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Some Texas Officials Didn’t Respond to Flood Alerts, Echoing the Tragedies of Hurricane Helene

1 day 12 hours ago

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Nine months ago, Hurricane Helene barreled up from the Gulf of Mexico and slammed into the rugged mountains of western North Carolina, dumping a foot of rain onto an already saturated landscape. More than 100 people died, most by drowning in floodwaters or being crushed by water-fueled landslides.

“We had no idea it was going to do what it did,” said Jeff Howell, the now-retired emergency manager in Yancey County, North Carolina, a rural expanse that suffered the most deaths per capita.

A week ago, the remnants of Tropical Storm Barry slipped up from the coast of Mexico, drawing moisture from the Gulf, then collided with another system and inundated rivers and creeks in hilly south central Texas. More than 100 people are confirmed dead, many of them children, with more missing.

“We had no reason to believe that this was going to be anything like what’s happened here — none whatsoever,” said County Judge Rob Kelly, the top elected official in Kerr County, Texas, where most of the deaths occurred.

The similarities between North Carolina and Texas extend beyond the words of these two officials. In both disasters, there was a disconnect between accurate weather alerts and on-the-ground action that could have saved lives.

Officials in each of those places were warned. The National Weather Service sent urgent alerts about potentially life-threatening danger hours in advance of the flash floods, leaving time to notify and try to evacuate people in harm’s way.

In Texas, some local officials did just that. But others did not.

Similarly, a ProPublica investigation found that when Helene hit on Sept. 27, some local officials in North Carolina issued evacuation orders. At least five counties in Helene’s path, including Yancey, did not. Howell said the enormity of the storm was far worse than anyone alive had ever seen and that he notified residents as best he could.

The National Weather Service described Helene’s approach for days. It sent out increasingly dire alerts warning of dangerous flash flooding and landslides. Its staff spoke directly with local emergency managers and held webinar updates. A Facebook message the regional office posted around 1 p.m. the day before Helene hit warned of “significant to catastrophic, life-threatening flooding” in the mountains. “This will be one of the most significant weather events to happen in the western portions of the area in the modern era.”

Similarly, in Texas, the weather service warned of potential for flash flooding the day before. Also that day, the state emergency management agency’s regional director had “personally contacted” county judges, mayors and others “in that area and notified them all of potential flooding,” Lt. Gov. Dan Patrick later said at a press conference.

AccuWeather, a commercial weather forecasting service, issued the first flash flood warning in Kerr County at 12:44 a.m. on July 4, roughly three hours before the catastrophic flooding. A half-hour later, at 1:14 a.m., the National Weather Service sent a similar warning to two specific areas, including central Kerr County, where the Guadalupe River’s banks and hills are dotted with vacation homes, summer camps and campgrounds — many filled with July 4 vacationers slumbering in cabins and RVs.

“Flash flooding is ongoing or expected to begin shortly,” the weather service alert said. Impacts could include “life threatening flash flooding of creeks and streams.”

A severity descriptor on that alert sent it to weather radios and the nation’s Wireless Emergency Alerts system, which blasts weather warnings to cellphones to blare an alarm.

AccuWeather’s chief meteorologist, Jonathan Porter, was dismayed to hear news later that all the children attending youth camps in Kerr County had not been ushered to higher ground despite those warnings.

At Camp Mystic, a beloved century-old Christian summer camp for girls, at least 27 campers and counselors were killed. Six still haven’t been found. Its director also died, while trying to rescue children. (People at the camp said they received little to no help from the authorities, according to The New York Times.)

“I was very concerned to see that campers were awoken not by someone coming to tell them to evacuate based on timely warnings issued but rather by rapidly rising water that was going up to the second level of their bunkbeds,” Porter said.

In the area, known as Flash Flood Alley, Porter called this “a tragedy of the worst sort” because it appeared camps and local officials could have mobilized sooner in response to the alerts.

“There was plenty of time to evacuate people to higher ground,” Porter said. “The question is, Why did that not happen?”

But Dalton Rice, city manager of Kerrville, the county seat, said at a press conference the next day that “there wasn’t a lot of time” to communicate the risk to camps because the floodwaters rose so rapidly.

Rice said that at 3:30 a.m. — more than two hours after the flash flood warnings began — he went jogging near the Guadalupe River to check it out but didn’t see anything concerning.

But 13 miles upriver from the park where he was jogging, the river began — at 3:10 a.m. — to rise 25 feet in just two hours.

At 4:03 a.m., the weather service upgraded the warning to an “emergency”— its most severe flash flood alert — with a tag of “catastrophic.” It singled out the Guadalupe River at Hunt in Kerr County: “This is a PARTICULARLY DANGEROUS SITUATION. SEEK HIGHER GROUND NOW!”

The local sheriff said he wasn’t made aware of the flooding until 4 to 5 a.m. He has declined to say whether the local emergency manager, who is responsible for alerting the public to approaching storms, was awake when the flash flood warnings went out starting at 1 a.m. The Texas Tribune reported that Kerrville’s mayor said he wasn’t aware of the flooding until around 5:30 a.m., when the city manager called and woke him up.

Local officials have refused to provide more details, saying they are focused on finding the more than 100 people still missing and notifying loved ones of deaths.

First image: Hurricane Helene’s aftermath in Asheville, North Carolina, last September. Second image: A search-and-rescue worker looks through debris on July 6 after flash flooding in Hunt, Texas. (First image: Sean Rayford/Getty Images. Second image: Jim Vondruska/Getty Images)

One challenge as disasters approach is that weather alerts often don’t reach the people in harm’s way.

In rural areas across Texas and North Carolina alike, cellphone service can be spotty on the best of days, and some people turn off alert notifications. In North Carolina’s remote mountains, many people live at least somewhat off the grid. The cell service isn’t great everywhere, and many aren’t glued to phones or social media. In Texas, Kerr County residents posted on Facebook complaints that they didn’t receive the weather service’s alerts while others said their phones blared all night with warnings.

Many counties also use apps to send their own alerts, often tailored to their specific rivers and roads. But residents must opt in to receive them. Kerr County uses CodeRed, but it isn’t clear what alerts it sent out overnight.

Pete Jensen has spent a long career in emergency management, including responding to the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attack. He served as an official at the Federal Emergency Management Agency during Hurricane Katrina and often ponders why more people don’t receive – and heed – weather alerts.

“There’s an awful lot of denial,” Jensen said. “Disasters happen to someone else. They don’t happen to me.” That can include local officials who “don’t always understand what their responsibilities are. They very often react like most humans do – in denial.”

There is one big difference between the disasters in Texas and North Carolina. In Texas, residents, journalists and others have demanded accountability from local officials. Gov. Greg Abbott has called the Legislature into special session starting July 21 to discuss flood warning systems, flood emergency communications and natural disaster preparation.

But that hasn’t happened in North Carolina. The state legislature has yet to discuss possible changes, such as expanding its Know Your Zone evacuation plan beyond the coast, or boost funding for local emergency managers. (Instead, lawmakers went home in late June without passing a full budget.) Many emergency managers, including in Yancey County, operate in rural areas with small tax bases and skeleton staffs.

“There still has not been an outcry here for, How do we do things differently?” said state Sen. Julie Mayfield, a Democrat from Asheville. “It still feels like we’re very much in recovery mode.”

North Carolina’s emergency management agency commissioned a review of its handling of the disaster. The report found the state agency severely understaffed, but it didn’t examine issues such as evacuations or local emergency managers’ actions before Helene hit.

Erika Andresen also lives in Asheville, a mountain city in the heart of Helene’s destruction, where she helps businesses prepare for disasters. A lawyer and former Army judge advocate, she also teaches emergency management. After Helene, she was among the few voices in North Carolina criticizing the lack of evacuations and other inactions ahead of the storm.

“I knew right away, both from my instinct and from my experience, that a lot of things went terribly wrong,” Andresen said. When she got pushback against criticizing local authorities in a time of crisis, she countered, “We need accountability.”

Clarification, July 11, 2025: This story has been clarified to specify where AccuWeather issued the first flash flood warning.

by Jennifer Berry Hawes

George Mason Is the Latest University Under Fire From Trump. Its President Fears an “Orchestrated” Campaign.

1 day 20 hours ago

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When the Education Department’s Office for Civil Rights notified George Mason University on July 1 that it was opening an antisemitism investigation based on a recent complaint, the university’s president, Gregory Washington, said he was “perplexed.”

Compared with other campuses, where protesters had ransacked buildings and hunkered down in encampments, George Mason had been relatively quiet over the past year, he said. His administration had taken extensive steps to improve relations with the Jewish community, had enacted strict rules on protests and had communicated all of that to the OCR during a previous antisemitism investigation that remained open.

By the next day, though, there were signs that the new investigation was part of a coordinated campaign to oust him.

One piece of evidence: the speed with which conservative news outlets reported on the OCR’s action, which hadn’t been publicly announced. The OCR letter was embedded in a July 2 article published by a right-wing news outlet, The Washington Free Beacon. The next day, the City Journal, published by the influential and conservative Manhattan Institute, ran an opinion essay headlined “George Mason University’s Disastrous President.” The article accused Washington, the university’s first Black president and a first-generation college graduate, of backing “racially discriminatory DEI programs” — referring to diversity, equity and inclusion efforts — and failing to address campus antisemitism. It concluded that “Washington’s track record warrants his resignation or dismissal.”

The similarities to recent events at another public university in Virginia were hard to ignore. The OCR’s George Mason investigation was opened just four days after the University of Virginia’s president, James E. Ryan, announced that he was resigning to help settle a federal probe into the university’s DEI commitments.

That happened after a group of conservative University of Virginia alumni, the Jefferson Council, published blog entries and newspaper ads decrying the president — in part for focusing too heavily on diversity efforts — and demanding that he resign. The council’s connections to board members and Justice Department lawyers led many observers in higher education to conclude that Ryan’s forced resignation was the result of a coordinated assault.

Now, Washington is feeling the same heat coming from similar sources.

The temperature cranked up several degrees Thursday morning, when the Education Department notified George Mason that it’s opening a second investigation — this one alleging the university illegally considers race in hiring and promoting employees. The department said it was acting on complaints from “multiple professors” at GMU.

In a press statement Thursday, Craig Trainor, the Education Department’s acting assistant secretary for civil rights, suggested that the agency has already reached sweeping conclusions about the university’s hiring practices. “Despite the leadership of George Mason University claiming that it does not discriminate on the basis of race, it appears that its hiring and promotion policies and practices from 2020 to the present, implemented under the guise of so-called ‘Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion,’ not only allow but champion illegal racial preferencing in violation of Title VI of the Civil Rights Act of 1964. This kind of pernicious and wide-spread discrimination — packaged as ‘anti-racism’ — was allowed to flourish under the Biden Administration, but it will not be tolerated by this one,” he wrote.

The university rebutted those accusations in a statement saying it is complying with all federal and state mandates and does not discriminate. The university “received a new Department of Education letter of investigation this morning as it was simultaneously released to news outlets, which is unprecedented in our experience,” the statement said. “As always, we will work in good faith to give a full and prompt response.”

Meanwhile, dozens of Jewish faculty members at GMU have signed on to a statement condemning “an attack on our university community and our GMU President that is quickly intensifying under a false, racially divisive, and deeply cynical claim of combating antisemitism.”

Even before Thursday’s announcement, Washington said he had detected a pattern that’s been playing out at other universities targeted by President Donald Trump’s administration: Multiple investigations are filed in quick succession and word leaks to news organizations.

“It seems like this is orchestrated,” Washington said during an interview Wednesday. “The same people who are kind of aligned that got rid of Jim Ryan are aligned against me.”

He finds the timing of the attacks against him and his university troubling.

“Given that the Office for Civil Rights doesn’t publicly announce who is under investigation, we were wondering how these conservative outlets even got the information in the first place,” Washington said. The “almost hateful discussions of me” in the City Journal article looked like “a concerted effort to try to paint the institution in a negative light.”

Washington said the piece seemed to be urging the Trump administration to take the investigation to the next level, the Department of Justice, which could levy punishments against the university.

Many faculty members at George Mason agree. They worry that despite the OCR’s insistence in its letter to the university that its investigation will be unbiased, the Trump administration has already reached a verdict on the institution’s president and wants him out. As evidence, they point to a web of ties between right-wing news organizations and politicians — including Virginia’s Republican governor, Glenn Youngkin — as well as some George Mason board members.

“The same unfounded and coordinated attacks that pushed Ryan out of UVa are now being leveled at GMU President Greg Washington,” the campus chapter of the American Association of University Professors wrote in an online post. “We think the DOJ, Governor Youngkin, and Youngkin’s appointees” to GMU’s governing board “are trying to force President Washington out so they can hire an ideological ally who will impose the Governor’s political ideologies on Mason’s governance and curriculum.”

Late Wednesday, Virginia’s two Democratic U.S. senators, Mark R. Warner and Tim Kaine, doubled down on those warnings, publishing an opinion piece in the Richmond Times-Dispatch saying that the Trump administration “appears to be eyeing its next target” with George Mason’s president.

“The accusations — which are pushed by bloggers with ties to ultra-conservative groups with histories of false claims about Mason and advocacy for the removal of university presidents — are eerily similar to those lodged against Ryan,” they wrote. “They include vague and politically charged accusations centered around ‘DEI’ and suggestions that the university’s administration has been insufficiently responsive to concerns raised by Jewish students about their safety on campus. That’s despite the fact that the university’s leaders have repeatedly and publicly condemned antisemitism and actually been praised by the local Jewish Relations Council and campus Hillel for their leadership and commitment to Jewish members of Mason’s community.”

