defense requirements” unrelated to the Texas factory.) Having experienced the failure of a little-proven technology in its factory, General Dynamics has announced it will team up with yet another unheard-of partner promising technological innovation. The new solution? Artificial intelligence. Read our full investigation here. Do You Know Something About Military Spending? What Is ProPublica? ProPublica is a nonpartisan, nonprofit newsroom that publishes investigative reporting in the public interest. Since 2008 we’ve produced in-depth reporting on the military, including our investigation into billions of dollars that the Navy spent on warships with rampant and serious flaws and our series on fatal Navy accidents, which won the Pulitzer Prize. What Happens if I Reach Out to You? Our reporters speak to people every day who want to share information but fear retribution. Our reputation is built on protecting sources, and we take that responsibility seriously. You can request to speak on background, which means you would not be named in our stories. Here is more information on getting in touch securely.  Contact Us on Signal The post The Costly Blunders in the Army’s $533 Million Fiasco appeared first on ProPublica.

[Category: Military]

— Idaho Law Protects Faith Healers. It Wasn’t Always That Way.

 

at 8/26/26 3:00am

Members of the faith-healing sect Followers of Christ bury loved ones, many of them children and infants, in Peaceful Valley Cemetery in Caldwell, Idaho Sarah A. Miller for ProPublica In Idaho, parents who say their faith prohibits lifesaving medical care for their children can’t be charged with child neglect or manslaughter. Supporters of this protection over the years have included lawmakers who voiced support for “traditional” Idaho values. But from at least the 1880s through the early 1970s, it was illegal for parents in Idaho to choose prayer over medical care when a child’s life was at stake, newspaper archives and historical documents show. “Every parent of any child who willfully omits, without lawful excuse, to furnish necessary food, clothing, shelter, or medical attendance for such child, is guilty of a misdemeanor,” reads the 1887 edition of Idaho territory statutes, published before statehood. The statutes included no mention of spiritual belief as a “lawful excuse.” Three years later, the state constitution explicitly put limits on Idaho’s freedom of religion. It would not excuse “acts of licentiousness,” polygamy or other practices “inconsistent with morality or the peace or safety of the state.” It wasn’t long before the law came down on members of the Followers of Christ, a faith-healing sect that arrived in Idaho in 1899 and remains active in the state. From 2015 to 2025, the sect’s congregations in Idaho experienced 15 preventable deaths of children, according to ProPublica’s reporting. Read More Children in a Faith-Healing Sect Keep Dying. The State Lets It Happen. Pearl Annis was a 13-year-old girl whose parents had moved from Oklahoma to Idaho’s Magic Valley in the spring of 1915 with at least one other Followers family. The Annises and their 13 children shared “a two-room shack,” a local newspaper reported. An officer and a doctor visited the home after neighbors voiced concern. They found Pearl in bed, fully dressed and on the cusp of death. Her father, Lurid P. “Lewis” Annis, was arrested on a misdemeanor charge of refusing to provide medical attention. Pearl was taken to the hospital, according to the news story, and died there with what today would be described as septic shock from a bowel blockage. The newspaper, which didn’t appear to follow up on Annis’ criminal charge, called the Followers church “a religious cult” and Pearl’s death a consequence of “religious mania.” News archives and historic records don’t say how many times Idaho acted on similar cases in the decades after. But one legal battle over lifesaving care drew attention in the 1960s, as sickness made its way through a Followers family in a Boise suburb. The mother died in December 1965. Her 4-year-old daughter died the following June. Days after the girl’s death, a judge ordered the state to take custody of her 10-year-old brother under Idaho’s child protection law. The boy was admitted to a local hospital with pneumonia, a complication of the measles. He spent days in critical condition but survived. The judge told the father that to regain custody, he would have to be willing to give the boy medical care as the law required. A doctor testified that without the hospitalization, the child “almost certainly would have died,” a newspaper report said. The father’s lawyer told the judge that his sect was rooted in “faith that God will heal the sick.” The law in the 1960s was clear, though: a parent had a duty to protect their child’s health, no exceptions. The judge told Samuel’s father: “The law governs conduct. Religion governs opinion.” But the legal landscape was about to shift. It came with little public attention. During a full-on rewrite of Idaho’s criminal code in 1971, the Legislature added a section that said the state could not bring endangerment charges against someone “who chooses for his child treatment by prayer or spiritual means alone.” Legislative records don’t make clear how the wording originated. The passage of another law one year later, affirming the “spiritual means” language and applying it to other crimes, has been credited to the Christian Science church, another Christian denomination with Idaho members. (The Christian Science website says the church’s practice of “healing in the way Christ Jesus taught” is not “faith healing” and that members are free to choose any form of healthcare. The church also supported Oregon’s full removal of its faith-healing exemption in 2011.) Faith-healing exemptions soon became widespread nationally. The trigger was the federal Child Abuse Prevention and Treatment Act of 1974, which set out to standardize the nation’s child welfare system by giving states grants to more effectively investigate reports of child abuse. The Department of Health, Education and Welfare interpreted the law as requiring states to have a faith-healing exemption to qualify for the grants — an interpretation that records from the time don’t explain. Most states went along, and Idaho further broadened its exemption in 1976 to not only keep faith healers from going to jail if their children died, but also to keep their children from being placed in foster care solely for lack of medical care. At the national level, the mandate lasted less than a decade. The Reagan administration adopted new regulations in 1983 that took a neutral stance on the subject, and several states in subsequent years rolled back their exemptions. Colorado, for example, reverted to prosecuting faith healers as it would any other parent in 2001 following deaths in the Followers-adjacent sect Church of the First Born, including the death of a 13-year-old girl from untreated diabetes. But Idaho clung to its special treatment for faith healers. It has remained that way ever since. The post Idaho Law Protects Faith Healers. It Wasn’t Always That Way. appeared first on ProPublica.

[Category: Health Care]

— Top Commanders Told Hegseth Not to Cut Civilian Protection Program, Poll Showed. He Did It Anyway.

 

at 8/25/26 9:05am

Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth, front left, and senior U.S. military leaders listen to President Donald Trump speak at Marine Corps Base Quantico in Virginia in 2025. Evan Vucci/AP Photo Shortly after taking office last year, Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth polled the nation’s top commanders about cutting a program designed to protect civilians during U.S. military operations. Hegseth had bet senior officers would endorse his view that focusing on civilian security was “woke” and out of step with “maximum lethality,” current and former defense officials told ProPublica. Instead, every commander rebuffed the idea. The poll from early 2025, which has not been previously reported, cemented top-level military support for Civilian Harm Mitigation and Response, a relatively new program adopted after years of heavy civilian tolls in Iraq, Afghanistan and elsewhere. As part of its mission, CHMR (pronounced “chimmer”) stationed personnel within major regional commands. Officials tried to develop a picture of life on the ground in combat zones to aid decision-making on military strikes and avoid or minimize civilian harm. In the poll, Hegseth gave commanders three options: cut 65% of staff but keep the effort operational, continue with only a small centralized office in Washington, or eliminate the program. Nine commanders chose the first option to preserve the enterprise as much as possible, according to a memo reviewed by ProPublica. Leaders of two commands, one overseeing the nuclear arsenal and the other focused on cyber threats, declined all three options, asking to maintain the full program. Leaders at U.S. Central Command, the Tampa, Florida-based center that oversees military action in the Middle East, pressed to keep its full CHMR staff of 16. Eliminating or scaling back the effort would “result in decreased efficiency of U.S. lethal operations due to an increased risk of target misidentification and reduced battlespace awareness,” a memo reviewed by ProPublica said. Retired Army Gen. Erik Kurilla, who was then in charge of Central Command, and several other senior officers directly involved in combat operations had appealed to Hegseth to keep the program. They explained that it was a valuable tool, another retired general said — but “that intent was overridden.” Hegseth gutted the effort, leaving only a handful of people to carry out the mission. It was stripped of almost all of its funding, even as the U.S. launched new campaigns in Somalia, Yemen and Iran. One official summed up the Hegseth approach as: “Bombs away!” Hegseth’s early exchanges with the generals made clear that the civilian harm program had no future in his reimagined “Department of War.” “No more politically correct and overbearing rules of engagement,” Hegseth would later tell a gathering of hundreds of generals and admirals. But now, after U.S. missile strikes have killed hundreds of civilians in Iran and Yemen, episodes that drew global criticism and questions from Congress, the program could soon be partially revived. The about-face would mark a rare reversal in a department that hasn’t tolerated dissent under Hegseth and President Donald Trump. Last year’s military memos detail a delicate pushback that may preserve at least the framework of the civilian security campaign. Current and former defense officials described the evolution of the civilian security program on condition of anonymity for fear of retaliation from the Trump administration. The Pentagon did not respond to requests for comment about the poll or the program’s revival. Casualties, Outrage The first major military operation of Hegseth’s tenure — an air campaign in Yemen in the spring of 2025 — killed 153 civilians and wounded 243 others. The majority of the deaths came from just two strikes, ranking them among the deadliest for civilians the Pentagon has acknowledged in modern warfare, said Airwars, a British watchdog that tracks civilian harm from military operations. The toll was confirmed in the Pentagons 2025 annual report for civilian casualties, The Washington Post first reported. Hegseth described the Yemen operation at the time as a “clear, limited mission executed with ruthlessness, full stop.” By the time the U.S. began attacking Iran the next year, the Pentagon’s civilian protection program was down from a little under 200 people to around two dozen, some working only part time, the current and former defense officials said. Central Command, which said it needed a minimum of nine of its 16 staffers to function, was left with one person. On the first day of the U.S. and Israel’s war on Iran, a U.S. airstrike hit a school in Minab, a city near the Strait of Hormuz, killing more than 100 children and igniting international outrage. The Shajarat al-Tayyiba Primary School is in ruins in Minab, Iran, on March 31. Hamid Vakili/Anadolu via Getty Images Hegseth and the commander in charge of the Iran operation, Adm. Brad Cooper, were questioned about the strike before Congress. Hegseth said the U.S. does not target civilians and would investigate. Early reports on that investigation, yet to be publicly released, have said outdated U.S. intelligence led to the attack on the school. Democratic senators and humanitarian groups questioned whether the cuts to the civilian protection personnel also contributed to the school tragedy. In a letter to Hegseth in April, 11 senators said the school strike, as well as other deadly attacks on civilians in Iran, reflected “the administration’s broader disregard for the strategic, legal, and moral imperative to minimize civilian harm,” noting the dismantling of civilian harm reduction efforts. “This is a concerning pattern and raises questions about whether the administration is upholding international law and the laws of war,” it said. Previously, a Pentagon spokesperson declined to answer questions from ProPublica about the letter, saying it would “respond directly” to Congress. Concerns were voiced by military leaders before Hegseth largely eliminated the operation. One exception is the Department of the Army, headed by a civilian appointee, which agreed with getting rid of CHMR entirely. Leaders at Central Command told Hegseth’s top staff in a memo that CHMR “enhanced our precision and accuracy, making us more lethal.” The memo added, “The operational and strategic value of this work is widely recognized.” At the same time, the Joint Staff echoed the commanders’ sentiment. According to correspondence reviewed by ProPublica, the Joint Staff disagreed with the Army acting secretary, who said in a February 2025 memo that the program was redundant and recommended Congress repeal the law that set it in motion. As pressure has built from both Congress and within the military to restore the program, the Defense Department appears to have backpedaled. In April, Elbridge Colby, the Defense Department’s under secretary of policy, sent a follow-up memo about the civilian protection enterprise to Hegseth. This time, there was only one proposal on the table: reboot the program, albeit at reduced staff levels with 70 full-time people. In that memo, Colby wrote that maintaining 35% of CHMR would address investigations into civilian harm, reports to Congress and payments to those harmed. The same commanders Hegseth polled earlier endorsed the move, several defense officials told ProPublica. The proposal would allow all regional commands to reconstitute their civilian harm reduction staff, and the Virginia-based Civilian Protection Center of Excellence for training, data and research would move from under the Army to the Joint Staff. The move, officials say, gives the mission more heft and eases collaboration with the Navy and Air Force, which are at the forefront of the administration’s campaigns. “If not for the combatant commanders,” one defense official said, the program would be “dead.” The harm mitigation effort makes up a tiny fraction of the Defense Department’s billions in spending. The center near the Pentagon had an annual budget of $7 million, officials said, with the cross-command total for all civilian security work estimated at around $80 million before the cuts. Officials expect a refashioned program to operate on a smaller budget. Military leaders steeped in lessons learned from the post-9/11 “forever wars” repeatedly have affirmed harm mitigation as an asset on the battlefield. Civilian casualties undermine U.S. objectives and help boost insurgent recruiting, analysts say. The Pentagon had formalized CHMR in 2022, detailing steps to protect noncombatants and investigate reports of casualties. Commanders had publicly championed the program in congressional testimony and defense journals. The current head of European Command, Gen. Alexus Grynkewich, co-wrote a paper calling it a “watershed” development. In some cases the staff acted as a “red team” pushing back on strikes and the possible collateral damage. The center of excellence focused on institutionalizing best practices, training service members and collecting data on civilian harm. Those efforts and “operational effectiveness are the same thing,” one retired general told ProPublica. “They’re two sides of the same coin.” The post Top Commanders Told Hegseth Not to Cut Civilian Protection Program, Poll Showed. He Did It Anyway. appeared first on ProPublica.

[Category: Military, Trump Administration]

— Children in a Faith-Healing Sect Keep Dying. The State Lets It Happen.

 

at 8/25/26 3:00am

Newborn baby Malachi lies in the lap of his mother after dying from pneumonia and bleeding lungs — preventable conditions that could have been treated in a hospital — in 2023 in Idaho. Since the 1970s, the state’s criminal and civil laws have allowed parents who belong to Followers of Christ and other faith-healing sects to pray as their children die. Obtained by ProPublica via Canyon County Sheriff A sheriff’s deputy opens the door of an Idaho farmhouse where a newborn baby has just died. It’s almost 10 p.m., but the house is filled with adults and children seated anywhere they can find a spot: in reclining chairs, on the wood-stove hearth, on a chest of drawers. Some of the women hold babies in their laps. “Sorry,” the deputy whispers as the door creaks. No one greets the officer. No one speaks or even looks at anyone else, casting their eyes instead at the floor or around the room. The deputy’s video camera records as he walks through the front room and past a bedroom door adorned with children’s artwork. Inside the bedroom, newborn Malachi’s mother sits in a recliner. His body lies in her lap, covered by a blue blanket. As people in uniform ask Malachi’s parents about his birth, death and the two days in between, members of the family’s church — one of at least four Followers of Christ churches in Idaho — watch from folding chairs. People come and go from the bedroom; one woman cradles a sleeping toddler. Malachi died from pneumonia and bleeding lungs, according to an autopsy. It would have been treatable with antibiotics and newborn care in a hospital, said doctors who reviewed his death records for ProPublica. But Malachi’s parents belong to a faith-healing sect that doesn’t believe in medical care, based on a literal interpretation of several Bible verses. The Followers of Christ sect believes that God heals the faithful and that life and death must be left to God’s divine will. When the coroner’s deputy lifted Malachi’s body to take it away that night in October 2023, there was no wailing or sobbing from his parents. Malachi’s father stood quietly as his mother hung her head and rested it in her hand. A pediatrician who reviewed Malachi’s death records said a baby in his condition would have been gasping for air, turning blue from lack of oxygen and breathing so hard that the outline of his rib cage was visible. It was the first time the coroner and sheriff sent their deputies out to that house, to interview those parents and document the slow suffocation of a newborn boy. The next time was 13 months later, when their next newborn, Liam, died from the same treatable condition that killed his brother Malachi. “This Is Needless” In any Idaho household not steeped in faith-healing, those two deaths would be investigated as crimes. Idaho law says parents can’t endanger, injure or neglect their children or let them suffer. To do so is a crime, and if the child dies as a result, the parent could be charged with manslaughter. But those laws do not apply to children like Malachi and Liam. Since the 1970s, Idaho’s criminal and civil laws have allowed parents who belong to Followers of Christ and the state’s other faith-healing sects to pray rather than seek medical care as their children die. Lawmakers in Oregon, where the same religious groups exist, removed the state’s faith-healing exception to child abuse laws nearly 30 years ago, countering the overwhelming pressure former Followers say parents face from their congregations. More parents chose to get medical care for their children after the change, Oregon prosecutors and detectives said. Idaho lawmakers have chosen a different path. Since 2014, they have rejected repeated efforts to dial back Idaho’s faith-healing exemption, instead crafting legislation to further limit the role of anyone but a parent when it comes to children’s health and safety. The state has codified “parental rights,” banned vaccine requirements in schools and childcare centers, and made parental consent a prerequisite for medical care of minors. Legislators also have tried to narrow the definition of “medical neglect” for all families to only the most life-threatening situations, but those attempts have failed. Local and national media outlets have reported on deaths among Followers of Christ families in Idaho. ProPublica went further, enlisting the help of experts to determine which of those deaths could have been prevented. ProPublica gathered death records from coroners and police in five Idaho counties and shared them with more than a dozen pediatricians and birthing specialists. At least 15 babies and children from the faith-healing sect died between 2015 and 2025 from illnesses that doctors could have successfully treated, the experts concluded. The estimate of preventable deaths is almost certainly an undercount. The experts could not evaluate six more deaths because coroner records were incomplete or unavailable. In another four cases, they couldn’t say with confidence whether medical care would have changed the outcome. Separately, the experts identified numerous preventable losses of babies who died during birth or in utero very close to their due dates, cases that coroners labeled as stillbirths. For some families like Liam and Malachi’s, the death of a child wasn’t a one-time tragedy: Records show at least five sets of parents have lost multiple children, a phenomenon that has not previously been reported. None of the parents responded to letters or text messages from ProPublica, and one declined to comment during a brief phone call. (ProPublica is choosing not to identify them or use the children’s full names out of respect for their privacy.) But Nathan Kangas, a patriarch in the sect’s Caldwell, Idaho, church, defended faith healing and its legal protection during an interview with ProPublica. Children and babies can’t make their own decision to rely on faith healing. Kangas said their parents must keep them away from the doctor to set an example, so the young ones won’t be cursed later in life by turning to medicine. Kangas lost his own wife and their last child during labor 23 years ago. Three of his 65 grandchildren also have died. Asked why God would not want children to live full and healthy lives, Kangas said he had no answer but quoted a verse from the Book of Psalms: “Precious in the eyes of the Lord are the death of His saints.” The Followers believe that life on Earth is “a preparing ground,” Kangas said. He pointed to the Book of James, which tells people to “be afflicted and mourn and weep” and “let your laughter be turned to mourning.” “It isn’t necessarily that we’re supposed to have a joyous life here,” Kangas said. “It’s actually quite the opposite.” Canyon County Sheriff Kieran Donahue has opposed Idaho’s faith-healing laws that shield parents from prosecution. Sarah A. Miller for ProPublica Some outsiders take a very different view. Canyon County Sheriff Kieran Donahue, one of the most vocal opponents of Idaho’s faith-healing laws, has sent deputies to follow up on the deaths of at least 10 Followers’ children and infants since he took office in 2013. “This is needless,” Donahue said. “This shouldn’t be happening.” David Peterman, a retired Idaho pediatrician, reviewed the deaths of 18 infants and children at ProPublica’s request. Peterman saw patients for 40 years and did his residency at a center that offered special training in child abuse and neglect. He said the vast majority of the deaths he reviewed for ProPublica “are the result of neglect and unequivocally preventable.” (He couldn’t tell whether a few deaths were preventable, and he surmised that one infant had a fatal, untreatable chromosomal defect.) He said it is “beyond comprehension” that the Idaho Legislature has refused to change the law. “How is this tolerable?” he said. “I don’t understand how there could be an exception in Idaho law that allows for these children to die.” The Deaths Maicy was 16 years old but the size of a third grader: 62 pounds and just shy of 4 feet tall. She had suffered from a constellation of ailments: stomach irritation, severe anemia, erratic menstrual periods, a blocked artery, thickened aorta and thinning hair. An autopsy after she died on New Year’s Day 2019 traced it all back to a benign, treatable pituitary tumor. Doctors who reviewed her death records said her stunted growth would have been obvious earlier in childhood, when her tumor could have been diagnosed and treated. Instead, it sent her body into a hormonal tailspin that destroyed her organs. She died in bed, lying on a towel and absorbent pad, wearing a diaper under her sweatpants and a T-shirt that read “LOVE.” “I don’t understand how there could be an exception in Idaho law that allows for these children to die.”David Peterman, retired Idaho pediatrician Some of the children who died preventable deaths over a decade were sick for hours or days; others endured months or — in Maicy’s case — years of disease. Most died in their parents’ arms. Many would have experienced pain and distress from their untreated conditions, the healthcare professionals consulted by ProPublica said. “I don’t know how to come to terms with that,” said Beth Hartman, an Idaho midwife and former chair of the state’s midwifery licensing board. “Because when you see respiratory distress, and when you have seen a person pass, it’s not pretty. They don’t just close their eyes.” In America at large, the risk that a child will die is highest during the first year of life. The vast majority of Followers’ children who died were infants. But nationally, fatalities in this age group tend to follow premature birth or profound congenital disorders. The deaths among Followers’ infants came from ailments that rarely take children’s lives. At least three children died from sepsis caused by common infections that antibiotics can easily stop. Camden died in 2024. Weston died in 2025. They were brothers. Stanley, a newborn whose parents said he was “alert and happy” for his first 36 hours, spent the next 29 getting darker in color, coughing up phlegm and clenching his limbs in convulsions. He died in 2017. The deaths almost never came without warning. Members of the Followers of Christ use Peaceful Valley Cemetery in Caldwell, Idaho, to bury their loved ones. Weston, whose grave is pictured at right, was one of at least three children who died from sepsis caused by common infections. Experts said doctors could have stopped the infections with antibiotics before they became life-threatening. Sarah A. Miller for ProPublica In the case of Malachi, the police and coroner reports don’t say how long before his death his parents first noticed him breathing fast, making a gurgling noise “like stuff was in his throat or chest.” Nor do the documents say what the parents did in the interim other than that they “chose not to perform life saving measures.” But when they noticed their next newborn, Liam, was struggling to breathe and his “color was not good,” they again did not call for help, and he died over the course of at least 12 hours. While he was dying, members of their church came to see the baby and pray for him. Ten people were in the room when the boy died, and more had gathered outside the room, Liam’s father told police. It’s rare in developed countries for children to die from pneumonia as Liam and Malachi did, wrote Barton Adrian, a retired Idaho pediatrician who reviewed the death records for ProPublica. The annual pneumonia-related death rate in the U.S. for infants is 1 in every 30,000 to 40,000, according to federal data. Adrian wrote that with a total of 12 children in Malachi and Liam’s family, the death rate was 1 in 6, “equivalent to third-world countries.” Several healthcare professionals who reviewed the death records for Malachi and Liam suspected their problems originated from a birth-related strep infection so dangerous that expectant mothers in the U.S. are routinely screened for it. Women who test positive get antibiotics to keep the baby safe. In cases where a full-term newborn does become infected, almost all who receive treatment survive. Dallas, a 2-year-old, was sick for six weeks with an untreated bacterial infection that settled into a valve in his heart and slowly destroyed it. He had fevers, abdominal pain, vomiting and swelling that started in his feet, then spread to his hands and finally to his face. He died in his father’s arms in 2020. Although an autopsy found Dallas was born with a heart condition that made him susceptible to infections, doctors who reviewed the document for ProPublica said the condition was treatable and antibiotics would have halted the infection. Had his parents taken him to a doctor at any point during the six weeks they knew he was sick, Dallas could have been saved, the doctors said. “Normal Still Isn’t Normal” Whenever a child dies in the Followers of Christ, the scene is unlike anything police see in deaths outside the sect. Police describe what seems to be a phone tree the church members use to call on the congregation to pray and go to the family’s home — sometimes before the death, sometimes after. A church elder or family member calls the coroner directly, instead of calling 911. The sheriff’s deputies and local police who accompany the coroner’s team to the death scene have learned what to expect. There won’t be an ambulance parked outside. There won’t be a frantic, inconsolable parent. There won’t be children’s ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet or a pediatrician’s phone number to call for medical records. All the police will find is a crowd sitting in silent vigil and a bottle of olive oil for anointing the ill. There is little for police to do besides offer condolences, ask questions and carry out their legal duty to confirm the parents did nothing that constitutes a crime in Idaho. Yet some of these cases are etched into officers’ memories. For Chuck Gentry, a captain in the Canyon County Sheriff’s Office, it was a baby girl named Jolene who died at 3 months old from a congenital heart defect. Some doctors told ProPublica that a cardiologist’s care could have saved her, although some suspected she also had a chromosomal defect that only 10% of babies survive past their first year. What haunts Gentry was the lack of medical attention for the baby’s cleft palate, which he recalls was severe. She died at an address that’s become familiar to local police because children from four Followers families have died there since 2017. (Jolene’s father, reached by phone, declined to talk with ProPublica.) Gentry echoed what other investigators told ProPublica: By the time detectives arrive, the congregation has already assembled. Dozens of people, Gentry said. So many vehicles that he’d sometimes struggle to find a place to park his patrol car. “It isn’t necessarily that we’re supposed to have a joyous life here. It’s actually quite the opposite.”Nathan Kangas, an unordained elder in the Caldwell, Idaho, Followers of Christ congregation Once he’d get inside, he said, the grandparents of a dead child would make it hard for him to get the child’s parents alone to ask them questions. “They’re very hover-y. They don’t want you to separate them off,” he said. “They kind of seem overprotective of what they might say.” (Kangas, the Caldwell church elder, said the congregation’s presence at a dead child’s home isn’t meant as intimidation. “They’re not there to keep from saying anything. That’s absolutely false,” he said. “We, as a people, when somebody suffers, we go there to suffer with them.”) Gentry said it wasn’t until he got the parents alone in another room that their grief would spill out. “You see the mom crying. You see the dad kind of pacing,” he said. “It’s normal behavior for someone who has lost a child,” but the death itself and the scene that follows it are “so bizarre that normal still isn’t normal.” Jolene was her parents’ first child to die, they told police. Other investigators arrived at the scene for the next, the couple’s toddler son, Malone, in 2021. Written reports from a pathologist and death investigators describe the body that detectives saw: arms and legs skinny from malnourishment, a belly swollen to the size of a basketball. Malone never had normal bowel movements in his 16 months of life, his parents would later tell investigators. His belly would swell, then he’d have an enormous poop, and the cycle would repeat. As his condition worsened, his mother brought him to his grandparents’ house on a busy country road. She held him while he died. An autopsy determined that the boy’s bowels had compressed his lungs and heart, which stopped beating. His rib cage had grown outward to accommodate his backed-up intestines, and his lungs were so cramped they’d stayed the size of a newborn’s. One detective wrote that Malone’s abdomen was “distorted to the extent of nothing like I’ve ever seen before.” The underlying problem was an intestinal condition that doctors can fix with a routine, minimally invasive surgery, experts who reviewed Malone’s death records said. The day Malone died, investigators arrived to find dozens of family and friends at the house. Malone’s mother sat in the front room, in a chair holding the child’s covered body in her lap. Malone’s father knelt beside them. A detective asked the parents questions in a quiet voice, according to audio recordings from the scene. Did Malone have trouble going to the bathroom? Had he been to a doctor? Did they have any other children? Where was Malone when he died? They gave brief answers, volunteering few details. The entire interaction took about 10 minutes. The paperwork wrapped up, and the case was closed. Disciples of a New Religion The Followers of Christ sparked curiosity in Idaho from the time they arrived in 1899. Two “wayfarers from Oklahoma” appeared in a mining town near what is now Sun Valley, calling themselves “the disciples of a new religion.” They said God sent them to spread their gospel, according to reporting from the time in the Idaho Statesman. “One was tall and dark, about 30 years of age, and wore a pair of greasy overalls, black, baggy sweater and flaring yellow mackinaw coat,” a reporter wrote. That man went by “Brother Charley.” He was “decidedly illiterate” and preached that education wasn’t necessary but had an impressive knowledge of Scripture, able to recite entire books of the Bible by memory, the reporter wrote. They held their first worship service a week later in a schoolhouse. Over time, Followers of Christ formed congregations across southern Idaho. It went on to become the state’s largest faith-healing religion and later spread into Oregon. The first few generations of holy men who led Idaho’s congregations died, and no one took their place. Each church was left with, at most, a loose hierarchy and leadership structure. Each operates independently, with subtle differences in how it interprets doctrine. Although congregations have elders, families are the main conduit for ritual and belief. The religion also breaks with most Christian denominations in that it does not recruit or proselytize. Other than on the rare occasion an outsider marries in, the sect grows only through existing families. This insularity causes the same surnames to show up over and over in public records from Followers communities in Idaho, and, just as happened in the faith’s earlier generations, the sprawling Followers families tend to intermarry. Linda Martin, a former Follower who traced her genealogy, calls her family tree “a trunk.” When the Followers began, healthcare on the Western frontier was primitive, unsanitary and riddled with con artists peddling fake cures. Hospitals and medical practitioners could treat many ailments and save lives, but medications like insulin for diabetes and antibiotics for bacterial pneumonia didn’t exist. Like other faith-healing sects, the Followers sought answers elsewhere. They looked to Bible verses such as in the Book of James: “Is any sick among you? let him call for the elders of the church; and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up.” Kangas said “the whole Scripture” informs faith-healing doctrine and that no one went to the doctor in Christ’s time. “It was a matter of trusting in God to heal them,” he said. When someone dies despite fervent prayers, the Followers believe it is God’s will. When someone sees a doctor, the Followers see it as a sin. When someone recovers without medication or surgery or a 911 call, it seems to validate the sect’s doctrine. No mainstream Christian denomination today accepts this interpretation of the Bible. Baby blocks decorate a tombstone at the cemetery in Caldwell where Followers of Christ bury their dead. Sarah A. Miller for ProPublica “I think over time, it’s kind of morphed into, ‘This is one of the things that separates us from all other faiths or religions, is that we don’t go to the doctor,’”  said Laren Eells, who left one of Idaho’s Followers of Christ churches about a decade ago. He now believes that because of cherry-picked passages of biblical Scripture, “my eyes were completely clouded with presupposition.” As a child, Eells watched his father endure what Eells believes was a burst appendix. The man was bedridden for over a month and had foul waste coming out of his mouth, but he emerged alive. As an adult, though, Eells watched his younger brother die of an ear infection that spread to his blood. He sat by his brother’s side around the clock, “praying and wringing my hands,” he said. “An infection that some antibiotics could have probably taken care of, relatively simple, but we just say, ‘Well, we trust God with our life.’” By the time Followers are grown, the idea that they could lose their own children isn’t foreign. They may have been present for their own siblings’ or cousins’ deaths. Their parents have likely taken them for vigils at other congregants’ houses. The possibility of being isolated from their congregation can be a concern for Followers because of how much their lives revolve around extended family and church. Former members say that someone who visits a doctor might be shunned, reprimanded or simply left out of social events — although Kangas said only “a few people here and there” in his church would go that far. Kangas believes some ex-Followers perceive condemnation where none exists because of a guilty conscience. A single doctor’s visit can be chalked up to fear or weakness that “people can be forgiven of,” Kangas said. What matters, he said, is that the person repents and never goes again. How We Reported the Story ProPublica reporter Audrey Dutton obtained coroner and law enforcement records for deaths of children whose parents self-identified as refusing medical care for religious reasons. She redacted and shared these records with healthcare professionals from Idaho and elsewhere: eight pediatricians, a midwife, two pediatric cardiologists, two epilepsy specialists and a labor and delivery nurse. They each answered the question, “Could this death have been prevented with medical care?” At least three professionals reviewed each case; if they didn’t reach the same conclusion, ProPublica sought opinions from more professionals until a near-consensus was clear. The count of preventable deaths includes one case where some doctors theorized the child might have died later in infancy even with treatment: Jolene, the 3-month-old girl in this story. In cases where experts didn’t have enough information to reach a strong conclusion, ProPublica did not categorize those deaths as preventable. Are You a Current or Ex-Member of an Idaho Faith-Healing Sect? Audrey Dutton I’m most interested in tips related to state and local government corruption, extremism, policies that put children in danger and systemic failures that harm Idahoans. Contact Me The post Children in a Faith-Healing Sect Keep Dying. The State Lets It Happen. appeared first on ProPublica.