The education department’s July 1 letter notified George Mason that it was investigating a complaint, filed in June, that Jewish students and faculty members faced a hostile environment at the Virginia university between October 2023 and the end of the 2024-2025 academic year. It gave the university until July 21 to turn over voluminous information about its response to antisemitism complaints.

It also assured the university it would take a neutral stance in evaluating the information.

Warner and Kaine are skeptical that the investigation will be fair and impartial: In their opinion piece, they said it’s more likely “to serve as yet another smokescreen to punish universities and leaders who don’t align with their ideological goals.”

Some George Mason faculty members share these concerns.

“When you start seeing these hit pieces come out one after another in a matter of days, you know it’s coordinated,” Bethany L. Letiecq, a professor in the College of Education and Human Development, said in an interview.

Indeed, higher education leaders have accused the Department of Justice’s Task Force to Combat Anti-Semitism, which officially oversees investigations by several federal agencies, of ignoring procedures intended to provide due process, racing toward predetermined results, and then punishing universities by stripping them of billions of research dollars.

Washington’s critics have ties to right-wing advocates of eliminating diversity efforts and other examples of what they see as higher education’s “woke” policies. The author of the essay calling Washington a “disastrous” president, Ian Kingsbury, has co-published articles promoting conservative causes with Jay P. Greene, a senior research fellow with The Heritage Foundation. Christopher F. Rufo, one of the nation’s most aggressive and influential opponents of diversity, equity and inclusion initiatives, is among the contributing editors at City Journal.

Such critics are well represented in George Mason’s leadership as well.

Youngkin, the governor, appointed most of GMU’s governing board, known as the board of visitors. The university’s general counsel, Anne Gentry, is married to a longtime conservative activist and executive with the Koch Foundation, Letiecq pointed out. “At Mason, the foxes are in the henhouse,” she said. “It’s an inside job.”

Letiecq worries that Youngkin might exert the same kind of influence that Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis, a fellow Republican, has in trying to reshape higher education to fit a conservative playbook. Neither Youngkin nor the board of visitors immediately responded to requests for comment.

“I have suspected that Youngkin, in his quest for political capital, has been following the DeSantis playbook and sees Mason as a potential New College that they can take over and take down,” she said. New College of Florida, once a progressive institution, underwent substantial changes to its curriculum and staff beginning in 2023 when DeSantis stacked its board with conservative members.

Neither Kingsbury, the author of the City Journal piece, nor the Department of Education responded to inquiries about the patterns Washington saw. Eliana Johnson, editor of the Washington Free Beacon, said in a statement that “our reporting speaks for itself.” City Journal did not respond to requests for comment.

Washington defended his record in a public statement on July 3. “As we prepare a response to the complaint, it is important that we all have an accurate understanding of how safe and welcoming the George Mason community is, particularly as we prepare to welcome tens of thousands of students to campus in just a few short weeks,” he wrote.

“George Mason has not been marred by the sort of violence that has rocked so many other campuses elsewhere in Virginia and around the nation following the Hamas attacks of 2023. It is a distinction we are proud of, and work hard each day to maintain.”

In 11 messages that were sent to the campus community detailing the university’s responses to the Hamas attacks and that were shared with The Chronicle of Higher Education, his office denounced “craven acts of terrorism as we have seen in Israel,” urged “civil discourse, understanding, and peaceable assembly” on campus and denounced the “disgusting behavior” of those who were attempting to distribute antisemitic leaflets. University leaders coordinated with law enforcement to respond to two violent antisemitic actions.

It’s been more than a year since the last campus demonstration related to Gaza, Washington said. That protest remained safe and legal and did not disrupt university business. “No encampments have ever formed at George Mason, and we will not permit them in the future,” Washington said. The university was one of the first to introduce a comprehensive safety and well-being plan, which remains in effect.

“Our data continues to show that our environment has dramatically improved since the horrific Hamas attacks of 2023, so we are perplexed to be receiving this investigation at this time. Nevertheless, we will respond in a forthright, direct, and timely manner to this and any inquiry.”

In the 2023-2024 academic year, the university received 31 bias-incident reports based on antisemitism, according to Rose Pascarell, vice president for university life. Last year, that number dropped to 12.

Plus, she said, the university “responded fully” to a previous OCR complaint related to antisemitism — but never heard back from the government.

Letiecq said that, in her view, Washington has overreacted, not underreacted, to complaints of antisemitism, instituting restrictions on protests and punishments for protesters that she considers “oppressive.”

“This is an insatiable campaign on the right and it seems there’s nothing you can do to satisfy them,” she said.

George Mason, with more than 40,000 students, is the most racially diverse public research university in the state, university officials say. To comply with Trump’s executive orders, the university has repurposed its DEI office to focus on compliance and community. It has cut six positions, eliminated diversity training and expanded a program in constructive dialogue. All of those changes are outlined in a lengthy report to the board. Washington insists, though, that the university won’t abandon its commitments to the underlying principles its diversity efforts support.

“When you are a diverse institution, you have to operate from that diverse framework,” Washington said. “I don’t run away from that. I run toward it.”

DEI expenditures represent 0.1% of the university’s budget, GMU officials say.

Asked why he agreed to speak out publicly when so many presidents have stayed silent to avoid angering the administration, Washington said the attacks were too personal to avoid.

“My philosophy is: Sunlight is disinfectant. We’re going to be transparent with the community throughout the process,” including the back-and-forth with OCR, he said.

Washington says if the university is asked to make significant changes without a standard investigation and discussion of the facts, it will deal with that as necessary. “We will work in good faith to move through this,” Washington said. “We will know if we’re given due process by how they manage our particular case.”

Katherine Mangan is a senior writer at The Chronicle of Higher Education.

by Katherine Mangan, special to ProPublica

Anchorage Rebuilds Its Prosecutor’s Office After Our Reporting Revealed Hundreds of Criminal Case Dismissals

1 day 21 hours ago

This article was produced for ProPublica’s Local Reporting Network in partnership with the Anchorage Daily News. Sign up for Dispatches to get our stories in your inbox every week.

Anchorage Mayor Suzanne LaFrance said this week that the city has hired a full roster of prosecutors and is no longer dropping criminal charges due to short staffing. The announcement comes nine months after the Anchorage Daily News and ProPublica reported the mass dismissals.

“Public safety begins with accountability — and we cannot hold people accountable if we don’t have prosecutors in court,” LaFrance said in a news release, announcing that Alaska’s largest city has filled all “frontline” prosecutor jobs for the first time since 2020. “This was about more than filling positions. It was about rebuilding the systems that keep Anchorage safe.”

An investigation by the newsrooms, published in October, found that city prosecutors dropped hundreds of misdemeanor cases because there weren’t enough attorneys on the payroll. Between May 1 and Oct. 2 of last year, the city dropped more than 250 domestic violence assault cases and more than 270 drunken driving cases due to an inability to meet the 120-day deadline Alaska sets for upholding a defendant’s right to a speedy trial.

Days after the investigation came out, the state of Alaska announced it would help prosecute city cases to avoid speedy-trial dismissals.

But those state prosecutors are no longer needed. According to the city, the municipal prosecutor’s office now has a full staff of 12 “frontline” prosecutors who take cases to trial, plus a supervisor and an attorney who files motions and appeals. The only vacancy, they said, is a supervisory role: deputy municipal prosecutor.

That amounts to a vacancy rate of about 7% in the prosecutor’s office. In contrast, more than 40% of city prosecutor positions were vacant as of mid-2024, according to a city spokesperson.

At a Wednesday “trial call” hearing at downtown Anchorage’s Boney Courthouse, Assistant Municipal Prosecutor Andy Garbe announced the city was ready to go to trial in case after case, including a drunken driving arrest, weapons charges and domestic violence assaults. It was a far different scene from September, when prosecutors were routinely forced to drop charges in cases nearing the speedy-trial deadline.

“We’re not in the position we were last fall,” Garbe said, referring to the forced dismissals. “That’s not happening anymore.”

City prosecutors said they are still dismissing cases for reasons other than speedy-trial deadlines. For example, on Wednesday, Garbe moved to dismiss two cases, including a domestic violence assault, citing factors such as the weakness of the case and unavailable witnesses. A defense attorney had warned the cases were nearing the 120-day speedy-trial deadline, but Garbe said the timing was not the reason for the dismissals.

In Anchorage, city prosecutors handle misdemeanor cases while state attorneys generally prosecute felonies.

With the most serious felonies, the state has long dealt with problems apart from Anchorage’s mass dismissals. The newsrooms reported in January that some of those cases are delayed as long as a decade before reaching trial. In March, the Alaska Supreme Court issued a series of orders aimed at reducing delays.

District Court Judge Brian Clark cited the Supreme Court orders on Wednesday when asking attorneys if they were ready to go to trial, noting the pending deadline.

by Kyle Hopkins, Anchorage Daily News

Texas Overhauls Anti-Abortion Program That Spent Tens of Millions of Taxpayer Dollars With Little Oversight

2 days 21 hours ago

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Texas health officials are overhauling a program designed to steer people away from abortion following a ProPublica and CBS News investigation that found that the state had funneled tens of millions of taxpayer dollars into the effort while providing little oversight of the spending.

The money has been flowing to a network of nonprofit organizations that are part of Thriving Texas Families, a state program that supports parenting and adoption as alternatives to abortion and provides counseling, material assistance and other services. Most of the groups operate as crisis pregnancy centers, or pregnancy resource centers, which often resemble medical clinics but are frequently criticized for offering little or no actual health care and misleading women about their options.

In its 20 years of existence, the program’s funding has grown fortyfold — reaching $100 million a year starting Sept. 1 — making it the most heavily funded effort of its kind in the country.

Under new rules set to take effect then, the organizations in the program must now document all of their expenses, and they will be reimbursed only for costs tied to services approved by the state. And they cannot seek reimbursement when they redistribute donated items, an effort to prevent taxpayer money from going to organizations for goods they got for free.

Meanwhile, Texas is opening administration of the program to a competitive selection process instead of automatically renewing agreements with contractors, including one contractor that has overseen most of the program for nearly two decades.

The changes address failures uncovered a year ago by the ProPublica/CBS News investigation. As Thriving Texas Families currently operates, most providers are paid a flat rate for each service they claim to provide, regardless of the actual cost of that service. As a result, a single client visit can generate multiple stacked charges, significantly increasing the amount of public money being spent. In some cases, providers billed separately for each item or service given to a client — such as diapers, baby clothes, blankets, wipes, snacks and even educational pamphlets — according to records reviewed by ProPublica and CBS News.

That arrangement allowed organizations to bill the state for more than the services actually cost to provide — and keep the difference. One group, Sealy Pregnancy Resource Center, more than quintupled its assets in three years by banking some reimbursements. Its executive director, Patricia Penner, acknowledged the practice, saying her goal was “to make sure we have enough for this center to continue and to continue for the years to come.”

“There’s no guarantee the funds we receive is going to be sufficient to keep the center going,” Penner added, “and it’s my duty as a director to ensure we are taking whatever service funds we are receiving to ensure we can take care of these young ladies when they come in the door.”

Two others, McAllen Pregnancy Center and Pregnancy Center of the Coastal Bend in Corpus Christi, used reimbursements to finance real estate deals. The McAllen center, which receives nearly all its revenue from the state, bought a building that had previously housed an abortion clinic. The Coastal Bend center openly acknowledged using state funds to buy land for a new facility. The centers did not respond to questions.

In San Antonio, Thriving Texas Families cut off funding to a pregnancy center known as A New Life for a New Generation after a local news outlet reported it had spent taxpayer money on vacations, on a motorcycle and to fund a smoke shop business owned by its president and CEO. The center did not respond to a request for comment.

ProPublica and CBS News also found that state health officials had no visibility into what services were being delivered or whether they were reaching the people most in need. In many cases, the state reimbursed providers $14 each time they handed out donated goods or materials, regardless of their cost or how they got them.

That included distributing pamphlets on parenting, fetal development and adoption, which could trigger the same reimbursement as providing tangible aid like diapers or formula. The state could not say exactly how much it had spent on these materials because it did not track what was being distributed.

State-approved pamphlets and lessons reviewed by a reporter stated inaccuracies — such as that a fetal heartbeat starts 21 days after conception — and painted single motherhood as risky and lonely, with marriage or adoption as better options.

While flat-rate reimbursement is sometimes used in government contracting, nonprofit and accounting experts said applying it to the distribution of donated goods — without clear standards for quantity or value — was highly irregular.

Officials with the state Health and Human Services Commission, which oversees Thriving Texas Families, did not say what prompted the policy shift, only that it was following guidance from the state comptroller. That guidance recommends awarding state grants as reimbursements for actual expenses.

The state has long allowed its main contractor, Texas Pregnancy Care Network, to handle most of the program’s oversight. The network told the news organizations last year that once state funds were passed to subcontractors, “it is no longer taxpayer money” and those groups were free to spend it as they saw fit. HHSC pushed back against the network, saying it still considered the money to be taxpayer dollars and expected it to be used in line with state guidelines.

The shift to a cost-reimbursement model appears to bring the program more in line with how public money is typically distributed across state agencies in Texas.

Texas Pregnancy Care Network, which in recent years has received nearly 75% of the Thriving Texas Families funding and distributed it to dozens of crisis pregnancy centers, faith-based groups and other charities that serve as subcontractors, did not respond to questions about how it plans to approach the new contract or adapt to the stricter reimbursement rules.

State Rep. Donna Howard, a Democrat from Austin and a vocal critic of the state’s support for anti-abortion programs, said in an interview that while she opposes taxpayer support for anti-abortion programs, she sees the new rules as a step in the right direction.

But with the new reimbursement requirements in place, Howard questioned whether many of the centers would even be able to make use of the funding. Unlike the previous flat-fee system, providers must now track costs, document services and submit receipts to justify their spending. “Who knows if they can actually use the funds now that they have to show receipts,” she said.

By requiring pregnancy centers to track clients’ income, education level and employment — and to provide clients with information about public benefits available to them — the state is moving away from a system that allowed nonprofits to collect funds without regard for who was receiving help.

Pregnancy resource centers and anti-abortion activists lobbied Republican lawmakers to block the policy change during the most recent legislative session, and some publicly denounced it.

On the social media platform X, Rep. Jeff Leach, a Republican from the northern Dallas suburbs, urged the agency to “not give veto power” over the program “to biased media reporters.” Leach did not respond to requests for comment.

In an interview, Texas Right to Life President John Seago warned that the new reimbursement model would discourage participation. He said it was “not worth small providers getting into the program because of all the red tape.”

And in written testimony, Penner, from Sealy, implored legislators to preserve the current model, saying it allowed her team “to focus on serving our clients rather than staffing up in order to handle the paperwork” required for reimbursement.

Despite the pushback, lawmakers did not take action to block the new rules.

Ge Bai, a professor of accounting and health policy at Johns Hopkins University, said switching to a cost-reimbursement system could help prevent waste by making sure organizations only get paid for what they actually spend.

But she warned that this model has its own risks. Since providers know they will be reimbursed, they might not be as careful about keeping costs down — or could even inflate their expenses to get more money. She pointed to Medicare, which used a similar system in the past but abandoned it after costs spiraled out of control.

To avoid the same problem, she said, the program will need strong public oversight to make sure organizations aren’t overspending just because they know the state will cover the bill.

One reproductive health policy specialist who has closely tracked Texas’ spending on crisis pregnancy centers cautioned that the reforms do little to address the broader gaps in the state’s social safety net.

“You can’t really make up for a lack of Medicaid health insurance for the very poor in Texas by giving people educational services, pamphlets and diapers,” said Laura Dixon, a researcher with Resound Research for Reproductive Health, based in Austin.

But at the very least, she said, “understanding where money is going is a really good first step for this program.”

by Cassandra Jaramillo and Jeremy Kohler

The Texas Flash Flood Is a Preview of the Chaos to Come

3 days 20 hours ago

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On July 4, the broken remnants of a powerful tropical storm spun off the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico so heavy with moisture that it seemed to stagger under its load. Then, colliding with another soggy system sliding north off the Pacific, the storm wobbled and its clouds tipped, waterboarding south central Texas with an extraordinary 20 inches of rain. In the predawn blackness, the Guadalupe River, which drains from the Hill Country, rose by more than 26 vertical feet in just 45 minutes, jumping its banks and hurtling downstream, killing 109 people, including at least 27 children at a summer camp located inside a federally designated floodway.

Over the days and weeks to come there will be tireless — and warranted — analysis of who is to blame for this heart-wrenching loss. Should Kerr County, where most of the deaths occurred, have installed warning sirens along that stretch of the waterway, and why were children allowed to sleep in an area prone to high-velocity flash flooding? Why were urgent updates apparently only conveyed by cellphone and online in a rural area with limited connectivity? Did the National Weather Service, enduring steep budget cuts under the current administration, adequately forecast this storm?

Those questions are critical. But so is a far larger concern: The rapid onset of disruptive climate change — driven by the burning of oil, gasoline and coal — is making disasters like this one more common, more deadly and far more costly to Americans, even as the federal government is running away from the policies and research that might begin to address it.

President Lyndon B. Johnson was briefed in 1965 that a climate crisis was being caused by burning fossil fuels and was warned that it would create the conditions for intensifying storms and extreme events, and this country — including 10 more presidents — has debated how to respond to that warning ever since. Still, it took decades for the slow-motion change to grow large enough to affect people’s everyday lives and safety and for the world to reach the stage it is in now: an age of climate-driven chaos, where the past is no longer prologue and the specific challenges of the future might be foreseeable but are less predictable.

Climate change doesn’t chart a linear path where each day is warmer than the last. Rather, science suggests that we’re now in an age of discontinuity, with heat one day and hail the next and with more dramatic extremes. Across the planet, dry places are getting drier while wet places are getting wetter. The jet stream — the band of air that circulates through the Northern Hemisphere — is slowing to a near stall at times, weaving off its tracks, causing unprecedented events like polar vortexes drawing arctic air far south. Meanwhile the heat is sucking moisture from the drought-plagued plains of Kansas only to dump it over Spain, contributing to last year’s cataclysmic floods.

We saw something similar when Hurricane Harvey dumped as much as 60 inches of rain on parts of Texas in 2017 and when Hurricane Helene devastated North Carolina last year — and countless times in between. We witnessed it again in Texas this past weekend. Warmer oceans evaporate faster, and warmer air holds more water, transporting it in the form of humidity across the atmosphere, until it can’t hold it any longer and it falls. Meteorologists estimate that the atmosphere had reached its capacity for moisture before the storm struck.

The disaster comes during a week in which extreme heat and extreme weather have battered the planet. Parts of northern Spain and southern France are burning out of control, as are parts of California. In the past 72 hours, storms have torn the roofs off of five-story apartment buildings in Slovakia, while intense rainfall has turned streets into rivers in southern Italy. Same story in Lombok, Indonesia, where cars floated like buoys, and in eastern China, where an inland typhoon-like storm sent furniture blowing down the streets like so many sheafs of paper. Léon, Mexico, was battered by hail so thick on Monday it covered the city in white. And North Carolina is, again, enduring 10 inches of rainfall.

There is no longer much debate that climate change is making many of these events demonstrably worse. Scientists conducting a rapid analysis of last week’s extreme heat wave that spread across Europe have concluded that human-caused warming killed roughly 1,500 more people than might have otherwise perished. Early reports suggest that the flooding in Texas, too, was substantially influenced by climate change. According to a preliminary analysis by ClimaMeter, a joint project of the European Union and the French National Centre for Scientific Research, the weather in Texas was 7% wetter on July 4 than it was before climate change warmed that part of the state, and natural variability alone cannot explain “this very exceptional meteorological condition.”

That the United States once again is reeling from familiar but alarming headlines and body counts should not be a surprise by now. According to the World Meteorological Organization, the number of extreme weather disasters has jumped fivefold worldwide over the past 50 years, and the number of deaths has nearly tripled. In the United States, which prefers to measure its losses in dollars, the damage from major storms was more than $180 billion last year, nearly 10 times the average annual toll during the 1980s, after accounting for inflation. These storms have now cost Americans nearly $3 trillion. Meanwhile, the number of annual major disasters has grown sevenfold. Fatalities in billion-dollar storms last year alone were nearly equal to the number of such deaths counted by the federal government in the 20 years between 1980 and 2000.

The most worrisome fact, though, may be that the warming of the planet has scarcely begun. Just as each step up on the Richter scale represents a massive increase in the force of an earthquake, the damage caused by the next 1 or 2 degrees Celsius of warming stands to be far greater than that caused by the 1.5 degrees we have so far endured. The world’s leading scientists, the United Nations panel on climate change and even many global energy experts warn that we face something akin to our last chance before it is too late to curtail a runaway crisis. It’s one reason our predictions and modeling capabilities are becoming an essential, lifesaving mechanism of national defense.

What is extraordinary is that at such a volatile moment, President Donald Trump’s administration would choose not just to minimize the climate danger — and thus the suffering of the people affected by it — but to revoke funding for the very data collection and research that would help the country better understand and prepare for this moment.

Over the past couple of months, the administration has defunded much of the operations of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, the nation’s chief climate and scientific agency responsible for weather forecasting, as well as the cutting-edge earth systems research at places like Princeton University, which is essential to modeling an aberrant future. It has canceled the nation’s seminal scientific assessment of climate change and risk. The administration has defunded the Federal Emergency Management Agency’s core program paying for infrastructure projects meant to prevent major disasters from causing harm, and it has threatened to eliminate FEMA itself, the main federal agency charged with helping Americans after a climate emergency like the Texas floods. It has — as of last week — signed legislation that unravels the federal programs meant to slow warming by helping the country’s industries transition to cleaner energy. And it has even stopped the reporting of the cost of disasters, stating that doing so is “in alignment with evolving priorities” of the administration. It is as if the administration hopes that making the price tag for the Kerr County flooding invisible would make the events unfolding there seem less devastating.

Given the abandonment of policy that might forestall more severe events like the Texas floods by reducing the emissions that cause them, Americans are left to the daunting task of adapting. In Texas, it is critical to ask whether the protocols in place at the time of the storm were good enough. This week is not the first time that children have died in a flash flood along the Guadalupe River, and reports suggest county officials struggled to raise money and then declined to install a warning system in 2018 in order to save approximately $1 million. But the country faces a larger and more daunting challenge, because this disaster — like the firestorms in Los Angeles and the hurricanes repeatedly pummeling Florida and the southeast — once again raises the question of where people can continue to safely live. It might be that in an era of what researchers are calling “mega rain” events, a flood plain should now be off-limits.

by Abrahm Lustgarten

Trump’s FEMA Proposals and Feud With Gavin Newsom Could Devastate California’s Disaster Response

3 days 21 hours ago

This article was produced for ProPublica’s Local Reporting Network in partnership with Capital & Main, a 2022-2023 LRN partner. Sign up for Dispatches to get our stories in your inbox every week.

In January, Katie Clark’s one-bedroom rental of more than 15 years, and nearly everything inside, was incinerated by Los Angeles County’s Eaton fire, one of the most destructive wildfires in California history. For her troubles, she received a one-time payment of $770 from the Federal Emergency Management Agency, which she used to replace clothes, food and a crate for her dog. While it was only a fraction of what she needed, the money was at least available while she waited for other funding.

As an organizer with the Altadena Tenants Union who has been helping renters with their FEMA applications, Clark knows just how common her experience has been for fire survivors. She believes federal and local agencies severely underestimated the need and cost of housing for the 150,000 people displaced by the fires, leaving many still struggling to recover. A FEMA spokesperson denied the accusation, saying the agency’s “ongoing assessments indicate that the current Rental Assistance program is effectively meeting the housing needs of survivors eligible for FEMA assistance.”

The disaster response “has been so shockingly bad,” Clark said, but she recognizes that without FEMA’s help in responding to fires that killed at least 30 people and destroyed more than 16,000 structures, “it could have been so, so, so much worse.”

“We would have seen a whole lot more people left to their own devices. And what that would mean is homelessness. It would mean people just abandoned,” Clark said.

Even before President Donald Trump and Gov. Gavin Newsom squared off over Trump’s decision to send National Guard troops to quell immigration protests, before Newsom likened Trump to a dictator and Trump endorsed the idea of arresting the governor, the question of how much California could continue to rely on FEMA was front and center.

It’s a critical question in a state — with its earthquakes, wildfires, floods, drought and extreme heat — that frequently suffers some of the costliest disasters in the country.

Since Trump’s inauguration, his administration has floated sweeping proposals that would slash FEMA dollars and make disasters harder to declare. This has left both blue and red states wrestling with scenarios in which they must pay for what FEMA will not. States have long counted on FEMA to cover at least 75% of declared major disaster response and recovery costs.

In just the past few months, FEMA has denied federal assistance for devastating floods in West Virginia and a destructive windstorm in Washington. The agency approved such funding for deadly tornadoes in Arkansas after Gov. Sarah Huckabee Sanders appealed an initial denial and personally begged the president for help.

Last month, ProPublica reported that FEMA missed a May deadline to open the application process for many grants, including funding that states rely on to pay for basic emergency management operations. The delay, which the agency has not explained, appears to have little precedent.

In California, Trump has cast doubt on whether he will approve the $40 billion Newsom has requested to help pay for recovery costs associated with the fires, including $16.8 billion from FEMA to rebuild property, infrastructure and remove debris. That’s on top of the almost $140 million the agency has already provided to individual survivors.

The president told reporters last month that states need to be weaned off FEMA and that the federal government will start distributing less federal aid after hurricane season ends in November.

The questions now are: How much will be approved? Will it be enough? And, if not, what then?

A FEMA spokesperson did not directly respond to questions from Capital & Main about anticipated funding cuts and potential impacts on state and local communities, but said the agency “asserts that disasters are best managed when they’re federally supported, state managed and locally executed.”

The uncertainty makes it “very hard” to plan, said Heather Gonzalez, principal fiscal and policy analyst for emergency services at California’s Legislative Analyst’s Office. “The little bean-counters in the back are stressing out right now trying to figure out ‘what are we going to have to work with?’”

The recent “dust-ups” between Newsom and Trump, she said, have only underscored the unpredictability. For his part, Newsom said he prefers the “open hand” of cooperation over the “closed fist” of fighting when it comes to disaster response.

“Emergency preparedness and emergency planning, recovery and renewal — period, full stop — that should be nonpolitical,” he said on Monday, which marked six months since the fires.

A firefighter battles a blaze in Altadena during the Eaton Fire. (Jeremy Lindenfeld/Capital & Main) The Rising Cost of Disasters

Since at least the 1980s, California has endured a rapidly growing number of billion-dollar disasters, with 18 occurring between 2015 and 2024 alone.

As the frequency and severity of California’s disasters increase, so too does its reliance on federal assistance to respond. In the aftermath of January’s Eaton and Palisades fires — the second and third most destructive wildfires in California history, respectively — FEMA has already provided $139 million for everything from home repair costs to medical expenses, and the agency “has allocated billions of dollars for debris removal,” according to a FEMA spokesperson. Over 5,000 properties have already been cleared of ash and fire debris.