[Category: Health Care]

— His Research on Pregnant Opioid Users Was Widely Celebrated. Auditors and Experts Found Major Flaws.

 

at 8/24/26 4:00am

Dr. Craig Towers in 2018. The local newspaper gave him an award for his work with pregnant women with opioid addiction Michael Patrick/USA TODAY NETWORK via Imagn Images When Dr. Craig Towers moved to Knoxville, Tennessee, in 2010, the high-risk obstetrician encountered a crisis unlike anything he’d seen. Towers, who had practiced for 25 years in California and Wisconsin, found himself caring for an unusual number of pregnant women addicted to painkillers — and delivering newborns who were suffering withdrawal symptoms. Those babies, born shaking and inconsolable and who required weeks of specialized care, were becoming tragic symbols of the region’s raging opioid epidemic. “We were inundated,” Towers later told the Knoxville News Sentinel. In those initial years in Tennessee, Towers recognized a need — and a research opportunity. Medical doctrine had long held that a pregnant patient with an opioid addiction could not be safely detoxed because withdrawal could harm the fetus, causing physical stress and even triggering miscarriage. Instead, doctors treated patients with methadone or buprenorphine, which are legal replacement opiates that control cravings and have a lower risk of overdose. Those drugs can still cause babies to be born in withdrawal, but doctors reasoned that it was better to treat the newborn for those symptoms than risk the baby’s death. Towers, who was hired to work at the University of Tennessee Medical Center’s clinic for high-risk pregnancies and later joined the medical school faculty, questioned that approach. He began studying the outcomes of women, most of them his patients, who stopped taking those medications. He ultimately collected data on more than 300 of them. Towers’ research found that detoxing was much less harmful to the fetus than feared, and it prompted changes to how doctors treat pregnant opioid users. Across Tennessee — in Johnson City, Jellico and Sevierville — and in Daytona Beach, Florida, clinics followed his lead. The News Sentinel honored him as a “Health Care Hero.” CNN’s chief medical correspondent, Dr. Sanjay Gupta, interviewed him about his work and described babies born without withdrawal symptoms as “miracles.” In 2019, the medical school granted a request for additional funding for Towers’ work, praising “his many research efforts and leadership that has resulted in national recognition.” In the months before he published what would be a groundbreaking study, he described his findings at a university science forum, saying: “I think it’s going to revolutionize what we do.” And then in 2020, soon after the study was published, Towers abruptly stepped back from his research. The study immediately caught the attention of specialists in addiction treatment. Some of them wondered how the results could be true. The study, the largest of its kind, enlisted 230 participants, 121 of whom took a daily dose of a drug called naltrexone, which, unlike methadone or buprenorphine, is not an opioid; instead it discourages using by blocking the high. Naltrexone was effective in keeping most patients off of opiates, the study found. But in many other major studies, naltrexone had shown lackluster results. Rates of relapse among nonpregnant patients averaged 72%, according to a systematic review of 13 studies. Eight specialists in the fields of addiction and pregnancy started sharing concerns with one another about Towers’ study and then drafted a letter to the University of Tennessee. Two of them agreed to speak with ProPublica (the others asked not to be identified). One was Dr. Mishka Terplan, a practicing OB-GYN board-certified in addiction medicine who’d served on several committees to develop federal and professional guidelines for treating opioid use during pregnancy. “Dr Towers’ work has been impactful, especially in TN,” Terplan wrote to the university in July 2020, “and I am concerned that each day the article(s) is out there, potential harm to a vulnerable population accumulates through both ethically suspect clinical care and consequently misguided public health.” By that time, a university audit had uncovered major problems with Towers’ research. The audit found that Towers failed to get university approval for the study, that he provided “inaccurate and/or unverifiable, contradictory source documentation” for a component of the study and that he did not provide research databases or data analysis as requested. Auditors also were unable to determine the extent to which he protected confidential patient health information. For three years, the journal did nothing to publicly address those concerns. When the journal did act, in 2023, it published a 78-word correction stating that the study had been improperly listed as a “prospective,” a rigorous type of research that follows patients in real time. ProPublica shared Towers’ study, the university’s audit and the journal’s correction with five experts on research ethics and substance abuse during pregnancy. All of them said that the documents raised major concerns about Towers’ conduct as a researcher and that the journal’s response didn’t do enough to address the issues the university unearthed. The publisher of the American Journal of Obstetrics and Gynecology, the journal where the study appeared, disputes that. “We uphold the highest standards of rigor and ethics in our publishing to protect the quality and integrity of research,” Elsevier, the company that publishes AJOG, said in a statement. Towers told ProPublica that the audit had reached erroneous conclusions, that the auditors did not give him the opportunity to fully defend his work and that the journal’s willingness to stand by the study is proof that his research is sound. One of the experts ProPublica spoke to, Eugenie Reich, an attorney who has represented whistleblowers in several high-profile research fraud cases, said that the problems the university identified in Towers’ study were much deeper than the journal acknowledged. “The misrepresentation is not minor,” Reich said. “It runs throughout the piece.” In media coverage, Towers came across as gently protective of his patients. He often described the difficult circumstances that drove them into addiction. He said those women, who desperately wanted to do better for their babies, inspired him to investigate the feasibility of detox during pregnancy. In 2018, Katie Carringer was working as an administrative assistant at a drug rehab facility and made an appointment with Towers at the encouragement of her boss. Carringer, who was about six weeks pregnant, had been addicted to heroin in the past but was not using drugs at the time. She told ProPublica she felt confident in her ability to remain drug-free and made the appointment with Towers because she wanted a doctor who specialized in high-risk pregnancies and could help her manage anxiety and depression. Katie Carringer, a former patient of Dr. Craig Towers, says she felt pressured to take naltrexone. Jessica Tezak for ProPublica At her second appointment, she expected a conversation about her mental health. She told ProPublica she was surprised when Towers recommended naltrexone. From her work at the clinic, she knew that the drug was meant for people battling cravings in the early stages of recovery. “With me being clean so long, it didnt even make sense,” Carringer said. According to her medical records, she had not used drugs during either of her previous pregnancies, in 2007 and 2009. Two years before her appointment with Towers, in 2016, she completed an inpatient drug treatment program, and she was “actually drug free for most of the time” since then, according to her medical notes. Her records showed two short relapses. After she found out she was pregnant this time, Carringer decided to stop taking the Paxil and Remeron that kept her anxiety in check, out of concern for any effects they might have on the fetus, her medical records show. With Carringer’s permission, ProPublica asked Towers to review her medical file and answer questions about why he recommended naltrexone. Towers, who said Carringer was not included in the study, noted that her medical record stated she was interested in naltrexone. Carringer denied to ProPublica that she expressed interest in the drug, adding that she ended up trying naltrexone because she felt it was what Towers wanted her to do. She said, and her records confirm, that it caused severe nausea and she stopped taking it after the first dose. Terplan, one of the addiction specialists who signed the letter to the University of Tennessee, said Carringer’s experience points to the salience of a question the letter posed: Did Towers explain to his patients that curbing addiction with naltrexone was an experimental treatment in pregnant women? That question was important to Terplan and the other specialists. According to their letter, they were concerned that “informed consent was not obtained or not property obtained” from patients who showed up in the naltrexone research: “This uncertainty leads us to question whether ethical standards that promote and ensure respect for human subjects and protect their health and rights were followed,” the letter said. In the letter, the specialists also noted that the study made no mention of patients refusing to participate in the study or dropping out later in pregnancy, both of which are common occurrences in a study involving drug use. “You need to explain to people that there may be additional risk,” said Columbia University professor Dr. Robert Klitzman, an expert in bioethics. “Thats why informed consent is so important.” Towers said that concerns about consent and explanation of risk are baseless. All study participants received a “notice of research” and chose to go forward, he said. “I am not aware of any patient that felt pressured to participate,” he wrote. “I always presented the patients with the risks and benefits of each course of treatment so that they could make an informed decision.” University of North Carolina researcher Hendrée Jones, one of the specialists who drafted and signed the letter, told ProPublica that she was surprised by another aspect of Towers’ study: that it included reports of only minor health problems among the mothers, including nausea and headache, during the course of their’ pregnancies. Jones said it is unusual for there to be no serious medical events among that many pregnant patients, especially ones whod struggled with opioid addiction. “That made my hair on the back of my neck stand up,” Jones said. Carringer puts her son Noah’s hair in a ponytail in their kitchen, and Noah’s handprints sit next to their front door. Carringer is now a support specialist for people fighting addiction. Jessica Tezak for ProPublica Towers said critics like Terplan and Jones were not in a position to know what was happening in the clinic or with his research, and their criticisms are purely speculative. The study, he said, captured all outcomes of its participants. “We looked at everything — every patient complaint, their vital signs, preterm labor, any medical conditions that developed,” he wrote in his response to ProPublica. “We looked for spontaneous abortion, stillbirth, fetal stress (seen in fetal heart rate monitoring or biophysical profiles) and need for cesarean delivery.” In its audit, the university also had flagged problems with Towers’ data. The audit said Towers supplied a printout of his entire clinical practice database, but it did not designate which patients were involved in the research study. Towers told ProPublica that he obtained broad consent for his research: “Every patient that was seen in the clinic received a notice regarding the research, consented to participation in that research and understood that their data would be prospectively collected but deidentified.” Klitzman said researchers should be able to provide details about the actual patients in a study, not just everyone at a clinic. “That to me is a red flag,” he said. Researchers are required to run all proposed studies involving human participants through institutional review boards — panels of scientists and other compliance specialists who ensure patients’ rights and confidentiality are protected. Failing to get approval from the overseeing IRB for all aspects of human research would be a major violation. In its audit, the university determined that Towers hadn’t sought IRB approval for the study. Towers told ProPublica that the university was mistaken and that the journal itself had “concluded,” contrary to the audit, that he did have IRB approval. A spokesperson from Elsevier did not respond to repeated questions about whether the journal had concluded that the IRB had approved the study. In February 2020, about two weeks after the audit got underway, Towers retired from his faculty position. Months later, he retired from clinical practice as well. In his email to ProPublica, he said he stepped down for health and family reasons. According to a determination letter from the chair of the IRB dated days after the audit’s completion, members of the board voted to suspend all of Towers’ open studies for safety reviews and file a report with the federal Office for Human Research Protections. (Towers voluntarily closed all research projects when he retired, he told ProPublica.) The audit’s findings, the letter said, constituted “serious noncompliance.” Towers said he disputes that finding and said the board did not make an effort to get his side of the story. The head of the IRB spoke to him by phone in January 2020 and followed up with a few short conversations, he said. “There should have been a meeting set up at the start where the four authors (myself and my 3 coauthors) met in person with the IRB committee or a subcommittee to explain our point of view and answer any questions. This never occurred,” he said. A spokesperson for the University of Tennessee Health Science Center said she could not find anyone to answer questions from ProPublica “due to time and a change in leadership.” Soon after Towers resigned from his faculty position, he reached out to the journal and sent IRB approval letters that he said confirmed the study had been approved. “I am sorry you have to spend time with this controversy,” Towers wrote. The audit, though, had found that the IRB approvals he cited did not apply to the study. The University of Tennessee also contacted the journal. In an email thanking Terplan and the other specialists for the concerns they’d shared about Towers’ study, the university’s research director asked if they planned to contact the journal directly. The research director wrote that UT already had “requested the paper be retracted from the journal, but as yet no action has been taken by the journal.” Less than 1 in 2,500 published studies are retracted, according to the journal Science. Retractions can devastate the reputations of researchers and damage the credibility of journals. Universities can investigate research and request retractions, like the University of Tennessee did with Towers, but journal editors have the final say about whether to retract a paper or add a correction. Ivan Oransky, one of the experts who spoke with ProPublica for this story, said he has encountered other cases where journals failed to retract a study after a university made such a request. “You have a situation where the fox is guarding the henhouse,” he said. Oranksy, co-founder of Retraction Watch, a site that tracks scientific misconduct, has advocated for making research misconduct reports more easily accessible to the public. “These reports should be part of the scientific record,” he said. “They are the basis for understanding whether something is reliable or not, and what went wrong.” During the years that the journal spent considering how to respond to the university’s request for a retraction, more doctors across the country began prescribing naltrexone. Researchers cited the work dozens of times in other studies. Towers said he stands by naltrexone as a treatment option: “I believe it is crucial in medicine to revisit old assumptions and consider all options.” Detox remains a solution “in the interest of advancing medicine and helping patients in a region where drug abuse is a longstanding issue,” he said. Towers in 2018, the year he saw Carringer as a patient Michael Patrick/USA TODAY NETWORK via Imagn Images Dr. Geogy Thomas, medical director of Dayspring Health in east Tennessee, said he was inspired by Towers’ research, which improved care for women in the area. “Our community is indebted to Dr. Towers and his research on substance abuse in pregnancy,” Thomas wrote in an emailed statement. “He courageously challenged the status quo of the medical establishment of that time and ushered in a new way of caring for a high-risk group of patients that no one else was willing to care for.” But another obstetrician, Dr. Cathleen Suto, who worked at a clinic with an approach inspired by Towers’ research, found detox wasn’t effective. Suto described her experiences treating opioid-addicted pregnant patients to the author of a book. Many of those patients couldn’t make it through the weaning process and often stopped coming to the clinic. (She did not respond to ProPublica’s requests for comment.) “Detox would be a great answer,” Suto is quoted as saying in the book, “Prosecuting Poverty, Criminalizing Care.” “The problem is that my patients were not successful at doing it.” When the journal finally acted on the university’s concerns in 2023, more than three years after the study came out, it did not retract the study. Instead, it published a brief correction. “The authors wish to clarify that the study is listed as a prospective cohort study — which is not the case,” read the correction. “We did a retrospective analysis of prospectively collected data.” Data for prospective studies is collected in real time, while retrospective studies look back at medical records. Much of Towers’ prior research relied on looking back at those records, and he touted the naltrexone study as an improvement because of its prospective design, which would track patients until they delivered. Prospective studies are considered to capture better information about patients, including those who dropped out of the study, and provide better control of data collection.  Towers views the journal’s actions as vindication. “AJOG would not keep a study in print if they did not believe it was IRB-approved after their review,” Towers said. The specialists who wrote to the university, all of whom have published research, said misrepresenting methodology is a breach of scientific integrity. “If it was not prospective but presented as such, it would have violated standards of reporting of scientific research,” they wrote in the letter. In response to experts’ claims that the problems with the audit were more profound than the correction indicated, Elsevier said in a statement: “Based on the information available at the time, the Journal determined that a correction was appropriate to clarify the description of the study.” Jones, one of the letter’s signatories, said the journal failed in its duty to hold its research to a higher standard. “When you make a mistake, you own up to that mistake and you fix it,” she said. “And that paper is out there, and continues to be cited, and I see it.” The post His Research on Pregnant Opioid Users Was Widely Celebrated. Auditors and Experts Found Major Flaws. appeared first on ProPublica.

[Category: Health Care, Pregnancy]

— They Rebuilt After Texas’ Devastating Floods. Then Their Home Flooded Again.

 

at 8/24/26 3:00am

Joan Connor and David Stearns survived the 2025 floods in Kerr County, Texas, by clinging to the pergola outside their house. Their home flooded again this year. Brenda Bazán for ProPublica and The Texas Tribune When deadly flooding swept through the Texas Hill Country in July of last year, Joan Connor and her husband swam and waded out of their home, surviving only by clinging to a pergola in their front yard.  The Guadalupe River flood destroyed most of their possessions. It killed at least 119 people in Kerr County, where the couple live, about 100 miles west of Austin.  But Connor, now 82, and her husband, now 99, moved back into the refurbished house by Christmas, with donated furniture arranged by volunteer decorators.  They didn’t fear another flood. Connor told me earlier this year: “We don’t think a thing like that will happen again in our lifetime.” Last month, almost exactly one year after the last deluge, their house flooded again. I cover climate for The Texas Tribune. I spent months working with ProPublica’s Lexi Churchill and Pratheek Rebala to understand how Texas lawmakers missed dozens of opportunities over nearly 60 years to protect residents in flood-prone places. Our reporting, published in May, uncovered pivotal moments when Texas legislators could have taken steps that experts said might have saved lives, such as preventing homes from being built in the most dangerous spots along rivers and moving youth camp buildings out of flood-prone areas. Instead, our reporting found, Texas is behind more than half of other U.S. states when it comes to passing more stringent elevation rules for buildings at risk of flooding.  Yet research shows more flood deaths have occurred here than in any other state. Texas also has more buildings in flood-prone places than any other state except Florida, according to our nationwide structure analysis. The majority of the people who died in the 2025 Central Texas flood were in one of those places identified as flood-prone by the federal government, our analysis showed. I grew up in Texas and have covered floods in this state for more than a decade. Still, the swift violence of that 2025 disaster struck me. The river washed entire homes away. People fought for their lives by grabbing trees or scrambling onto rooftops, and many people didn’t make it. I’ve never before witnessed such intense grief. Even after the loss, some homeowners like Connor knew they wanted to rebuild. People have deep, generational ties to this part of the state, where the normally peaceful river winds through limestone under majestic cypress trees. People didn’t want to leave jobs and relationships here, or lose money by selling their land at a loss. I understand that desire to stay, but as a climate reporter I’ve also seen what can happen when development is allowed in flood-prone areas. What our reporting showed is that the government has cleared the way for residents to stay in many risky places, even after last year’s devastating floods.   Lawmakers did not change how they regulated where RV parks could be built, though more than 40 people died in two Kerr County RV campgrounds during last year’s flood. (Those parks had not reopened when this year’s flood rushed through again.) They also didn’t change building rules for homes. That means that, unless a local city or county government adopts more stringent standards, properties affected by a flood can be fixed without being brought up to code if the cost to repair them doesn’t amount to half or more of the structure’s value. Homes can be entirely rebuilt in many flood-prone places so long as they are elevated to the height a 100-year flood is expected to reach. Lawmakers did push through legislation that requires youth camp cabins to be moved away from riverside, flood-prone spots, similar to a bill legislators failed to pass in 1989. The law only passed this time after gut-wrenching testimony and advocacy from parents of the 27 campers and counselors who died at Camp Mystic during last summer’s flooding. For our May story, we asked the states top leaders about whether legislators should enact stricter statewide building rules. None responded. Texas Gov. Greg Abbotts office said he has addressed flooding issues by funding mitigation projects to lessen the storms’ impact. This July, unusually intense rainfall pounded the Kerr County area again. It flooded some of the same spots. One person died. The disaster struck as people in the area were still working to heal emotionally, physically and economically. I once again arrived to find the familiar sights and smells of peoples’ possessions piled up by the curb, their flooring and walls ripped out.  Laura Cane, 65, had just reopened her vacation rental house in Center Point three weeks before this year’s flood hit. She had been putting the finishing touches on her two long-term rental homes. The water this year caused even more damage than last. But she plans to fix it up again because she sees that as the best financial choice.  When I arrived in Connor’s neighborhood this July, 10 days after the flood, volunteers had just helped pull up damaged flooring in the home. She was desperately trying to save her new piano, which replaced the one she’d lost in last year’s flood. She didn’t think the water had reached the piano legs, which sat on wheels. She worried about sleeping in the house because of mold. Connor and her husband say they still plan to repair the house. Federal, state and county rules will likely allow them to do that.  We don’t have any indications yet that the state rules will change. Legislators in interim hearings this year haven’t delved into these bigger development issues, instead focusing on things like the personal responsibility of the Camp Mystic owners.  Even though she’s exhausted from dealing with another flood, moving elsewhere felt like a step too far for Connor. She didn’t want to look for a new place, pack up and leave.  For a short time, she and her husband went to a nearby RV park — different from the two where they stayed last year while making home repairs, because both had flooded this time around.  She wants to stay even though a neighbor warned her that the house could face bad flooding again, and Connor believes her.  “We’ll just probably be very cautious if it starts raining in the middle of the night,” she said. “We’ll be hauling ass. I’m not going to live through another flood. I’m just going to get in my truck and head north.”  Said her husband, David Stearns: “Whatever happens, we’ll put up with it.” The post They Rebuilt After Texas’ Devastating Floods. Then Their Home Flooded Again. appeared first on ProPublica.

[Category: Climate and Environment]

— Missouri Republicans Are Trying to Repeal Abortion Rights by Leaning Into Anti-Trans Sentiment

 

at 8/21/26 4:00am

Demonstrators filled the Missouri state Capitol building in January to protest legislative efforts to alter or overturn citizen-led measures passed at the ballot box, including an amendment guaranteeing the right to abortion. Lilley Halloran/St. Louis Public Radio Two years ago, abortion opponents in Missouri tried to defeat Amendment 3, a ballot initiative to enshrine reproductive rights in the state constitution, by falsely telling voters that it would allow gender transition surgeries for minors — even though it wouldn’t. Voters approved Amendment 3 anyway, overturning the near-total abortion ban enacted by Missouri’s GOP-dominated legislature that had taken effect after the U.S. Supreme Court struck down Roe v. Wade in 2022. Now Republican leaders in the state are trying to repeal those rights again, using the same issue. They placed a new amendment on the November ballot, also called Amendment 3, that would restore Missouri’s abortion ban while allowing limited exceptions but also constitutionally prohibit gender transition care for minors — though the state has banned surgeries and new prescriptions of puberty blockers and hormones by law since August 2023. For the Missouri GOP, Election Day can often seem like Groundhog Day. The party holds a supermajority in the legislature and controls every statewide office, yet voters have repeatedly used the initiative petition process to enact policies Republican leaders oppose. By gathering enough signatures, citizens have placed proposals directly on the ballot, then persuaded voters to expand Medicaid, legalize marijuana, raise the minimum wage and restore abortion rights. This month, that disconnect became an electoral humiliation for Republican leaders. More than 80% of voters rejected their attempt to make it nearly impossible for citizens to amend the state constitution. It was even worse for Gov. Mike Kehoe’s plan to phase out the state income tax: More than 83% voted no. Missouri Republicans have become “drunk with power,” said Ken Warren, a professor emeritus of political science at Saint Louis University and associate director of the SLU/YouGov Poll. “Because they control everything, they think they can do what they want — and they can’t.” The new Amendment 3 on the November ballot shows how Republicans, using misleading language, a carefully chosen distraction and even a recycled name, are trying to undo one of those defeats. In 2024, a yes vote on Amendment 3 protected abortion rights. In November, voters will again be asked to vote yes on Amendment 3 — this time to take them away. Republican leaders say voters never intended to approve a nearly unlimited right to abortion. They argue that Missourians would prefer an abortion ban with limited exceptions for rape, incest, medical emergencies and fetal anomalies — particularly when it is paired with restrictions on gender transition care for minors. It would not take much to reverse the 2024 result. Abortion rights passed 51.6% to 48.4% — meaning a shift of about 48,000 voters would have defeated the measure. Critics call the inclusion of gender care “ballot candy,” a way to make an unpopular proposal easier to swallow. They say the tactic is especially cynical because it promises voters a prohibition that, in large part, Missouri already has. State law already bans gender transition surgery for minors and, through August 2027, bars minors from starting puberty blockers or cross-sex hormones for gender transition. Amendment 3 would place the restrictions in the state constitution without an expiration date. The two provisions bundled together differ enormously in scope. Repealing reproductive rights would affect the healthcare options available to a state with about 6.3 million people. The restrictions on gender transition care concern a small number of minors receiving highly specialized treatment. Yet supporters want voters focused on the specter of children being used as lab guinea pigs, not the abortion rights the amendment would repeal. A new billboard in the St. Louis suburbs urges them to vote yes and “ban transgender surgeries for minors.” A website for the political action committee behind the campaign, Her Health, Her Future — whose treasurer is Missouri first lady Claudia Kehoe — declares “OUR CHILDREN are not LAB EXPERIMENTS.” It says Amendment 3 would protect children from “harmful, sterilizing medical procedures” and restore “common sense health and safety standards” for women’s health clinics. The website for the Her Health, Her Future campaign Screenshot by ProPublica Neither message explicitly says that the amendment would repeal the constitutional right to abortion that Missourians approved two years ago. Claudia Kehoe did not respond to requests for comment submitted to the governor’s office and the PAC. In a written endorsement posted on the Her Health, Her Future website, she called the amendment “a critical step toward strengthening our pro-life protections and safeguarding our state’s future.” In response to a list of questions that ProPublica submitted to the governor’s office, a spokesperson defended the amendment using much the same language that critics call deceptive. The spokesperson emphasized protecting children from “sex-change procedures,” safeguarding women and restoring the state’s power to “regulate” abortion providers. The response did not acknowledge that Amendment 3 would repeal the constitutional reproductive rights Missourians approved in 2024 and replace them with an abortion ban that contains limited exceptions. Polling suggests the strategy could work. A survey in February of Missouri voters by the SLU/YouGov Poll found that nearly 60% supported legal abortion during the first eight weeks of pregnancy. But 67% opposed gender transition medications for minors, and 73% opposed gender transition surgeries. Presented with the amendment’s provisions together, voters favored it 47% to 40%. Rep. Brian Seitz, a Branson Republican who guided the amendment through the House, denied that supporters were trying to trick voters. He said the gender-affirming treatment was itself a reproductive issue because some procedures could affect a minor’s ability to have children. Seitz also disputed that Missourians knowingly approved abortion rights through fetal viability in 2024. He said voters were primarily seeking exceptions for rape, incest, medical emergencies and fetal anomalies — not what he called “abortion on demand.” The new amendment, he said, better reflects what voters intended. Abortion rights supporters call that argument a pretext for restoring the state’s abortion ban. A coalition of groups called Stop the Ban has raised more than $5 million to try to explain what the amendment would do and persuade voters to reject it. That total includes $1.25 million contributed on Aug. 3 by former New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg. Bloomberg’s office did not respond to a request for comment. Republicans are always “moving a goalpost to sort of get their way, and it is my hope that actual patriots are growing tired of it,” said Rep. Raychel Proudie, a Democrat from Ferguson. “You shouldn’t have to do this if what you’re planning is righteous and in the best interest of people.” The effort began with the ballot summary written by lawmakers. It did not tell voters that Amendment 3 would repeal the reproductive rights they had approved two years earlier. Instead, it said the measure would “guarantee access” to emergency care, “ensure women’s safety during abortions” and “protect children from gender transition.” The summary also mentioned exceptions for rape and incest but omitted that they would apply only during the first 12 weeks of pregnancy. Michael Wolff, a former chief justice of the Missouri Supreme Court who is advising the campaign against the amendment, said the language appeared to be “intended to deceive people into thinking that they were going to protect women having abortions.” “If you just flat-out tell them that you’re going to repeal nearly all of the protection for reproductive health,” he said, “the people would vote no.” A judge ruled the legislature’s summary unfair and ordered it rewritten. He later approved revised language written by Republican Secretary of State Denny Hoskins, a former state legislator who introduced a measure that became part of the 2023 law restricting gender transition care and has publicly endorsed Amendment 3. But a state appeals court found Hoskins’ language still failed to explain the amendment’s effects and rewrote it to lead with the fact that it would “repeal the 2024 voter-approved amendment providing reproductive healthcare rights, including abortion through fetal viability.” In an interview, Hoskins defended his initial choice to use the word “amend,” rather than “repeal,” because he felt it was more accurate. Asked how his endorsement of the new Amendment 3 squared with his duty to write neutral ballot language, he said his anti-abortion stance was no secret among Missouri voters. “I can’t all of a sudden erase my conservative views of the past 16 years in the Missouri Legislature,” he said. The intervention was hardly an isolated one. During Hoskins’ first 1.5 years in office, courts have rejected or rewritten five ballot summaries from his office involving abortion, education, the initiative petition process and a referendum on the state’s newly gerrymandered congressional map. Hoskins said in an interview that the rulings reflected differences of opinion over what constitutes fair and accurate language, noting that the appellate courts had also sometimes rejected revisions made or approved by lower courts. But the disputes have gone beyond language. Hoskins has also unilaterally blocked two citizen-led measures from reaching the November ballot. He rejected a proposed constitutional amendment that would make it harder for lawmakers to alter measures approved by voters, saying it was unconstitutional. And he refused to certify a referendum on Missouri’s new congressional map, drawn at President Donald Trump’s urging to help Republicans gain another U.S. House seat, declaring that putting a congressional map to a public vote would be unconstitutional.  Both campaigns sued in state circuit court, where a judge on Wednesday ruled for Hoskins in both cases. In the initiative case, the judge held that Hoskins had the authority to block an amendment from the ballot because it violated Missouri’s requirements that an initiative address a single subject and amend a single constitutional article. He also found that its restrictions on lawmakers’ ability to reconsider voter-approved policies was unconstitutional. And in the redistricting case, the judge agreed with Hoskins that voters cannot use the state’s referendum power to overturn the legislature’s power to redraw congressional maps.  Both cases are expected to reach the state Supreme Court on expedited appeals. Hoskins said he disagreed with any suggestion that he and Republican leaders were defying the will of voters, noting they, too, had been elected. He criticized the opponents of Amendment 3 as “liberal special interest groups” financed by “out-of-state sugar daddies” like Bloomberg. State Sen. Maggie Nurrenbern, a Kansas City Democrat, said Hoskins’ actions reflected a broader pattern of interfering with voters’ ability to use the ballot box to reject the Republican agenda. “That’s quite frankly what is maddening to me, is that politicians over and over again are trying to trick voters,” she said. The post Missouri Republicans Are Trying to Repeal Abortion Rights by Leaning Into Anti-Trans Sentiment appeared first on ProPublica.

[Category: Abortion, Health Care, Politics]

— Oregon Is Spending More Than Ever on Low-Income Housing. A State Law Keeps the Details Secret.

 

at 8/21/26 3:00am

Illustration by Shoshana Gordon/ProPublica. Source images: records obtained by ProPublica, Don Ryan/AP. Oregon’s spending on low-income housing has exploded in the past five years. The state has given developers an unprecedented $1.4 billion, and the cost of developing each apartment has nearly doubled, to $540,000. Dozens of projects are lined up for an additional $850 million in future state funding. Federal tax credits, which the state oversees, will bring even more money to bear. Yet one thing has remained constant: The public isn’t allowed to see the details of how all these dollars are being spent. Oregon is one of the only states in the country with a carve-out in its public records law that prevents disclosing the financial details of subsidized housing projects, thwarting researchers and journalists who have tried to examine their costs. The issue is especially pressing in the Pacific Northwest, where leaders have tied the lack of affordable housing to the region’s dire homelessness crisis. Understanding and controlling the cost of construction could make it possible, with the same amount of money, to either build more rent-restricted apartments or to discount rents more steeply. Margaret Van Vliet, a former director of Oregon’s state housing agency, told ProPublica that lawmakers should revisit the exemption. Despite all the state’s spending on housing, Oregon’s homeless population continues to grow. “For all the public money, we seem to be digging a deeper hole,” Van Vliet said. In other states, researchers and journalists have used developers’ financial records to investigate spiraling costs of subsidized housing. Los Angeles Times reporters in 2020 revealed that the cost of some low-income housing units in California had grown to more than $1 million each, driven in part by government rules that pushed construction prices higher. The Times found that 12,000 more low-income families could have received homes between 2011 and 2015 had costs been as low as they were elsewhere. Researchers from the University of California, Berkeley showed earlier this year that California was spending $300 million a year just in development fees on subsidized housing, enough to have financed another 1,250 apartments each year. In July, California Gov. Gavin Newsom signed legislation that aims to slash those fees. A study published last year and co-authored by Jason Ward, an economist who directs the nonpartisan Rand Corp.’s Housing Center, compared the costs of constructing subsidized housing among California, Texas and Colorado, finding that California’s highest-in-the-nation prices were driven by requirements to pay “substantially above-market wages and unusually large architectural and engineering fees.” If California had Colorado’s production costs, the study found, it could have built four times as many rent-subsidized apartments. Those types of analyses are impossible to perform in Oregon. “For all the public money” spent on housing, “we seem to be digging a deeper hole.” Margaret Van Vliet, former director of Oregon’s state housing agency Ward said Oregon’s secrecy is difficult to defend. He said cost information about subsidized housing is typically public. In his research, he said, he’s gotten such data from 17 states and been denied it only in New Jersey. “When you’re just looking at how public funds are used, there should be an incredibly strong bias towards transparency,” he said. “And when you see costs going up and up and up and the outcomes aren’t good, there’s an almost unqualified public case that these things should be open to scrutiny by taxpayers, policymakers, the media, whomever.” Oregon’s Legislature approved the exemption in 1997, when Oregon’s state housing agency had a staff and budget that were both one-fifth what they are today. State housing officials warned about the consequences of revealing the finances behind low-income apartment projects. “Not that were concerned that thered be something in there,” Lynn Schoessler, then the deputy director of Oregon Housing and Community Services, told lawmakers in a public hearing. But Schoessler said there could be problems if the public were allowed to see detailed financial information that developers submit to the state while applying for funding. Disclosing the records might “give somebody an indication whether this corporation was ripe for takeover or a buyout or whatever,” Schoessler said in a hearing. “So we’re concerned on the corporate level.” Lawmakers almost unanimously agreed to exempt the records from disclosure. Not all details about subsidized housing in Oregon were made secret. The Portland area’s regional government, which manages a local low-income-housing bond, publishes the costs of projects the bond has funded, showing some units have reached $900,000 apiece. And fine-grained cost information may be obtained, on request, if the project is run by a public housing authority like Portland’s. But these account for just 20% of the subsidized housing units that Oregon is building. The bulk are sponsored by private developers and funded through the state housing finance agency, Oregon Housing and Community Services. Although the state agency will divulge how much a developer said a project would cost when it applied for funding, it redacts the itemized expenses — things like the costs of construction materials, the contractor’s profits or the fees paid to lawyers, brokers, loan agents, developers and the state agency itself. A spokesperson said the agency knows the cost per unit, per square foot and per bedroom for each development it has subsidized. But the state said that information, which would allow the public to see which projects were the most expensive, is not subject to disclosure. Oregon has a sunshine committee that reviews public records exemptions and identifies ones that should be rolled back. Charlie Fisher, its co-chair, said the committee should examine the low-income housing carve-out. “Verifying how public dollars are being spent, especially at this scale, is one of the fundamental reasons why people should have access to public records,” Fisher said. “Given the amount of money we’re talking about, the case is even stronger.” The secrecy mandate in state law shrouds more than just the financial details of a project. When we requested financial records for three apartment projects around Portland, the agency redacted a list of languages spoken by the tenants that a developer hoped to attract. In  application material for that developer’s project, the agency also redacted the plan for translating tenant outreach brochures from English. And it blacked out an explanation of any financial risks the project might face, along with the developer’s plan for covering cost overruns. It turns out that the developer, in this case, was Home Forward, the Portland housing authority. The local agency released a copy of its application material to ProPublica without redactions, revealing mundane details the state had tried to keep secret. Here’s a sample of what Home Forward identified as the project’s financial risks: “market volatility, site-specific challenges, and unforeseen design modifications. Economic factors such as inflation, material price fluctuations, and labor shortages could impact overall construction costs.”  A spokesperson for the state said the information about languages and financial risks was redacted because the public records exemption shields “market studies and analyses” as well as pro forma statements, which show a development’s anticipated cash flows. Oregon Housing and Community Services Home Forward Oregon’s public records exemption for subsidized housing leads to the state redacting more than just projects’ financial details, including this plan to translate outreach materials for a subsidized housing project. In this case, an unredacted version of the same document was available from the local housing authority that was acting as the developer on the project. Andrea Bell, the state housing agency’s director, said in an emailed statement that she is committed to transparency and expects her agency to be open, accessible and accountable to the public. But she said she takes seriously the agency’s responsibility to comply with the exemption in Oregon records law for housing financials. Asked to comment on whether she supported the exemption and thought it was necessary, Bell said in a statement: “The cost of construction is a topic of growing interest. We will take your request under consideration as we assess ways to proactively share construction costs so that they are more readily available to the public.” In the meantime, the agency charged ProPublica $130 for the cost of collecting and redacting the documents it provided us. It denied our request to waive the fees, saying that “the interest of the general public would be better served by preserving public resources.” Transparency hasn’t slowed development in other West Coast states. Read More A Low-Income Housing Program Is Pouring Billions Into Housing Many People Can’t Afford In California, where the financial details of housing projects are public records, the funding remains highly competitive, with more than half of shovel-ready applications being turned away because demand exceeds available funding. “We have not encountered any difficulty in developing affordable housing because those documents are public,” said a spokesperson for the California state treasurer’s office. In Washington state, officials have repeatedly released financial information about the housing projects they’ve funded to developers, researchers, media and other members of the public. A housing official there said developers know the information is open to the public, and it hasn’t been an issue. ProPublica asked the Washington counterpart of Oregon Housing and Community Services for financial documents for three projects around Seattle. They were released without redactions — and for free. The post Oregon Is Spending More Than Ever on Low-Income Housing. A State Law Keeps the Details Secret. appeared first on ProPublica.

[Category: Real Estate, Regulation]

— This Coach Is Banned From Working With Kids. Why Is He Still Coaching?

 

at 8/20/26 3:00am

In an altered image from a video montage Ryan Richardson posted to Instagram in June, the coach works with a young athlete. Collage by Lisa Larson-Walker/ProPublica. Left: via Instagram. Right: Sarah Blesener for ProPublica. The first time Ryan Richardson was suspended from coaching volleyball, in early 2024, he gathered the parents of his teenage players in the back room of his gym in the border city of Pharr, Texas. It was a dark, cool space, one wall lined with shelves of trophies and dangling medals. The tinted windows looked out onto the courts where Richardson trained some of the best young female players in the Rio Grande Valley, but the glass was one-way, and from outside, nothing that happened in the room was visible.  For years, the room had also contained a twin-sized mattress that sat in the corner on a box spring, covered with dark sheets. By the 2024 season, though, the bed had disappeared. On that winter day, the parents of Richardson’s club, Texas Fierce Elite, were worried. Their 14- and 15-year-old daughters were bound for the Girls Junior National Championship that summer in Las Vegas, but now Richardson was barred from attending. The organization overseeing volleyball in the state, Lone Star Region Volleyball, had suspended him after complaints about Richardson’s Instagram posts, including a mirror selfie in which he posed in skin-tight orange boxer briefs. The case had quickly been escalated to USA Volleyball, the sport’s governing body and the host of the upcoming national championship.  There was much more at stake than a single tournament. For more than 15 years at the helm of Texas Fierce Elite, Richardson had been trading on a dream: girls who wanted to play college sports, and parents who wanted to get them there. In Pharr and the cities surrounding it, which are more than 90% Latino and have poverty rates more than double the national average, opportunities to go to college were rare, and paying for it was even harder. Richardson’s players said he often told them that he and Texas Fierce Elite were their only path to a scholarship. Although they were barely in high school, the Texas Fierce Elite girls were entering the most important period of college recruiting. The sidelines of the national tournament would be flooded with college scouts from all corners of the country. If Richardson could no longer coach, the parents feared, all of that might be derailed. On that day in the back room of his gym, Richardson did not acknowledge the Instagram posts at all, according to two parents present. Instead, the former football receiver claimed that the suspension was the result of vindictive parents with complaints about their kids’ playing time. He promised the suspension would go away in a matter of weeks. And even if it didn’t, Richardson told them, he would find a way to keep coaching. Richardson posted this selfie on his public Instagram account before his suspension. via Instagram The suspension didn’t go away. Instead, it surfaced a flood of allegations far more serious than Instagram photos: One mother would allege that Richardson had been having a sexual relationship with her daughter that began four years ago, when the girl was 16 and he was 36, she told ProPublica and The Washington Post. Other players would come forward to say Richardson had groomed and physically and emotionally abused them. USA Volleyball referred the case to the U.S. Center for SafeSport, an oversight body created to police abuse in youth and Olympic sports, which eventually suspended Richardson and put his name on its public disciplinary list. Richardson was right about one thing, however: None of that mattered. Although he was barred from attending USA Volleyball events, including nationals, Richardson was able to keep coaching his teams of teenage girls. He attended daily practices and appeared on the sidelines of tournaments hosted by other volleyball groups for two years.  In February of this year, SafeSport listed Richardson as “permanently ineligible” to coach, saying it had substantiated a litany of allegations against him: that he had had an intimate relationship with a minor, committed sexual misconduct involving a minor, and engaged in physical misconduct and bullying.  But Richardson is still coaching teenage girls at his gym in Pharr. And that fact is not a secret. Nearly every day for the last two years, Richardson has posted videos in which he works with Texas Fierce Elite players, supervises practices and promotes the club — hundreds of posts in all, often visible to the public.  After his suspension in early 2024, Richardson said complaints against him were an effort to “retaliate and defame someone’s character,” telling the local news website MyRGV that he “would never do anything to risk the physical or mental wellbeing of these strong young ladies.” He called himself an “enthusiastic proponent” of SafeSport and the strict rules it has in place to protect children. “I am extremely surprised by the suspension and disappointed that I have not been given any information regarding what I allegedly did wrong,” he said at the time. “The safety and security of the athletes that train with Texas Fierce Elite Volleyball is always my primary focus and concern.” Richardson, who has not been charged with any crime, did not respond to multiple requests for comment for this story. Last week, after ProPublica and The Post sent him a detailed summary of our reporting, Richardson posted a video of a girl training at his gym on Instagram with the caption, “Say what you want but this work will be on display for as long as I live !! Not interested in answering to the narrative created by outsiders just invested into the next one who is looking for change!!” For more than a year, ProPublica and The Washington Post have been investigating failures in a system that is supposed to protect children from sexual abuse in youth sports. Those flaws, the investigation found, are putting a new generation of young athletes at risk. The sexual abuse allegations against Richardson triggered that system, which was created by Congress in 2018 in the wake of revelations about sexual abuse in Olympic sports — among them the prolonged abuse of dozens of athletes by USA Gymnastics doctor Larry Nassar. The 2018 law charged the new Center for SafeSport with overseeing the country’s 50 national sports governing bodies, including USA Volleyball, which prepare and train young athletes in sports overseen by the U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Committee. SafeSport investigates allegations of abuse in these sports, especially sexual abuse. It has the power to suspend coaches as it investigates them, recording their names in a public database known as the SafeSport list, and can ban abusive coaches for life.  The SafeSport list was intended to address the decades-old problem of coaches who were accused of abuse but were able to continue working with young athletes for years, often as sports governing bodies looked the other way. But that system did not stop Ryan Richardson. SafeSport, USA Volleyball and its regional partner Lone Star all failed to keep Richardson from interacting with children, ProPublica and The Post found, even as allegations of inappropriate behavior and abuse piled up.   SafeSport delayed suspending Richardson for months despite the serious allegations, ProPublica and The Post found. Later, the organization failed to take action against a coach accused of “aiding and abetting” Richardson by allowing him to work with players after he was suspended. SafeSport said it could not comment on individual cases “to protect the integrity of our investigative process.” Once Richardson was suspended by SafeSport, the law required USA Volleyball to ensure he was not working with its athletes. ProPublica and The Post found that both USA Volleyball and Lone Star had received multiple reports that Richardson was still coaching, but Lone Star allowed his club to remain a regional member, and USA Volleyball did not object. Richardson kept showing up to coach.  Hilary Nemchik, a SafeSport vice president, said in a statement that it was the job of national governing bodies like USA Volleyball to “enforce the U.S. Center for SafeSport’s sanctions” and that governing bodies had the ability “to make decisions regarding membership.” What Parents Need to Know About Sexual Abuse in Youth Sports The public SafeSport list is one of the most powerful tools for parents looking to research their kids’ coaches. But many families have no idea it exists or how to use it. Critics also say the organization has serious flaws. Share Your Experience “We recognize there are gaps in the system, whether it be coaches avoiding SafeSport sanctions by going to organizations outside of the Movement or a reluctance by some NGBs to do everything in their power to prohibit the participation of banned individuals,” Nemchik said. She cited a case in which another governing body, USA Gymnastics, had terminated the membership of a club for repeatedly violating SafeSport sanctions.  “This should be standard for any NGB that prioritizes protecting their members,” Nemchik said. A spokesperson for USA Volleyball said in a statement that the organization had done an “internal review” of the incidents in ProPublica and The Post’s story and “confirmed that USA Volleyball has fully complied with all SafeSport requirements, U.S. Center for SafeSport regulations, and our own organizational policies and procedures.” “USA Volleyball places the highest priority on the safety and well-being of all athletes, coaches, and staff,” the statement said. Lone Star said in a statement that it “disputes the accuracy of several factual assertions, characterizations, and implications” in the story, but would not comment on individuals or internal processes. It declined to say what was inaccurate. “The Region takes its responsibilities concerning athlete safety seriously,” the statement said,  “and will continue to fulfill its obligations under applicable USA Volleyball and SafeSport requirements.” Rise of Richardson When Richardson opened Elite Sports Performance, there was little like it in the Rio Grande Valley, a string of rapidly growing border cities isolated from the rest of Texas by miles of scrubland. There were sports teams and there were gyms, but what Richardson started selling was something else: a version of youth sports that went beyond practices and games. In 2013, they opened a gym in a warehouse-like green building on Feather Avenue in Pharr where expensive rigs hooked children up to elastic bands to improve their jumping height, a crane-like device served balls one after another so they could master technique, and trampolines and battle ropes made them strong.   Richardson had played football at Texas A&M University-Kingsville, but his coaching specialty was volleyball, soon to become the country’s fastest-growing sport for girls. Richardson told his young players that he became involved in volleyball after college, where he’d dated a libero, a  defensive position held by the smallest players on the court. Richardson demanded perfection. He wanted his players’ elbows at the right angle, their jumps timed exactly right. He was known to curse and scream, former players said, and even a small mistake could mean being called a “pussy” and a “piece of shit.” If a girl didn’t jump high enough, she was “fucking fat.”  “He would tear us down to the point where we needed validation from him because he was the only one to build us up,” said Madisyn Sosa, now 20, who played with Richardson from the age of 14.  His behavior was tolerated for one reason, another former Texas Fierce Elite athlete said: College “was always the end goal.” Richardson quickly established a track record of sending athletes to local and even Division I colleges, often with scholarships. “We’re extremely limited on good training,” said one local volleyball club director, Rafael Castañeda Jr., who owns a rival gym several miles from Richardson’s. “He’s known to be one of the top ones, so these parents, they took the chance.”  On social media, Richardson chronicled the rise of his program with hundreds of videos of the group of teen girls he called his “family.” The back room at Elite Sports Performance began to fill with trophies and medals. In the summer of 2022, at the USA Volleyball national championship in Indianapolis, Richardson’s team of girls under 14 finished ninth in the country. Richardson also spent hours with his teenage players outside of sports. He took them on fishing expeditions and to the beach. They accompanied him to church and hung out in his hotel room on trips to tournaments doing TikTok dances. He posted photos and videos of all of it online, with Instagram captions calling the girls pet names like “my fierce baby” and “my love.”  Richardson took particular interest, three former players said, in girls who played libero — the same position as his former girlfriend. In one Instagram story, a screenshot of which was viewed by ProPublica and The Post, Richardson described a “journey” with one libero, a girl he called his goddaughter. “This little 11 year old redheaded girl laid her head on my shoulder and fell asleep, for some odd reason I couldn’t shake the feeling of a father,” Richardson wrote. “So I asked her mom if things were ok to really love this child … the relationship blossomed from coach to godfather to dad.” He added a photograph of himself holding the girl’s hand. The girl, who is now an adult, did not respond to a request for comment. Richardson required his teenage players to hug him at the end of practice, four former players said, sometimes pulling girls down onto his lap and telling them, “I love you.” He required hugs even on days when prospective parents were touring his gym.  One parent recalled thinking it was odd, she said, but quickly doubted herself: Why would he do something like that in front of parents if it was inappropriate? And then there was the bed. He kept it for years in the back room, five people said, telling parents it was for recovery and massages. Parents sometimes sat in the dark room, too, watching their daughters train through the windows from a set of lounge chairs that lined the wall.  “He Convinced Me Not to Say Anything” That was the room where Maggie Gutierrez first found Richardson alone with her teenage daughter. Gutierrez had brought her daughter to Elite Sports Performance nearly four years earlier, when she was a promising 13-year-old libero, for one reason: Richardson was supposed to be the best. He was “aggressive” with the girls, Gutierrez acknowledged, but under his vigilance her daughter grew to be one of the team’s best players — so good that Richardson had stopped charging her for expensive private sessions. Gutierrez often dropped her daughter off at the gym to practice, then returned a few hours later to bring her home.  When she arrived that day in 2022, Gutierrez told ProPublica and The Post, Richardson’s car was the only one in the parking lot. Inside, the gym was empty.  Gutierrez opened the door to the back room to find Richardson and her daughter, then 16, in the dark. Richardson turned his back to her and appeared to be tying up the string of his pants. (ProPublica and The Post, which do not name alleged victims of sexual abuse without their consent, are referring to Gutierrez by her maiden name to avoid identifying her daughter, who declined to be interviewed.)  “I was furious,” Gutierrez said. “I could tell my daughter was nervous, and didn’t know how to react.” Gutierrez confronted Richardson, she said, but he denied anything had happened, following up with a flurry of WhatsApp messages that she said he later deleted.  “He convinced me not to say anything,” Gutierrez said. “And I didn’t say anything.” Gutierrez’s daughter also insisted there was nothing romantic between them, Gutierrez said. And her daughter wanted to keep playing; she had a scholarship offer to a Division I school out of state.  “I was just like, OK, I’m going to keep an eye, make sure I’m there all the time,” Gutierrez said. For a while, Gutierrez believed she was able to keep her daughter from being alone with Richardson. But her daughter began to turn off her location on her phone, she said. The relationship between Richardson and the girl continued for more than a year after the incident, according to Snapchat messages included in the SafeSport investigation and reviewed by ProPublica and The Post. In August 2022, several months after Gutierrez found Richardson and her daughter alone, Richardson and Gutierrez’s 16-year-old daughter exchanged messages saying, “I love you,” to each other and planning when they would next be able to meet up.  Throughout the spring of 2023, when the girl was 17, Richardson wrote, “I want to camp in you love.” A day later, he wrote, “I love my girlfriend.” He sent the girl a video that he’d filmed of her sleeping on his chest, saying, “We look so peaceful together. It’s beautiful.” That May, Richardson wrote, “I don’t like that we are only sex right now so I really would love to get past this high school Shit when you are on your own pretty much,” he wrote. “I love you very much and I’ll be that man for you!!”  Gutierrez had no idea that any of it was happening, she said. When her daughter got an opportunity to start college a semester early so that she could train with the team, Richardson encouraged it.  In January 2024, at 18, she left for college in another state. Richardson quickly started a WhatsApp group with Gutierrez that he named her daughter’s “support group,” asking what kind of things her daughter would want in a gift box he said he was sending to her campus from the club.  Then, in February, Gutierrez said, she got a call from her daughter’s college volleyball coach. He told Gutierrez that Richardson had met up with her daughter for a weekend out of state and that other players on the team had spoken about her daughter’s “older boyfriend” — a man they identified as Richardson. The college coach believed they were having a relationship, he told her. Gutierrez said she was frozen in shock.   By the spring, when her daughter returned to the Rio Grande Valley from college, Gutierrez decided she had to act to protect her daughter. She went to police in McAllen and Pharr to report that Richardson had had a relationship with her daughter that she believed began when the girl was under 17, the age of consent in Texas.  Police in both jurisdictions denied records requests from ProPublica and The Post by citing an exemption under state privacy statutes, but the news organizations obtained excerpts from the police report in McAllen. In the text, an officer describes meeting with Gutierrez at the McAllen police station. Gutierrez left the station with a promise to return with her daughter, the officer wrote. But she never did. When the officer called back, Gutierrez said her daughter did not want to speak. The officer closed the case, noting that her daughter was now 18 and legally an adult. Pharr police also declined to investigate, Gutierrez said. She felt stuck.  So she turned to Lone Star, the regional volleyball arm of USA Volleyball. If she could not get police to investigate, she thought, at least she could stop Richardson from coaching. New Allegations By the time Gutierrez went to Lone Star, Richardson had already been suspended for several months over his social media posts, drawing coverage from local news outlets.   When he was first suspended that February, Richardson told MyRGV that he was innocent and planned to file a grievance with USA Volleyball. But weeks later, MyRGV reported that USA Volleyball had upheld the suspension, keeping Richardson from coaching or training for at least six months. Richardson told the website he was “shocked.”  USA Volleyball had previously sent the report about Richardson’s behavior on social media to the U.S. Center for SafeSport, as required by law, according to one person familiar with the case. But SafeSport initially declined to investigate because it said the allegations were not sexual and referred the case back to USA Volleyball, that person said.  Only when Gutierrez reached out to Lone Star in May, the person familiar with the case said, did SafeSport accept the case.  Over the course of its investigation, SafeSport would receive other reports about Richardson, ProPublica and The Post found. Two former players, two parents and Castañeda, the rival club owner, all said they had spoken to SafeSport investigators.  Sosa, a former teammate of Gutierrez’s daughter, said she had also experienced inappropriate behavior from Richardson, which she eventually described to a SafeSport investigator. Richardson had sometimes FaceTimed her while he showered, she said, and often brought up sex and boys, once telling Sosa that a teammate was gaining weight because she was “having sex with that boyfriend all the time.” At one training session, she said, Richardson embraced her and laid his body on top of hers, saying, “Why don’t you love me?” Another player who witnessed the incident, who spoke on the condition of anonymity because she is still involved in volleyball in the region, said she remembered Richardson remaining on top of Sosa for an uncomfortably long time. “I remember thinking she must be out of breath right now,” the player said. In a video Richardson posted to his Instagram, he is lying on the floor of the back room gym with Sosa, who said she was 17 at the time. He is gripping her arm, which is lying across Richardson’s chest. They both squeeze each other and laugh. Richardson captioned it, “The love is unreal … .”  “That was the normal for us,” Sosa said. Beliza Longoria, another former player, said she spoke to SafeSport about what she believed was grooming by Richardson. As her coach, Richardson was obsessed with her teenage sex life, she said, and had once called her a “fucking slut” when he found out from a teammate that she’d had a sexual relationship with a boy. Once, Richardson told her and a teammate to rest their heads on his shoulder, and she had woken up, she said, to him filming them as they slept. On trips for out-of-town tournaments, she said, he often encouraged the girls to spend time in his hotel room, where he sometimes wore only a pair of shorts. Left: Richardson opened Elite Sports Performance in the Rio Grande Valley in 2013, offering a version of youth sports that went beyond practices and games. Right: Beliza Longoria. Longoria recalled one night when Richardson sat shirtless in bed drinking green apple Crown Royal until she and her teammates grew uncomfortable and left. Sosa and another teammate also recalled the incident.  This was not the first time Longoria had tried to report Richardson. In 2021, she said, when she was 14, Richardson slapped her face and cursed at her during a training session. She and her parents went to the Pharr police, her mother said, but no action was taken, and Longoria left the club immediately after. Police acknowledged there were records related to the incident but declined to provide them under state privacy statutes. Richardson denied any wrongdoing at the time, and Sosa said when he told the team that Longoria was lying, they believed him. A SafeSport investigator eventually told Longoria that a report had been filed about the incident in 2021, she said. She had told many people about what happened, she said, but she was not sure who had filed the report. A person familiar with USA Volleyball’s operations confirmed the existence of a report about the incident in 2021 and said that Lone Star had appeared not to discipline Richardson. Three years later, Longoria said, she hoped that this time would be different. Investigating the Investigator The SafeSport investigator assigned to Richardson’s case was Jason Krasley, a former police officer. Krasley could have immediately placed the coach on SafeSport’s public disciplinary list, temporarily suspending him from coaching while the investigation continued. SafeSport says it uses such suspensions to keep people safe in the case of “severe” allegations, including “allegations of child sexual abuse regarding a coach with current/ongoing access to minor athletes.” But months passed without Richardson’s name appearing in the database. Richardson told parents at Texas Fierce Elite that this was a sign he had done nothing wrong.  And although Richardson remained suspended by Lone Star and USA Volleyball, he found a way to keep coaching.  Richardson gave control of Texas Fierce Elite’s teams to an employee, Gavin Rudder, according to a social media post that June. Richardson and Rudder had been close for years. Rudder posted photographs of them together, giving their duo a nickname — “Ebony and Ivory,” a reference to their races — and praising Richardson’s “incredible legacy.” Richardson’s Instagram username for a time was “Mr_ESP,” a reference to Elite Sports Performance. Rudder’s is “Mr_ESPvolleyball.” Rudder did not respond to multiple requests for comment, including a detailed list of questions. Under Rudder, Texas Fierce Elite could remain registered with Lone Star. Rudder’s name appeared on the club paperwork, and he took the girls to USA Volleyball-sanctioned tournaments. But ProPublica and The Post found that Richardson was, for all intents and purposes, still in charge of the club, a violation of his suspension. He set practice schedules and arranged tournaments, collected fees and ordered jerseys, according to team WhatsApp messages and interviews with a former coach at the club and two parents of former players.  Richardson was also the main coach of the oldest team of girls at Texas Fierce Elite, these people said. Richardson’s social media posts show him running drills at practices, and online streams of games show Richardson coaching on the sidelines.  “He was the only one that touched the team,” the former coach said. The coach, who left the club in early 2025, asked not to be named because she is still involved in volleyball in the region. Richardson allowed Rudder and other coaches to instruct younger teams, but he was still present at most practices and would frequently step in to coach, she said. One mother, whose daughter played on Texas Fierce Elite’s team for girls 15 and under at the time, shared a series of WhatsApp messages that showed Richardson remained heavily involved in that team following the suspension. In the messages, he also required girls to book “at least one private session a week” with him ahead of USA Volleyball’s national tournament. Rudder was part of the WhatsApp group and had watched it all happen, the mother said.  The mother sent the messages showing Richardson’s involvement — and what she said was Rudder’s enabling of Richardson’s coaching — to Lone Star in July 2024, emails show. But with the new season set to begin in September, Lone Star renewed Rudder’s membership, and Texas Fierce Elite remained in good standing. Left: Dusk in Pharr, Texas, where Elite Sports Performance is located. Right: Longoria. As Longoria watched Richardson’s social media posts, she grew increasingly desperate — and furious. In January 2025 she emailed Krasley, the SafeSport investigator. It had been eight months since SafeSport’s investigation began. “WE NEED TO SCHEDULE A MEETING,” she wrote. “I am so worried for these kids who are under [h]is program and I am so angered that he is still coaching.”  Longoria attached a photo that she had just been sent: Richardson in a Texas Fierce Elite zip-up at a tournament in New Orleans, his arms around a young volleyball player, pulling her against his chest. Krasley didn’t respond. It turned out he no longer worked for SafeSport; he had been fired in November after he was arraigned on allegations that, as a police officer, he had stolen money seized in a drug bust. And three days before Longoria reached out, Krasley had been arrested again, this time on charges of felony rape and involuntary sexual servitude. He is awaiting trial on multiple sex crime charges, although the theft and other charges were eventually dropped. Krasley has yet to enter a plea, and his attorney has argued the case should be dropped because of “egregious” prosecutorial misconduct. The attorney did not respond to requests for comment. SafeSport’s CEO at the time, Ju’Riese Colón, said in a statement after firing him that she was “appalled that a former staff member has been accused of such heinous acts in his previous role as a police officer.” SafeSport conducted an audit of Krasley’s 114 cases and said that it had reopened three of them, without providing details. “Defy the Opps” In February 2025, one year after Richardson’s social media posts were sent to SafeSport, Richardson’s name appeared in the center’s disciplinary database. He was temporarily suspended from coaching under USA Volleyball and all other sports organizations covered by SafeSport’s mandate while the investigation ran its course. Longoria was hopeful: Maybe SafeSport would make sure that Richardson no longer had access to young volleyball players.  In reality, ProPublica and The Post found, the SafeSport suspension made almost no difference.  Shortly after being placed on the SafeSport list, on March 8, Richardson was at the Adidas Bluegrass Tournament in Louisville, coaching the Texas Fierce Elite team that another coach had said “no one else touched.” Richardson was registered as the coach.  Richardson was taking advantage of a gap in the SafeSport law. While national governing bodies like USA Volleyball are required to ban coaches on the SafeSport list, the law does not apply to private nonprofit groups. The Junior Volleyball Association, a nonprofit that says it has more than 250,000 participants, had allowed Richardson to join while he was suspended by USA Volleyball. The Louisville tournament was not affiliated with JVA, but it allowed coaches to use JVA memberships to register.  In late April 2025, Richardson and the girls attended a tournament in Tennessee called Showdown in the Smokies. In an online stream of the event, he can be seen pacing in front of the team bench in gray shorts and a black T-shirt. After the tournament, which took place on his birthday, Richardson posted a video on Instagram of himself at a restaurant, having dinner with five of his teenage players. There are no other adults visible at the table. In July 2025, four months after Richardson was suspended by SafeSport, JVA renewed his membership.  Like some other independent youth sports nonprofits, JVA has a policy banning coaches on the SafeSport list from working with kids, and a representative, Taylor Jakubowski, told ProPublica and The Post that JVA conducted monthly audits of the list against its membership roster. She acknowledged that JVA had not done so in Richardson’s case. “That would be my colleague, the one that checks the list,” she said, but did not provide a name. Jakubowski said JVA “canceled” Richardson’s membership in December 2025, the same month that a reporter reached out with questions about him. JVA’s executive director, Lisa Wielebnicki, said in a statement that JVA did not “operate or administer” either of the tournaments or determine who would be allowed to participate. “Any suggestion that JVA permitted or enabled Mr. Richardson to participate in those events … based on his JVA membership status would therefore be inaccurate.” (Richardson later reapplied, she said, and JVA denied his membership.) Richardson’s gym had also been able to gain affiliation with another outside organization: the Amateur Athletic Union, a massive youth sports nonprofit with some 760,000 athletes, which an investigation from ProPublica and The Post found has developed a reputation as a refuge for coaches who have been accused of abuse. The AAU does not have a policy barring coaches who are suspended or banned by SafeSport or other sports organizations. The AAU said it had “permanently banned” Richardson back in November 2024, after Gutierrez and the other Texas Fierce Elite mother said they reached out to the organization to express fears that Richardson would try to move his gym there. The AAU declined to comment further, but in a previous statement, the AAU said that it is “committed to protecting its athletes through comprehensive protection policies overseen by our Compliance Department.” But the following summer, Richardson, Rudder and Texas Fierce Elite began advertising a sleek new brand: “The Complex, est. 2025.” On social media, a video from Richardson called it “a new chapter.” He also included a new slogan: “DEFY THE OPPS” — slang for “the opposition.” In the AAU’s member directory, there is a girls’ volleyball club at the address of Richardson’s gym. It is called The Complex. The AAU did not answer questions about who owned the club. For all of Richardson’s maneuvering with other sports groups, though, he still needed USA Volleyball. To players and parents determined to secure college scholarships, USA Volleyball memberships are vital. While the AAU and JVA host their own tournaments, USA Volleyball remains the gateway to the sport’s regional and national championships, where hundreds of college scouts gather every year to recruit a new class of athletes. With a new season set to begin in September 2025, Lone Star allowed Texas Fierce Elite to remain in good standing. And it approved Rudder, who was listed as the club’s director, for another year of membership.  Richardson celebrated the start of the season with a video of a Texas Fierce Elite practice with the caption, “TAKING BACK EVERYTHING THAT WAS TAKEN FROM THESE KIDS !! GOD SEE ME THRU IT ! Let’s work!!”  Rudder was violating the SafeSport code just by allowing Richardson to work with his athletes. As a USA Volleyball member — and the registered owner of Texas Fierce Elite — he was prohibited from allowing people banned or suspended by SafeSport to be “in any way associated with” a registered club or to “coach or instruct Participants.” On social media, months of public posts by Richardson showed that Rudder had been standing by as Richardson coached his teams, sometimes literally. In one video, Richardson and Rudder stood on opposite sides of a volleyball net feeding balls to players. Public registration forms online show Richardson had listed Rudder as his assistant coach at tournaments. Under the SafeSport code, USA Volleyball is “responsible for enforcing” the center’s bans and suspensions. But a senior official with USA Volleyball said it leaves enforcement to regional affiliates like Lone Star.  Karen Tarmon, the SafeSport coordinator for Lone Star, said in November 2025 that the organization had been unable to take action against Rudder or Texas Fierce Elite for violating Richardson’s suspension because “a club director or parent of an athlete is required to submit complaints and video documentation.” In Richardson and Rudder’s case, Tarmon said, “The Lone Star Region has not received documentation of this possible violation.”  But by then, Lone Star had received reports from three people alleging that Richardson was violating his suspension, ProPublica and The Post found. Castañeda, Longoria and the other Texas Fierce Elite mother had all reported that he was still coaching, emails they provided show. The emails included videos, text messages and photos. In addition, Tarmon said that Lone Star did not have “authority over a club” until the start of what she called the “sanctioned season” on Nov. 23. SafeSport says its rules apply at all times, and Lone Star’s handbook at the time said the region is allowed to govern teams for as long as they are registered. Frustrated with inaction by Lone Star, Castañeda said he contacted USA Volleyball’s SafeSport office that November with photographs and videos pulled from Richardson’s public Instagram page.  By January, Rudder and Texas Fierce Elite were back at USA Volleyball-sanctioned tournaments. Longoria “Permanently Ineligible” Richardson has made no effort to hide that he is still coaching.  He posts videos of himself working with the girls almost every day, sometimes accompanied by Rudder. He filmed himself spending time alone with players in the darkened back room of his gym, where the twin bed once sat, and performing cupping therapy on a girl who is lying face-down on a table wearing only a sports bra and shorts. On Feb. 13, 2026, Richardson posted a video of himself training Texas Fierce Elite’s under-14 team. He captioned it with “TFE14” and stamped the video with the Texas Fierce Elite logo and the brand of a new training center named after one of his former players.  On Feb. 19, the Center for SafeSport ruled that Richardson was banned from coaching. His name now appears in the SafeSport database under a new category: “permanently ineligible.” On Feb. 20, Richardson was back to training Texas Fierce Elite players, and he was back to posting. He has not stopped since. The post This Coach Is Banned From Working With Kids. Why Is He Still Coaching? appeared first on ProPublica.