The ruins of a bank that was destroyed in the Palisades Fire in Pacific Palisades. The wildfire was the third most destructive in California history. (Sarahbeth Maney/ProPublica)

Los Angeles County Office of Emergency Management Communications Director Emily Montanez said recovery efforts for the fires likely won’t be complete for many years and are heavily dependent on FEMA.

“After the Northridge earthquake in 1994, FEMA had field offices here for 28 years,” Montanez said. “We see this as being no different. This was way more devastation, way more impact. So this could be years, definitely decades.”

While Montanez acknowledged that potential “gaps” in disaster response efforts leave some survivors without sufficient resources, she said that the recent operations coordinated between FEMA and local agencies in Los Angeles have mostly been efficient and successful.

FEMA’s federal assistance supplements California’s own disaster response and mitigation resources like those allocated to the Governor’s Office of Emergency Services, which was allotted $4.4 billion in the May revision of the state’s 2025-26 budget. When the office’s funding does not cover all disaster costs, California can also pull from a number of its reserves, including the Budget Stabilization Account and Special Fund for Economic Uncertainties.

Newsom told Capital & Main on Monday that the state has increased its discretionary reserves as a direct consequence of Trump’s ongoing threats to FEMA, though he admitted that even that increased investment wouldn’t make up for the potential loss in federal funding.

California “can’t backfill the elimination of FEMA,” Newsom said. “There’s no state in America [that can], even the most endowed state — $4.1 trillion a year economy — largest in the nation, fourth largest in the world.”

And California’s $12 billion budget deficit will make backfilling the office’s shortfall especially difficult the next time a major disaster strikes, according to Laurie Schoeman, senior adviser on climate resilience to former President Joe Biden.

That will be made even harder if the still-unfinalized proposals outlined in an internal FEMA memo are implemented, according to Schoeman. One of the reforms floated in the memo caps the proportion of recovery costs covered by the federal government at the current baseline of 75%. Under current rules, the president can increase FEMA’s cost share up to 100%, as Biden did for the Los Angeles fires less than two weeks before he left office.

Another proposal quadruples the amount of damage that needs to be suffered in a disaster before FEMA awards any public assistance grants for infrastructure repair and debris removal. That would hike California’s damage threshold from roughly $75 million to nearly $300 million per disaster.

Had just that second reform been in place between 2008 and 2024, California would have received 26% less in public assistance funding from FEMA, a loss of nearly $2 billion, according to a May analysis by the Urban Institute, a Washington, D.C.-based think tank.

Such reduced funding during future events would cause an “apocalyptic scenario” where California communities would struggle to afford the cost of running shelters and paying for emergency responders to rescue disaster victims, according to Sarah Labowitz, a senior fellow in the Sustainability, Climate, and Geopolitics Program at the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace.

Yet already, significant damage has been done, Schoeman said.

In April, the Trump administration canceled the Building Resilient Infrastructure and Communities program, a FEMA initiative dedicated to funding disaster-preparedness projects. Over $880 million in federal funding was rescinded, including a $35 million grant in California’s Napa County largely dedicated to wildfire prevention work. The administration declined to respond to Capital & Main’s request for comment, referring questions to FEMA. An agency spokesperson said that its approach to disaster preparedness mirrors that of disaster response: FEMA will play a supporting role.

“All types of preparedness start with families, individuals and local and state officials ahead of any emergency and disaster,” a statement from the agency said.

The rescinded federal funding risks undermining communities’ abilities to protect against future disasters, Schoeman said, and undoes work accomplished under Trump’s first term.

“They’re just cutting these projects even though they have proven benefit cost analyses in place,” Schoeman said. “The BRIC program was started under the Trump administration … so it feels like the administration is going to cut their own leg off.”

Smoke drifts over Will Rogers State Beach and the Pacific Ocean during the Palisades Fire. (Jeremy Lindenfeld/Capital & Main)

Clark said she is already struggling to get help. She said her insurance provider has so far withheld over $25,000 due to disagreements over whether her transitional housing qualifies as temporary, and her applications for additional FEMA assistance have been denied due to her technically being insured. Some wealthier survivors had “the insulation and resiliency that economic resources give you,” while others had to depend on nonprofits or the kind of government assistance that is now at risk to afford transitional housing.

“If you don’t have those economic resources, your only option is to turn to either philanthropy or the state,” Clark said. “If neither of those are available, then tough luck.”

by Jeremy Lindenfeld, Capital & Main

ProPublica Hires Chris Alcantara as a Graphics Editor

4 days 16 hours ago

ProPublica announced on Tuesday that Chris Alcantara has joined the graphics team as a graphics editor. In this role, Alcantara will develop, design and build charts, maps, data visualizations and visual stories.

Alcantara comes to ProPublica from The Washington Post, where he was a graphics reporter for almost 10 years and published ambitious data visualizations and interactives that covered a range of national and world news. He also built reporting tools and programs that helped collect and analyze data, as well as led production of data pipelines for the U.S. presidential and midterm elections and the Olympic Games.

Before the Post, Alcantara was an interactive news developer at the Miami Herald, where he created interactive stories and data-driven graphics, as part of a three-person visuals team, and contributed data reporting to the newspaper’s investigations team.

“I couldn’t be more excited to welcome Chris to the graphics team,” said Lena Groeger, graphics director. “Chris brings over a decade of experience creating data visualizations that clarify complex topics and reveal important findings through visual storytelling. We can’t wait to get started.”

“ProPublica does valuable work,” Alcantara said, “and I’m grateful for the opportunity to join the team and eager to contribute visual storytelling to the newsroom’s investigations.”

by ProPublica

Utah Sen. Mike Lee Says Selling Off Public Lands Will Solve the West’s Housing Crisis. Past Sales Show Otherwise.

4 days 21 hours ago

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

On Monday, June 23, a crowd of about 2,000 people surrounded the Eldorado Hotel & Spa in Santa Fe, New Mexico, where members of President Donald Trump’s Cabinet had come for a meeting of the Western Governors’ Association. “Not for sale!” the crowd boomed. “Not one acre!” There were ranchers and writers in attendance, as well as employees of Los Alamos National Laboratory, all of whom use public land to hike, hunt and fish. Inside the hotel ballroom where the governors had gathered, Michelle Lujan Grisham, the New Mexico governor, apologized for the noise but not the message. “New Mexicans are really loud,” she said.

On the street, one sign read “Defend Public Lands,” with an image of an assault rifle. Others bore creative and bilingual profanities directed at Trump, Secretary of the Interior Doug Burgum, who oversees most of the country’s public acreage, and Sen. Mike Lee, the Republican from Utah, who on June 11 had proposed a large-scale selloff of public lands. Lee, who chairs the Senate Committee on Energy and Natural Resources, was not in Santa Fe, so the crowd focused on Burgum, who earlier that afternoon had addressed the governors about energy dominance and artificial intelligence. “Show your face!” the crowd chanted. But he had already departed the hotel through a back door. That night, a hunting group projected an image of him on the exterior wall of the hotel. “Burgled by Burgum,” it read.

In the weeks before the meeting, the possibility of selling off large swaths of public lands had seemed as likely as at any time since the Reagan administration. On June 11, Lee had introduced an amendment to the megabill Congress was debating to reconcile the national budget. The amendment mandated the sale of up to 3 million acres of land controlled by the U.S. Forest Service and the Bureau of Land Management, with the vast majority of proceeds going to pay for tax cuts. Although Lee had framed his measure as a solution to the West’s acute lack of affordable housing, it would have allowed developers to select the land they most desired. Under the amendment’s original language, the ultimate power to nominate parcels for sale fell to Burgum and Brooke Rollins, head of the Department of Agriculture, which oversees the U.S. Forest Service.

In the days after the Santa Fe protest, the outcry from hunting and outdoor recreation groups escalated across the West and the Senate parliamentarian ruled that Lee’s amendment violated the chamber’s rules. Republican lawmakers from Montana opposed the amendment; Burgum also distanced himself from it. (“It doesn’t matter to me at all if it’s part of this bill,” he told a reporter on June 26.)

By the time Burgum made his comments, Lee’s effort seemed doomed, and days later he announced that he was removing the amendment; public land advocates celebrated. “This win belongs to the hunters, anglers, and public landowners,” wrote Patrick Berry, the president of Backcountry Hunters and Anglers. But the celebration may have been premature. In a social media post announcing his decision, Lee indicated that he would revisit the issue: “I continue to believe the federal government owns far too much land,” he wrote. And powerful forces still support privatization. At the Santa Fe gathering, Rollins had been asked during a press conference about the effort to sell federal land. She told reporters she wasn’t familiar with the specifics of Lee’s amendment but supported his broader vision and suggested such efforts will continue regardless of the fate of the amendment. “Half of the land in the West is owned by the federal government,” said Rollins. “Is that really the right solution for the American people?”

Protestors gather outside the Eldorado Hotel & Spa in Santa Fe, New Mexico, where the Western Governors’ Association conference was held in June. (Dave Cox/Searchlight New Mexico)

The circumstances that led to Lee’s proposal continue to simmer. The American West has an acute lack of affordable and attainable housing. According to the National Low Income Housing Coalition, Colorado, with a population of 6 million, is lacking 175,000 rental units for people who earn up to 50% of area median income. New Mexico, which has one-third of Colorado’s population, is lacking 52,000 such rentals; Utah, 61,000. But nowhere is the issue as acute as in Nevada, where Las Vegas and Reno are encircled by public land. The state of 3.27 million is estimated to lack 118,000 such rentals.

The lack of housing emerged as a lever for Lee, who has sought to challenge federal control of public lands since he was first elected to the Senate in 2010. A year after winning his seat, he introduced a bill to sell a limited amount of public land, saying, “There is no critical need for the federal government to hold onto it.” In 2013, he and others in his state’s delegation wrote a letter demanding the transfer of federal lands to Utah and angrily accusing the Bureau of Land Management, which manages 245 million acres nationwide, of “obvious abuse.” And in a 2018 address at a think tank, he compared federal land managers — and people who recreate on public acreage — to feudal lords, ruling from far-off kingdoms on the coasts. He also denounced “elite publications” that advocated for the protection of public lands, and he used the language of political war to describe the conflict over federal land: “It will take years, and the fight will be brutal.” (Lee’s office did not respond to detailed questions from ProPublica.)

But this spring, Lee found support from unlikely places: the coastal elites he previously railed against seemed open to some of his ideas. The arguments in favor of privatization and development use a word of the season: abundance. Ezra Klein and Derek Thompson’s bestselling book of the same name argues that burdensome regulatory processes have crushed the American housing market. While the authors focus on increasing supply in urban areas, in April, The New York Times ran an op-ed calling for building housing on public lands. That same week, the Times Magazine, in a piece titled “Why America Should Sprawl,” framed outward growth, including through the sale of public lands, as all but inevitable. The American Enterprise Institute, a free-market think tank, has estimated that the nation could build 3 million homes by opening federal land. In December, AEI leaders advocated for federal land sales in the Las Vegas Review-Journal, promising that disposal could “usher in housing abundance and prosperity.”

When pitching his land-sale bill, Lee adopted a more moderate tone than in years past, focusing squarely on housing. On June 20, he posted on X, “This is to help American families afford a home.” On June 23: “Housing prices are crushing families.” The next day: “This land must go to American families.”

But it’s challenging to build affordable housing on public land for a host of reasons, among them the high cost of infrastructure such as water pipelines and the cumbersome bureaucratic processes involving land agencies. But a primary obstacle is the price of that land itself: When it’s sold at market rate, it’s extremely difficult for developers to create affordable homes. “High land costs alone can kill an otherwise great affordable housing project,” said Waldon Swenson, vice president of corporate affairs for Nevada HAND, which builds affordable rental housing.

In fact, past public land sales have created very little affordable housing. There’s just one prominent test case, in Nevada, where a 1998 law enables the sale of federal land at market rate in the Las Vegas Valley and at steeply discounted prices throughout the state if it’s to be used for affordable housing. Though municipalities can buy BLM land at $100 per acre to create affordable housing, the law has so far created just about 850 affordable units on 30 acres of land. By contrast, the law’s market-value mechanism has enabled the sale of more than 17,000 acres of land at an average of more than $200,000 per acre. In March, the BLM sold 42 acres for $16.6 million. Meanwhile, according to a recent analysis, rents in Clark and Washoe counties have respectively risen by 56% and 47% since 2018.

Lee’s amendment did little to address these issues and lacked any definition of affordable or attainable housing. Furthermore, it allowed private developers to nominate parcels for sale — at market rate only. “It would be an unmitigated disaster,” wrote Mark Squillace, a professor of natural resources law at the University of Colorado law school. John Leshy, a former solicitor for the Department of the Interior during the Clinton administration and an emeritus professor at the University of California College of the Law, San Francisco, said that the bill was “not a well-designed scheme to get more acres out there built with affordable houses.” Leshy, the author of “Our Common Ground: A History of America’s Public Lands,” added, “I think it is just a ploy to get your toe in the door to start selling off lots of federal land.”

New houses were going up in Henderson, Nevada, in February. A 1998 law allows the sale of federal land at market rate in the Las Vegas Valley and at deep discounts throughout the state if it’s to be used for affordable housing, which has led to the construction of some new units. (Sam Morris/Las Vegas Review-Journal/Tribune News Service/Getty Images)

Congress’ stance toward public land shifted as settlers moved westward, violently displacing tribal nations. During the homesteading era, the General Land Office — a precursor to the BLM — was tasked with disposing of federal lands to states. But in the late 19th century, states began to request that Congress set aside lands for national forests. As a condition of its statehood, in 1896 Utah relinquished any claim to ownership of “unappropriated public lands” — an acknowledgment that appears in its state Constitution. As the conservation movement took off in the early 20th century, lawmakers and presidents set aside more public land. In 1976, Congress passed the Federal Land Policy and Management Act, which codified the BLM’s role in stewarding lands and declared that they would remain public unless their sale served “the national interest.”

Lee has lamented the impact of those historic changes on Utah, where 42% of the state is BLM land, saying in a 2018 speech, “Manifest destiny had left us behind, in some respects.”

A movement in the 1970s tried to reverse those historical currents when Western ranchers and lawmakers calling themselves “Sagebrush Rebels” sought to claim federal lands for states. They found sympathetic ears in Washington, D.C.: Ronald Reagan, during a 1980 campaign stop in Salt Lake City, said, “Count me in as a rebel.” Once elected, he nominated as secretary of the Interior James Watt, an attorney who favored transfer of public lands to the states. Reagan also came to rely on an economic adviser named Steve H. Hanke, who arrived at the White House from Johns Hopkins University. Hanke was more strident about getting rid of public lands than Watt; he has written that public lands “represent a huge socialist anomaly in America’s capitalist system.”

Hanke helped drive an ambitious effort to dispose of national forests and grazing lands, and in 1982 the Interior Department announced plans to sell millions of acres — as much as 5% of the public estate — in order to reduce the national debt. Hanke later joined The Heritage Foundation, entrenching the idea of privatizing lands at the conservative think tank and predicting that Americans would come around to his way of thinking. Since then, the foundation has regularly advocated for selling public lands. (The foundation did not respond to inquiries from ProPublica.)

Lee is deeply tied into The Heritage Foundation, which he has called “a guiding light for generations.” In 2016, The Heritage Foundation suggested that Trump nominate Lee to the Supreme Court. Among Utah’s leadership, his positions on federal land are widely held. Last year, the state attorney general filed suit to the United States Supreme Court, seeking to seize 18.5 million acres of federal public land. The court declined to hear the case.

Public lands are popular, especially among hunters, hikers and off-roaders, and periodic efforts to sell them have incurred wrath. In 2017, Jason Chaffetz, the former Utah representative, retracted a disposal bill after a backlash. Last December, a survey of 500 Utah voters commissioned by the nonprofit Grand Canyon Trust found that a majority of both Democrats and Republicans supported preserving national monuments in the state. In its preelection policy recommendation known as Project 2025, The Heritage Foundation called for the privatization of everything from public education, using school-choice programs, to Medicare, by automatically enrolling patients in insurer-run plans. But it notably didn’t call for the privatization of the public estate.

Instead, Lee has recently focused the debate on affordable housing. In 2022 and 2023, Lee introduced legislation to sell Western lands called the HOUSES Act. The bill was more prescriptive than his reconciliation amendment: It only allowed states and municipalities to nominate lands for disposal, rather than developers, and it required that 85% of nominated parcels be developed as residential housing, at a minimum of four homes per acre, or as parks. But like his amendment to the reconciliation bill, Lee’s HOUSES Act lacked a definition of affordable housing, and critics suggested that it would lead to the building of mansions. In both 2022 and 2023, when Lee reintroduced the bill, it did not pass out of committee.

But it caught the attention of Kevin Corinth, then the staff director on the Joint Economic Committee, which advises Congress on financial matters. After leaving the Capitol, Corinth joined the American Enterprise Institute, which began focusing on building housing on federal lands. This March, AEI held an event with powerful developers to discuss its ideas, which it called “Homesteading 2.0.” Edward Pinto, a former Fannie Mae executive who helps oversee AEI’s housing research, said during the event that the proposal “grew out of an effort that Sen. Lee undertook with the HOUSES Act.”

AEI advocates for dense development of single-family homes, but its ultimate vision remains opaque: The group has spoken of creating unregulated “freedom cities” far from existing infrastructure, and its proposals for 3 million houses seem ambitious. Headwaters Economics, a nonprofit group in Montana, published an analysis finding that existing public land could support less than 700,000 new homes; Nicholas Irwin, the research director for the University of Nevada, Las Vegas’ Lied Center for Real Estate, said he found Headwaters’ numbers more convincing.

When I asked Pinto for a real-world example that illustrates his hopes for the West, he pointed to Summerlin, a planned community in Las Vegas, and Teravalis, a forthcoming development in Buckeye, Arizona, a rapidly expanding city at Phoenix’s edge. Both are owned by Howard Hughes Holdings, a developer based in Texas.

Housing in Summerlin is not easily attainable — its median home price approaches $700,000. Teravalis, meanwhile, was first proposed more than 20 years ago and has been beset by delays, in part due to ongoing litigation with the state, which claims that the developer has not proven that it can obtain a sufficient water supply. A spokesperson for Howard Hughes Holdings, which bought the development in 2021, wrote that the company is “working with local stakeholders around long-term water policy to support the full build out of Teravalis for more than 300,000 residents over several decades.”

Earlier this year, Pershing Square Holdings, which is controlled by the billionaire hedge fund manager Bill Ackman, purchased $900 million of stock in the company. (Ackman, a prominent supporter of Trump’s 2024 campaign, is now the executive chairman of Hughes’ board of directors. Through a spokesperson, he declined to comment for this article.)

Teravalis’ first lots sold for a steep $777,000 per acre without homes on them, and Hughes’ plans are for 2.8 dwellings per acre — less than a quarter of the figure that Pinto cited as ideal for naturally affordable housing. Hughes is currently planning a grand opening for November. The company did not say how much homes would cost, but a spokesperson wrote in a statement, “The need for new housing in the Phoenix West Valley is urgent, and Teravalis will help meet that demand.”

Edward Pinto of the American Enterprise Institute cited Teravalis, a planned community in Buckeye, Arizona, as the kind of development that could be built with sales of more public lands. (Adriana Zehbrauskas/The Washington Post/Getty Images)

When given the option, developers often pursue the profit margins of high-end housing. In 1998, Congress passed a law, the Southern Nevada Public Lands Management Act, that allows any of the state’s municipalities to request the sale of federal lands for affordable housing. (SNPLMA relies on the Department of Housing and Urban Development to define affordable housing, which it says are units within reach of those making up to 80% of the area’s median income.) Still, to date, only about 900 acres have been set aside for affordable housing projects under the law — and only 30 of those acres have been developed into homes where low-income residents can actually live.

It’s unclear why so few affordable housing projects have been built at a time when they are so desperately needed. Clark County Commissioner Marilyn Kirkpatrick attributed it to bureaucratic delays: “It’s taken a long time to get through the process with the BLM.” According to Maurice Page, executive director of the Nevada Housing Coalition, the average time the BLM takes to review projects has recently dropped — from between three and five years to one. Only at that point can a developer close a deal. Tina Frias, CEO of the Southern Nevada Home Builders Association, said such delays can be crippling.

In 2023, the BLM began selling Nevada land for affordable housing for $100 per acre. (Previous SNPLMA affordable housing sales had averaged nearly $35,000 per acre.) Still, local authorities have not requested the transfer of many parcels in recent years. According to the BLM, only three new affordable housing projects are moving toward approval.

In a statement, a spokesperson for the agency wrote, “BLM Nevada can only offer land after it has been nominated by an eligible entity and BLM has confirmed that there are no encumbrances or restrictions on the parcel. In many cases, the restrictions referenced by stakeholders originate with the nominating entities themselves.”

SNPLMA’s affordable housing mechanism is also poorly understood. Alexis Hill, the chair of Washoe County’s board of commissioners, which includes Reno, told me she didn’t know whether the affordable housing provision applied there. (It does.) When I asked Biden’s former BLM director, Tracy Stone-Manning, who now leads The Wilderness Society, whether the $100-per-acre provision was applicable statewide, she said she did not know. Squillace, the Colorado law professor, also admitted he wasn’t sure how widely the provision applied.

Steve Aichroth, the administrator of the Nevada Housing Division, acknowledged a disconnect between agencies. His office is hiring an official to work with municipalities and the BLM. “If you came back to us in about a year we’d have better answers,” he said.

In the meantime, both of the state’s Democratic senators, Jacky Rosen and Catherine Cortez Masto, have proposed legislation that would open federal acreage for housing and transfer it to trust land for tribal nations — while protecting other territory for conservation. The governor, Joe Lombardo, a Republican, recently signed a bill to invest $183 million of state money in developing housing for lower- and middle-class residents. Elsewhere in the West, New Mexico is leasing state lands to develop apartments. In Utah, the state housing office is encouraging cities to change zoning requirements to increase density; it is also using public funds to finance private developments and looking to build on state lands. Before Lee pulled his amendment, I spoke with Steve Waldrip, who directs housing strategy for Utah Gov. Spencer Cox. During our conversation, Waldrip expressed concern that the hyperpoliticized debate around a broad federal land sell-off was hampering focused efforts to alleviate the region’s housing crisis. “There’s no silver bullet that’s going to solve the affordability crisis,” he said.

But some continue to believe a simple solution exists. After Lee’s amendment died, I spoke with Pinto, who directs AEI’s efforts to push for housing on federal lands. He struck a conciliatory tone, given the political climate. (The sweeping GOP bill passed Thursday without Lee’s amendment.) At the moment, Pinto said, there doesn’t appear to be an easy route to sell large swaths of public land for development. “The path forward is to have a much more targeted approach.”

In Nevada, such a thing is already happening. Last year Clark County bought 20 acres from the BLM for $2,000, and the county’s plan is to turn that land into single-family houses for first-time homebuyers. This spring, a new affordable housing development opened in Las Vegas — an apartment complex for people 55 and older with rent starting at $573. The project was built by a developer called Ovation on former public land that was transferred through SNPLMA. It had taken a while — the deal was first proposed in February 2020. But recently, the pace of transfers has picked up. Ovation says it’s also working on a similar project in the city of Henderson. It was nominated for BLM approval last February and, according to Jess Molasky, the company’s chief operating officer, “We hope to be in the ground in the first quarter of next year.”

Gabriel Sandoval contributed research.

by Abe Streep

FDA Layoffs Could Compromise Safety of Medications Made at Foreign Factories, Inspectors Say

5 days 21 hours ago

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Inspectors charged with safeguarding America’s drug supply say they are reeling from deep cuts at the Food and Drug Administration despite promises by the Trump administration to preserve the work of the agency’s investigative force.

Dozens of people who help coordinate travel for complex inspections of foreign drug-making factories have been let go, and though some have since been rehired, inspectors said the ongoing strain of policing an industry spread across more than 90 countries has exhausted staff and could compromise the safety of medications used by millions of people.

For years, inspectors have uncovered dirty equipment, contaminated supplies and fraudulent testing records in some overseas factories — serious safety and quality breaches that can sicken or kill consumers. Last month, ProPublica reported that a generic immunosuppression drug for transplant patients could dissolve too quickly when ingested, increasing the risk of kidney failure. The drug was made at an Indian factory with a history of quality violations that was banned from the U.S. market. The company previously told ProPublica it believes the medication is safe.

In April, more than 3,500 FDA employees were laid off under U.S. Department and Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr., a roughly 15% reduction in force. “We aren’t just reducing bureaucratic sprawl. We are realigning the organization with its core mission and our new priorities in reversing the chronic disease epidemic,” Kennedy said.

At the time, the agency said the reductions would not impact inspectors. Kennedy has since announced that HHS would reverse 20% of the cuts across the agency. Amid news reports describing the layoffs at the FDA, Kennedy did not specify how many people would be reinstated.

ProPublica spoke to 10 current and former FDA staff members and leaders in recent weeks, including inspectors who said that the loss of support staff has slowed critical investigations and that little relief has materialized. Most declined to be named because they were not authorized to speak publicly or feared backlash within the industry as they search for new jobs.

One veteran drug inspector said nearly 70 people who helped arrange travel, budgets, translators and contingency plans for investigations were laid off. Only about one-third have been brought back, forcing a handful of busy managers to coordinate travel clearances and visas for inspections that can span weeks and include stops in multiple countries.

“It’s difficult to get inspections done,” the investigator said. “The pace has slowed down. You can’t inspect as many sites.”

In an email, an HHS spokesperson said inspections have not been affected by downsizing. The agency did not address questions about how many people have been let go or reinstated or whether additional help will be brought on.

“To be clear, FDA inspectors were not impacted, and this critical work continues,” the agency said.

Two former FDA commissioners and the agency’s longtime head of drug safety, however, said that the loss of support staff has undermined one of the FDA’s most essential missions at a time when Americans get most of their generic drugs from overseas manufacturers. That includes chemotherapy treatments, sedatives, antibiotics and medications on hospital crash carts.

“It’s like saying, ‘Oh we didn’t fire any of the doctors or nurses at the hospital, but we fired all the lab techs, all the orderlies, all the phlebotomists … oh, but the doctors and nurses are still left so it’s fine,’” said Janet Woodcock, who ran the agency’s Center for Drug Evaluation and Research for more than two decades and retired in 2024. “A lot of the connective tissue that deals with drug safety and similar things are going to be missing.”

Beyond the staff cuts, the departures of some longtime investigators and leaders in recent months have left less experienced people tasked with rooting out dangerous and sometimes deceptive manufacturing practices.

The investigative unit, which looks into potential safety issues with drugs, vaccines, medical devices and other products, has had a retention problem for years. Inspectors leave so often that even with hiring blitzes, the FDA has been unable to get ahead.

Between 2022 and 2024, the agency hired 105 inspectors but about the same number left, leaving the inspection pool with about 230 people, according to the Government Accountability Office, the watchdog arm of Congress.

About one-third did not have the experience to conduct independent foreign inspections, the GAO found.