— What Parents Need to Know About Sexual Abuse in Youth Sports

 

at 8/20/26 2:55am

Collage by ProPublica. Photo by Sarah Blesener for ProPublica. As a reporter for The Washington Post and now ProPublica, I’ve investigated how youth sports organizations have failed to protect kids from sexual predators. I’ve spoken to dozens of parents. Some had children who were victimized by coaches. Others wanted to know how to keep their children safe.Nearly every parent I’ve met said they didn’t have the information they needed to understand the system set up to protect their kids. Here’s what you need to know (and how to get in touch with tips): How is the system supposed to work? The system revolves around one organization: the U.S. Center for SafeSport. SafeSport, as it’s known, is charged with investigating allegations of abuse at all levels of sport, from elite Olympic athletes to young recreational players. Its focus is sexual abuse, but it can also look into allegations of emotional and physical abuse.  The center has the power to suspend coaches as it investigates them, recording their names in a public database known as the SafeSport list. It can ultimately ban abusive coaches for life, declaring them “permanently ineligible.” It can also ban coaches based on certain types of criminal convictions, like those involving abuse of minors.  SafeSport was set up by Congress in 2018, in the wake of revelations about abuse by USA Gymnastics doctor Larry Nassar and other prominent sports figures. How do coaches get on the SafeSport list?  Coaches and club administrators are required to report misconduct to SafeSport, but anyone can make a report online or by phone.  SafeSport then decides whether to investigate; it doesn’t take every case. Usually coaches can keep working with kids while SafeSport looks into an allegation, but if the allegations are recent or serious, SafeSport can issue a suspension — temporarily placing a coach on the list — while it investigates. If the coach is found not to have engaged in misconduct, they’ll be removed from the list. If SafeSport substantiates allegations, it can issue sanctions ranging from suspensions or other restrictions to permanent bans. Which sports does SafeSport cover?  The center has jurisdiction only over the country’s 50 national sports governing bodies, which oversee and set rules for volleyball, swimming, basketball, soccer and any other sports that are included in the Olympics. Those governing bodies are overseen by the U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Committee.  That covers millions of young athletes, but there are millions more who don’t fall under that system or who are only partially covered by it.  What does it mean if a coach is banned or suspended? Banned coaches cannot be associated in any way with a team or organization that falls under the 50 sports governing bodies. That means they cannot interact at all with athletes in those groups, including at practices. Any adult in the organization who allows that to happen is also in violation of the SafeSport code. A banned coach can keep working with kids, however, by joining clubs or organizations that are not covered by SafeSport. What else does SafeSport do?  SafeSport also creates and mandates training for coaches and other adults that is centered on recognizing and reporting sexual abuse, and it enforces strict rules meant to govern how adults interact with kids, like making sure an adult is never alone with a minor. Athletes have to take the training only if they are over 18, although the organization provides optional courses for younger kids. The training is optional for parents. Understanding how to recognize patterns that coaches use to abuse and groom children can become an important way to keep their children safe. As part of my reporting on a volleyball coach who has been accused of sexual misconduct, I spoke to a mother and daughter who both told me that the coach had groomed the girl when she was a young teenager in his gym. The mom told me she tried her best to protect her daughter, but there was a lot she didn’t know. When she finally watched a SafeSport training video with her daughter, who had just turned 18, the mother told me, “Had we watched this earlier, my kid might have been more open to be like, ‘Mom, my coach made a comment about my butt.’ ‘Mom, he sent me a message to my phone.’” What are some criticisms of SafeSport? Underfunded and understaffed, SafeSport has come under scrutiny for a backlog of unresolved complaints and for closing cases that critics said it hadn’t properly investigated.  SafeSport said it has since resolved some of those issues, improving its process to resolve cases more quickly and cut down its backlog. In a statement, the center’s new CEO, Benita Fitzgerald Mosley, an Olympic gold medalist, said the organization “acknowledges the challenges we have met as the first national sport safeguarding organization in the world. We are on surer footing today.”  My reporting has also found gaps in the system and failures by both SafeSport and national governing bodies that put young athletes at risk. What can you do?  First, ask your child’s club or team if your child is competing under a national governing body, which is legally bound by SafeSport, or in an organization that voluntarily follows the SafeSport list. Keep in mind that this still might not mean the organization is regularly checking the list or enforcing bans, as my reporting has documented.  Check for your child’s coach in the SafeSport database. It’s important to remember that coaches can be added to the list temporarily while an investigation is ongoing, which means they ultimately might not be found to have engaged in misconduct. If you find a coach you know on the list, review SafeSport’s resources for deciding on your next steps.  Take SafeSport training yourself to learn about red flags for abuse and grooming, and discuss them with your child. Do you have a story about a coach? I know these are sensitive topics that can be difficult to discuss. I also know how important these stories are. If you’d like to share what you found in the SafeSport database, or you have other experiences with how youth sports organizations have handled abuse allegations, please fill out our brief questionnaire.  I’m particularly interested in: Finding instances of coaches who are continuing to work with kids after being banned by SafeSport.  Better understanding how abusive coaches manipulate and deceive parents. Learning about coaching abuse, safety and misconduct in basketball, a sport in which SafeSport has far less influence compared with many other popular youth sports. We take your privacy seriously and will contact you if we wish to publish any part of your story. The post What Parents Need to Know About Sexual Abuse in Youth Sports appeared first on ProPublica.

— Senators Criticize Trump Administration’s Demands to Access Health Data as a Condition for Lifesaving Aid

 

at 8/19/26 4:00am

Roberto “Bear” Guerra/ProPublica. Source image: Getty Images What Happened: Citing reporting by ProPublica, eight Democratic U.S. senators have criticized the Trump administration’s demands to access the health data of millions of people as a condition of giving lifesaving aid to other countries. In a letter to Secretary of State Marco Rubio, the senators, including minority leader Chuck Schumer, said the U.S. demands were “unprecedented and at odds with U.S. policy concerning the data of American citizens.” Read More “Digital Colonialism”: U.S. Demands to Access Africans’ Data Raise Privacy, Sovereignty Concerns The inquiry into the administration’s approach to foreign health data referred to a ProPublica story published in June about agreements the U.S. struck with African countries — and the risks they posed to people there. Experts told ProPublica that the deals are vague and lack language used in most data-sharing agreements to adequately limit what information is collected and how it can be used. As a result, they said, there is an increased risk that individuals’ personal data could be exposed, misused or commercialized without their consent. The senators — who include Tim Kaine of Virginia; Chris Van Hollen of Maryland; Brian Schatz of Hawaii; Amy Klobuchar of Minnesota; Christopher Coons of Delaware; Jeff Merkley of Oregon and Raphael Warnock of Georgia, who led the effort — requested a briefing on the healthcare agreements’ data requirements. They also asked Rubio to respond in writing to a list of questions by the end of August. What They Said: In the letter, which was sent last week, the senators expressed concern that the requirement to access foreign health data might reverberate beyond the countries where the aid agreements were struck and “set international precedents that ultimately harm Americans.” They noted that the demands for data appear to be at odds with the Trump administration’s National Cyber Strategy, which emphasizes the right to privacy for Americans and their data. “These new demands set an alarming precedent that is seemingly contrary to the Administration’s longstanding support for the privacy of U.S. citizens’ data,” they wrote. The senators also laid out the details of a data-sharing agreement between the U.S. and Uganda that were first reported by ProPublica. The deal demanded that Uganda provide the U.S. — and its contractors — with logins “or other secure access mechanisms” to directly enter the nation’s health data systems. “While global health programs have historically included data sharing components,” the senators wrote, “they have never required direct access to privileged electronic systems for U.S. government representatives.” The letter ends with more than a dozen questions for Rubio, including why the State Department has not made the health care agreements public, as federal law requires, and whether any of the data will be shared with “U.S.-based third parties for any commercial purpose, including to train any artificial intelligence models.” The senators also asked what privacy rights foreign citizens will have over data that is transferred to the U.S. and how those rights will be enforced in the case of a data breach or another unethical use of their personal information. Background: After the Trump administration dismantled the U.S. Agency for International Development and drastically reduced funding for international health work done by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, Congress required the executive branch to continue providing foreign aid. The State Department has since faced the challenge of finding new ways to get the funding to countries, ensure that it was being spent wisely and address potential pandemics. The task has been especially challenging because the administration cut ties with most of the international partners and fired staff the government had previously relied on to carry out this complex work. In the past, PEPFAR, the U.S. program that provides aid for treating and preventing HIV around the world, built its own systems to handle anonymized data, separate from foreign government health records. In contrast, the Ugandan agreement provides the U.S. with direct access to the government’s own health data systems. Through separate agreements, the U.S. has also arranged for countries to provide it with specimens of pathogens that could cause pandemics, along with related information. The effort to establish these new aid arrangements was led by Brad Smith, an entrepreneur who founded three healthcare companies, one of which sold for a reported $2.7 billion. Before joining the State Department, Smith led the government efficiency panel that would become the Department of Government Efficiency and oversaw some $67 billion in cuts to the Department of Health and Human Services. The U.S. agreement with Uganda provides up to $1.7 billion in aid for HIV, tuberculosis and malaria, among other diseases. As a condition, the deal calls for the sharing of aggregated data with all personally identifiable information removed and specifies that the information should be used for delivering and auditing healthcare services. But experts told ProPublica that it is possible to reverse-engineer data that has been anonymized. The shift in the approach to health data is part of the America First Global Health Strategy, which is intended to make America “more prosperous” and “promote American health innovations.” Rubio explained in September that under this new strategy, aid will be given “in a way that directly benefits the American people and directly promotes our national interest.” Why It Matters: Privacy experts say that, if health data is mishandled under the agreements, it could have serious consequences. Revealing healthcare histories, including whether someone has had an abortion, a mental health condition, substance-use treatment or a sexually transmitted disease can be devastating anywhere. In Africa, research has shown it can lead to discrimination and violence. In the age of artificial intelligence, health data has become especially valuable. But the agreements reviewed by ProPublica provide no guarantee that Africans subject to them will have a say in how their data is used or whether they would receive any potential financial benefits. Response: The State Department declined to answer specific questions about the senators’ letter, saying that it does not respond to questions about congressional correspondence. In a statement sent to ProPublica, a State Department spokesperson defended the data requirements in the health agreements. “Neither the U.S. government nor any private American companies receive or review any personally identifiable information (PII) under these data sharing agreements,” the statement said, going on to note that the new deals “share only the same kinds of aggregated, de-identified data that has been shared and used for years in the fight against HIV/AIDS, malaria, tuberculosis, and other diseases. All data sharing is consistent with each country’s laws and approvals.” The spokesperson also said no country has been coerced to sign the agreements with the U.S. The post Senators Criticize Trump Administration’s Demands to Access Health Data as a Condition for Lifesaving Aid appeared first on ProPublica.

[Category: Health Care, Trump Administration]

— The $1 Trillion Black Box

 

at 8/19/26 3:00am

The sums are vast, but the explanations for the spending range from vague to inscrutable. Consider these items in the law that funded the Department of Defense this year: For “Other Procurement, Air Force”: $32.6 billion. For “Research, Development, Test and Evaluation, Defense-Wide”: $35.2 billion. And for “supplies and associated support services” related to U.S. Code Title 10 Section 3601 subsection(c)(3)(B) clauses (i) through (iv): a mere $650 million. Determining what, exactly, all this public money is paying for requires cross-referencing thousands of pages of financial tables, accounting records and congressional committee documents that will leave all but the most determined budgeting sleuth at a loss. Yet this is how the U.S. government explains its funding decisions for the most expensive military in the world. And the cost is growing. “There’s no way that you can follow the money, because it keeps getting twisted like a Rubiks Cube,” said John Ferrari, a retired Army major general and now a nonresident  senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute. “None of it is set up to be transparent.” ProPublica is setting out to untwist this Rubiks Cube in a series of investigative articles, and we’re asking for your help. In the months to come, we will grapple with how President Donald Trump is spending taxpayer money at the Department of Defense (or the Department of War, as his administration calls it). With your assistance, we hope to emerge with vital, previously untold investigative stories.  While accounting is rarely the stuff of action thrillers, the black box that is the Pentagon budget contains a world of grandiose plans and staggering consequences, from extraordinarily expensive jets, ships and missiles, to high-stakes projects gone terribly awry, to closed-door dealmaking with the world’s most powerful arms sellers. (Consider our first story in this series, about the epic dysfunction of an artillery factory bankrolled by $533 million from the U.S. Army.) What Is ProPublica? ProPublica is a nonpartisan, nonprofit newsroom that publishes investigative reporting in the public interest. Since 2008 we’ve produced in-depth reporting on the military, including our investigation into billions of dollars that the Navy spent on warships with rampant and serious flaws and our series on fatal Navy accidents, which won the Pulitzer Prize. What Happens if I Reach Out to You? Our reporters speak to people every day who want to share information but fear retribution. Our reputation is built on protecting sources, and we take that responsibility seriously. You can request to speak on background, which means you would not be named in our stories. Here is more information on getting in touch securely.  Contact Us on Signal The scale is hard to fathom. Congress appropriated $1 trillion for defense this year, more than the combined appropriations for agencies overseeing health, veterans affairs, education, housing, agriculture and justice — twice as much, in fact. If the president prevails in his priorities for next year’s budget, defense spending will soar dramatically higher still, to $1.5 trillion. That would be more, adjusted for inflation, than the country spent annually on defense during the height of World War II. The Pentagon’s balance sheets are opaque even to the Pentagon itself: The agency as a whole has never received a passing grade on a comprehensive financial audit. (The Department of Defense did not respond to a request for comment.) One thing is clear: Vast sums are funneled into developing costly weapons systems that often come in over budget, get delivered behind schedule or are rendered obsolete by the time they’re finished — if they’re finished at all. These poor outcomes follow grand promises. The Zumwalt class of naval destroyers was lauded for its affordable and flexible design. A ground-control system for GPS satellites called Next Generation Operational Control System was billed the “best-value GPS control system for the future.” And the F-35 jet was promised as “a truly remarkable, capable and affordable multirole fighter” that would be built “on schedule and on cost.” Each of these programs went years past their original delivery deadlines and cost far more than originally budgeted. In 1998, the price tag for Zumwalts was estimated at $1.5 billion per ship, according to the Government Accountability Office. Now the expected price exceeds $10 billion per ship (in part because the Navy reduced the quantity it ordered). Expected costs for the GPS control system increased from $4.5 billion to over $7.5 billion. And developing, producing and maintaining the F-35 is anticipated to require $2 trillion, making it the DODs most expensive weapon system in history, according to the GAO. (A Lockheed Martin spokesperson called the jet “a critical capability for the United States and our allies” and said the company “is proud to serve as its prime contractor.”) Estimates include research and development costs. The Zumwalt increase was in part because the program was reduced from 32 ships to three. All numbers are in 2024 dollars. After the delays and cost increases, these projects have not exactly delivered reliable marvels. Only three of the originally expected 32 Zumwalts have been built. The GPS system was canceled — after 16 years and $6.27 billion in program costs, including payments to defense contractor RTX (formerly Raytheon Technologies). And F-35s are able to perform all of their missions only a quarter of the time.  Experts in defense spending cite many systemic causes for such outcomes, including the Pentagon’s frequent preference for complex designs, its habit of starting production before the design has been finalized and, not least, its dependency on companies operating virtual monopolies over niche defense products. There are few lasting consequences for contractors who fail to deliver, the experts said. “Industry just says, ‘Shucks, write us another check,’” said one defense congressional staffer, who requested anonymity to speak about internal defense spending deliberations. “Congress just throws cash at the problem.” Other types of notable figures abound, like the $7 million that the Pentagon reportedly spent on lobster tail in one month last year, the thousands of pages of regulations that would-be Pentagon contractors must navigate, the 4,000% by which a company was found to be marking up products sold to the DOD and the $111 million that RTX fraudulently extracted from the Pentagon by misleading the agency, according to the Department of Justice. (In 2024, RTX admitted to engaging in two schemes to defraud the Pentagon, including for Patriot missile systems, and paid over $950 million to resolve federal investigations. RTX did not respond to a request for comment.) Those in positions to reform U.S. military spending can benefit from the high-spending status quo. Former four-star generals, Pentagon officials and congressional staffers alike find a welcome reception in the industry they once oversaw. Defense spending bills present excellent opportunities for members of Congress to direct jobs to their districts. And the largest defense firms enjoy annual profits in the billions of dollars. This windfall ends up in the hands of a powerful few. From 2020 to 2024, just five companies — Lockheed Martin, Boeing, General Dynamics, RTX and Northrop Grumman — received DOD contracts worth a combined $771 billion. (General Dynamics and Boeing declined to comment. Northrop Grumman and Lockheed Martin did not respond to requests for comment on the value of their DOD contracts.) None of this is a secret. It was four decades ago, during another military buildup under a Republican president, that reports of the Pentagon paying $400 for a hammer led a presidential commission to study wasteful defense spending. It’s because this dynamic has been allowed to persist (despite periodic reform efforts) that ProPublica believes the topic deserves renewed attention.  The current administration, for its part, says that it is undertaking its own reforms, limiting stock buybacks by defense contractors, boosting new entrants to the defense industry and promising new financial accountability. Yet some fear Pentagon spending is becoming even more unrestrained in the second Trump era. Two of Trump’s marquee Pentagon programs, panned by some as boondoggles, are estimated to collectively cost more than $1 trillion. Companies connected to the president’s family and appointees have scooped up numerous DOD deals. The administration gutted the office that tests weapons systems for safety and efficacy. All in all, Lockheed Martin CEO Jim Taiclet told investors in April: “This is a golden opportunity right now based on who’s in government.” Not everyone views U.S. military spending as excessive — some defense hawks have spent years clamoring for more of it. Measured as a percentage of gross domestic product, they note, U.S. defense spending has fallen from previous highs. A large chunk of the defense budget goes toward paying the salaries of service members. And even if they take longer and cost more than expected, American defense products are sought after the world over. “Weapons are expensive because our standards are high,” said longtime defense lobbyist Jim Dyer. “The outcomes are good.” ProPublica is setting out to examine military spending and its outcomes. If you have worked in the world of defense budgeting, spending or contracting, we’d like to hear from you. Do You Know About U.S. Military Spending? Help ProPublica Understand Where the Money Goes. Many Pentagon projects face delays, budget increases and performance issues. The causes of these problems are often opaque to the taxpayers who foot the bill. Help point us to the most important stories. Share Your Experience The post The $1 Trillion Black Box appeared first on ProPublica.

[Category: Military, Trump Administration]

— Do You Know About U.S. Military Spending? Help ProPublica Understand Where the Money Goes.

 

at 8/19/26 3:00am

Illustration by Shoshana Gordon/ProPublica. Source images: Air Force photo by Airman 1st Class Francine D. Martin, Army National Guard photo by Sgt. 1st Class Brandon Nelson, Stuart Lutz/Gado/Getty Images, Jake Warga/Corbis via Getty Images, Mondadori Portfolio via Getty Images, Getty, U.S. Treasury via Wikimedia Commons. ProPublica is examining U.S. military budgeting, spending and contracting, and we’re asking for your help. We’ve spent years talking to people who’ve worked in the defense industry, the Pentagon and the armed services, so we know that these topics are critically important. Every day, Pentagon contracting officers, defense industry workers, congressional staffers and others make decisions that affect the most expensive military in the world, with great consequences for the safety of soldiers and for the country at large. Yet it’s well documented that, even when those involved have good intentions, many Pentagon projects end up mired in delays, cost overruns and performance issues. The causes of these problems are often opaque to the taxpayers who foot the bill. “There’s no way that you can follow the money, because it keeps getting twisted like a Rubiks Cube,” said John Ferrari, a retired Army major general and now a nonresident senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute. “None of it is set up to be transparent.” What Is ProPublica? ProPublica is a nonpartisan, nonprofit newsroom that publishes investigative reporting in the public interest. Since 2008 we’ve produced in-depth reporting on the military, including our investigation into billions of dollars that the Navy spent on warships with rampant and serious flaws and our series on fatal Navy accidents, which won the Pulitzer Prize. What Happens if I Reach Out to You? Our reporters speak to people every day who want to share information but fear retribution. Our reputation is built on protecting sources, and we take that responsibility seriously. You can request to speak on background, which means you would not be named in our stories. Here is more information on getting in touch securely.  Contact Us on Signal ProPublica is setting out to untwist this Rubiks Cube with the help of those who understand the issues best. These topics are especially relevant right now, with Congress considering the president’s proposal to increase the defense budget to a record $1.5 trillion next year. To help the public understand what’s really at stake here, we need to speak to experts in this world,which means anyone who knows how the Pentagon is spending taxpayer money and what defense contractors are doing with it.  We especially want to learn from those who can help us understand whether things are working as they should. In our first story in this series, we spoke to dozens of people who’ve worked for General Dynamics, the Army and the Pentagon. Many of them spoke to us because they felt that things they were seeing on the job weren’t good uses of taxpayer money or weren’t helping to keep the country safe. You can reach us any time on Signal at 917-512-0201. Signal is encrypted, which means your messages cannot be read by anyone other than you and ProPublica. ProPublica also accepts documents and tips via SecureDrop and postal mail. Protecting sources is vital to our work. We understand how sensitive and important this issue is. If you are less concerned about keeping communication confidential, you can also reach us via email.  We’re interested in any information you can share. The post Do You Know About U.S. Military Spending? Help ProPublica Understand Where the Money Goes. appeared first on ProPublica.

[Category: Military]

— Measles Used to Be in Our Rearview Mirror. Now Cases Are Reaching Record Highs.

 

at 8/18/26 3:00am

Hospitals set up special testing sites to prevent measles patients from spreading the disease in waiting rooms. The virus can linger in the air for up to two hours after an infected person leaves. Jan Sonnenmair/Getty Images The U.S. recently reached a grim milestone: As of July 23, more measles cases have been reported to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention than in any year since 1991. It took less than seven months to blow past the three-decade high recorded last year. This potentially deadly disease is easily prevented. Shots are widely available and, in many cases, free. Still, since the beginning of last year, more than 4,850 people here have been infected, and three have died. Among them were two unvaccinated girls in West Texas whose deaths made national headlines. It may feel like the continuous stream of cases is just the way things are now. But it is dangerous to shrug off the resurgence of measles. In a story I reported earlier this year, I showed what’s happened in parts of the world that have let their guard down to vaccine-preventable diseases. My reporting found that long-forgotten scourges roared back, killing and disabling children. Even countries that made what seemed like subtle changes to immunization policies suffered disastrous consequences years later.  Read More How Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s Vaccine Agenda Risks a Resurgence of Deadly Childhood Plagues Babies were born blind, deaf and with intellectual disabilities because their mothers caught rubella in the early weeks of pregnancy. Parents saw why diphtheria used to be known as “the strangling angel of children.” Doctors told me they couldn’t undo the damage when these horrors returned. Modern medicine can do a lot of things, but it can’t reverse paralysis from polio. The story also showed how Robert F. Kennedy Jr., the nation’s top health official, and President Donald Trump have been transforming a government that for decades promoted the lifesaving benefits of shots into one that sows doubts about their safety. Last week, the president issued another executive order that’s sure to fuel further hesitancy about the shot that has protected children from measles, mumps and rubella for decades. It’s a sharp departure for a government that, since the 1960s and with bipartisan support, built vaccination programs that shielded kids from deadly and disabling diseases. Federal and state health leaders strengthened those policies based on lessons learned from measles outbreaks. That’s because measles, among the most contagious diseases in history, is almost always the first vaccine-preventable disease to strike when immunization rates fall. Some U.S. schools have set up vaccination clinics as immunization rates have dropped in many parts of the country. Sarah L. Voisin/The Washington Post via Getty Images In my many months of reporting for that story, I learned that measles is like the bright dye that plumbers flush through pipes to find leaks in a complex system. The continued appearance of the virus’ telltale rash in state after state since last year warns of cracks in our once-solid protection, leaving communities vulnerable to other deadly contagions. My reporting also found that access to vaccines may be in peril: Since last year, Kennedy has been considering changes to an obscure but crucial government program that could prompt the few companies that make vaccines for American kids to flee the U.S. market. If that were to happen, even parents who still want vaccines for their kids wouldn’t be able to get them. A spokesperson for the Department of Health and Human Services said the agency has not limited access to vaccines. In an email, the spokesperson wrote, “Secretary Kennedy believes that trust is rebuilt through an open review of safety data, the willingness to ask the hard questions, and ensuring the American people have all emerging information as soon as we know it.” Several dozen people who’ve worked on U.S. government vaccination programs here and around the world conveyed to me a sense of foreboding about America. They fear that children will wind up fighting for their lives against infections that have long been preventable. “I think there always was a worst-case scenario,” said Dr. Melinda Wharton, who retired last September after more than three decades leading CDC immunization programs. “I don’t think I imagined it could or would be this bad.” Doctors I spoke to told me they had seen images of those diseases in textbooks, but these were problems medicine had solved long ago. They never thought they’d see an actual patient until an unvaccinated child lay before them, gravely ill with one of these ancient scourges.  I’ll never forget what one German doctor, whose hospital treated an unvaccinated boy who later died of diphtheria, told me of the infection: “It was taught as history,” he said.  Here in the U.S., measles was taught as history, too. Now it isn’t. We’ve been covering public health and vaccine policies for years. Let me walk you through reporting from my colleagues and me that helps show how we ended up here and where we might go.  Oct. 15, 2020 Inside the Fall of the CDC In 2020, I reported with my colleagues on how the world’s greatest public health organization was brought to its knees by COVID-19, the president and the capitulation of its own leaders. And we also foreshadowed how the government’s response to COVID-19 led to a loss of trust in public health institutions — a lingering resentment that RFK Jr. has tapped into. (The CDC and the White House declined to comment on this story.)  March 28, 2025 The CDC Buried a Measles Forecast That Stressed the Need for Vaccinations At the beginning of the second Trump administration, I learned that CDC leaders ordered staff not to release their experts’ assessment that found the risk of catching measles was high in areas near outbreaks where vaccination rates were lagging.  In an aborted plan to roll out the news, the agency would have emphasized the importance of vaccinating people against the disease that had then infected fewer than 500 people in 19 states, the records show. (At the time, the CDC told us that the agency decided against releasing the assessment “because it does not say anything that the public doesn’t already know” and that the agency continued to recommend vaccines as “the best way to protect against measles.”) July 17, 2025 RFK Jr. Wants to Change a Program That Stopped Vaccine Makers From Leaving the U.S. Market. They Could Flee Again. Not long after I broke the news about the buried measles forecast, I learned more about a vaccine program that RFK Jr. plans to overhaul, one that’s vital to Americans’ access to immunizations. I showed how dramatic changes to this little-known program — which offers payouts for people who suffer rare side effects from shots without having to prove that drugmakers were negligent — could prompt vaccine makers to stop selling them here.  (HHS declined to answer detailed questions about Kennedy’s plans. Previously, an HHS spokesperson had said that Kennedy is “not anti-vaccine — he is pro-safety.”) That story laid bare how surprisingly fragile the nation’s vaccine system is. Kennedy still hasn’t revealed what he plans to do. March 27, 2026 What Could Happen if Americans Who Wanted Vaccines Couldn’t Get Them? Two Stanford epidemiologists had modeled the scenario. My colleague Lucas Waldron created a chilling visualization that allowed us to depict how many people could die or be disabled in 25 years if vaccines for polio, measles, rubella or diphtheria were no longer available.  ProPublica shared the key findings of that scenario with HHS. An agency spokesperson didn’t address the modeling but said “HHS has not limited access or insurance coverage to any FDA-approved vaccines” and routinely recommends the shots for children. June 8, 2026 What ProPublica Found in the Genetic Code of America’s Measles Outbreaks As measles cases continued to rise, a team at the CDC was investigating whether the disease has become endemic in this country again. In June, my colleague Nat Lash and I showed how hard it will be for them to prove that it isn’t, after what Nat found when he analyzed the genetic code of cases around the country. A CDC spokesperson told ProPublica that the agency was conducting a more comprehensive investigation and that genetic sequences “alone cannot determine whether” measles is endemic. The post Measles Used to Be in Our Rearview Mirror. Now Cases Are Reaching Record Highs. appeared first on ProPublica.

— At “Quasi-Public” Private Schools, 100% of Students Get Tuition Vouchers. There’s Almost No Accountability.