Two FDA inspectors said the agency needs an additional 100 to 200 experienced investigators to do the work.

The job can be grueling. Some inspectors who travel to overseas drug-making factories can be away for as long as 15 weeks a year. Some have described threats of violence by company managers, days on planes and trains in oppressive heat and long nights preparing inspection reports before they head to the next stop.

The loss of experienced investigators and cuts to support staff have also hamstrung other inspectors.

“I am in utter shock that they don’t support and promote those of us who can do a decent inspection,” said one investigator who scrutinizes factories that produce vaccines, cell therapies and other biological products. “You’re adding to the chaos.”

Dozens of employees who handled technology support, facilities, supplies and equipment were dismissed as well, snarling some day-to-day operations at the agency. One current employee recalled how a colleague couldn’t find replacement batteries for a computer mouse and how another locked herself out of her office and couldn’t get back in because there was no one to open the door.

Even before the layoffs, the FDA’s investigative force struggled to monitor drug-making factories in countries that include India and China, particularly during the COVID-19 pandemic, raising alarms in Congress that serious manufacturing lapses may have gone unchecked. The FDA received more than 1 million reports from doctors, patients and others in 2023 about product quality issues or consumers who had adverse reactions to drugs, FDA data shows.

“Things will be missed,” former FDA inspector Patrick Stone said about the layoffs. “We are going to have a lot less safe drugs.”

The Trump administration has said little about the layoffs in recent weeks, though Kennedy told Congress late last month that more than 900 employees at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the National Institutes of Health had been reinstated.

The FDA announced in May that it would expand the use of unannounced inspections at overseas factories, a move that some members of Congress have been pushing for years. And FDA Commissioner Marty Makary announced that a new AI tool known as Elsa would help identify inspection targets.

Current and former employees others say that won’t make up for the losses.

“You can’t just expect the inspector to take care of all the complexities of organizing their trips overseas,” said former FDA Commissioner Margaret Hamburg, who served under the Obama administration. “Even though it might be said we’ve kept the inspectors, that doesn’t mean that they’ve kept the infrastructure … that actually supports safe and meaningful inspections.”

Brandon Roberts contributed data analysis.

Correction

July 8, 2025: This story originally misstated the year that Janet Woodcock retired from the Food and Drug Administration. It was 2024, not 2004.

by Victoria Malis, Katherine Dailey and Sadie Leite, Medill Investigative Lab, and Debbie Cenziper and Megan Rose, ProPublica

Elon Musk Hired a Dozen Texas Lobbyists This Year. State Law Keeps the Extent of Their Influence Under Wraps.

1 week 2 days ago

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This article is co-published with The Texas Newsroom and The Texas Tribune as part of an initiative to report on how power is wielded in Texas.

Elon Musk’s team of Texas lobbyists during the 2025 legislative session did not rival those of huge energy and telecommunications companies, which typically employ dozens of people to represent them. But Musk and his companies still hired more lobbyists this year than any other since 2021, according to data from the Texas Ethics Commission.

Musk, the billionaire businessman behind carmaker Tesla and aerospace company SpaceX, influenced several new Texas laws this year. How his lobbyists came about these wins, however, is more of a mystery.

His lobbyists, who represented Tesla, SpaceX and the social media giant X Corp., spent tens of thousands of dollars on things like gifts and meals for Texas elected officials and others during the session, according to an analysis of state ethics data. In most cases, Texas transparency laws do not require lobbyists to disclose which politicians they wined and dined or on behalf of which clients.

The Texas Newsroom reached out to all 12 of Musk’s lobbyists registered with the state this session. Only one, Carrie Simmons, a lobbyist who counts Tesla among her clients, responded, but she declined to be interviewed. She said only Musk’s companies could comment on their work this session.

Emails sent to Musk’s companies and to Musk himself were not returned.

The Texas Newsroom was able to find hints of some of their actions in records obtained from Lt. Gov. Dan Patrick and state Sen. Adam Hinojosa. Other documents detailing their deeper connections are hidden from disclosure by state laws.

Ethics experts said the responsibility to improve transparency lies with Texas lawmakers. State law provides a “base level of transparency” for the public on who lobbyists are and who they represent, said Andrew Cates, a former lobbyist who wrote a guide on state ethics rules.

“Beyond that, the Legislature simply has not prioritized enough transparency in how the dollars are actually being spent on legislators on a regular basis. But that’s not the lobby’s fault, it’s the Legislature’s,” Cates said.

Tom Forbes, president of the Professional Advocacy Association of Texas, a statewide lobbyist organization, said while lobbyists sometimes get a bad rap, they play a critical role for lawmakers trying to make decisions on complex policies. He told The Texas Newsroom that his group is “agnostic” about making reporting requirements more stringent but will follow any changes the state implements.

“Our association is going to comply with whatever law the Legislature passes,” Forbes said.

Who did Musk hire and who did they lobby?

Eight of Musk’s lobbyists worked for SpaceX, according to filings with the Ethics Commission. Tesla had four, one of whom also worked for X.

Musk’s lobbyists include former advisers and staffers for Gov. Greg Abbott, among them Mike Toomey and Reed Clay. Another lobbyist, Will McAdams, once sat on the Public Utility Commission of Texas, which regulates the state’s electric, telecommunications, and water and sewer utilities.

All but one lobbyist had other clients for whom they were also working, making it more difficult to track exactly how much spending went to further Musk’s agenda. Benjamin Lancaster, a former legislative staffer, was only on SpaceX’s payroll.

Lobbyists are not required to report their exact salaries, only a pay range. According to Ethics Commission data, Musk pledged to pay somewhere between about $400,000 to nearly $1 million in total to his lobbyists for their work this year. Half of them could rake in more than $110,000 each working for Musk’s companies.

Each month, lobbyists report their total spending. But state rules don’t require them to disclose who was on the receiving end unless the lobbyist shelled out more than $132.60 on one person in a single day. This includes food and beverages, transportation, lodging or entertainment. Taxes and tips are not counted. The disclosure threshold for gifts is $110.

Lobbyists also don’t need to disclose exactly who attended events to which all legislators were invited, like catered lunches for the entire Texas House of Representatives or happy hours hosted off-site.

In practice, these rules mean a lobbyist could buy the same elected official a steak dinner every night. As long as the daily cost stays under that amount, they don’t need to say who got the free meal.

Musk’s lobbyists spent more than $46,000 on food and drink alone for elected officials and their staff, family and guests this year, according to state ethics records. None of them detailed which elected officials may have been on the receiving end, implying all of their spending remained beneath the daily threshold.

Jim Clancy, the former chair of the Ethics Commission, said it’s common for multiple lobbyists to divide a single bill in order to stay below the reporting threshold.

“They have 15 different credit cards in the deal to make sure that it’s all below the limit,” Clancy told The Texas Newsroom. “The Legislature has to change it. And if they did, they wouldn’t get to eat for free.”

A slate of ethics bills, including several to require transparency into who funds mass text messages for political campaigns, failed to become law this year, according to The Texas Tribune. Meanwhile, legislators approved a new law that will reduce the fine for former lawmakers who engage in illegal lobbying activity.

What do other records show?

While lobbyists are not required to disclose which bills they discuss in private meetings with officials and their staff, they must note their position if they choose to testify on a piece of legislation. This is how The Texas Newsroom identified the 13 bills on which Musk’s lobbyists took a public stance.

The Texas Newsroom was able to glean some additional insight on lobbyist influence from records received through public information requests.

Calendars for Hinojosa, a newly elected South Texas Republican who authored multiple bills that would benefit SpaceX and other aerospace companies, showed he or his staff had meetings scheduled with lobbyists or representatives from Musk’s rocket company at least three times in two months. Emails showed Patrick penned a letter to the Federal Aviation Administration supporting SpaceX’s ability to increase the number of launches at its South Texas rocket site.

Patrick was also invited to take a tour of the Tesla Gigafactory outside Austin, these records showed, but it’s unclear if he went.

Neither Hinojosa nor Patrick responded to requests for an interview.

The Texas Senate declined to release other documents that could have shed light on how Musk’s companies interacted with elected officials. In denying their release, Senate Secretary Patsy Spaw said communications between state lawmakers and Texas residents are “confidential by law.”

The reason, she said, is “to ensure the right of citizens of the state to petition their state government without fear of harassment, retaliation or public ridicule.”

This could include emails with lobbyists.

Lauren McGaughy is a journalist with The Texas Newsroom, a collaboration among NPR and the public radio stations in Texas. She is based at KUT in Austin. Reach her at lmcgaughy@kut.org. Sign up for KUT newsletters.

by Lauren McGaughy, The Texas Newsroom

Trump’s First EPA Promised to Crack Down on Forever Chemicals. His Second EPA Is Pulling Back.

1 week 3 days ago

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One summer day in 2017, a front-page story in the StarNews of Wilmington, North Carolina, shook up the lives of hundreds of thousands of people. The drinking water system, it said, was polluted with a contaminant commonly known as GenX, part of the family of “forever” PFAS chemicals.

It came from a Chemours plant in Fayetteville, near the winding Cape Fear River. Few knew about the contaminated water until the article described the discoveries of scientists from the Environmental Protection Agency and a state university. Given that certain types of PFAS have been linked to cancer, there was widespread anxiety over its potential danger.

In the onslaught of legal action and activism that followed, the EPA during President Donald Trump’s first term took an assertive stance, vowing to combat the spread of PFAS nationwide.

In its big-picture PFAS action plan from 2019, the agency said it would attack this complex problem on multiple fronts. It would, for example, consider limiting the presence of two of the best-known compounds — PFOA and PFOS — in drinking water. And, it said, it would find out more about the potential harm of GenX, which was virtually unregulated.

By the time Trump was sworn in for his second term, many of the plan’s suggestions had been put in place. After his first administration said PFOA and PFOS in drinking water should be regulated, standards were finalized under President Joe Biden. Four other types of PFAS, including GenX, were also tagged with limits.

But now, the second Trump administration is pulling back. The EPA said in May that it will delay enforcement on the drinking water limits for PFOA and PFOS until 2031, and it will rescind and reconsider the limits on the other four. Among those who challenged the standards in court is Chemours, which has argued that the EPA, under Biden, “used flawed science and didn’t follow proper rulemaking procedures” for GenX.

These EPA decisions under Trump are part of a slew of delays and course changes to PFAS policies that had been supported in his first term. Even though his earlier EPA pursued a measure that would help hold polluters accountable for cleaning up PFAS, the EPA of his second term has not yet committed to it. The agency also slowed down a process for finding out how industries have used the chemicals, a step prompted by a law signed by Trump in 2019.

At the same time, the EPA is hampering its ability to research pollutants — the kind of research that made it possible for its own scientists to investigate GenX. As the Trump administration seeks severe reductions in the EPA’s budget, the agency has terminated grants for PFAS studies and paralyzed its scientists with spending restrictions.

Pointing to earlier announcements on its approach to the chemicals, the EPA told ProPublica that it’s “committed to addressing PFAS in drinking water and ensuring that regulations issued under the Safe Drinking Water Act follow the law, follow the science, and can be implemented by water systems to strengthen public health protections.”

“If anything,” the agency added, “the Trump administration’s historic PFAS plan in 2019 laid the groundwork for the first steps to comprehensively address this contamination across media and we will continue to do so this term.”

In public appearances, EPA Administrator Lee Zeldin has pushed back on the suggestion that his agency weakened the drinking water limits on GenX and similar compounds. Future regulations imposed by his agency, he said, could be more or less stringent.

“What we want to do is follow the science, period,” he has said.

That sentiment perplexes scientists and environmental advocates, who say there is already persuasive evidence on the dangers of these chemicals that linger in the environment. The EPA reviewed GenX, for example, during both the first Trump and Biden administrations. In both 2018 and 2021, the agency pointed to animal studies linking it to cancer, as well as problems with kidneys, immune systems and, especially, livers. (Chemours has argued that certain animal studies have limited relevance to humans.)

Scientists and advocates also said it’s unclear what it means for the EPA to follow the science while diminishing its own ability to conduct research.

“I don’t understand why we would want to hamstring the agency that is designed to make sure we have clean air and clean water,” said Jamie DeWitt, a toxicologist in Oregon who worked with other scientists on Cape Fear River research. “I don’t understand it.”

The Cape Fear River runs near the Chemours plant in Fayetteville, North Carolina. (Ed Kashi/The New York Times/Redux Images) Delays, Confusion Over PFAS

Favored for their nonstick and liquid-resistant qualities, synthetic PFAS chemicals are widely used in products like raincoats, cookware and fast food wrappers. Manufacturers made the chemicals for decades without disclosing how certain types are toxic at extremely low levels, can accumulate in the body and will scarcely break down over time — hence the nickname “forever chemicals.”

The chemicals persist in soil and water too, making them complicated and costly to clean up, leading to a yearslong push to get such sites covered by the EPA’s Superfund program, which is designed to handle toxic swaths of land. During the first Trump administration, the EPA said it was taking steps toward designating the two legacy compounds, PFOA and PFOS, as “hazardous substances” under the Superfund program. Its liability provisions would help hold polluters responsible for the cost of cleaning up.

Moving forward with this designation process was a priority, according to the PFAS plan from Trump’s first term. Zeldin’s EPA describes that plan as “historic.” And, when he represented a Long Island district with PFAS problems in Congress, Zeldin voted for a bill that would have directed the EPA to take this step.

The designation became official under Biden. But business groups, including the U.S. Chamber of Commerce, and organizations representing the construction, recycling and chemical industries, sued. Project 2025, The Heritage Foundation’s playbook for the new administration, also questioned it.