 

at 8/17/26 3:00am

Atlas Preparatory Academy, a private school in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Every student relies on taxpayer dollars from one of the state’s four voucher programs to pay all or part of their tuition. Caleb Alvarado for ProPublica At some point, my reporting colleagues and I began referring to them as the “100% schools.” We were following the money that flows from states’ public coffers into private schools through vouchers when we noticed a subset of educational facilities where tax dollars cover all or a big part of the tuition for every student. In essence, these were schools that were funded like public schools but didn’t operate with the same oversight or transparency. Our reporting found that these types of private schools exist throughout the country and that in Wisconsin — where I’m based — there were 39 that fell into that category during the most recent school year. Together, they were educating 7,923 children and taking in roughly $87 million from vouchers offered by the state. Atlas Preparatory Academy in Milwaukee was a 100% school in my city that had low test scores and declining enrollment while also receiving more than $4.3 million in voucher money for 357 students in grades K-12. It was one of the first schools I dug into, and immediately some of the facts I unearthed in public documents made me curious. There was, for instance, the money being made by its board chair, who also appeared to serve as a school administrator. His compensation was more than $150,000 in 2024. This dual role would be prohibited at a traditional public school in Wisconsin, though there are no such rules for private schools. In another transaction that would raise alarm in a public school setting, the same board chair’s accounting firm received tens of thousands of dollars from the school for accounting and consulting. During my reporting, it became clear that the school’s operations were not only discordant with public school policies but with basic governing standards for nonprofits, experts told me. More than a decade ago, a Wisconsin Department of Public Instruction research paper on what it called “choice schools” asked: “When is a private school really a public school?” Though that question still resonates today, public officials supporting vouchers have yet to provide a clear answer. Help ProPublica Report on Education Have you had trouble finding a school or using a voucher-style program? Do you have concerns about schools — public or private — in your area? Help us understand how families across the country are navigating their school options. Share Your Experience Nor has there been any progress in Wisconsin or elsewhere in lining up the standards of private and public schools on a range of issues, even with the spectacular growth of private schools funded by taxpayer dollars. Voucher schools, for instance, are not required to serve all children with disabilities. Public schools are. Another major difference is transparency. In Wisconsin and elsewhere, information about public schools — good, bad or mundane — can be gleaned through open meetings, district YouTube channels and robust websites with detailed agendas, minutes, reports, statistics and information about enrollment, curriculum, special education services and more. Districts have to abide by Wisconsin’s open records law, meaning that reams of records are available to anyone who formally requests them. Not so for the private schools. Voucher schools must, by law, have at least two opportunities a year for parents to meet with the governing board. But the schools do not have to make those meetings accessible to the general public. In many states, private schools also don’t have to administer standardized tests or report those scores — in sharp contrast to the mandates for public schools. Wisconsin is different because it does require both students using vouchers and public school students to be tested, though parents can and do opt out. In recent years, Atlas Prep has fared poorly on the state’s report card for schools, garnering the lowest rating: “fails to meet expectations,” or one star out of a possible five. Not far from Atlas, Bay View High School, a public school, also has earned only one star on the state report card. Its website connects the public to the school’s improvement plan — its strategy to reduce dropouts and improve school culture — as well as information about local school council meetings and discipline methods, and about its science, technology, engineering, arts and math programming. The Atlas Prep website includes a tab labeled “Build Your Own Curriculum.” When you click on it, nothing loads. Though every student at the 100% schools we looked at relies on public funds for tuition, the money does not necessarily make up the institution’s total budget. The schools can take in additional revenue from investments, fundraising, grants or other means, but they are heavily dependent on tax dollars to maintain operations. “If the choice schools are really some kind of quasi-public schools, then in keeping with national efforts to turnaround struggling schools, it may be necessary to subject low-performing choice schools to financial sanctions, turnaround efforts or even closure,” the state Department of Public Instruction suggested in its research paper. That was back in 2011. Those types of accountability measures still do not exist. Some key financial documents are available, however, for Wisconsin voucher schools — if you know where to look. Read More How to Research Private Schools Like an Investigative Reporter Annual IRS information filings for many nonprofit schools are easily obtainable through ProPublica’s Nonprofit Explorer page. And independent financial audits, required by the state, are available through the state Department of Public Instruction. I requested those for a handful of Wisconsin’s 100% schools, and I visited four. One warm day in June, I stood in the lobby of one such school in Milwaukee, near a large fish tank. I’d sought days earlier to contact the woman running the school. An audit showed she was paying her own company rent for the building ($128,000 in one recent year). She put me off. “I’m not interested, maam, she said via a phone in the foyer. “Please do not call us back again.” On the other side of town, I rang the bell at Atlas Prep’s high school building and asked to speak to the executive director, Michelle Lukacs. I was informed she was headed to a meeting and could not speak with me. By then, I was digging into Atlas’ finances, a process that would last several weeks and continue into July. Over multiple emails, I shared with Lukacs what I was learning, including the compensation of the board chair, Steven E. Menden. A licensed certified public accountant, Menden had compiled the school’s IRS filing since its formation in 2001. At times since then, Menden has been listed on the schools website as “board advisor.” His daughter, Kaitlyn Menden, was also among the school’s most highly compensated employees in 2024. Her package was $127,674 in salary and benefits for a job in “business services.” (In an email to me, she described her role as wearing “many hats” beyond that, citing human resources duties, “oversight of the school’s technology hardware and cloud resources” and “special projects.”) In the past couple of years, records show, Steven Menden has taken on the role of board chairman. The fiscal year 2025 IRS form showed Menden putting in a 40-hour workweek for Atlas and earning $132,505 in pay plus $19,916 in additional benefits. What’s more, his accounting firm, Menden & Associates, had an $87,250 contract. Lukacs defended the school’s compensation practices, noting in an email: “Every person on our team, regardless of their role, earns their compensation and is not overpaid.” She explained that Menden is not compensated for his board service but for “Executive Management Services.” It would be forbidden for a public school board member in Wisconsin to also have a district management job under a legal doctrine regarding roles that are “incompatible.” “In essence, one cannot supervise oneself, which would include hiring and firing and disciplining oneself,” said Dan Rossmiller, executive director of the Wisconsin Association of School Boards. State law governing public officials also prohibits school board members from having a private interest in any contract over $15,000 that they bid for, vote on, negotiate or participate in. Violators can be charged with a low-level felony. There is no similar law that pertains to private school operators in Wisconsin. In an email to me, Menden explained how the Atlas board handles potential conflicts of interest. “Any conflicts of interest for either related or unrelated parties are resolved in favor of Atlas Preparatory Academy as outlined in our IRS mandated Conflict of Interest Policy,” he wrote. “This means that conflicted persons recuse themselves from the situation and do not vote or participate and the final decision that is made is strictly in the best financial interest of the school.” This organizational structure does not comport with best practices for the governance of a nonprofit organization, experts told me. “Board members are volunteers, and best practice is unambiguous that they should not simultaneously hold paid staff positions at the school they oversee — doing so collapses the separation between governance and management that gives a board its purpose in the first place,” said Chelsea Cross, a vice president at City Forward Collective in Milwaukee. City Forward is a nonprofit group that champions high-quality school options for students and has been critical of the performance of the Milwaukee Public Schools. Atlas Prep’s IRS filing indicated that Lukacs, the full-time executive director, earned $175,000 in salary and benefits and also had a board position. A third board member is listed as working only one hour a week for no pay. In a public school setting, Lukacs’ situation would be akin to a district superintendent also sitting on the school board — an arrangement that would raise issues over proper checks and balances since superintendents typically are hired by and report to the school board. Said Cross: “With 2/3 of its governing board also on the payroll — including the very executive the board exists to evaluate — Atlas Prep’s board cannot meaningfully hold its own leadership accountable.” Lukacs disagreed with that assessment. “This is a false statement,” she wrote in an email, saying that Atlas board members “model strong personal leadership showing integrity, confidence and consistency in their actions and decision making.” She told me she does not vote to approve her own salary “or vote in any other situation where a conflict of interest exists.” And she noted that countless hours have been invested at Atlas Prep in improving curriculum and student support. “While our standardized test scores do not yet reflect the level of achievement we aspire to, our staff has remained steadfast in its commitment to continuous improvement,” she wrote. I had asked Atlas Prep twice for a copy of the school’s conflict of interest policy, which Menden had mentioned. As of mid-August, I had not received it. I also requested a copy of the school’s contract with Menden’s accounting firm. I did not receive that either. At a public school, such contracts would be subject to open record laws. I easily found a link on the Milwaukee Public Schools website to a decade’s worth of contracts for school nurses, mental health services, fitness instructors, interpreters, color printers, portable toilets, busing, professional development and so on. But Atlas does not post those records online. It doesn’t have to. At Atlas Prep, the school’s executive director also serves on the board that oversees the director job. At a public school, these dual roles would not be allowed, but that restriction doesn’t apply to Atlas, even though it depends on public money. Caleb Alvarado for ProPublica The post At “Quasi-Public” Private Schools, 100% of Students Get Tuition Vouchers. There’s Almost No Accountability. appeared first on ProPublica.

[Category: Education]

— Inside Trump’s Failed Hunt for Noncitizen Voters

 

at 8/14/26 4:00am

Illustration by Matt Rota for ProPublica. Animation by Henrike Lendowski for ProPublica. It was late March when Joe Teirab, the second-in-command at Minnesotas U.S. attorneys office, received an urgent email from Washington. The federal government was scrambling to find criminal cases to back up President Donald Trumps claims that illegal voting by noncitizens was tipping the scales in American elections. Agents from Homeland Security Investigations, a massive federal law enforcement agency, had been dispatched to work leads across the country, including hundreds in Minnesota. Teirab was already under pressure. In an earlier missive, Nick Davis, a high-ranking Justice Department appointee helping to lead the election fraud crusade, had reminded him the cases were so high priority that Teirab and his staff couldnt decline to move forward on them without express approval from agency higher-ups. On March 24, Davis demanded a status report — within hours. Teirab, a former Marine and a Harvard Law graduate who’d run unsuccessfully for Congress as a Republican, responded with a blunt reality check. “Bottom line up front,” he replied in an email reviewed by ProPublica. After subpoenaing records on about 130 people, only one had been referred for prosecution, his staff had told him. Agents had deluged local election offices with calls and demands for voting histories, demonstrating “a complete lack of understanding” of illegal voting investigations. “The HSI task force has been disjointed and disorganized,” Teirab wrote. The entire process, he said, had been “dysfunctional.” Since Trump regained the White House, his administration has launched a series of unprecedented initiatives to find and prosecute voting by noncitizens, which he’s long claimed, without evidence, is rampant. He’s stepped up this push in recent weeks, saying in a nationally televised speech that the American election system was “so vulnerable that no one can possibly defend it.” To support that assertion, the Department of Homeland Security, HSI’s parent agency, released documents asserting it had found more than 250,000 noncitizens on voter rolls in just four states, all led by Democrats. The documents included no explanation of how that number was calculated. It’s well known the administration has tasked HSI — a force established to combat drug cartels, terrorism and other cross-border criminal enterprises — with leading the campaign to find election fraud cases in the United States. But an investigation by ProPublica reveals for the first time how the Trump administration came to harness HSI’s personnel, technology and sweeping legal authority in service of its election agenda — and how meager the results have been, despite the prodigious resources sunk into the effort. According to interviews and internal emails reviewed by ProPublica, career staffers at the Justice Department warned that transferring voter rolls to HSI to enable it to search for noncitizen voters could violate federal privacy laws. Similarly, longtime HSI insiders cautioned that using the agency’s databases and tools to search these lists would yield mismatches and wildly inflated results. The administration plowed forward anyway. We are continuing our reporting on how the Trump administration has enlisted HSI agents and technology in unprecedented ways to enforce immigration laws and to bring cases against suspected noncitizen voters. Do you work at HSI and have information you can share with us? You can reach our tip line on Signal at 917-512-0201, or you can contact Peter Elkind at peter.elkind@propublica.org or on Signal at 817-691-3110. Please be as specific, detailed and clear as you can. HSI’s involvement in the hunt for election fraud traces at least to summer 2025, when agency supervisors embraced a proposal from a midlevel agent who’d publicly echoed Trump’s claims about elections. He argued the agencys powerful databases and tools could find noncitizens even on the voter lists that states make publicly available, from which the most confidential information has been redacted. Under Trump, the Justice Department had collected many public voter rolls as part of a controversial effort to compel states to turn over the unredacted versions. Those searches went forward, ProPublica’s reporting shows, helping to generate tens of thousands of leads regarding illegal voting across the country. But when HSI agents were sent to investigate them, the results were similar to what Teirab reported from Minnesota. Between January 2025 and May 2026, a ProPublica analysis of Justice Department data shows, fewer than 150 alleged noncitizen voters were referred for prosecution. Even fewer — 41 — were charged with voting illegally or other election-related crimes. (More than 150 million people voted in the most recent presidential election.) In response to questions from ProPublica, administration officials insisted the effort spearheaded by HSI was producing meaningful results. “President Trump is committed to ensuring that Americans have full confidence in the administration of elections, and that includes totally accurate and up-to-date voter rolls free of errors and unlawfully registered non-citizen voters,” Abigail Jackson, a White House spokesperson, said in response to ProPublica’s request for comment. “Noncitizens voting is a crime. Anyone breaking the law will be held accountable.” A DHS spokesperson didn’t answer questions about why so few prosecutions have resulted from HSI’s work. The agency wouldn’t specify what tools or techniques HSI had used, but confirmed it had cross-referenced “publicly available data” from state voter rolls with information on “known illegal aliens” in its systems. “It’s not rocket science,” the spokesperson wrote of this initiative in a response to ProPublica’s questions. “It’s an easy step to secure our elections.” Teirab and the U.S. attorney’s office in Minnesota declined to comment. There’s an array of reasons why Trump’s campaign to document claims of widespread voter fraud hasn’t succeeded. Most obviously, it’s exceedingly rare, as countless studies and state audits have found. Noncitizens often get on voter rolls by accident or when government officials make errors. Last month, New Jersey disclosed that a mistake involving its Motor Vehicle Commission caused 6,600 noncitizens to be registered (fewer than 400 voted). The administration’s critics say its hunt for noncitizen voters aligns with Trump’s attempts to seek more federal control over elections while stoking doubt and fear about the voting process. Since taking back the Oval Office, Trump has tried to impose new restrictions on voter registration, mail-in ballots and voting machines, though judges have shut down most of these efforts. Former officials at DHS and the Justice Department called the move to involve HSI a further escalation and questioned the propriety of aiming the agency’s muscle and technology at individual cases of illegal voting. “It’s one thing if you’re going after Pablo Escobar,” said Steve Bunnell, a former DHS general counsel and senior intelligence adviser who handled voting fraud prosecutions during more than a decade at the Justice Department. “It’s another thing if you’re going after some cleaning lady who’s been working in the United States for 20 years and taking care of her 80-year-old mother and taking her little kids to church.” Matt Rota for ProPublica “The Swiss Army Knife of Federal Law Enforcement” Trump’s enlistment of HSI in his election fight is no accident. Cobbled together in the aftermath of 9/11, the agency has 7,100 armed, highly trained agents and another 800 criminal analysts, as well as access to troves of confidential data about hundreds of millions of Americans. Though part of Immigration and Customs Enforcement, the agency has historically stayed out of immigration cases. During the first Trump administration, leaders of 19 HSI regional offices — virtually its entire top field hierarchy — signed a letter calling for HSI to become a standalone agency, arguing that ICE’s deportation work dissuaded people from cooperating with its investigations. But when Trump returned to the White House, it swiftly became clear that the agency would play a central role in investigations related to the president’s twin obsessions, illegal immigration and noncitizen voting. Trump picked his field general for repurposing HSI even before taking the oath of office. In December 2024, he named Anthony Salisbury, a 50-year-old career agent who’d run the agency’s Miami office, as a deputy homeland security adviser, reporting to White House policy chief Stephen Miller. He was also given a dual appointment as head of HSI. Salisbury was colorful: A mixed martial arts enthusiast, he once appeared at the agencys headquarters with his face bruised and eye blackened from a recent bout. He’d sometimes entertain colleagues by pulling out a bridge that covers his missing front teeth. To agency veterans, however, he was forever linked to a 2011 operation hed overseen in Mexico in which one agent was killed and another wounded in a highway ambush by a drug cartel. An agency review submitted to Trump in April 2020 concluded that errors by HSI supervisors, including Salisbury, contributed to the outcome; it urged the administration to consider disciplinary action. None was taken against Salisbury, however. Salisbury did not respond to requests for comment from ProPublica. A White House official called him “a critical member of the Trump administration” who was “cleared” in every review of the Mexico incident and was subsequently “promoted six times under multiple administrations.” “It’s one thing if you’re going after Pablo Escobar. It’s another thing if you’re going after some cleaning lady who’s been working in the United States for 20 years and taking care of her 80-year-old mother and taking her little kids to church.” Steve Bunnell, a former DHS general counsel and senior intelligence adviser Once elevated to his new posts, Salisbury took charge of carrying out the second Trump administration’s agenda for HSI, personally issuing staffing directives, reassignments and promotions, current and former agency officials told ProPublica. (A number of them spoke on condition of anonymity out of fear of retribution.)  Starting in early 2025, Salisbury oversaw the unprecedented reassignment of more than 6,000 agents to immigration enforcement, diverting most of the agency from its normal duties. He then also pointed HSI at noncitizen voting, presiding over multiple meetings with officials at DOJ and Homeland Security focused on election fraud, according to emails reviewed by ProPublica and agency supervisors who worked with him. “Stephen Miller has an HSI deputy for a reason,” said Eric Balliet, a high-level HSI manager who retired in 2024 after 23 years with the agency. (Like many HSI veterans, Balliet has remained in close contact with former colleagues.) “Salisbury is going to salute and execute, and he is going to make sure that from the HSI side, they fall in line, and theres going to be no resistance or pushback. HSI has been turned into the Swiss Army knife of federal law enforcement.” In early July 2025, Frank Quiñones, an HSI special agent who’d worked under Salisbury in Florida, approached leaders at the HSI Innovation Lab with an idea for using the agency’s technology to find noncitizen voters on state voter rolls, sources at the agency told ProPublica. Quiñones had been transferred to Washington to oversee a unit that had previously handled cases involving the theft of government benefits but that had been enlisted into voting investigations. The lab, housed in an unmarked office in a D.C. suburb, had access to the government’s most sensitive databases, from suspicious activity reports to arrest records. Staffed by a combination of HSI experts and outside consultants, it developed software tools to comb the data for information that could help agents pursue criminal suspects. Quiñones was a true believer in Trump’s claims about election fraud: In multiple Facebook posts and reposts, ProPublica found, he promoted claims that the 2020 presidential vote had been stolen. At a meeting with the Innovation Lab’s overseers, according to sources who worked in the lab, he pitched using the lab’s technology to identify illegal voters — even though the agency lacked voter rolls that included identifiers such as partial Social Security numbers. (Quiñones did not respond to ProPublica requests for comment.) For proof of concept, Quiñones proposed using a February 2021 public voter list he’d obtained for New Jersey and running it through HSI’s databases. The lab staff viewed his idea as “a little insane,” one recalled — both unreliable and improper. Since the public rolls don’t include voters’ unique identifiers, people at the lab also knew linking them to HSI’s data would produce mismatches — what the staffer called an “ungodly” number of false positives. The lab team also worried about violating longstanding safeguards limiting use of private citizen data. They “didn’t want to touch this,” the staffer added. Quiñones defended his idea, repeatedly declaring: “The president wants this!” Tom Hodge, an HSI data analyst at the meeting, proposed running the voter information through the Athena Toolbox, an analytical platform developed by the Sandia National Laboratories that had access to all of HSI’s databases. (Hodge did not respond to ProPublica requests for comment. Sandia referred ProPublica’s questions to the facilities’ parent agencies, including the Department of Energy, which did not respond to our requests.) Hodge and the Sandia team spent the next six weeks on the project, reporting they’d found large numbers of noncitizens on Quiñones’ 2021 New Jersey list. According to one former HSI official, they said they’d found “5,000 high-confidence illegal voters” in just a single New Jersey county. (Officials at the New Jersey secretary of state’s office, which oversees the state’s voter rolls, declined to comment on the claim. Beth Thompson, head of a group for local New Jersey election officials, called the number impossibly high, even accounting for the mistake disclosed by the state.) The apparent breakthrough couldnt have come at a better time. The Trump administrations other efforts to identify noncitizens on state voter rolls were running into a variety of roadblocks. The administration had hoped to persuade states to check their voters’ citizenship status using a system called the Systematic Alien Verification for Entitlements, or SAVE, but many didn’t. Most states also refused the Justice Department’s demands to turn over their unredacted voter rolls, including partial Social Security numbers, which thwarted the agency’s plan to run them through SAVE. Courts have stymied the DOJ’s attempts to sue for the records, citing the Constitution, which gives primary control over elections to the states. In an Aug. 21 email to a half dozen administration officials, Quiñones touted the solution he’d brought to the HSI Innovation Lab: using HSI’s platform to search voter rolls. The results, Quiñones noted, could fuel both criminal and immigration investigations. By the end of the month, those in top election-related roles at DHS and the Justice Department were actively promoting what they dubbed the “HSI Tool” as a preferred alternative to SAVE, according to people familiar with the matter. Among them was Heather Honey, the prominent election denier appointed as a senior counselor at DHS, who is helping lead the government’s efforts to identify noncitizens on voter rolls. (Honey did not respond to ProPublica’s requests for comment. In an email responding to questions to her, DHS said Honey’s “expertise in election administration” was “invaluable to the Department’s efforts to protect critical infrastructure.”) The White House, too, got behind the idea. In a November email, J. Brian Sikma, special assistant to the president, excitedly noted that the New Jersey trial cross-checking voter rolls with DHS data appeared to have identified a “very significant number” of “potential non-citizens.” (Sikma didnt respond to a request for comment.) The DOJ, Sikma reported, had already obtained public voter rolls for many other states. He included a list of them, adding: “It is of paramount importance that these also be reviewed expeditiously.” Matt Rota for ProPublica Running “Roughshod” Over Privacy As the push to use HSI’s tech to search voter information gained momentum, a new problem emerged. Career attorneys at the Justice Department, including specialists on privacy law, raised concerns that transferring voter rolls wholesale from the agency to DHS might not be legal, according to internal emails reviewed by ProPublica and interviews with several former officials. The voter rolls the DOJ had collected contained sensitive information on millions of Americans. Even the public versions, which political parties and candidates routinely obtain to target ads and messages, included voters addresses, birth dates and party affiliations. For the 16 states that have agreed to share their unredacted voter lists, the DOJ had citizens partial Social Security numbers or driver’s license information, too. Federal laws, particularly the Privacy Act, dictate what data government agencies can collect, what it can be used for, how it can be shared, and how it must be protected. Agencies have to disclose their plans in advance, gathering public comment. A persons information cant be released or shared without their consent, subject to limited exceptions. From the outset, the Trump administration’s effort to combine data across federal agencies has repeatedly drawn criticism from courts and whistleblowers for failing to adhere to restrictions meant to keep data private and secure. In June, for example, a judge prohibited the government from using SAVE for mass searches, ruling the administration had violated federal privacy laws by giving DHS access to Social Security data to enhance the tool. The administration has appealed that ruling. In July 2025, as word got around that the DOJ might hand over voter data to DHS, a half dozen career attorneys who had been reassigned into the voting section voiced their unease to supervisors, according to two former DOJ lawyers. Their concerns were disregarded, prompting most to resign. Instead, the DOJ’s office of legal counsel pushed forward with plans to share the public voter rolls, claiming a Privacy Act exception allowed HSI to receive such data without public notice as long as it was for law enforcement purposes. DHS just needed to submit a letter officially requesting the data for those purposes, an attorney in the legal counsel’s office explained, according to internal emails. But this exception was meant to be used to get information on individual criminal suspects, not to gain mass access to data on people suspected of no wrongdoing, according to Nikhel Sus, chief counsel for Citizens for Responsibility and Ethics in Washington, which has sued the Trump administration on behalf of voter and pro-privacy groups, filing the case that eventually limited SAVEs use. “[Anthony] Salisbury is going to salute and execute, and he is going to make sure that from the HSI side, they fall in line, and theres going to be no resistance or pushback. HSI has been turned into the Swiss Army knife of federal law enforcement.” Eric Balliet, a former high-level HSI manager Peter Winn, a 29-year Justice Department veteran who had served as the agency’s acting privacy chief for nearly a decade, drafted a letter to set out the data-sharing agreement between the DOJ and DHS, according to internal documents reviewed by ProPublica. In a Feb. 12 email to two top DOJ officials, he said he’d rewritten an initial draft memo to make the information sharing arrangement far easier to defend, if and when it is challenged in court. Rather than simply handing over the voter rolls, Winn proposed having DHS request “pertinent and relevant” information about specific people from the DOJ, then having technical staff at Justice and Homeland Security coordinate to fulfill the requests. Having slept on it,” Winn wrote, “I ended up deciding that our initial idea of sending a huge amount of raw unprocessed voter registration data to DHS, involved taking far too much unnecessary legal risk, given that 99% of the data would implicate the privacy and civil liberties of United States Citizens, and would risk adding to the false narrative in the establishment press of DOJ and DHS being unconcerned with the privacy and civil liberties of Americans.” Winn attached his proposed letter, to be signed by Todd Lyons, then the acting director of ICE. Winn’s suggested restrictions were quickly abandoned, however. A second draft of the letter, dated March 4, contained altered language providing that the voter information would be “transferred” to HSI, with one exception: Voters’ party affiliation would be redacted, if possible, it said. The final letter, signed by Lyons and sent to the DOJ just two days later, abandoned even that limitation. Just three paragraphs long, it permitted HSI to use the voter rolls to pursue any “appropriate investigation of potential violations of federal election law.” In response to questions from ProPublica, Winn said “I can’t really comment on internal drafts of correspondence.” A Justice Department spokesperson defended the government’s actions, saying “no one should oppose intergovernmental data sharing and coordination that enable swift investigations and prosecution of illegal alien voting.” DHS echoed the DOJ’s view, calling such information sharing “essential to protecting America’s election process by keeping noncitizens off voter rolls” and “an easy step to secure our elections.” Sus said that by pooling voters’ sensitive personal identifiers, along with their party and voting histories, the administration has “run roughshod” over privacy laws and is creating a “1984-style database” that could be used to surveil political participation. CREW filed a lawsuit in April on behalf of the nonprofit advocacy group Common Cause that argues it’s illegal for the administration to use the law enforcement exception to justify mass sharing of voter information. Balliet, the former HSI agent, expressed similar concerns, saying that handing over voter rolls to run through DHS’ systems amounted to “a mass data-collection effort by the government against its own citizens in a non-criminal setting.” On a practical level, he added, the data sharing increased the risk of breaches that can open law-abiding citizens up to identity theft. “As a citizen, I want the government to take seriously the protection of my private data,” he said. “If it falls into the wrong hands, it’s not the government that suffers. It’s me.” Matt Rota for ProPublica Collapsing Claims By January 2026, scores of HSI agents were fanning out across the country to investigate thousands of leads about illegal voting. About 25,000 of them involved people SAVE had identified as potential noncitizens on state voter rolls. Another 15,000 were given to HSIs cross-border financial crimes unit, which was told to prioritize them over money laundering and fraud cases, a former high-level HSI official said. Quiñones’ unit led a separate effort to find additional cases by reviewing whether people who’d recently become citizens had voted before they were naturalized, then lied about it in naturalization interviews. Still more leads came from running public voter rolls through the HSI labs databases, though its not clear how many. Agency sources told ProPublica that the rolls of New Jersey and Pennsylvania were searched using the Athena Toolbox. When DHS announced it had found more than 250,000 noncitizens on the registered voter lists of four Democrat-led states, it said that included “as many as” 35,152 in New Jersey and 14,576 in Pennsylvania. Both states have asked DHS to provide the source of the numbers. Once federal investigators started digging into these cases, however, they often fell apart. Through May, prosecutors had charged fewer than four dozen people with crimes related to noncitizen voting, ProPublica’s analysis of DOJ data and federal court filings shows, getting convictions or guilty pleas in 14 cases. The largest cluster of cases was brought in the Southern District of Florida, headed by Jason Reding Quiñones (no relation to the HSI agent), a staunch Trump ally who has led investigations of the presidents political opponents. Voters have been sentenced in eight of the office’s cases; seven others are pending. Prosecutors have initiated a total of seven noncitizen voting cases as of May in the four states where DHS claimed to have found more than a quarter million noncitizens on the rolls. Collectively, these states have more than 40 million registered voters. Overall, the paltry numbers reflect the realities HSI investigators confronted on the ground as they tried to convert leads into cases, a ProPublica review of records obtained by voting-advocacy groups Campaign Legal Center and Democracy Forward shows. Emails between agents and local election officials in Texas and Ohio indicate much of the federal information on purported noncitizens was inaccurate, the consequence of flawed data matching. When agents demanded voting histories and registration forms, they often discovered people weren’t registered in the counties where HSI thought they were. When voters register, they must attest that they are U.S. citizens; agents found some, however, who’d been put on voter rolls in error after disclosing they weren’t citizens. Many had never voted. “Our initial idea of sending a huge amount of raw unprocessed voter registration data to DHS, involved taking far too much unnecessary legal risk, given that 99% of the data would implicate the privacy and civil liberties of United States Citizens.” Peter Winn, a Justice Department veteran, in an email urging limits on data sharing that were not adopted  Most HSI agents, steeped in pursuing complex international crimes, had no experience in pursuing voting fraud. In his email to Nick Davis at the Justice Department, Teirab, the top deputy in Minnesota’s U.S. attorney’s office, described the chaos that ensued when the state and at least six counties got subpoenas for voters records. The demands “presented a host of issues,” Teirab wrote to Davis. (Davis did not respond to a request for comment.) “An unknown number of agents are constantly arriving in Minnesota without any knowledge of the investigation, the issues already discussed and decided, and the processes they need to follow,” Teirab complained. “Instead of getting up to speed and learning, they have demanded many calls and subpoenas, most of which demonstrate a complete lack of understanding of the investigation.” In Stearns County in central Minnesota, HSI agents subpoenaed voting histories on 13 people, county officials told ProPublica. Only six turned out to live there. Minnesota Secretary of State Steve Simon, a Democrat, said the effort revealed federal investigators’ ignorance about “the nuance of elections administration.” The rate of purposeful election crime is “microscopic,” he said. “The very human errors that can happen are not some sort of plot or scheme to dirty up the voting rolls, but are just everyday human beings making mistakes, not intending at all to violate any law.” As of May, only one illegal voting case has been referred for prosecution in Minnesota. The state has more than 3.8 million registered voters. Even Republican-led states like Ohio, which has shared its unredacted voter rolls with the DOJ and run them through the SAVE system, have struggled to meet Trump administration demands to deliver cases. In October, the Ohio secretary of state referred more than 1,000 voters identified as possible noncitizens to the federal government, claiming 167 had voted at least once since 2018. At least nine HSI agents in Cincinnati and Cleveland began to investigate, emails obtained by Campaign Legal Center and shared with ProPublica show. The agents bombarded local election officials with requests for voting histories and other records, some dating back decades. “Sorry again for piecemealing these to you,” one agent wrote to an official in Butler County, outside Cincinnati, after making five separate requests over two weeks. Mohamed Al-Hamdani, a Democratic member of Montgomery County’s Board of Elections, which received similar inquiries, said they amounted to “witch hunts” that ate up staff time. In February, Davis sent an email pressing Ohio’s two U.S. attorneys’ offices for an “election integrity” update, asking: “How close are we to complaints/indictments, how many subjects, what issues you’ve run into, how many referrals have been closed and why, how helpful HSI has been.” As of May, just two voting cases had been referred for prosecution in Ohio and no one had been charged, federal data shows. The state has nearly 8 million voters. In the past, it was uncommon for federal prosecutors to pursue charges against noncitizen voters who didnt understand that it was against the law for them to vote. Without evidence of a coordinated effort or plot, it didn’t make sense to put resources into such prosecutions, a former DOJ official who oversaw election cases said. Now, however, U.S. attorneys’ offices are taking a different approach, pursuing prosecutions that could result in prison terms or deportation. In May 2025, federal prosecutors in Florida filed illegal voting charges against a mother and daughter, both Ukrainian citizens, who’d registered after becoming permanent U.S. residents, then voted in the 2024 presidential election. They’ve pleaded not guilty, with the mother saying in an interview with investigators that she thought having a green card meant she could vote. They and their attorneys didnt respond to requests for comment from ProPublica. The prosecutor handling the case for the Southern District of Florida also didn’t respond to questions. The mother and daughter are scheduled to go to trial in September. Matt Rota for ProPublica “Far-Reaching Consequences” Experts on both elections and national security warn there may be profound longer-term costs to unleashing the federal government’s investigative and prosecutorial might to try to prove the president’s claims about noncitizen voting. Current and former HSI agents say critical investigations — including task forces aimed at drug rings, human trafficking and money laundering — have languished as the agency has pivoted to take on noncitizen voting and immigration enforcement. In February 2026, according to court files and emails reviewed by ProPublica, an HSI agent in Ohio who’d been leading a multistate child sex abuse investigation was abruptly assigned to pursue dozens of leads on suspected noncitizen voters, work that took months. It wasn’t until May that he made an arrest in the other case. Prosecutors have filed child exploitation and pornography charges against the man, 38, in connection with acts involving at least five 14-year-old girls. Cases like this “don’t just stop,” said Balliet, the 23-year HSI veteran. “When you pull people off them for an extended period of time, those criminal networks will adapt, and people get killed and kidnapped.” Federal data hints at a broader slowdown in what had been HSI’s most urgent work. According to an annual government report, the number of wiretaps obtained by DHS — often to investigate drug trafficking — plummeted to 23 in 2025, from 133 the previous year. In the report, DHS attributed the decline to several factors, including “changes in administration enforcement and prosecutorial priorities.” “It’s never been a better time to be involved in transnational organized crime,” said John Tobon, a high-ranking HSI official who retired in early 2025. “The very human errors that can happen are not some sort of plot or scheme to dirty up the voting rolls, but are just everyday human beings making mistakes, not intending at all to violate any law.” Minnesota Secretary of State Steve Simon In its statement, DHS denied HSI has neglected its core mission, saying the agency has increased its efforts to combat criminal cartels, gangs and drug traffickers in response to multiple Trump executive orders. Though HSI’s voting-related investigations have yielded only a small number of prosecutions, voter advocacy groups worry the Trump administration will use them to justify more extreme interventions. Its latest tactics include threatening to withhold funds from states it says are refusing to check their voter rolls for noncitizens and saying it will prosecute state election officials who knowingly fail to remove noncitizens. Trump has also continued to press Congress to enact the SAVE America Act, which would require people to provide proof of citizenship when registering to vote, a measure advocates have criticized as a barrier to voting. Democrats are preparing for the prospect of federal troops being sent to the polls to intimidate voters. “Those concerns are playing out in real time, with far-reaching consequences,” said Dax Goldstein, a director at the States United Democracy Center, a nonprofit group that works to build confidence in elections. “When federal agencies are misused and weaponized, people lose trust in government itself.” How We Counted Voter Fraud Cases To count voter fraud case referrals, we analyzed the May 2026 release of the Justice Department’s national caseload data. We examined both active and closed criminal referrals made between Jan. 20, 2025, and May 31, 2026. We counted referrals the DOJ listed as election fraud or where the lead charge was one of a set of voting fraud statutes identified in internal memos. We also examined public court documents to identify every prosecution where those statutes were charged. All prosecutions we included involve alleged noncitizen voters. The post Inside Trump’s Failed Hunt for Noncitizen Voters appeared first on ProPublica.

[Category: Democracy, Trump Administration]

— Wall Street’s Nonprofits Use Selective, Opaque Logic to Defund Charities

 

at 8/14/26 3:00am

Illustration by Shoshana Gordon/ProPublica. Source image: U.S. Treasury via Wikimedia Commons. When the Justice Department indicted the Southern Poverty Law Center in April on controversial fraud charges, the storied civil rights organization faced a major threat to its lifeblood — the flow of donor dollars. Not because it was convicted or because the Internal Revenue Service revoked its tax-exempt status. Not even because individual donors stopped writing checks. Instead, three Wall-Street-affiliated grantmaking giants each made a decision, one they refused to fully explain, to prevent donors from using their platforms to give to the embattled nonprofit. Vanguard Charitable, Fidelity Charitable and Charles Schwab’s DAFgiving360 sponsor donor-advised funds, offering account holders immediate tax deductions on contributions they can later recommend be granted to charities. Once niche, donor-advised fund sponsors controlled more than $327 billion in assets as of 2024, over 10 times their footprint two decades ago. They are the conduit for about a quarter of all individual giving in the U.S. After the three sponsors cut off the SPLC, ProPublica investigated how the new gatekeepers of American philanthropy make these opaque, high-stakes decisions. In examining the treatment of dozens of nonprofits, we uncovered troubling inconsistencies in how some DAF sponsors applied their policies and found that donors and affected charities are routinely left in the dark about how decisions are made. The three sponsors are nonprofits spun off from major brokerages. Their accounts, used largely by high-income earners, charge administrative fees while sponsors retain legal control over the charitable assets. (ProPublica has received donations through each of the groups.) Donors “advise” the sponsors on where to send grants, but sponsors can deny requests for any reason. They say decisions stem from policy triggers. Vanguard Charitable pauses payments when an organization faces formal charges, while Fidelity Charitable and DAFgiving360 say they “may” or “might” stop donations if organizations come under investigation by government or law enforcement agencies. Deone Powell, a former general counsel for Vanguard Charitable who now advises nonprofits, said that DAF sponsors don’t view these moves as moral policing, but instead as ways of protecting their own brands. “All of these really speak to reputational risks for the sponsoring organizations,” he said. They weigh these choices carefully, given the possible ripple effects, he said. “A single decision often establishes a precedent that’s going to affect thousands of other future recommendations.” But ProPublica found that Fidelity and DAFgiving360 appeared to apply their policies unevenly. Even though they froze donations to the SPLC, they allowed numerous other groups to keep receiving money amid government investigations. The cases included hospitals, universities, charter schools and even a white nationalist organization. The sponsors say their decisions are viewpoint neutral, and ProPublica found no evidence to the contrary. Removed groups spanned the political spectrum. But most of the ones that spoke to ProPublica shared one common experience: silence from the sponsors. Months after being deemed ineligible for donations, the SPLC still doesn’t know why the action was taken or whether there is a path to reinstatement, according to a source familiar with the matter. The legal pressure, however, continues: A former employee was indicted this week on charges related to the case. Experts say this is particularly problematic under the Trump administration, which has a track record of making politically charged accusations that don’t hold up in court. “I don’t think Fidelity, Vanguard and Schwab are acting in bad faith,” said Joe Goldman, the president of Democracy Fund, a foundation supporting democratic principles. “They’re applying old rules to new circumstances without recognizing that the circumstances have changed.” President Donald Trump has put nonprofits under an intense spotlight, alleging that many of them “undermine the security, prosperity, and safety of the American people” and directing federal agencies to align funding decisions with administration priorities. Members of Congress, mainly Republicans, have initiated over 135 investigations into nonprofits since 2025, often claiming that charities were operating with foreign influence, engaging in supporting terrorism, or promoting diversity, equity and inclusion. In letters sent to the IRS, Republican lawmakers accused several organizations that support pro-Palestine efforts of funding terrorism and asked for them to be investigated. One of the charities has not been charged in court, and another was the subject of a state investigation. Neither has had its IRS status revoked, but they no longer appear on a Fidelity Charitable donation portal that allows users to select charities to donate to, ProPublica found. Fidelity wouldn’t say whether the letters played a role. “This is potentially a way that a hostile legislator could harm tax-exempt organizations without having to prove anything,” said Samuel Brunson, a Loyola University Chicago School of Law professor who researches nonprofits. “Even if these letters are completely legitimate, you can take that same set of tools and use them illegitimately.” The consequences can be significant. The SPLC, for instance, has received $20 million through Fidelity Charitable, Vanguard Charitable and DAFgiving360 in the past three years, with roughly 7% of its 2025 contributions coming from the three sponsors that cut it off. “When investment firms block donor-advised funds to nonprofits based on allegations and speculation, it not only impedes critical charitable work; it also sets a dangerous precedent that stifles the rights of donors and chills the rights of the organizations they seek to support,” said an SPLC spokesperson in a statement to ProPublica. The fund sponsors have not responded to similar concerns voiced by 16 state attorneys general, who wrote that their actions could enable weak or politically motivated investigations to “suppress, chill, or dismantle organizations” that are doing vital work. Their own donors are also reaching out. Dawn Piccolo, a retired Fidelity Investments senior vice president who has kept a DAF account since the 1990s, is a fervent supporter of donor-advised funds. She wrote to Fidelity Charitable reminding the sponsor that it had allowed another charity under similar fire to keep receiving gifts. “The SPLC has not been found guilty of anything,” she wrote. “Preemptively restricting donations under these circumstances sets a troubling precedent.” All three fund sponsors declined to be interviewed for this story or answer detailed questions, including on their process for identifying nonprofits facing allegations and deciding which ones to ban. Fidelity Charitable said it does not comment on decisions involving individual charities and declined to give a statement. DAFgiving360 said in a statement that it “communicates directly with donors when a grant recommendation is impacted by an eligibility determination” and will provide information on other alternatives when appropriate. The sponsor said that it does “not take charity eligibility decisions lightly.” In a separate statement, Vanguard Charitable noted its “procedural pause” is “not a value judgment; it is the application of objective criteria and reflects Vanguard Charitable’s responsibility, as the legal owner and steward of the charitable assets, to review and approve the grants made in its name.” A spokesperson said it denies fewer than half a percent of donors’ donation recommendations annually and that “independent oversight is central to the value of donor-advised fund structure.” Unexplained Inconsistencies ProPublica reviewed donor-advised fund sponsors’ policies and giving records alongside government actions taken against charities to understand when and how sponsors intervene. The review identified cases in which Fidelity Charitable and DAFgiving360 diverged from their treatment of the SPLC and kept giving to charities facing the kinds of government investigations their guidelines identify as grounds for halting donations. Then-Washington Attorney General Bob Ferguson sued Providence Health and Services in February 2022, alleging that the nonprofit Catholic healthcare system illegally billed and aggressively collected payments from low-income patients without determining if they were qualified for charity care. The case was extensively covered in the regional media, and Ferguson’s own news release emphasized that Providence’s conduct continued despite an investigation by his office. Even so, Fidelity Charitable and DAFgiving360 allowed Providence to keep getting donations, ProPublica found. Providence ultimately agreed to pay $150 million in refunds and debt relief for unlawful charges, the largest resolution of its kind in the country, according to Ferguson’s office. Providence did not admit to any wrongdoing. Fidelity Charitable and DAFgiving360 also kept sending donations to Grand Canyon University as it faced a lawsuit and a $38 million fine following federal investigations that found it deceptively advertised the cost and course requirements of its doctoral programs and made illegal calls to consumers. The university denied the allegations, calling them “unsubstantiated.” The Department of Education rescinded the fine in May 2025, and the Federal Trade Commission dismissed its remaining case months later after losing multiple court motions. But records show the Christian university drew donations from both fund sponsors throughout the two-year dispute. Idea Public Schools, Texas’ largest charter school network, was investigated from 2021 to 2024 by the state’s chief charter school regulator amid allegations of lavish spending on private jets and parachute payments to leaders. Fidelity Charitable kept the dollars flowing throughout. The charter network was ultimately placed in a conservatorship by the state and forced to pay back $28.7 million to the U.S. Department of Education. The network acknowledged that it did not properly ensure that funds were administered lawfully in a statement released at the time. Then there’s VDARE Foundation, which ran an influential far-right, white nationalist website. In 2022, New York Attorney General Letitia James began investigating the organization for misuse of millions in charitable assets. As VDARE faced subpoenas, it solicited donations asking supporters to “help us fight back.” Clear evidence on its homepage that it was under investigation didn’t stop DAFgiving360 (formerly Schwab Charitable) from continuing to give. An article published by VDARE, a white nationalist website run by VDARE Foundation. DAFgiving360 continued giving to the foundation, despite its policy that it “may” stop donations if organizations come under investigation by government or law enforcement agencies. Screenshot by ProPublica James sued the organization in 2025. Its leaders are fighting the charges, and the case remains open. VDARE, whose website is now inactive, is no longer listed as an option for current DAFgiving360 customers. The sponsor would not say when the charity was removed, but said in a statement that it conducts a “thorough assessment” to determine eligibility and that it “applies its policies consistently across all charitable organizations, regardless of their political viewpoint or orientation.” The fund sponsors’ discretion to keep money moving to embattled groups becomes evident when considering the Trump administration’s actions against major universities. Dozens of colleges became the subjects of formal government investigations involving their handling of campus protests and alleged antisemitism tied to the crisis in Palestine and Israel and over allegations of diversity, equity and inclusion. At least 20 of the universities are still listed as options for donation recommendations on Fidelity Charitable’s and DAFgiving360’s websites. ProPublica asked each school if it was still receiving funds from the DAFs. Most did not respond. One said that it has not seen a decline in donations from the sponsors. Rather than making ad-hoc decisions about which organizations to keep giving to, some legal experts told ProPublica that fund sponsors should follow the direction of the IRS, which has the authority to investigate and rescind tax-exempt status through an audit, while also providing avenues for organizations that come under scrutiny to appeal decisions they don’t agree with. “The wisest choice is probably to rely on the IRS list,” said Lloyd Mayer, a professor at the University of Notre Dame Law School who researches nonprofits. Cutting off organizations deemed eligible by the IRS, Mayer said, runs the risk of looking inconsistent or partisan. “An investigation by who? An indictment at what level? Is it only federal government indictments? Is it also state indictments? What about the local county prosecutor? Of the thousands of counties in the United States, if any one of them brings an indictment, you’re gonna stop? Where do you start drawing the lines?” Answerable to Few ProPublica used an internal Fidelity Charitable tool to identify 22 nonprofit organizations that Fidelity had given to in the past but no longer lists as options to donors. ProPublica limited its analysis to nonprofits that have raised $1 million or more annually. The charities represent a cross section of ideologies and missions — left- and right-leaning, foreign and domestic, media, religious, humanitarian. The list includes The Epoch Times, the conservative media outlet whose chief financial officer pleaded guilty in July to federal money-laundering charges, as well as pro-Israel nonprofits that support the country’s defense forces. It also includes the Alliance for Global Justice, a progressive, Arizona-based organization scrutinized for its financial ties to a Palestinian group that the American and Canadian governments designated a terrorist organization in 2024. The Epoch Times released a short statement following the plea agreement, noting that it was not named in the lawsuit. The Alliance for Global Justice has called the allegations against it “false and unsubstantiated.” Both groups are currently eligible to receive tax-deductible donations, according to the IRS. Fidelity refused to confirm it had deemed these charities ineligible. A source familiar with the sponsor said donors can manually enter a charity’s tax information to ask the fund to make a contribution to an unlisted charity. But ProPublica reviewed requests from two donors who tried the manual workaround. Both were turned down. ProPublica attempted to ask representatives of all 22 charities if they understood why they did not appear on Fidelity’s rolls of more than 1 million potential grant recipients. Seven responded. One of the only groups that said it had gotten a clear answer about its removal was the United Aid and Logistics Foundation. “Our activities include providing aid to those defending the safety and human rights of Ukraine’s men, women and children, which Fidelity does not consider to be humanitarian,” said Sytske de Boer, a director of the volunteer group. “We understand it is their prerogative, however we disagree with their interpretation and hope they reconsider.” Four organizations told ProPublica they’d been left with no or unclear answers from Fidelity Charitable. Among them is Nonviolence International, a group founded by a Palestinian activist that supports nonviolent campaigns worldwide. “Substantial funds have been paused by Fidelity DAF that were earmarked for our projects,” co-director Michael Beer said in a statement. “If funding is not resumed, nonviolence training, education, and intervention programs for marginalized communities will be slashed.” Donors have also been met with silence. Piccolo, the retired Fidelity senior vice president, said that the decision to cut off the SPLC seemed at odds with the careful decision-making she’d come to expect from the fund sponsor. “This action feels out of band for me,” she said in an interview. “The case appears weak and politically motivated.” For over 25 years, the SPLC has tracked the activity and influence of extremist groups across the country. Its “Hate Map” lists over 1,200 groups with connections to white nationalism, the neo-Nazi movement, antigovernmentalism and a plethora of other ideologies that it says are rooted in hate. The tool has been widely cited by journalists and academics for years, and, up until last year, the FBI utilized SPLC research to assist in law enforcement efforts. The map has drawn scrutiny under the Trump administration, whose supporters are among some of the right-leaning groups the organization has labeled extremists. In a letter addressed to top White House aide Stephen Miller last year, several of those groups called the map a “smear tactic” and called upon the Trump administration to remove references to the SPLC’s work from the federal government. Attorneys for the SPLC, in court papers, pointed out how language from the letter wound up in an incident report opened by the FBI one month later justifying an investigation. The Justice Department’s ultimate accusation was unorthodox. Prosecutors alleged that the SPLC’s longtime practice of paying confidential “field sources” to monitor extremist groups like the Ku Klux Klan constituted a fraudulent diversion of donor funds. The SPLC pleaded not guilty to 11 counts of wire fraud, giving false statements to a federally insured bank and conspiracy to commit money laundering. Former federal prosecutors called the indictment “stretched” and “not valid,” and whistleblower reports to Democratic lawmakers said that the prosecution was rushed despite weak evidence. The Justice Department did not respond to a request for comment. Earlier this week, it arrested Heidi Beirich, a former SPLC employee, on charges connected to the case. Prosecutors allege that she facilitated secret payments to informants inside extremist groups. Beirich’s attorney said that she is innocent and the case is “without merit.” “I can understand that if overwhelming evidence were to emerge publicly in the course of proceedings, a temporary pause might be warranted,” Piccolo wrote to Fidelity Charitable. “But that is not where things stand.” While company representatives sent rote responses and promised to pass along her inquiries, Piccolo told ProPublica that she has yet to receive a thorough explanation of their actions. She has stopped funding her Fidelity Charitable account and plans to move her existing balance to a different sponsor. After the fund sponsors moved to cut off the SPLC, 16 state attorneys general, all Democrats, registered their objections in a letter. “As attorneys general, many of us are the chief regulators of nonprofits, charities, and charitable trusts in our states, and serve as representatives of the public and donor intent,” they wrote. “This decision raises serious concerns that you are allowing the DOJ’s selective political targeting of a charity to impact your donor-advised giving decisions.” They said their concerns were amplified by the sponsors’ refusal to disclose other charities whose donations they’d paused. They have not received a response. Powell, the former Vanguard Charitable attorney, said the sponsors are unlikely to be moved by public blowback. “I don’t see this as being earth-shattering enough where it’s going to drive any immediate change,” he said. “These are sponsoring organizations that are aligned with financial institutions, which are traditionally adverse to risk. Once policies are in place, it takes a lot to change something.” But in the future, he expects large account holders will want more from the fund sponsors than just moving their money between organizations. “I think that any change is going to be driven by donors who are asking questions about how their philanthropy is defending democracy.” The post Wall Street’s Nonprofits Use Selective, Opaque Logic to Defund Charities appeared first on ProPublica.

[Category: Nonprofits, Regulation]

— A Youth Sports Giant Promised Reforms to Protect Kids From Sexual Abuse. Most Never Happened.

 