Zeldin has said repeatedly that he wants to hold polluters accountable for PFAS, but his EPA requested three delays in the court case challenging the Superfund designation that helps make it possible.

The agency said in a recent motion it needed the latest pause because new leadership is still reviewing the issues and evaluating the designation in context of its “comprehensive strategy to address PFOA and PFOS.”

The EPA also delayed a rule requiring manufacturers and importers to report details about their PFAS use between 2011 and 2022. An annual bill that sets defense policy and spending, signed by Trump in his first term, had charged the EPA with developing such a process.

When Biden’s EPA finalized it, the agency said the rule would provide the largest-ever dataset of PFAS manufactured and used in the United States. It would help authorities understand their spread and determine what protections might be warranted.

Businesses were supposed to start reporting this month. But in a May 2 letter, a coalition of chemical companies petitioned the EPA to withdraw the deadline, reconsider the rule and issue a revised one with narrowed scope.

When the EPA delayed the rule less than two weeks later, it said it needed time to prepare for data collection and to consider changes to aspects of the rule.

In an email to ProPublica, the agency said it will address PFAS in many ways. Its approach, the agency said, is to give more time for compliance and to work with water systems to reduce PFAS exposure as quickly as feasible, “rather than issue violations and collect fees that don’t benefit public health.”

The court expects an update from the EPA in the Superfund designation case by Wednesday, and in the legal challenges to the drinking water standards by July 21. The EPA could continue defending the rules. It could ask the court for permission to reverse its position or to send the rules back to the agency for reconsideration. Or it could also ask for further pauses.

“It’s just a big unanswered question whether this administration and this EPA is going to be serious about enforcing anything,” said Robert Sussman, a former EPA official from the administrations of Presidents Bill Clinton and Barack Obama. As a lawyer, he now represents environmental groups that filed an amicus brief in PFAS cases.

Back in North Carolina, problems caused by the chemicals continue to play out.

A consent order between the state and Chemours required the manufacturer to drastically reduce the release of GenX and other PFAS into the environment. (The chemicals commonly called GenX refer to HFPO-DA and its ammonium salt, which are involved in the GenX processing aid technology owned by Chemours.)

Chemours told ProPublica that it invested more than $400 million to remediate and reduce PFAS emissions. It also noted that there are hundreds of PFAS users in North Carolina, “as evidenced by PFAS seen upstream and hundreds of miles away” from its Fayetteville plant “that cannot be traced back to the site.”

PFAS-riddled sea foam continues to wash up on the coastal beaches. Chemours and water utilities, meanwhile, are battling in court about who should cover the cost of upgrades to remove the chemicals from drinking water.

Community forums about PFAS draw triple-digit crowds, even when they’re held on a weeknight, said Emily Donovan, co-founder of the volunteer group Clean Cape Fear, which has intervened in federal litigation. In the fast-growing region, new residents are just learning about the chemicals, she said, and they’re angry.

“I feel like we’re walking backwards,” Donovan said. Pulling back from the drinking water standards, in particular, is “disrespectful to this community.”

“It’s one thing to say you’re going to focus on PFAS,” she added. “It’s another thing to never let it cross the finish line and become any meaningful regulation.”

A letter dated April 29, 2025, notifying Michigan State University about the termination of a grant for research into PFAS, one day after the EPA said in a press release that it was committed to combating PFAS contamination by, in part, “strengthening the science.” (Obtained by ProPublica) Research Under Fire

The EPA of Trump’s first term didn’t just call for more regulation of PFAS, it also stressed the importance of better understanding the forever chemicals through research and testing.

In a 2020 update to its PFAS action plan, the EPA highlighted its support for North Carolina’s investigation of GenX in the Cape Fear River. And it described its efforts to develop the science on PFAS issues affecting rural economies with “first-of-its-kind funding for the agriculture sector.”

Zeldin, too, has boasted about advancing PFAS research in an April news release. “This is just a start of the work we will do on PFAS to ensure Americans have the cleanest air, land, and water,” he said.

At about the same time, though, the agency terminated a host of congressionally appropriated grants for PFAS research, including over $15 million for projects focused on food and farmlands in places like Utah, Texas and Illinois.

Scientists at Michigan State University, for example, were investigating how PFAS interacts with water, soil, crops, livestock and biosolids, which are used for fertilizer. They timed their latest study to this year’s growing season, hired staff and partnered with a farm. Then the EPA canceled two grants.

In virtually identical letters, the agency said that each grant “no longer effectuates the program goals or agency priorities. The objectives of the award are no longer consistent with EPA funding priorities.”

The contrast between the agency’s words and actions raises questions about the process behind its decisions, said Cheryl Murphy, head of Michigan State’s Center for PFAS Research and co-lead of one of the projects.

“If you halt it right now,” she said, “what we’re doing is we’re undermining our ability to translate the science that we’re developing into some policy and guidance to help people minimize their exposure to PFAS.”

At least some of the researchers are appealing the terminations.

About a month after PFAS grants to research teams in Maine and Virginia were terminated for not being aligned with agency priorities, the agency reinstated them. The EPA told ProPublica that “there will be more updates on research-related grants in the future.”

Even if the Michigan State grants are reinstated, there could be lasting consequences, said Hui Li, the soil scientist who led both projects. “We will miss the season for this year,” he said in an email, “and could lose the livestock on the farm for the research.”

Federal researchers are also in limbo. Uncertainty, lost capacity and spending restrictions have stunted the work at an EPA lab in Duluth, Minnesota, that investigates PFAS and other potential hazards, according to several sources connected to it. As one source who works at the lab put it, “We don’t know how much longer we will be operating as is.”

The EPA told ProPublica that it’s “continuing to invest in research and labs, including Duluth, to advance the mission of protecting human health and the environment.”

Meanwhile, the agency is asking Congress to eliminate more than half of its own budget. That includes massive staffing cuts, and it would slash nearly all the money for two major programs that help states fund water and wastewater infrastructure. One dates back to President Ronald Reagan’s administration. The other was spotlighted in a paper by Trump’s first-term EPA, which said communities could use these funds to protect public health from PFAS. It trumpeted examples from places like Michigan and New Jersey.

The EPA lost 727 employees in voluntary separations between Jan. 1 and late June, according to numbers the agency provided to ProPublica. It said it received more than 2,600 applications for the second round of deferred resignations and voluntary early retirements.

“These are really technical, difficult jobs,” said Melanie Benesh, vice president for government affairs at the nonprofit Environmental Working Group. “And the EPA, by encouraging so many employees to leave, is also losing a lot of institutional knowledge and a lot of technical expertise.”

The shake-up also worries DeWitt, who was one of the scientists who helped investigate the Cape Fear River contamination and who has served on an EPA science advisory board. Her voice shook as she reflected on the EPA’s workforce, “some of the finest scientists I know,” and what their loss means for public well-being.

“Taking away this talent from our federal sector,” she said, will have “profound effects on the agency’s ability to protect people in the United States from hazardous chemicals in air, in water, in soil and potentially in food.”

by Anna Clark

Inside Elon Musk’s Stellar Year at the Texas Capitol

1 week 3 days ago

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This article is co-published with The Texas Newsroom and The Texas Tribune as part of an initiative to report on how power is wielded in Texas.

Elon Musk was pleading.

It was April 2013, and Musk stood at a podium in a small committee room in the basement of the Texas Capitol. The Tesla CEO asked the legislators gathered before him to change state law, allowing him to bypass the state’s powerful car dealership lobby and sell his electric vehicles directly to the public.

He painted a bleak picture of what could happen if they didn’t give him his way.

“We would, I’m afraid, we would fail,” Musk told the assembled representatives. “So for us, it’s a matter of life or death.”

Clad in a dark suit instead of his now ubiquitous black T-shirt and baseball hat, the younger Musk was unable to persuade lawmakers in Austin. That year, the bill he wanted to pass died.

More than a decade later, however, Musk’s fortunes inside the Texas Capitol have changed — dramatically.

Musk is now not only one of the richest people in the world, who, until recently, was a key member of President Donald Trump’s second administration, but he’s also become one of the most powerful business and political figures in the state.

During this year’s legislative session, Musk’s lobbyists and representatives publicly advocated for almost a dozen bills that would benefit his companies. The Texas Newsroom identified these priorities by searching legislative records for committee testimony and other evidence of his public stances.

Musk wanted legislators to pass new laws that would make it faster and easier for homeowners to install backup power generators, like the kind Tesla makes, on their properties. He wanted them to create new crimes so people who fly drones or interfere with operations at his rocket company SpaceX can be arrested. And he wanted to change who controlled the highway and public beach near SpaceX’s South Texas site so he can launch his rockets according to his timeline.

Musk got them all.

In a Capitol where the vast majority of bills fail to pass, all but three of Musk’s public priorities will become law. The two bills his lobbyists openly opposed are dead, including a measure that would have regulated autonomous vehicles.

Musk made gains even on bills he didn’t publicly endorse. Texas lawmakers followed the tech giant’s lead by rewriting the state’s corporate laws and creating a new office modeled after the Department of Government Efficiency, the controversial effort he led in the Trump administration to cut federal spending.

By all accounts, Musk’s influence was great enough that he did not have to formally address lawmakers in person this session to make the case for any of his priorities.

Critics said these new laws will hand Musk’s companies more cash, more power and more protection from scrutiny as his business footprint continues to expand across Texas.

“The real harm is the influence of a private company on the decisions made by government,” Cyrus Reed, the conservation director for the Sierra Club’s Lone Star Chapter, told The Texas Newsroom. The Sierra Club is part of a group suing the state over SpaceX’s activities in South Texas.

Musk and his representatives did not respond to requests for an interview. He recently ended his run with DOGE, and his relationship with Trump has increasingly frayed.

Contrary to his slash-and-burn tactics in Washington, D.C., where he bulldozed his way onto the scene after Trump’s reelection, Musk has played the long game to amass power in Texas. He still hasn’t succeeded in changing Texas law to allow for Tesla direct sales, but that hasn’t stopped him from steadily investing his personal and professional capital in the state over more than a decade. Most of his businesses, including the tunneling firm The Boring Company, social media giant X and Tesla, are now headquartered here. While it’s still based in California, SpaceX operates production, testing and launch sites across Texas.

Musk has also moved his personal home to the state, reportedly securing properties in the Austin area and South Texas.

In the Texas Capitol, Musk’s power is subtle but undeniable.

Calendars and emails obtained by The Texas Newsroom through public information requests show his company’s representatives met regularly with lawmakers backing his priority bills and invited Lt. Gov. Dan Patrick to tour SpaceX. Patrick, who leads the state Senate, also penned a letter to the Federal Aviation Administration supporting the rocket company’s request to increase its launches in South Texas.

Texas politics, with its long history of outsize characters, has never seen the likes of Musk, said Rice University political scientist Mark Jones.

“Even in the heyday of the [George W.] Bush era, you couldn’t find somebody who had such dramatic wealth as Musk, who also had the same level of access and business interests here in Texas,” Jones told The Texas Newsroom. “Today, Elon Musk is arguably the most powerful and influential private citizen in the country.”

A mural of Elon Musk in downtown Brownsville, Texas (Michael Gonzalez for KUT News) “It’s All to Help Elon”

When lawmakers convened their 2025 legislative session in January, one of Musk’s top priorities was quickly clear. He wanted more control over the area around SpaceX’s launch site in South Texas.

Known as Starbase, the massive rocket testing and launch facility has come to dominate the small rural area between Brownsville, on the border, and the Gulf of Mexico. It is the launch site for Starship, the rocket meant to eventually take humans to Mars and the heart of Musk’s mission to make humans a multiplanetary species. The FAA recently gave SpaceX permission to increase Starship launches fivefold.

Although SpaceX owns most of the land around Starbase, county officials retained the authority over access to the adjacent public beach, called Boca Chica. The county worked closely with SpaceX to ensure the area was cleared ahead of launches, but the company’s leaders did not have ultimate control over the process.

That changed this year. First, Musk decided to incorporate the launch site as its own city. That happened on May 3, when the few residents who live in the area — most of whom The Texas Newsroom determined work for SpaceX — voted to create the new city of Starbase.

Musk then wanted state lawmakers to hand the new city the power to close Boca Chica Beach and the adjoining public highway during the week, a change the county officials opposed.

State Sen. Adam Hinojosa, a newly elected Republican who represents the area, authored the legislation to shift control to Starbase. Dozens of SpaceX employees got involved in the effort, submitting pages of identical comments to lawmakers in support.

Democrats succeeded in killing Hinojosa’s bill, prompting local activists to celebrate. Their victory was short-lived. Late in the session, lawmakers decided instead to shift some of this power to the Texas Space Commission, which facilitates the state’s space exploration agenda.

The new law states that the commission’s board can close highways and gulf beaches with the approval of a local municipality, which, in this case, is Starbase. SpaceX retains a connection to the commission itself: Kathy Lueders, who confirmed that she left her job as Starbase general manager last month, still sits on the Space Commission board. She directed additional questions to the commission.

The Space Commission declined to answer questions on SpaceX’s potential future involvement with these discussions.

“The way I view it is SpaceX wanted a certain amount of power,” said Reed, with the Sierra Club. “And at the end of the day, they didn’t quite get it, but they got something pretty close.”

The bill passed along largely partisan lines. Republican state Rep. Greg Bonnen, who authored the bill, did not respond to a request for comment about the role Starbase may play now that it will become law.

Lawmakers passed several more bills to benefit spaceports, the sites where spacecraft launch, like SpaceX.

While Texas is home to multiple spaceports, including Amazon founder Jeff Bezos’ Blue Origin, SpaceX dwarfs the rest in size and scope of influence across the state and country, boasting large federal government contracts and a growing satellite industry.