at 8/13/26 3:00am

Ashlee Orndorff played basketball as a teen. In the competitive world of youth sports, few organizations have a reach as vast as the Amateur Athletic Union.  With 760,000 athletes and coaches nationwide, the AAU hosts competitions in dozens of sports across the country. This summer alone, hundreds of thousands of children competed in AAU events for elite young athletes: a staggering 100,000 at the world’s largest volleyball championship in Orlando, Florida; 8,000 at its storied basketball championships at Disney World; more than 15,000 at the Junior Olympics in Iowa. To the hundreds of thousands of parents whose children play under the red, white and blue AAU badge, the organization offers more than a place to compete. The AAU promises their children will be safe — that its coaches are vetted, monitored and trained; that strict rules govern how adults interact with children; and that it responds effectively to allegations of abuse within its ranks.  But that trust is misplaced, according to an investigation from ProPublica and The Washington Post. The AAU is failing on nearly every level to adequately protect the hundreds of thousands of children in its care from sexual abuse, the investigation found, misleading the public about its prevention measures and suppressing allegations of sexual misconduct.  In doing so, the AAU is breaking many of the pledges it made in the wake of a 2011 sex abuse scandal involving its CEO and young basketball players. AAU leaders at the time said they would build a “new culture in which the overarching priority” was protecting young athletes, committing the organization to sweeping safety reforms. But they did not implement the majority of those reforms, ProPublica and The Post found, putting many children at risk. Some AAU athletes have had devastating experiences.  The AAU does not offer child abuse prevention training, though it claims to the public that it does. It does not verify whether coaches take the training it does offer, though it calls the course “mandatory” on its webpage for parents. The AAU has become a haven for coaches suspected of abuse, ProPublica and The Post found, based on a review of public disciplinary lists and interviews with current and former executives from six national sports governing bodies and other key stakeholders. Those sports officials say the AAU has earned a reputation as a place where coaches can escape discipline and are not bound by strict safety laws, making it more difficult to protect young athletes. ProPublica and The Post identified eight coaches who continued to work with children under the AAU in the last five years after being banned or suspended by other youth sports organizations — even though the AAU pledged in 2012 that it would ban such coaches.  Serious allegations of sexual misconduct against coaches in the AAU are handled by its Board of Review, a group of four elected AAU members and a chair whose names are not made public. Asked about written guidelines for when to ban coaches, one former member who sat on the board for nearly 25 years said the group “just decided on our feelings.” The abuse reporting hotline AAU promised to create as part of the reforms redirects to the AAU’s general office line with no option to report abuse, though callers can press 5 to reach a department for “medal orders.” Instead of protecting children, the AAU has prioritized building an ever-bigger footprint across youth sports through cheap and easy team registrations, ProPublica and The Post found, allowing it to dramatically grow its revenue in recent years. The scope of the consequences for young athletes nationwide is impossible to quantify, ProPublica and The Post found, because the AAU operates with a secrecy that is unusual for a nonprofit that serves children. The AAU declined to answer questions from ProPublica and The Post over the course of more than a year, including whether the organization trains its coaches, how it investigates abuse claims, and how it enforces policies and safety rules. It would not verify if specific coaches overseeing AAU-registered teams had been authorized and background-checked by the AAU, as its rules require. While other youth sports organizations post public lists of coaches found to have abused children, the AAU does not. In a statement, the AAU said it is “committed to protecting its athletes through comprehensive protection policies overseen by our Compliance Department.” Athlete protection “is at the forefront of our safety measures such as a verified identity check and mandatory background screenings for all non-athlete AAU members, including coaches,” it said. The statement also cited “supplemental medical benefits” and “mandatory concussion protocols” as measures that it said prioritized the “physical well-being of its members.”  “These safety measures reflect our ongoing commitment to providing a safe, secure, supportive, and trusted environment where athletes can thrive,” the statement said. The AAU also took action on one point raised by the news organizations. After ProPublica and The Post asked the AAU last year whether it actually mandated training for coaches, as its website claims, the organization quietly changed its website to say the training was “encouraged.” For the first time, using thousands of pages of internal, legal and court records and interviews with key stakeholders, ProPublica and The Post were able to document how the AAU handled some child sex abuse claims in the years after it promised reform. Several years after allegations were made against a former AAU president, ProPublica and The Post found, its review board exonerated another top AAU executive accused of sexual abuse by a former player without interviewing a single witness or considering a past allegation from a different player, court records show. A current AAU official, Jim Fox, said he believed the AAU’s handling of the case was an attempt to “cover it up.” The AAU has taken other steps that have had the effect of keeping sexual abuse claims out of the public eye, ProPublica and The Post found. Clauses in AAU registration forms require all claims against the AAU to be resolved through confidential arbitration hearings instead of jury trials in open court. The AAU uses those agreements to quash lawsuits over child sex abuse claims — arguing in court that children who say they were victimized by their coaches had signed away their right to sue when they registered for an AAU team, records show. That practice is extremely rare in sex abuse cases at other major youth sports organizations, according to attorneys, court records and sports groups, and was mostly banned by a Biden-era law in 2022. ProPublica and The Post found that the AAU has attempted to force sex abuse claims into arbitration as recently as 2024, in the case of a lawsuit filed by a teenage girl in Florida who said she had been abused by her AAU volleyball coach. The case was settled out of court last year. The AAU declined to comment on this practice or any of these cases, saying it could not comment on “legal matters.”  The AAU’s use of arbitration agreements meant that even in a high-profile case in which an AAU coach was convicted of decades of prolific abuse, the AAU itself escaped scrutiny.  The co-director of an influential basketball club in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, Greg Stephen, was accused of sexually exploiting more than 400 of his young basketball players in 2018 and sentenced to 180 years in prison on multiple charges. But arbitration clauses prevented his former players from suing the AAU, ProPublica and The Post learned, even though boys’ families initially argued that the AAU was partly responsible because it had failed to enforce its 2012 safety policies, including a ban on coaches sharing bedrooms with players. A judge sided with the AAU and ruled that the victims could not sue the wealthier parent organization, allowing the AAU not to respond to the claims in court. The club, Barnstormers Basketball, denied the claims. The Barnstormers’ AAU-provided insurance limited payouts for sexual abuse claims to $1 million, said Guy Cook, the families’ lawyer, the equivalent of a few thousand dollars for each young victim. Cook said the AAU had grown “sophisticated” in its attempts to suppress child sex abuse lawsuits: “It’s not unlike what the Catholic Church has done.” In 2018, in the wake of revelations about sexual abuse by USA Gymnastics doctor Larry Nassar and other powerful figures in Olympic sports, Congress created a new oversight system to prevent sexual abuse. The law charged the U.S. Center for SafeSport with investigating allegations of sexual abuse in sports overseen by the U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Committee — made up of national sports governing bodies like USA Gymnastics — and enforced strict new rules about safety and training.  But the AAU exists outside of that system, allowing it to benefit from a gap in the law. Because it is not a sanctioned national sports governing body, the AAU is not overseen by SafeSport and does not have to follow its rules or mandate that coaches take its trainings. ProPublica and The Post found that it does not abide by SafeSport suspensions or bans. “It should scare parents,” said former Florida state Sen. Lauren Book, a child sex abuse survivor and prevention advocate who was a member of a task force established by AAU to reform its abuse prevention practices in 2011. Along with most other members of the task force, she said she has since lost faith in the organization.  “What AAU does is protect institution over children,” Book said. “They have never done the right thing when it comes to child protection.” Broken Promises Before he was caught at the center of a scandal, Bobby Dodd saved the AAU. When the former youth basketball coach took the helm of the nonprofit in 1992, it was struggling. It had been founded in the 19th century to oversee amateur sports, but Congress had given that role to the U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Committee and its national sports governing bodies in 1978. The AAU’s relevance had been declining since. Dodd saw youth sports for what they would soon become: a booming business. He built the AAU of the 1990s and 2000s into the juggernaut of youth basketball, the home of virtually every future NBA star; invested in a Junior Olympics brand that brought in thousands of children from across track and field; and moved the organization’s headquarters to the ESPN Wide World of Sports complex inside Disney World. Under Dodd, there were few barriers to becoming an AAU coach: Anyone who paid a $16 membership fee could start a team, no background check required. By joining the AAU, basketball and other sports clubs got perks like cheap and easy liability insurance. More importantly, they got access to a circuit of organized tournaments, from local weekend events to major national championships. But along with Dodd’s stewardship of AAU came criticism that the fast-growing organization was becoming a free-for-all. After a 2004 Seattle Times investigation found dozens of people with felony convictions were coaching AAU-sanctioned teams in Washington and Idaho, including a coach who was a convicted murderer, Dodd pledged to consider background checks for AAU’s 65,000 coaches. “We are going to try to ensure more integrity in the process,” Dodd told the paper. The AAU still had not introduced those background checks when, in 2011, ESPN reported that two men had accused Dodd of molesting them as youths in the 1980s, when he was their basketball coach. Dodd denied the allegations but stepped down as president, collecting a $1.5 million payout from the organization and putting the AAU back in an uncomfortable spotlight. He was not charged with a crime, and he could not be reached for comment. Again, the organization promised change.  Under a new president, Louis Stout, the organization convened a task force of child safety experts. It vowed in June 2012 to implement all of the task force’s recommendations, which it called “historic child protection measures.”  The AAU rolled out mandatory background checks. It also pledged to train all adults in child sex abuse prevention and create policies that would “prevent adults from being alone with children.” Participation was a privilege, AAU vowed, not a right: “Anyone who is prohibited from participating in an organization that serves youth or who violates the AAU’s child protection policies should be barred.”  The most important change, the AAU said, would be cultural. Child safety would now be “an overarching priority.” Within a matter of months, there were signs that little was actually changing. That year, the AAU gave a 2012 leadership award to a man named Rick Butler, one of the country’s most prominent girls’ volleyball coaches at the time. Butler had been instrumental in building AAU volleyball into a powerhouse.  But he had also been banned by USA Volleyball from coaching girls since 1995, after the sport’s governing body concluded that he had had sexual intercourse with three teenage players years earlier, when he was in his late 20s to mid-30s. Butler’s attorney called them “legal, consensual relationships in the 1980s,” noting that there was no law or rule against coach-player relationships at the time. Months before giving Butler the award, the AAU had promised it would bar anyone “banned by other youth-serving organizations” from coaching children.  But Butler continued coaching girls under the AAU until 2018. That year, USA Volleyball pulled its affiliation with the AAU over Butler’s membership, and the AAU subsequently banned Butler, according to a letter reviewed by ProPublica and The Post. Butler’s attorney said he has not been accused of more recent misconduct. Stout died unexpectedly in September 2012, just a few months after he committed the AAU to the list of reforms. (After an interim period, Roger Goudy, who had run the AAU’s volleyball program for decades, was elected president in 2014.)   When the AAU published its first youth protection handbook in December 2012, there was no rule barring coaches banned by other groups. The handbook did say it was following another key reform: All AAU coaches were now taking an “educational course.”  The organization had repurposed training it had used since before the Dodd scandal — an online seminar called “Double Goal Coach” from the nonprofit Positive Coaching Alliance. The course was focused on sports psychology and coaching techniques, not sexual abuse prevention training. The AAU claimed that “all registered non-athletes” were taking the course, even though no one verified whether they did, according to officials, stakeholders and a person directly familiar with the training.  “It’s never been mandatory,” said Peg Adams, a longtime regional official at the AAU who spent more than two decades reviewing abuse claims against AAU coaches as part of its Board of Review. “It should be, but that’s something they [AAU] have to work out.”  When they were first announced, the AAU’s child safety rules, if implemented, would have put the organization at the vanguard of youth sports. But in 2018, Congress passed a landmark new sports safety law, known as the Safe Sport Act, that forced much of the rest of the sports world to make sweeping changes. Under the new law, the U.S. Center for SafeSport was charged with investigating sexual abuse allegations in all 50 national sports governing bodies, the organizations that oversee and set rules for specific sports. SafeSport could ban or suspend accused coaches in these groups, placing their names in a searchable public database known as the SafeSport list. It required adult coaches and volunteers to take SafeSport-provided child abuse prevention training annually and follow strict new safety rules governing how they interacted with athletes.  But because the independent AAU is not a national governing body, SafeSport could not require the AAU to follow its disciplinary list, rules or training. Only a few provisions tucked at the end of the 2018 bill applied to the AAU — including a requirement that all sports groups “offer and provide consistent training … regarding prevention and reporting of child abuse.” Only Congress, not SafeSport, could enforce that provision. The new Center for SafeSport was far from perfect. Underfunded and understaffed, the center quickly racked up a backlog of unresolved complaints and closed many others without findings or with what critics said were inadequate investigations.  SafeSport has since resolved many of those issues, improving its process to resolve cases more quickly and cut down its backlog, the organization said. In a statement, the center’s new CEO, Benita Fitzgerald Mosley, an Olympic gold medalist, said the organization “acknowledges the challenges we have met as the first national sport safeguarding organization in the world. We are on surer footing today.”  SafeSport also drove up costs for the governing bodies, who were required to help fund the center’s investigations and often pay for expensive background checks and compliance staff. That meant higher membership fees for their athletes.  The AAU was not required to pay for any of that. So while governing bodies and SafeSport inched toward reform, ProPublica and The Post found, the AAU did not. Ashlee Orndorff “People Tried to Cover It Up” In 2018, the year that the Safe Sport Act took effect, the AAU faced a test of its most significant promise: to remake its culture to protect children.  That January, a woman named Ashlee Orndorff claimed on social media that she had been groomed and sexually abused as a teenager by an AAU executive, its second vice president, Matt Williams, who was also a paid employee of the organization at the time.  Orndorff had been a teenage basketball phenom in the tiny unincorporated town of Hawthorne, Nevada, two hours outside of Reno. She won three state titles and was named the state Gatorade player of the year during her senior year of high school in 2000, setting records that she still holds. But for many of the years that she excelled on the court, Orndorff said, she had carried a terrible secret: Williams, her AAU club coach, had been sexually assaulting her. The abuse began when she was 15, she said, and carried well into her adulthood, resulting in the birth of a child she gave up for adoption at 19. Williams was more than just a storied coach. He founded the Western region’s most prominent AAU basketball brand, Jam On It, which generated revenue for the AAU through the enormous tournaments it hosted every year. After Orndorff’s allegations, the AAU pledged to investigate, saying Williams had “volunteered” to be placed on administrative leave. Orndorff’s allegations went before the AAU’s Board of Review a month later. The small group of AAU members, one elected to represent each region, had no training in law, investigation or child sexual abuse, according to Adams, the former board member.  Transcripts reviewed by ProPublica and The Post show the hearing frequently resembled a contentious criminal trial. Williams had a lawyer, but Orndorff said she had not been able to afford one at the time.  In a statement to the AAU, Williams denied sexually abusing Orndorff as a minor. But he admitted that he fathered Orndorff’s child, who was born when she was 19 and he was over 30 and just a year out of coaching her — a violation of the organization’s policy against having sexual relationships with former players, which was part of the 2012 reforms. The attorney asked Orndorff if her “anger” at Williams “is what has prompted this complaint.”  “No, sir,” she responded. “Being fingered by my coach at 15 in a gym and him making me think that that is all that I was good for, was to be his sexual satisfaction, that is where my fucking anger comes from. Next question.” The board did not interview any witnesses or introduce records that could corroborate Orndorff’s account. Orndorff had submitted a 34-page narrative of the alleged abuse that included dates, locations and names of potential witnesses, 10 of whom later corroborated aspects of her story in depositions for a 2019 lawsuit she filed against Williams and Jam On It, according to a review of thousands of pages of court records. (Williams and Jam On It denied wrongdoing. Orndorff settled the case in 2023, and Williams died from cancer the following year. An attorney for Williams’ estate did not respond to a request for comment.) An altered photo, left, shows Orndorff when she was one of the country’s best teenage basketball players. Now 44, Orndorff says she still carries the trauma of abuse but is almost nine years sober and rebuilding her life. Adams, who is a former Georgia gymnastics coach and gym owner, sat on the board during the Williams case. She said board members did not interview any witnesses because Orndorff had not provided a separate list of their names and phone numbers. The hearing also did not consider an accusation of sexual abuse against Williams by a different player in 2005, the case records show. Rod Seaford, the board chair and the attorney running the hearing, had personally responded to the allegations in 2005, court records show. But Seaford did not mention them at the hearing, and Adams said Seaford had not told her they existed. (The girl who made the accusation declined to speak to police or the AAU at the time, records show, and that case did not proceed. Now an adult, she did not respond to an interview request from ProPublica and The Post.) Seaford declined multiple requests for comment. By May 2018, within six months of learning of Orndorff’s allegations, the Board of Review cleared Williams of wrongdoing and reinstated him to his $84,000 position as an AAU officer. He was free to coach at Jam On It. Internal records show that the board cited a lack of evidence and questioned Orndorff’s credibility because of an admitted history of drug use and what the board called “disturbing” discrepancies in her story. She had alternately claimed, for example, that Williams had “taken her virginity” at 15 but that they had first had sex when she was 16. In the hearing, Orndorff tried to explain that she had been referring to Williams digitally penetrating her when she was 15.  Adams spent more than two decades on the Board of Review before leaving in 2024. She was never aware, she said, of any written rules used to decide whether a coach should be allowed to return to working with children.  “I think we just decided on our feelings,” Adams said of the board’s process.  She told ProPublica and The Post that the board had not considered sanctioning Williams for having a relationship with Orndorff because there was no regulation against having relationships with former players at the time. The AAU said in 2012 it had implemented that rule. “It certainly would be [a violation] now,” Adams said. “And after, well — it was not a very pleasant — that was one of my unhappiest decisions.” Orndorff said she still carries with her the trauma of Williams’ abuse. She left college during her freshman year as a result of the relationship with Williams, she said, eventually turning to drinking and drugs for much of her adult life. She is now 44 and says she has been sober since 2017. But the AAU’s handling of the case when she was finally ready to step forward has made it much more difficult for her to heal. “I tried so hard to get the truth out, and I don’t know why I couldn’t do it,” Orndorff said, her voice choked with emotion. Jim Fox, a youth basketball executive who records indicate joined the AAU Board of Directors after the case was resolved, said he believed the “old boys’ network” of the AAU had worked to suppress Orndorff’s allegations to avoid “embarrassment.” Fox tried to convince the board again to ban Williams in 2022, internal AAU records revealed in the court case show, citing new evidence in Orndorff’s civil suit, but it refused to even consider the case. “Anybody could look at it and see that it was true,” Fox, a former probation officer, said of Orndorff’s allegations. “People tried to cover it up.” Goudy, the president, died in 2020. Fox told ProPublica and The Post that Williams was stripped of his membership shortly after a new president, Jo Mirza, was elected in October 2022. Mirza, who court records show also advocated to terminate Williams’ membership in 2022, did not respond to multiple requests for comment. “Short, Fast, Easy and Quick” Something did change inside the AAU in 2021: It started making money. Since 2015, the nonprofit had been spending more than the $20 million it took in annually, losing money each year. But that year, the AAU’s revenue jumped to $24 million, and two years later, the number had grown to $34 million. In 2024, the most recent year the AAU’s nonprofit tax returns are public, the organization brought in nearly $44 million. It reported cash and investment reserves of around $30 million — triple what it held in 2019. The organization’s momentum wasn’t in basketball. It was everywhere else. In boys’ volleyball, the AAU had become the dominant force, and in sports like martial arts, gymnastics and flag football, it was staking out a growing presence. The expansion meant that the AAU was increasingly competing with national sports governing bodies overseen by SafeSport.  In swimming, some large clubs joined the AAU, where they could register less serious swimmers for $20 apiece instead of the more than $70 cost of USA Swimming. In 2023, USA Swimming’s registrations fell by almost 5%. AAU meets are “short, fast, easy and quick,” said Chris Davis, whose juggernaut Georgia swimming club, SwimAtlanta, has moved hundreds of kids to the AAU. “I could theoretically have a senior in high school run the meet. I don’t have to have an official.” Davis said he opts to use officials, and all of his coaches take SafeSport training because they are also members of USA Swimming.  The AAU’s cheaper fees weren’t the only selling point. On one swimming website’s list of reasons for clubs to switch to the “easier” AAU, the top of the list was a lack of “mandatory training hoops.”  By 2023, five years after the SafeSport Act’s passage, the AAU was publicly acknowledging that the law required all organizations to offer some form of child sex abuse prevention training, even if it isn’t created by SafeSport. Its new youth protection handbook cited the law — and said that the AAU’s mandatory course, offered through the Positive Coaching Alliance, now included “child abuse prevention training.” Jason Sacks, the CEO of the Positive Coaching Alliance, told ProPublica and The Post in a statement that the material “was not an official training by any stretch.” It constituted “a few slides with resources.”  The links to those resources from AAU’s website are currently broken. As an organization, Sacks said, PCA’s focus is not sexual abuse prevention but youth sports culture, with trainings that emphasize positivity and character development. He noted its courses can play a role in preventing emotional and physical abuse by discouraging coaches from mistreating athletes. But Sacks said they “are not currently built to satisfy the Safe Sport Act requirements.” Though some 20,000 AAU coaches took the PCA course in its earliest days, Sacks’ statement said, those numbers have declined steadily in the decade since. In 2024, AAU reported more than 100,000 adult volunteers. On Nov. 10, 2025, ProPublica and The Post reached out to the AAU with questions about whether the organization offered sexual abuse prevention training and if the PCA course was mandatory for all coaches.  Eight days later, the AAU approached PCA, Sacks said in his statement. Officials had two requests: “They wanted to incorporate more abuse prevention material in the PCA online coach course training, and make it mandatory for all coaches.” Aleesa Bravata “SafeSport Does Not Apply” SafeSport’s public disciplinary list quickly became a central part of the sports landscape. By 2025, there were more than 2,500 coaches on the list — some temporarily suspended during investigations and hundreds more banned permanently from any sport that fell under the U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Committee.  Though they were not required to do so by law, many independent organizations, including Pop Warner and Little League, implemented rules to keep coaches on the list out of their programs, too. In 2012, the AAU had said it would bar anyone “banned by other youth-serving organizations.” But it never adopted the rule, according to a review of its written policies.   Instead, ProPublica and The Post found, the organization has become known as a refuge for coaches who are suspended or banned by SafeSport and national governing bodies. “The AAU has absolutely developed a reputation that they are the place to go if you are banned from our world,” said the president of one national governing body, who asked not to be named because he still works with the AAU. The issue has been raised repeatedly to the U.S. Center for SafeSport, top governing body officials, attorneys and former SafeSport executives told The Post.  ProPublica and The Post identified eight people who coached AAU-affiliated teams within the last five years despite being banned by SafeSport or national governing bodies. The AAU’s director of compliance, Aaron Oandasan, would not verify if any of them were registered with the AAU, but ProPublica and The Post confirmed they were coaching teams registered with the organization through interviews with parents, administrators or the coaches themselves, as well as online records and social media posts. Among them were three elite gymnastics coaches who had been suspended by either USA Gymnastics or SafeSport over emotional and physical abuse allegations in the wake of the Nassar revelations but continued working with AAU athletes. Another was a fencing club owner who started advertising his gym as affiliated with AAU while SafeSport investigated allegations of sexual misconduct against him that it eventually substantiated. And a Georgia basketball coach who was suspended for three years by SafeSport over allegations that were not publicly disclosed even took his team of boys to AAU nationals.  Last year, a regional governing body official said he reached out to the AAU to warn it about a local volleyball club owner who had told parents he planned to join the AAU to evade a SafeSport suspension for alleged sexual misconduct.  The AAU’s response to the official was curt, the official told ProPublica and The Post: “SafeSport does not apply.” Adams, the former review board member, said that the AAU does not check the SafeSport list unless it receives a report about a coach. The AAU then conducts its own investigation, she said, because it does not trust SafeSport. That is because SafeSport is prohibited from sharing confidential details of cases, she said, but also out of concern that the center punishes coaches for frivolous reasons. “At times, SafeSport hasn’t liked the way somebody dressed or they drank in college,” she said, without providing examples. SafeSport’s vice president, Hilary Nemchik, called Adams’ characterization “not accurate” and “concerning.”  “SafeSport’s cases are proven through evidence, and our process allows for appeals by the accused,” Nemchik said. Adams said the AAU board does sometimes ban coaches who have been barred by SafeSport. She recalled one case in which the board ruled that a coach banned by SafeSport should be allowed to continue working with the AAU. That coach was later seen acting inappropriately with an AAU athlete, Adams said, and the AAU banned him at that time. She declined to name the coach, and because the AAU does not make a public list of banned members, the claim is not verifiable. One of the coaches who was still working with children under AAU following a SafeSport suspension was Elias Perez in Southern California.  Aleesa Bravata told SafeSport last year that Perez, her former volleyball coach, had groomed and inappropriately touched her while she was in high school. But a few weeks after his name appeared on SafeSport’s disciplinary list, temporarily suspending him, Bravata saw Perez’s truck in the parking lot of the local volleyball gym. Perez was still coaching.  Bravata had met Perez when he began coaching the girls’ volleyball team at her high school in Huntington Beach, California. He was 33; she was 16, a junior. As her senior season began, she said, Perez began to isolate her from her teammates and text her with increasing frequency about things other than volleyball, including making comments about her appearance. ProPublica and The Post reviewed interviews and records that were part of SafeSport’s investigation, including text messages between Bravata and Perez, and corroborated parts of her story with a former coach in whom Bravata confided while she was still in high school. In September 2024, around the time Bravata turned 18, Bravata said Perez asked her for a ride home from training because his car was broken down. Parked outside Perez’s apartment, Bravata said her coach told her, “You know how I feel about you.”  She asked him what he meant. Bravata said she remembers his reply word-for-word: “I’m going to put this in a way you understand. I have a crush on you, I like you, I want to hold your hand and take you on dates.”  “I froze,” Bravata told ProPublica and The Post. “It scared me.”  An altered photo, left, shows Bravata when she played volleyball in high school. Now 19, she is a sophomore in college. Perez went inside, Bravata said, but a few days later, he asked her to come to his apartment to drop off a set of keys to the high school gym. Parked outside his apartment, Bravata recalled that she sat in the passenger seat of her truck and, with the door open, Perez came to stand close to her, his body between her legs.  Bravata told Perez that she didn’t want to have sex, she said, and Perez said he would never do anything that made her uncomfortable. Then, she said, Perez began to touch her, rubbing his fingers under her bra strap and touching the waistband of her pajama pants.  Perez tried to kiss her, Bravata said, and Bravata turned her head. He then took her wrist, she said, and pressed her hand against his clothed penis, which was erect under his loose pants. When he let go, Bravata said, her hand dropped loosely into her lap.  Bravata got out of the passenger seat to return to the driver’s side, she said, and Perez asked her, “Hey, if anyone asks, Eli accidentally touched your ass, right?”  With the volleyball season over, Bravata and Perez stopped spending time together. Later in her senior year, her confused feelings turned to something else: “It took me till the end of the school year to realize that he had been grooming me, basically brainwashing me,” she said.  Bravata confided in a former coach, SafeSport records show, who escalated the issue to school administration and the school resource officer. By then, Perez had left the high school. Bravata said Huntington Beach police told her that because it was possible the incidents had occurred when she was no longer a minor, the district attorney was unlikely to prosecute. (The police declined to release any records to ProPublica and The Post because the case is still open.) In August 2025, when Bravata learned Perez was coaching a team of 14- to 15-year-old girls at Balboa Bay, a prestigious local volleyball club, she called SafeSport’s reporting hotline.  Within weeks, SafeSport issued a temporary suspension against Perez while it finished its investigation — a measure it typically takes only in limited cases where allegations are serious and recent.  Perez did not respond to requests for comment. But in an interview with a SafeSport investigator, a transcript of which was reviewed by ProPublica and The Post, he denied any inappropriate contact with Bravata, saying that they had rarely texted and had not been close. Balboa Bay was a member of two organizations: USA Volleyball, which is legally bound by SafeSport, and the AAU, which is not. So while Balboa Bay eventually stopped Perez from coaching girls on its USA Volleyball teams, it allowed him to continue coaching teenage boys on its AAU-affiliated teams for several months. The club director, Travis Turner, said he initially decided to keep Perez because AAU rules did not forbid it and the alleged misconduct had not taken place at Balboa Bay. After ProPublica and The Post reached out to him in November, Turner said, he decided to fire Perez. He said he had not initially understood the severity of SafeSport suspensions.  This April, SafeSport issued a permanent ban against Perez for sexual misconduct and an intimate relationship “involving a power imbalance,” its online database shows.  But Bravata said she fears that there is nothing to prevent Perez from finding another AAU club — and another chance to coach children. The post A Youth Sports Giant Promised Reforms to Protect Kids From Sexual Abuse. Most Never Happened. appeared first on ProPublica.

— Fiasco in the Factory: Taxpayers Funded a $533 Million Artillery Plant That Made Nothing

 

at 8/12/26 4:00am

Alex Bandoni and Shoshana Gordon/ProPublica. Source images: Corbis, AFP and Weegee (Arthur Fellig)/International Center of Photography/Getty Images. A robot was on fire. Again. It was the summer of 2024, and the cutting-edge robots inside General Dynamics’ sweltering artillery factory near Dallas were catching fire with startling regularity, according to four former workers there. This wasn’t ideal, as the plant was supposed to be churning out urgently needed artillery shells for Ukraine. The robots, giant metal arms with clamps for hands, would end up drenched in oil, which would then — no surprise — combust as they moved steel blocks heated to 1,800 degrees into and out of a machine that periodically erupted columns of fire. One blaze that summer melted a robot’s cables, putting it out of commission for a week. Only weeks earlier, defense officials and executives had touted the factory’s innovative new machinery, imported from Turkey, at a gala opening ceremony. But employees were already used to spectacular mishaps, fiery and otherwise. “After the second, third, fourth time, it just became almost normal,” one former worker said. “It got to the point where I was not surprised by anything that happened there.” Instead of producing shells in an efficient and streamlined fashion, the pricey machines kept failing in bizarre ways. The robot arms would swing out of control, smashing into carefully calibrated equipment, and sometimes they would unexpectedly drop hunks of steel 5 feet down to the floor. The factory’s signature device, meant to precisely stretch the steel for the artillery shells, instead often cracked it beyond repair. Then there were the giant press machines, which required regular pounding with a sledgehammer to function properly but still botched the shaping of nearly every shell. “We really didn’t have any standardized practice,” said Quantel White, a former employee. “It was just a bunch of guys taking turns going at the machine with a sledgehammer every night.” To workers, even the factory buildings themselves came to feel doomed, with acrid smoke hanging in 100-degree heat over foundations seemingly sinking into the earth. A press machine at the General Dynamics artillery factory near Dallas Obtained by ProPublica The situation never improved. The U.S. Army, which funded the factory, ordered work halted on two of its three production lines in August 2025. By then, General Dynamics had blown eight deadlines. Work on the third production line continued, but the facility never produced a single usable shell, according to a report from the Department of Defense’s inspector general in July. The fiasco has cost American taxpayers $533 million, according to the Army. But the Army has not held General Dynamics or a key Turkish subcontractor — which provided the factory’s much-hyped but little-proven equipment — publicly accountable for the failures. Nor has it made General Dynamics pay a penny back.  Just the opposite: General Dynamics, one of the world’s largest defense companies, has been showered with new contracts, continuing its track record as one of the greatest beneficiaries of Pentagon spending. The company is still in charge of the factory. It recently announced that it will fix things there by bringing in another much-hyped but little-proven technology. “It’s an absolute disaster,” said one former official in an Army office supervising the project. “The Army should’ve gone after recovering money from General Dynamics,” added the official, who, like others interviewed for this story, spoke on the condition of anonymity.  Publicly, the Army has been tight-lipped about what, exactly, went wrong at the factory, located in a sprawling suburb called Mesquite. The inspector general report described the failure but offered few specifics. It didn’t name the companies involved, much less any of the individuals responsible. The report’s recommendations were tepid: The Army should determine whether the contract was “appropriately issued,” how “the money was spent” and whether it can recoup any of it. It should also “identify and implement a solution” for producing more artillery. Army officials deflected blame, telling the inspector general that they didn’t do anything wrong.  In a detailed statement to ProPublica, the Army said it will recover funding for the project by getting unspecified discounts from General Dynamics on production orders. “The Army is exercising rigorous oversight to ensure every dollar invested delivers capability to the warfighter,” the statement read. “Where vendors fail to meet contract specifications, as seen at the Mesquite facility, we are evaluating contract performance, seeking recoupment of funds, and pivoting resources.” As for General Dynamics, it has given no public explanation whatsoever. The company has said that it “met or exceeded requirements,” according to the inspector general report. General Dynamics declined an interview request from ProPublica. Company spokesperson Jeff Davis said ProPublica’s reporting “fundamentally mischaracterizes the circumstances and falsely impugns our record of employee safety and truthfulness with our customer.” He continued: “An article based on this foundation would be a materially false and misleading hit piece.” Davis did not respond to ProPublica’s request that he specify the alleged errors. ProPublica reconstructed how the project went awry through interviews with 36 current and former employees of General Dynamics, the Army, the Pentagon and the White House. ProPublica also reviewed internal company documents as well as photographs and videos taken inside the factory.  Those involved described a project that was rushed and ill considered from the start. Congress paved the way, removing government contracting guardrails — meant to ensure taxpayer money isn’t wasted — so that Ukraine-related defense projects could be funded quickly. The Army took advantage, handing General Dynamics lucrative no-bid awards without knowing whether the machines it planned to use could perform the desired work. The Army’s due diligence was inadequate, four former Army and General Dynamics officials told ProPublica. Compared to the multibillion-dollar budgets of other DOD projects, the financial cost of the Texas debacle is small. But the lack of consequences for the companies involved, in the view of defense-spending critics, is symptomatic of a larger problem: a deep-rooted culture at the Pentagon and in Congress in which expensive failures lead only to more spending. Such critics fear that extreme cases like this one could become more common if the Trump administration succeeds in boosting the defense budget from $1 trillion to $1.5 trillion. The administration is also seeking tens of billions of dollars for its war against Iran and pressuring defense companies to quickly ramp up weapons production.  “Too often the contractors have no accountability for their mistakes,” defense budget researcher William Hartung said. The Texas failure, he said, “is a foreshadow of whats to come if the Trump administration gets the budget it asked for.” The Pitch Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in February 2022 felt like an emergency to the Biden administration. For General Dynamics, it was an opportunity. And Firat Gezen was ready with a pitch. In six years running General Dynamics’ Ordnance and Tactical Systems business, Gezen had earned a reputation as a deft strategist and salesman. At 50, he wasn’t an engineer, and he had no experience running factories. He had spent decades working on the financial side of the weapons business. With a ready smile and a delivery as smooth as his perfectly bald head, he knew how to woo corporate leaders and Pentagon arms buyers alike.  Gezen was also shrewd. In 2020, after the Army sought to diversify its artillery supplier base by contracting with a small Pennsylvania company, Gezen swooped in and bought that company. That allowed General Dynamics to maintain its stranglehold over the production of metal bodies for the standard American artillery shell, referred to by its caliber: 155 mm. “Firat throws his arm around you and talks to you nicely,” one former Army official said. “But he’s got, like, five things that he’s the sole provider of, and it’s exclusive. He’s got you locked up forever.” Firat Gezen, former president of General Dynamics Ordnance and Tactical Systems U.S. Army photo by PFC Brandon L. Perry That put General Dynamics in an ideal position. Russia and Ukraine were firing thousands of shells back and forth each day. The United States was a key supplier to Ukraine, but decades of disinvestment had left the U.S. artillery industry emaciated. In March 2022, Congress passed the first in a series of bills allocating billions of dollars for Ukraine-related causes, including boosting artillery production. The next month, President Joe Biden pledged to send shells to Ukraine, and he wanted to move fast. But first someone had to make them. The 155 mm shell has been a military workhorse for a century, owing to its simple, lethal power. Packed with TNT, the 33-inch cylinder can travel 10 miles when shot out of the barrel of a howitzer and send fragments flying hundreds of feet upon impact. But decades of asymmetric warfare in the Middle East, in which the United States relied largely on drones and bombs, had led some to believe the days of artillery battles were waning. By 2022, General Dynamics was the only producer of 155 mm metal shell bodies in the country, mainly in a century-old facility in Scranton, Pennsylvania. Given that, the company was an obvious candidate to meet the sudden new demand. General Dynamics could simply replicate Scranton’s traditional manufacturing method, which dated back to the time of the Korean War. But in meetings with Pentagon officials in the fall of 2022, Gezen proposed an alternative: What if the Army funded a state-of-the-art production line that used a promising new technique? A soldier attends to 155 mm shells in Ukraine in March 2025. Dmytro Smolienko/Urinform/NurPhoto/Getty Images Central to this proposal was a virtual unknown in the world of American defense: Repkon. The company had been operating in its home country of Turkey for decades, providing “turnkey production facilities in the metal forming industry.” (Coincidentally, Gezen himself was born to Turkish parents in the United States.)  But Repkon had never received a Pentagon contract, and certainly not for its signature metalworking process called “flow-forming.” Whereas the Scranton method mainly involves molding ultrahot steel in giant forging presses, Repkon added a step in which a fast-spinning machine squeezes and rolls out the metal like clay on a potter’s wheel. The advantage, Gezen told defense officials, is that the same equipment could produce shells of various calibers. Most important, Repkon had a production line already available, meaning General Dynamics could start making shells faster than if it had to procure traditional equipment piece by piece. Warning signs abounded. Army officials learned that the production line that Repkon wanted to sell had been designed to produce an older, simpler model of 155 mm shells, which was made with different steel. It wasn’t clear that the Turkish equipment could even work with the steel used to make the newer 155 mm model, as the equipment had never actually produced it, according to four former General Dynamics and Army officials. Repkon said other countries were using the machines to produce the older model. But the Army and General Dynamics could not inspect those active production lines, Repkon told them, citing customer privacy.  The Army could have balked at all of this and insisted on learning more about the capacity of the Repkon machines to perform the desired work. But learning more would’ve taken time, and time seemed in short supply. “There was incredible pressure to go fast,” a former Army official said. Everybody moved forward. In November 2022, the Army raced to give General Dynamics the first in a series of contract awards for the project that would ultimately be worth nearly $600 million if carried to completion. The next month, Congress granted the DOD extraordinary powers to award money for Ukraine-related causes without the usual contracting safeguards, dropping competitive bidding requirements and restrictions on so-called undefinitized contracting actions. UCAs allow a company to begin work even before finalizing the terms of its contract with the government. One defense executive compared them to “building the airplane as you’re flying it.” The Army made the most of its expanded powers, awarding General Dynamics a number of UCAs without considering alternate proposals in a competitive bidding process. (The Army told ProPublica it selected the company because of its unique artillery production experience.)  In fact, the Army was so enamored with the proposal that it decided to order even more than Gezen had pitched. Instead of contracting for one Repkon production line, the Army signed up to buy three. Without knowing whether any of them would work.   Gezen had never overseen a project this ambitious. Until then, he had mainly presided over smaller expansions of existing factories that used traditional methods. But he was optimistic it would work. “He’s extremely aggressive, willing to take risks,” one former colleague said.  Some of the Army’s scrutiny of the proposal occurred only after it began awarding contracts for it. The service and General Dynamics sent staffers to Turkey to inspect Repkon’s machinery, but they never inspected a full production line in action and there weren’t enough experts who could spot potential defects in the equipment, four former General Dynamics and Army officials said. Crucially, before greenlighting the deal, the Army did not require General Dynamics to demonstrate that it could use the Repkon equipment to complete the entire production process and make shells that met the Army’s specifications. (The Army told ProPublica that “formal testing could not occur prior to full machinery installation.”) If the typical contracting safeguards had been in place, perhaps everything that followed could have been prevented. If the Pentagon had been forced to open the project to competitive bidding, it would have had to consider other proposals in a painstaking review process. If restrictions on UCAs had been in effect, the Pentagon would have had to slow down and finalize the terms of the deal before allowing it to proceed, which might have surfaced its fatal flaws.  But one man’s due diligence is another man’s red tape. Soon, Repkon’s flow-forming machines were sailing across the Atlantic, heading eventually for Mesquite. “This Is Actually Hell” On May 29, 2024, the mood in Mesquite was triumphant. After two short years of planning, the factory was opening, and defense officials and executives gathered there to celebrate. Former Army Secretary Christine Wormuth at the opening of General Dynamics’ artillery factory Sgt.1st Class Nicole Mejia/U.S. Army “Our nation’s defense relies not only on our soldiers and other servicemembers in uniform but on production facilities like this one,” then-Army Secretary Christine Wormuth told seated dignitaries. She stood at a podium branded with the General Dynamics logo, with two howitzers posed behind her. She thanked the company’s CEO, Phebe Novakovic, and Gezen by name. “It’s a pleasure to highlight the fantastic work you all have done,” she said. But everything was not as fantastic as it appeared. Artillery shells displayed around the plant that day had been shipped in from elsewhere, three former workers told ProPublica. A worker picked one up and was startled to discover it was fake — seemingly made of plastic. General Dynamics had already failed to perform a scheduled first article test, meant to demonstrate the facility could produce shells that met the Army’s specifications. The facility was supposed to start cranking out shells soon, but machines were barely functioning. Soon problems seemed to explode out of every corner, according to interviews with 12 former factory workers. For one thing, the flaming robot arms also kept smashing into things. They slammed into computer numerical control machines, breaking their windows and bending their doors. They knocked over shells. They bashed into safety fences. Workers talked about the arms going “rogue” and began calling one of them “Johnny 5” after a sentient military robot from a 1980s movie.  Even simple equipment failed with slapstick regularity, six workers said. Conveyor belts broke down. Automated carts got lost. Safety gates meant to shut down machines when workers approached did not shut down machines when workers approached. A pipe exploded, spraying water up to the ceiling. Parts on Repkon machines deformed, leading a worker to discover that they were made with Chinese steel, possibly in violation of federal regulations. (The Army said it has no evidence of such violations.) Artillery shells at various stages of production were displayed at the factory in Mesquite when it opened. Desiree Rios Smoke hung in the air; it rolled off the press machines when robots sprayed them with lubricant. Workers could feel the smoke in their lungs. When they blew their noses after shifts, their mucus was black. A worker complained to the Occupational Safety and Health Administration about a “respirable hazard” at the factory, according to an OSHA record and spokesperson. The agency opened an investigation in October 2024, and an inspector visited the facility. The smoke-spewing press machines were scheduled to be operating on the day of the visit, but for some reason they weren’t running during the inspection, according to four former workers. OSHA issued no penalties, the agency told ProPublica. Staffers started to think it wasn’t just Repkon’s faulty equipment to blame for problems at the factory — it was General Dynamics’ management, too. The plant could reach Sahara Desert temperatures when the furnaces or presses were on. “This is actually hell,” one worker thought to himself. It was hotter still inside cabinets containing drives that controlled critical machines, where it was regularly 140 degrees, two former workers told ProPublica. An outside inspector warned in an email reviewed by ProPublica that, at that temperature, “you would not only have drives failing but also human lives failing.” Every day seemed to bring more of the same: another machine broken, another frantic effort to repair it, another batch of misshapen shells tossed into the discard pile. As 2024 became 2025, little seemed to get better.   With so few shells passing inspection stations along the production line, many workers had nothing to do. A cat-and-mouse game ensued. Bored staffers spent endless hours gazing at their phones, leading supervisors to restrict phone use. So workers began bringing crossword books. Managers nixed those. Some workers were seen sleeping, so supervisors took away chairs. “We sat around twiddling our thumbs, trying to find work, trying to figure out what was going on,” said Natashia Passmore, a former production technician in the plant. “It was a waste of government money, and it was a waste of our time.” The Dumpster Fire Tension rose between the Americans hired by General Dynamics and Turkish workers sent over by Repkon. The Repkon team was there to install the equipment, but it seemed equally flummoxed by the problems. General Dynamics workers found them evasive. They would give curt responses to questions in English but then be seen holding long, animated conversations in Turkish outside during frequent smoking breaks. A carelessly discarded cigarette butt sparked a real-life dumpster fire, three former workers said.  Repkon was especially secretive about the flow-forming machines, refusing to answer most questions about their operations. General Dynamics workers could tell when Repkon was testing one of them, because they would find metal shards scattered on the floor around it later. The shards looked like alligator teeth. “Oh, the tooth fairy was here,” one worker would think to himself. Paranoia set in. Repkon refused to share passwords needed to control important equipment, according to five former General Dynamics employees. Sometimes workers would be startled by the sight of a machine moving by itself and realize it was being controlled by someone in Turkey. Spooked, General Dynamics workers tore out hardware to cut off remote access to the machines, two former workers said. Rumors swirled among the Americans that the Turks were purposefully sabotaging machinery — or perhaps even engaged in some convoluted form of espionage. “It was astonishing how little progress we would make, month after month, year after year,” one former General Dynamics worker said. “People started speculating, ‘I wonder if they’re spying on us.’” General Dynamics assigned someone to shadow the Repkon workers in the factory, two former staffers said. (The Army said it has no evidence of sabotage or spying.) Even the buildings themselves — a trio of vast, anonymous boxes tucked into the crook of two freeways — were plagued with problems. Walls cracked, and daylight became visible around window frames. Doors began dragging on concrete floors. When it rained, water would flood in — “like a tsunami,” one former worker said. The foundations appeared to be shifting or sinking, six former employees said. It was as if the whole dysfunctional factory — its fires and smoke, its idle workers and haywire machines — was being slowly sucked down into the earth. Faced with the kaleidoscopic array of problems, the response from General Dynamics managers always seemed to be to plow forward. “Every single time they opened their mouths, it was: ‘We need to get into production,’” one former worker said. “Production is the only thing that mattered.” “Nobody Wins” As the situation at the factory deteriorated, General Dynamics and the Army told a very different story to the public. In April 2024, General Dynamics CEO Novakovic told investors: “In the U.S., we are rapidly increasing ammunition production with the opening of our Texas facility.” General Dynamics failed to conduct a scheduled first article test in Mesquite that same month. That July, two months after the opening ceremony, Novakovic told investors that “the first line is running and producing as we anticipated.” In fact, the first line was not producing any usable shells, six former plant workers told ProPublica.  In September Doug Bush, then the Army’s acquisition czar and a key figure overseeing the project, said “there have been no major delays” to the Army’s goal of producing 100,000 artillery shells each month — a goal for which the Mesquite factory was critical. “Any delays you’ve had have been measured in, I would call them weeks, not months, certainly not years,” Bush told reporters. He downplayed the problems, describing them as merely a matter of adjusting a machine “so that it puts out shells just so, versus a little bit off.” The next day, a laborer in Mesquite photographed the work of a machine meant to begin giving the shells perfectly smooth noses; it had instead mangled the metal into something that resembled the swirl of soft-serve ice cream. A machine at the factory sometimes mangled artillery shells, meant to be perfectly smooth, into swirls that looked like soft serve. Obtained by ProPublica Also in September, Secretary Wormuth touted the Army’s artillery ramp-up at a conference, saying, “part of what’s enabling that are things like the brand-new plant that we opened up in Mesquite.” One month later, an Army contracting officer sent General Dynamics a letter of concern about its performance at the facility. The company missed the Army’s deadline for completing the first production line one month after that. (Wormuth declined to comment.) Despite it all, Gezen remained optimistic through the fall of 2024. The issues in Mesquite were mere delays, he thought, and there were plans in place to fix them, according to a person familiar with his thinking. “If Firat’s guilty of something, it’s not wanting to see the truth in the matter,” a former colleague said. He “has a tendency to not want to listen to bad news.” General Dynamics announced Gezen’s retirement in January 2025. Some industry insiders believe he was pushed out in part over Mesquite. (Gezen denied that but declined to sit for an on-the-record interview.) The split screen of blown deadlines and rosy public comments continued into the second administration of President Donald Trump. In April 2025, General Dynamics missed the completion date for the second production line. That same month, Novakovic told investors, once again: “We are rapidly increasing munitions capacity and production with the opening of our projectile facility in Texas.” The company missed another first article test two months later. As the failures mounted, a sinking feeling took hold in Army offices. The service assembled a team to assess the situation in the factory, which produced a report that gave little confidence the problems could be fixed. Finally, in June 2025, the Army told General Dynamics it was considering terminating the contract awards for the plant, a defense trade publication reported at the time. Two months later, the service ordered work halted on two of the factory’s three production lines. But the Army did not unilaterally terminate the contract awards. “A termination for default would’ve taken years through the legal system, because General Dynamics wasn’t going to accept that,” a former Army official told ProPublica. “Nobody wins except the lawyers.” This would not be the last act of generosity from the Trump administration to General Dynamics. In December 2025, according to the inspector general’s report, the government paid the company $26.3 million in “progress payments” for the second and third production lines in Mesquite, although neither line had ever produced a usable shell. General Dynamics’ factory in Mesquite, photographed in August Desiree Rios for ProPublica A Novel Solution Two months ago, General Dynamics made an announcement that conjured a sense of déjà vu. To fix the problems at the factory, the company would team up with yet another unheard-of partner promising technological innovation. The solution this time? Artificial intelligence. A news release from General Dynamics and the new company, Deterrence, was filled with techno-business jargon. “AI-enabled capabilities” and “intelligence and connectivity” would be added at Mesquite and other General Dynamics factories, the companies wrote. “AI transforms production facilities into strategic assets,” Deterrence’s CEO said in the release. “We’re building autonomous manufacturing systems that learn, adapt, and scale in real time.” These pronouncements have baffled former Mesquite workers. “What are they talking about? There’s nothing to learn or adapt or scale,” one said. “It’s all broken.”  General Dynamics is doing this even as it replaces most of the Repkon equipment with traditional machines like those used in Scranton. How AI will wrest miracles from decades-old technology is unclear. But General Dynamics told investors it expects to be in production next year, and the Army told the inspector general that’ll amount to 20,000 shells a month. Compared with Repkon, Deterrence is perhaps an even less conventional choice. Deterrence was established just three years ago and has never received a DOD contract. Its website gives no indication it has ever helped to manufacture anything. Its three founders have no prior defense experience. One of them worked at Tesla; the other two created a startup that enabled people to lock and unlock buildings with smartphones. Deterrence did not respond to a request for comment. General Dynamics also pledged to put $200 million into the project. That’s a small sum for a company that generated more than $50 billion in revenue last year and gave CEO Novakovic a compensation package worth more than $25 million. (Meanwhile, the company furloughed or laid off most of the Mesquite workers.) The Army says it won’t spend any more money on the project, but it has hardly blackballed General Dynamics. Since the Army shut down work on two production lines in Mesquite one year ago, General Dynamics Ordnance and Tactical Systems has received contract awards totaling $2.5 billion, the Army told ProPublica. (The service said this was for “distinct production lines and critical national defense requirements” unrelated to Mesquite.) Repkon’s American offshoot is now at work setting up a TNT factory after receiving a no-bid contract from the Army worth $435 million. TNT is the primary explosive fill in 155 mm shells. Repkon Turkey’s CEO co-founded the American company, which was originally named Repkon USA. In March, it changed its name to Paligen Technologies. Some interpreted this as an effort to create distance from the Mesquite disaster. Paligen told ProPublica that it and Repkon are “different and wholly separate companies.” Repkon Turkey did not respond to requests for comment. The one thing that key decision-makers appear to agree on is that they are absolutely not to blame. Gezen, the former General Dynamics executive, told ProPublica that the company and the Army did nothing wrong. In a brief conversation at his apartment door in a ritzy section of Washington, D.C., in May, Gezen maintained his sunny optimism. The Repkon equipment was a good option, and it may still be a good option, he said, holding an iced coffee in one hand and restraining a large dog with his other. In any case, he added, “it was the fastest option available.” Bush, the Army’s former acquisition chief who had assured reporters there were “no major delays” to increasing artillery production, also declined to be interviewed. In a terse conversation in May, peering out from his half-closed front door in Northern Virginia, he told ProPublica: “All of this was done through appropriate procedures.” Others who were involved, speaking on the condition of anonymity, engaged in mutual finger-pointing: The White House demanded too much too fast, Repkon and General Dynamics overpromised, the Army didn’t perform due diligence and Congress underwrote the whole thing.  The United States still is not close to producing the promised 100,000 shells per month, a former Army official told ProPublica in June, although other investments to increase 155 mm production have turned out better. Ukraine still needs those shells, the official said, but attention has once again shifted. In the Middle East, it’s other munitions that the Trump administration has rapidly burned through during its war with Iran. Trump officials are now calling for ramping up production in those areas — and fast. “Conventional ammo is back on the back burner,” the official said. “Everything now is about interceptors, missiles.”  General Dynamics makes components for those too. The post Fiasco in the Factory: Taxpayers Funded a $533 Million Artillery Plant That Made Nothing appeared first on ProPublica.

[Category: Military]

— “They’re Putting Kids’ Lives at Risk”: How Abuse in a Tennessee Businessman’s Juvenile Prisons Remained Under Wraps

 

at 8/12/26 3:00am

Thomas Jarvis, now 20, was attacked twice at juvenile justice facilities overseen by Jason Crews, a Tennessee businessman. In both instances, facility leadership failed to report the incidents to the state as required.   Stacy Kranitz for ProPublica The video clip lasted less than two minutes, but Tonya Webb remembers every second as heartbreaking. The grainy surveillance footage, dated June 29, 2024, showed a teenager in an anti-suicide smock being dragged violently by other teens across the floor at Middle Tennessee Juvenile Detention Center. As guards watched, the teens pulled the smock over the boy’s head, exposing his naked body. Then they stuffed him, limbs flailing, into a cell. One guard pushed the door closed, locking him in, and the boy pressed his face against the sliver of a cell window. The guard flashed the teens a thumbs-up. Webb, a medication supervisor at the facility, saw the video when a co-worker showed it to her and knew she was looking at a serious violation of state policy. An incident like this one, in which employees encouraged youths to restrain another youth, would require staff to notify both the state and the boy’s family within 24 hours. Webb said she raised questions about the incident with the compliance director for the facility. The director said she’d handle it, but after weeks went by with no sign of a state investigation, Webb confronted the deputy to the facility’s executive director. “I know you’ve seen the video,” Webb recalled telling her. “Nothing’s being done about it.” According to Webb, the deputy said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Webb found her response baffling, as word of the attack had spread rapidly among staff and the footage was stored on the facility’s own security system. WPLN and ProPublica obtained a recording of the video; Webb did not provide it. We asked the state’s Department of Children’s Services if it received an incident report from the facility on or around June 29, 2024. The department confirmed it did not. Webb later reported the incident to DCS. A Tennessee businessman named Jason Crews was the executive director of the private company that ran Middle Tennessee Juvenile Detention Center at that time. He’s also the CEO of Wayne Halfway House, a separate company that had employees overseeing the detention center and that contracts with the state to operate other juvenile facilities. Crews did not reply to written questions about this incident, nor did his deputy and compliance director. Interviews with dozens of former staff and youth, along with a review of emergency call logs, company records and state documents, reveal how Wayne Halfway House’s leaders failed to report suspected physical and sexual abuse to state officials across Crews’ facilities and prevented the public from learning about violent attacks by reducing the number of 911 calls. The state is now investigating incidents we uncovered. Get in Touch Do you know a young person who was detained in a Wayne Halfway House facility, including Mountain View Academy, Standing Tall Music City, Duck River Youth Center or Hollis Academy? Contact reporters Paige Pfleger at paige@wpln.org and Aliyya Swaby at aliyya.swaby@propublica.org. According to Wayne Halfway House and Middle Tennessee Juvenile Detention Center employees who worked closely with corporate executives, there was an expectation that serious incidents be kept secret, and the directive came from Crews. “You always call Jason and nothing gets reported without his permission — and that’s wrong,” said Kim Watts, the company’s former human resources director. She was fired in 2024 when “the company decided to go in a different direction,” according to her termination paperwork. Liz Ryan, who oversaw juvenile justice programs for the Biden administration, reviewed a detailed summary of the incidents WPLN and ProPublica compiled, the corresponding state laws and policies and the company’s responses. “Wayne Halfway House Inc. and its leadership, including CEO Jason Crews, appear to have demonstrated a documented pattern of disregard for state law, federal law and professional standards,” said Ryan, who provided training and guidance to state and local governments about best practices for youth in the system. “They’re putting kids’ lives at risk,” she said. “Absent immediate and vigorous state oversight and intervention, this seems like a disaster waiting to happen as allegations of this nature are warning signs in need of immediate examination.” In a statement, Wayne Halfway House said the company follows state policy and law and “vehemently denies” that Crews or his company have ever discouraged staff from reporting serious or life-threatening incidents to the state or 911. It described its former employees as “untrustworthy sources” with a “clear bias” against the company and their allegations as “substantially flawed.” Crews briefly spoke with the news organizations in April during a guided tour of one of his facilities, but he subsequently declined multiple requests for a formal interview. Wayne Halfway House provided detailed responses in writing to three rounds of questions. DCS said that confidentiality laws limit the agency from commenting publicly about specific youth or investigations, but that it is looking into these incidents. “DCS is comparing the information provided with Department and provider records to determine whether required incident and abuse reports were made, whether appropriate medical care and notifications occurred and what actions were taken in response,” the agency said in a written statement. The results of its investigation will not be made public, it said. Over much of the last decade, Tennessee has pushed to expand juvenile prison capacity — and to do so, it turned to Crews. Most youth in state custody for committing crimes are held in his facilities, which accommodate nearly 300. About six weeks after the incident with the teen in the video, the state gave Wayne Halfway House a more lucrative contract to turn Middle Tennessee Juvenile Detention Center, located an hour south of Nashville, from a juvenile jail into a prison. Crews now runs all three of Tennessee’s highest-security youth prisons. Jarvis; his mother, Crystal Smith, center; and his grandmother Chris Stone stand with their family dogs, Trip, left, and Pepper, in front of their home in Northern Alabama. Jarvis was released from a Crews facility last year. Stacy Kranitz for ProPublica The youth in the video, Thomas Jarvis, recently turned 20. He recalls the attack as the worst ordeal of his years bouncing between facilities in Tennessee. Days after the incident, he said, he was taken to a hospital for an evaluation, then treated at a mental health crisis center. Jarvis buried the trauma of the attack so deep that he never told his mother, grandmother or state caseworker, who was like a father to him. His mother, Crystal Smith, heard about the incident for the first time in June, when we showed her the footage. Sitting at her dining room table in Northern Alabama, with laundry drying on the back of the chairs, she watched in horror as her son was dragged across the screen. “That’s my baby that they did that to,” she said. “That’s not right.” Her elbows resting on the table and shoulders slumped, she wondered out loud what else had been kept secret. Jason Crews, right, at Mountain View Academy in East Tennessee. Most youth in state custody for committing crimes are held in a facility run by Crews. Stacy Kranitz for ProPublica For decades, Crews was a minor player in Tennessee’s juvenile justice system, running just two midsized facilities. But as the state sought operators for its youth prisons, he saw an opening, he told WPLN and ProPublica in April. Crews’ facilities began accepting teens who other private providers lacked the capacity or desire to handle, becoming an important resource for the Department of Children’s Services. When the state needed a new operator for its largest private youth prison in 2020, it gave Crews the contract. Mountain View Academy is a high-security facility surrounded by barbed-wire fencing that houses youth who have committed the most serious offenses, including rape and murder. The state also places youth there who have committed nonviolent crimes. Under its previous operator, Mountain View had been plagued by riots that drew negative press and infuriated locals. Staff called police in the sleepy East Tennessee town of Dandridge regularly for months. In one news report, the town’s mayor said the situation was “not fair to the citizens of Dandridge.” When Crews took over the Mountain View contract, he promised to get the facility under control. He called the facility a “beast nobody could tame.” Especially in the first months, Crews said, he was a daily presence at the facility, showing up every morning before the kids woke up and helping instill a sense of structure into their routine. But there were still riots, violence and life-threatening injuries inside the prison, according to a lawsuit and interviews with former staff and youth. One major change was that under Crews, the facility’s problems were kept out of the public eye, former employees said. The company’s written policy, in effect in early 2020, which WPLN and ProPublica obtained, stated that staff should call 911 “immediately” during a disturbance or riot, but multiple employees said leaders told them something different: Never call for outside help unless Crews or his deputies gave permission. This mandate pressured employees to handle many medical emergencies internally, without calling for help, according to interviews with nine former employees and youth. WPLN and ProPublica obtained the 2024 version of the company’s emergency response plan for how to handle a riot or disturbance. The directive to call for help immediately was no longer in that policy. “Before law enforcement or emergency services enter our buildings at any time, Jason Crews, CEO must and will be called, no exceptions,” the policy read. It instructed staff to follow law enforcement’s instructions “if Law Enforcement has been called under the authorization of Jason Crews.” A new point was added that reads, “If possible, the disturbance is handled internally.” In a statement, Wayne Halfway House denied that it ever prevented or discouraged staff from “initiating emergency response in life-threatening scenarios,” calling that allegation “categorically false.” The company pointed to other parts of the 2024 policy, like one for youth medical emergencies, which required staff to call 911 immediately. The company also shared a new policy for how to handle riots, which went into effect in August 2025 and removes the mandate to call Crews. Now the policy says that staff should notify facility leadership and the company’s state director before police enter the building during a riot or disturbance. The purpose of the plan, the company said in a statement, is to ensure leadership is “simultaneously” notified about emergencies while staff call for help. “Our policies prioritize providing for the safety of all involved and putting our best resources into action when they’re needed the most,” the statement read. “In the rare instances that law enforcement response is required, our policies ensure appropriate staff are notified.” Wayne Halfway House’s relationship with the police and the community has improved, according to law enforcement. In an interview with WPLN and ProPublica, Dandridge Police Administrative Sergeant Kevin Bunch said, “Call volume and the amount of time that a detective has to spend in this facility has greatly reduced since Mr. Crews’ company took over.” Just nine months after Crews took over Mountain View, the company’s approach to 911 calls was put to the test. Late on Nov. 21, 2020, guard Heather Boyd sat in the facility control room and received a radio call from a colleague begging her to call the police. Watching on the surveillance cameras, Boyd saw more than a dozen youth attacking a few guards. Following procedure, she tried to call her supervisor, according to a lawsuit that she later filed against Wayne Halfway House. When 20 minutes passed with no response, she called 911, which sent officers to quash the attack. Nine former Mountain View employees and youth said that a directive not to call 911 unless Crews or his deputies gave permission pressured employees to handle many medical emergencies without calling for outside help. Stacy Kranitz for ProPublica Days later, the company fired Boyd and at least two other guards, including one who was taken to the hospital. In an interview with WPLN and ProPublica, Boyd said company leaders told her they were firing her for “calling outside help” and breaking protocol. In the lawsuit, Boyd described the unofficial policy as “gross negligence and malfeasance.” “I thought I’d done something to save somebody’s life,” she told us. “You shouldn’t have to choose a person’s life over your job.” Wayne Halfway House denied many of Boyd’s claims in court, including that the company had a policy stopping staff from calling 911 during a life-or-death emergency and that she was wrongfully fired. Both parties quickly settled the case. The company said in a statement that it cannot comment about the settlement agreement due to its confidentiality requirement. It denied that any of the guards were fired for calling 911. Two experts on correctional medical care said not every emergency at a facility like Mountain View requires a 911 call. But when it comes to injuries, medical staff should be involved in the decision. In February 2024, however, Mountain View nurse Brandi Buchanan said she faced pressure not to call 911 despite her own professional judgment. She had witnessed teens attacking a guard in a dorm, smashing his ribs, pepper-spraying him and repeatedly kicking his head. “We need to call the police,” Buchanan recalled telling other guards. “I’m sure he has internal injuries.” But the guards overruled her. “I thought I’d done something to save somebody’s life. You shouldn’t have to choose a person’s life over your job.”Heather Boyd, a former guard at Mountain View Academy who said company leaders told her they were firing her for “calling outside help” and breaking protocol “We don’t do that,” she remembers one company veteran saying. Instead, employees called the operations manager, who was off duty and on a date. An agonizing 20 minutes later, she said, the manager arrived, and his date drove the injured guard to the hospital. The operations manager did not respond to a request for comment about this incident. “At that point, I was like, ‘They care more about their reputation than their employee’s literal life,’” Buchanan said. She put in her notice shortly after. Wayne Halfway House said in a statement to WPLN and ProPublica that the attack was “diffused before law enforcement response was needed” and “contained within a matter of minutes.” The guard, Jason Zaske, suffered a lacerated spleen, a concussion and broken ribs, according to a GoFundMe set up on his behalf. “He thought he was dying,” Zaske’s wife told local media. The guard was unable to work for weeks. Crews was angered by the wife’s public comments and wanted to fire Zaske, according to Watts, the company’s HR director at the time, who said she advised him not to. “I was like, ‘You can’t terminate somebody who just got injured at work,’” Watts recalled. Zaske wasn’t fired and went back to work at the company. He and his wife declined to comment for this story but confirmed he no longer works there. The company did not respond to Watts’ allegations but said it continued paying Zaske while he was recovering without putting him on workers’ compensation, which would have reduced his pay. Several months after the Zaske incident, Watts was terminated by Wayne Halfway House. At first the company said her termination was for failing to meet job expectations, but Watts replied citing her latest performance review in which Crews said she was “a tremendous asset to the company.” The company sent her a revised termination letter saying it was going in a different direction. After she left the company, Watts filed a sex discrimination complaint against Wayne Halfway House with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, which declined to investigate. In Tennessee, facilities like Mountain View must report significant incidents, including serious injuries to youth, within 24 hours. But former Wayne Halfway House staff said the company failed to report grave safety failures. Stacy Kranitz for ProPublica WPLN and ProPublica spoke with more than three dozen former employees of Wayne Halfway House and former residents who said they knew of serious problems that endangered youth and staff inside the company’s facilities. Of those, more than a dozen said that Wayne Halfway House failed to report grave safety failures as required, preventing the state from learning about problems in its facilities. In Tennessee, juvenile justice providers are required to report abuse and other serious incidents in their facilities to the state Department of Children’s Services, which then decides whether to investigate. Facilities must notify the state of significant incidents — including serious injuries to youth, escapes or restraint use — within 24 hours. Wayne Halfway House said it designates specific facility leaders to report serious incidents directly to the state, which the company said is “consistent with best practices.” But a dozen lower-level former staff members said they didn’t trust management to file reports or to do so thoroughly, and two former managers said they felt pressured by the company not to report at all even though they were authorized to do so. One of those managers, who spoke on the condition of anonymity out of fear of career repercussions, said Crews told them to stop reporting as much to the state because it would make the company look bad. Separate from a facility’s requirements to DCS, Tennessee law requires individuals to report any suspected child abuse, including physical and sexual abuse, to the department immediately. Nine former Wayne Halfway House staff members said they feared for their jobs if they reported serious incidents, including some suspected cases of child abuse, directly to the state. Several of them said they were pushed out after doing so. “The rebuke would be harsh and sometimes up to and including termination if we reported out,” said Mario Brown, a former therapist at Mountain View Academy. Brown was not fired from the company. The company said that it did not fire staff for reporting abuse and that staff members have an individual legal responsibility to report child abuse and neglect to the state. Employees scared about retaliation could report anonymously to DCS, the company said. “WHWH is well aware that terminating an individual for them reporting incidents of this severity would create potential legal liability for the company.” Webb, the former medication supervisor at Middle Tennessee Juvenile Detention Center, said that around the time when Jarvis was forced into a cell by other teens, management failed to report another violent altercation to the state. A surveillance video from 2024 shows the facility administrator, Lynda Odom, grabbing a girl by her wrists, backing her into the corner of the room and pulling her into a headlock. “I’m grabbing your neck because you need to stop,” Odom yelled as the girl struggled. Two other staffers helped to break them up, and one dragged the girl away screaming. WPLN and ProPublica obtained a recording of the video; Webb did not provide it. Webb said she went to the company’s director of compliance, Kelly Banks, who was visible in the video attempting to hold Odom back, and asked her if she was going to report the restraint to the state. Banks said she would handle it, according to Webb. Banks did not respond to requests for comment. Odom, who no longer works at the facility, said that she followed proper procedure in restraining the girl and that no one had reached out to her to investigate the incident. “There was nothing to report,” she said when WPLN and ProPublica reached her by phone. WPLN and ProPublica played the video for leaders at Handle With Care, the restraint training company used by Wayne Halfway House. The company said it “does not teach headlocks as restraint techniques.” Crews declined to respond to questions about the incident. According to Wayne Halfway House, Webb was later fired for creating a hostile work environment. Webb said company leaders asked in her termination meeting if she had kept the videos of youth being harmed; she believes the company fired her for insisting leaders report incidents to the state. Sexual relationships between staffers and incarcerated youth are illegal under any circumstances, but nearly two dozen former employees and teens said they suspected abuse was taking place in Crews’ facilities. Five former staff members said they did not report suspected sexual abuse as required under state law because they were scared of retaliation from leadership, and two said they didn’t know it was a requirement. Two former employees, one from Mountain View and the other from Standing Tall Music City, a Wayne Halfway House facility in Nashville, recalled talking to company leaders about specific cases of staff suspected of sexually abusing youth. They said they were not aware of the incidents being reported to the state. The former Standing Tall employee, who spoke on the condition of anonymity out of fear of retaliation from the company, described confronting a female guard after finding her in a room with a youth alone. The former employee said they suspected the guard was sexually abusing the youth and reported it to the facility administrator, hoping he would begin an investigation. But a federal report that tracks sexual abuse in prisons showed no employee abuse or harassment of youth was reported to or investigated by the state in that facility in 2021. Wayne Halfway House said it reported this incident to the state last week after WPLN and ProPublica asked the company about it. Brown, the former Mountain View therapist, recalled a separate incident of suspected sexual abuse, which he did go on to report: a child whom he watched deteriorate session after session. Eventually, Brown said, the boy told him that a nurse at the facility had sexually assaulted him. Although Brown worried about getting fired, he reported the alleged abuse to the state. Shortly after, the child was moved out of the facility. Wayne Halfway House said in a statement that it has documentation that rebuts Brown’s version of events but cannot comment further because of confidentiality reasons. Brown eventually resigned. “It got to the point where this had weighed heavily on my mental health,” he said. His main regret, he said, was leaving behind youth who trusted him. Brown later returned to work for Wayne Halfway House, he said, because of his dedication to the kids. He no longer works for the company. Jarvis spent nearly three and a half years in state custody as a teen and was released in March 2025, his family said. Stacy Kranitz for ProPublica Years before Jarvis was dragged across the floor of Middle Tennessee Juvenile Detention Center, he was badly injured inside another Crews facility, according to Jarvis’ DCS case file. That time, too, the facility failed to report the incident to the state as required. Jarvis landed in September 2021 at Hollis Academy, Wayne Halfway House’s flagship facility in rural Middle Tennessee. He had been there for several weeks when the company requested DCS move him to another provider. Right after, his case manager picked him up and took him to a routine doctor’s appointment at the health department. His file, which his family shared with WPLN and ProPublica, states that a medical provider discovered he had bruises in various stages of healing covering 80% of his body. Jarvis said the other youth had assaulted him. “With this amount of bruising staff had to be aware,” a child abuse report submitted to DCS read. A DCS investigator looked into the case and interviewed facility leadership. The facility, he said, never reported the injury to Jarvis’ state case manager or to the state as required. The documents don’t mention any repercussions for the facility, and DCS said it cannot comment because of juvenile confidentiality laws. Wayne Halfway House declined to comment about this specific incident, citing a youth’s right to privacy. The company said it was not able to file a report for a youth no longer at the facility. But documents show that Jarvis had been at the facility for weeks when the bruising occurred. Jarvis spent nearly three and a half years in state custody after being charged with arson for lighting his stepdad’s three-wheeler on fire. He was released from Mountain View in March 2025 following a court hearing. Incarceration seems to have only worsened his trauma, said his grandmother Chris Stone, who took him in to live with her. Jarvis still seems angry, Stone said, and sometimes he threatens suicide. He never discusses what happened to him inside. Inside her dimly lit brick home in Northern Alabama, with curtains drawn against the summer heat, Stone wept while recalling the assault her grandson endured while he was already at a low point. She still struggles to understand why the facility never informed her or other family members — and she wrestles with anger and guilt. Sitting on the couch, she turned to her grandson, her blue eyes fixed on him. “Thomas, with my temper, something would have went down,” she said. She told him she never would have let the company hide what happened. He sat silently beside her, without meeting her eyes. The post “They’re Putting Kids’ Lives at Risk”: How Abuse in a Tennessee Businessman’s Juvenile Prisons Remained Under Wraps appeared first on ProPublica.

[Category: Criminal Justice]

— Is There Anyone Who Can Respond to My FOIA Requests? Anyone?

 

at 8/11/26 3:00am

Collage by Alex Bandoni/ProPublica. Source images: keko-ka/Getty Images. I file a lot of Freedom of Information Act requests. I’ve been requesting staff lists from both Trump administrations, and I have tracked thousands of federal political appointees in order to publish financial disclosures in searchable databases.  Much of that data was sourced from the Office of Personnel Management, which maintains a trove of information about who works in the federal government. But that agency’s FOIA department was thrown into chaos as Elon Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency fanned out across federal agencies to cut employees in early 2025. Getting records from the agency has since become an increasingly Kafkaesque process, one that in early July of this year bounced me between three different seemingly abandoned email inboxes and two web portals. Aside from the fact that my once-routine requests now languish for months, just asking for documents has become its own kind of shell game. “They just let the whole Privacy team go,” a now-former FOIA specialist at OPM told me by email in February 2025, referring to public records office staff. The specialist was cut the next day. Here’s how the process worked at most agencies before the Trump administration and DOGE destroyed the offices that managed these requests: You would send a simple email with a text description of the documents you want. That’s it.  It didn’t mean you would get the records in the most timely manner, or would get the records you wanted at all. But it was a simple process, and it often worked.  According to OPM data, more than 600 government information specialists (staffers who administer FOIA and the Privacy Act) have resigned or been fired since the start of the second Trump administration. Within OPM itself, 12 information specialists left, seven of whom were laid off. (There was one new hire in that time period.)  Reached by phone, the former FOIA specialist told me the cuts made the office less efficient, less able to perform its function and threatened the statutory laws they are required to fulfill.  At the end of the 2025 fiscal year, over 1,600 FOIA requests were still in OPM’s backlog, seven times more than at the end of fiscal year 2024. The average processing time for a simple request at the agency slipped to over 84 days — twice as long as the year before. Indeed, I noticed my records requests were taking longer, and they were increasingly steered toward web portals. Such was the case in early July, when I attempted to submit a request to OPM for human resources data. When I clicked “log in,” I was confronted with a message reading, “Something went wrong while processing your action. Please contact admin@ains.com for assistance if the problem persists.” I emailed the address, but the message bounced back to me. AINS, it turned out, was no longer the name of the company — it is now known as Opexus. Opexus has received more than $50 million in federal contracts, according to a Bloomberg report, and has come under fire for lax cybersecurity standards after two of its employees were indicted for deleting and compromising government data. (One pleaded guilty in April, and the other was convicted in May). On its website, Opexus claims to process FOIA requests for 80% of federal institutions. OPM’s website still listed contact information for a FOIA public liaison, someone who is supposed to help the public understand the records process and assist with requests. When I emailed the address, I got an automated response reading, “I am no longer at OPM. If you need assistance with a FOIA matter, please contact FOIA@opm.gov.” So I did. I immediately got another automated message. This one told me to submit my request to the National FOIA Portal, a cross-government site that allows you to submit a FOIA request to any agency.  So I did that, too. Afterward, I finally got a response that acknowledged my request — from the same OPM portal that was throwing an error any time I tried to use it. Stymied by the lack of response from the agency itself, I reached out to Opexus support, explaining that I was a FOIA requester and that the OPM site wasn’t working. I got a response from someone named Stephen, saying, “I have escalated this issue to our engineering team.” When I followed up a few days later, Stephen said, “I have identified the root cause of the issue and am currently working with the OPM administrator to implement the necessary fix.” Further questions on the support ticket thread weren’t answered. On July 23, 13 days after I had filed the support ticket with Opexus, I got another response asking me again what error I was getting. I told them I was still getting the same message. A few hours later, I tried logging back in. The site was fixed. In a statement, Opexus said it became aware of the issue on July 10 when a customer support case was opened. Incidentally, that was the day I had opened one. The statement noted access to the portal was restored on July 23, and that the issue did not prevent OPM from receiving FOIA requests through alternate submission methods. The company said that “there is no evidence that customer data was accessed, lost, or compromised” and that the issue was isolated to OPM’s portal.  The statement added that Opexus recognizes “how important uninterrupted access to FOIA request systems is for the public.” OPM did not respond to a request for comment. I’m still waiting for the records. The post Is There Anyone Who Can Respond to My FOIA Requests? Anyone? appeared first on ProPublica.

As of 8/26/26 11:13am. Last new 8/26/26 4:56am.