Hinojosa was an author or sponsor on most of these bills; he did not respond to multiple requests for an interview or comment for this story.

Other than the beach closure legislation, many passed with the support of Democrats.

At SpaceX’s urging, Texas lawmakers passed a measure to ban drones over spaceports. They also added spaceports to the state’s “critical infrastructure” facilities, which already include airports and military bases. The law will make it a felony to intentionally damage or interrupt the operation of any site where a spacecraft is tested or launched. Similar critical infrastructure laws have been used in other states to arrest people protesting oil and gas pipeline projects.

Bekah Hinojosa with the South Texas Environmental Justice Network, a local activist group, told The Texas Newsroom the new critical infrastructure law will let Musk “militarize our Boca Chica Beach for his dangerous rocket testing endeavors."

The Sierra Club and other groups from South Texas, including a local Indigenous tribe, are suing the state, arguing that closing Boca Chica violates an amendment to the Texas Constitution that protects access to public beaches.

The General Land Office, the main defendant in that suit, declined to comment. In court filings, Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton argues the state can still regulate beach access for public safety reasons and that it cannot be sued in this case because it has immunity. The case is pending at the Texas Supreme Court.

A rally at Boca Chica Beach against the incorporation of Starbase on May 3 (Michael Gonzalez for KUT News)

Legislators also passed two more new laws that will shield companies like SpaceX from public scrutiny and legal challenges.

One will exempt certain military and aerospace issues from public meetings laws, allowing elected officials in some cases to discuss these topics behind closed doors. The proposal was so concerning to residents who live close to SpaceX’s facility near Waco, where locals say the company’s rocket testing has spooked livestock and damaged homes, that they submitted a dozen comments against it.

This law went into effect on May 15.

Another new law will make it harder for crew members and certain other employees to sue space flight companies. This, like most new legislation approved this session, will become law on Sept. 1.

SpaceX’s only significant public defeat during this year’s legislative session was the failure of a bill it supported to give spaceports a tax cut. The measure would have cost nearly $14.5 million over five years, according to an official estimate from the Legislative Budget Board.

Moriba Jah, a professor of aerospace engineering and engineering mechanics at the University of Texas at Austin, believes Texas is pandering to Musk.

“It’s all to help Elon,” said Jah, who added that his viewpoint is rooted in resisting policies that enable what he called “environmental plunder masked as ‘innovation.’” He has concerns that the state is investing in spaceports, most notably Musk’s, while carving out exceptions that prohibit public insight and input into what’s happening at those facilities.

“There’s this whole cloak of secrecy with whatever Elon is doing,” Jah said. “We will not and should not cease to launch satellites or explore space. But the way in which we do it matters a lot.”

“They Never Come Out of the Shadows”

This year, Tesla’s lobbyists publicly advocated against only two bills. Both died.

One was a GOP-authored proposal intended to create a buffer zone between homes and large-scale energy storage facilities like the kind Tesla sells.

The other bill would have imposed more regulations on the type of cars that Musk is rolling out as robotaxis in Texas, and would have required a public hearing if a collision involving an autonomous vehicle resulted in a fatality.

Bill author Rep. Terry Canales, an Edinburg Democrat, believes his legislation failed because it was not pro-industry enough.

“Tesla is the worst actor that I’ve ever dealt with in the Capitol. They’re subversive. They never come out of the shadows,” Canales told The Texas Newsroom. “Not only did I not hear from them, I didn’t expect to hear from them because that’s the way they operate.”

Lawmakers instead advanced a different bill, one with a lighter regulatory touch that was crafted with input from the autonomous vehicle industry.

It will require commercial operators, such as robotaxi and driverless big rig companies, to obtain authorization from the state. This approval can be revoked if the company’s vehicles endanger the public, including causing “serious bodily injury,” though it requires no public hearings in the case of a fatality, as Canales’ bill would have done. Autonomous vehicle companies will also have to develop plans for interacting with emergency responders.

Tesla took a neutral stance on the legislation. But the bill’s author, state Sen. Robert Nichols, R-Jacksonville, told The Texas Newsroom that Tesla’s team participated in work groups and stakeholder conversations with industry groups, trial lawyers and others.

Texas has been at the forefront of testing this technology for years, rolling out its first regulations in 2017. But with more autonomous vehicles hitting the streets, Nichols said it was time to clarify the rules and called his bill “a real opportunity here to actually improve safety.”

Nichols’ legislation initially died in the Texas House. But with less than a week before lawmakers packed up to go home, a House member added the entirety of Nichols’ bill as an amendment to another transportation bill, which will become law Sept. 1.

Tray Gober, a personal injury lawyer who handles vehicle crash cases in Austin, said it’s smart to get new regulations for autonomous vehicles on the books. But he worries that Texas is rushing to give its blessing to a technology that has not been fully tested.

“We’re not talking about rockets crashing into the ocean. We’re talking about cars crashing into other people,” he said, comparing Tesla to SpaceX. “There’s going to be people that are hurt during this process of improving these systems, and that’s unfortunate. I think it’s viewed as collateral damage by these companies.”

When asked about concerns that there could be fatalities as the number of driverless cars grows in Texas, Nichols said, “There probably will be. Eventually there will be. I would not doubt that.” But he pointed to studies showing autonomous vehicles are safer than human drivers.

“If you start looking at the breakdown of the fatalities on the roads and the crashes and the wrecks, what causes them? It’s not equipment failure. It’s driver distraction,” he told The Texas Newsroom.

Critics of these studies argue their scope is too narrow to make conclusions about the safety of self-driving technology. Citing safety concerns, some local lawmakers asked Tesla’s robotaxi rollout in Austin to be delayed. The company continued with the launch but with human monitors in the passenger seats.

Many Democrats opposed Nichols’ proposal. But at least three other bills affecting Tesla got bipartisan support.

At times, the Sierra Club was fighting against Musk’s SpaceX bills while working with his Tesla lobbyists on clean energy legislation, said Reed, the club’s conservation director. For example, Tesla and the Sierra Club both supported legislation to create new fire standards for battery energy storage facilities and address the environmental and financial challenges associated with decommissioning them.

Tesla also backed a bill that had bipartisan support to make it easier for homeowners to install backup power generators, such as the company’s Powerwall.

Reed said Musk’s shift to the right has created interesting bedfellows, sometimes making it easier for Republicans to back some of the energy policies more traditionally associated with progressives.

He remarked, “It’s an interesting time in our country, right?”

Musk’s Indirect Influence

A Tesla showroom in Austin on March 24 (Michael Minasi/KUT News)

For all the bills Musk pushed to see pass, he also indirectly influenced the creation of new laws on which he did not take a public stance.

Texas lawmakers created the state’s own DOGE office housed under the governor, the name an homage to Musk’s controversial federal cost-slashing effort in Washington, D.C.

Musk himself took no public role in creating the new office. But at a signing ceremony for the bill, Gov. Greg Abbott explained he was the inspiration.

Texas legislators also rewrote the state’s corporate laws after Musk raised concerns about business codes in other states. Authored by Republican state Sen. Bryan Hughes, the rewrite shields business leaders from lawsuits and establishes thresholds for the types of legal challenges shareholders can file.

Musk and his lobbyists never came out in support of the bill, but he has long complained that states needed to shore up protections for CEOs and other business leaders.

Musk began crusading on the issue after his $55 billion compensation package at Tesla was challenged in Delaware’s business courts. Musk moved many of his businesses elsewhere, including Texas, and publicly urged other companies to “get the hell out of Delaware.”

The legislation written in response was dubbed the “DExit” bill.

“Texas is much better than Delaware,” Musk posted on X in early April, just days after the bill passed the state Senate. “If Delaware doesn’t reform, it will lose all its corporate business.”

Last year, a Delaware judge ruled Musk’s pay package violated his fiduciary duties to the company’s stockholders. He won most of it back in a shareholder vote, but the judge again rejected his pay package in December.

In an interview, Hughes told The Texas Newsroom he heard input from different groups in crafting the Texas legislation and could not remember whether Musk’s companies were involved.

Abbott signed the DExit bill and a handful of other business bills into law on May 14. Standing behind him at a public ceremony marking the occasion were Hughes and a large group of business representatives.

Standing behind Hughes was a representative from Tesla.

Lauren McGaughy is a journalist with The Texas Newsroom, a collaboration among NPR and the public radio stations in Texas. She is based at KUT News in Austin. Reach her at lmcgaughy@kut.org. Sign up for KUT newsletters.

by Lauren McGaughy, The Texas Newsroom

These 5 Charts Show How Hotels Became New York’s Response to Homelessness

1 week 4 days ago

This article was produced for ProPublica’s Local Reporting Network in partnership with New York Focus, an investigative news outlet reporting on New York. Sign up for Dispatches to get our stories in your inbox every week, and sign up for New York Focus’ newsletter here.

Hotels have long been considered a last resort for sheltering people who’ve lost their housing. But over the past few years, they’ve become New York’s predominant response to homelessness outside New York City, a recent investigation by New York Focus and ProPublica found.

Social services agencies across the state now place nearly half of all individuals and families seeking shelter in hotels. Yet those placed in hotels often go without services that they’re supposed to receive in shelters, such as meals, help finding housing and sometimes child care so they can look for work.

The growing reliance on hotels has been driven by soaring rent, shelter closures and a spike in evictions that followed a moratorium during the COVID-19 pandemic.

The state Office of Temporary and Disability Assistance has known about the problem for years and even put rules to address the issue on its regulatory agenda. But the agency has failed to formally propose the rules or come up with a way to ensure people receive services they need.

Here are five charts to explain our investigation.

Statewide Spending on Hotels More Than Tripled From 2018 to 2024 Data source: Analysis of Office of Temporary and Disability Assistance data on emergency shelter payments. Years are fiscal years. (Lucas Waldron/ProPublica)

The number of families and individuals placed in hotels doubled in the two years following the end of New York’s eviction moratorium in 2022. As the population in hotels shot up, so did the bill. Over that period, spending on hotels outside of New York City more than tripled to $110 million.

OTDA oversees the state’s county-run social services districts. The agency’s commissioner, Barbara Guinn, said that it prefers that counties use shelters, but that there aren’t enough beds for everyone who needs one. She said that the agency hadn’t studied the growth in hotel use.

Required Services in Shelters vs. Hotels Note: Requirements are for hotels outside of New York City. New York regulations state that hotels can be considered shelters, and thus mandated to provide services. But there aren’t any that are currently required to do so, Office of Temporary and Disability Assistance spokesperson Anthony Farmer said. Source: New York Codes, Rules and Regulations.

Despite the growth in spending, families placed in hotels aren’t promised the same services as people in shelters. New York requires family shelters to provide services like child care, assistance finding housing and three meals a day. But the regulations generally exempt hotels.

There’s an exception: A hotel is supposed to be considered a shelter if it “primarily” serves temporary housing recipients. OTDA spokesperson Anthony Farmer said that the agency interprets “primarily” to mean “exclusively, or almost exclusively,” and that no hotels currently meet that standard. An analysis of the agency’s data by New York Focus and ProPublica found that welfare recipients made up over half of the capacity for at least 16 hotels during fiscal year 2024.

Guinn said that social services offices have to work within the confines of what hotel owners will allow, and that counties try to provide services off-site.

The Number of Individuals and Families Housed in Hotels for More Than Six Months Nearly Tripled From 2022 to 2024 Data Source: Analysis of Office of Temporary and Disability Assistance data on emergency shelter payments. Years are fiscal years. Stays may not be continuous. (Lucas Waldron/ProPublica)

Not only are more people being placed in the hotels, but they are staying for much longer periods. The number of families and individuals spending at least six months out of the year in hotels nearly tripled from 2022 to 2024.

The lack of services leads to people getting stuck in the system, creating a snowball effect, said Steve Berg, chief policy officer for the National Alliance to End Homelessness.

“It’s this expanding problem,” he said. “A good shelter should be housing-focused. If they don’t have a pretty substantial effort to move people quickly back into housing and provide the services that are necessary to do that, the shelters quickly fill up, and then they just need more shelters.”

Farmer said via email that a lack of affordable housing contributes to the longer stays, and that counties can use other funding to help people move back into permanent housing.

New York Social Services Agencies Frequently Paid Hotels Over Fair Market Rent for a Two-Bedroom Apartment

Nearly half of all payments to hotels were for more than twice the counties’ FMR.

Data Source: Analysis of Office of Temporary and Disability Assistance data on emergency shelter payments; U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development fair market rent data for two-bedroom apartments in each county for federal fiscal year 2024. (Lucas Waldron/ProPublica)

Many hotels are charging rates higher than rent for permanent housing.

The news organizations found that the overwhelming majority of hotel payments exceeded fair market rent for a two-bedroom apartment in the same county. (Fair market rent is defined by the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development as the 40th percentile of rent plus utilities in the local housing market.) The rates charged were often more than twice that.

“We’re forced to rent hotel rooms across the state, and the operators of these places understand that,” said state Sen. Roxanne Persaud, a Democrat and chair of the chamber’s Social Services Committee. “The municipalities’ backs are against the wall. And so they must place the unhoused person or persons somewhere. And so that’s why you see the cost is skyrocketing, because people understand that it’s an easy way to make money off the government.”

More Than a Third of Hotels Used to Shelter Homeless People Were Out of Date on Social Services Inspections as of October 2024 Data Source: Analysis of Office of Temporary and Disability Assistance data on inspections of hotels and motels used for emergency shelter. (Lucas Waldron/ProPublica)

New York Focus and ProPublica found numerous examples of families with children living in sordid and dangerous conditions. Roaches, mold, broken windows and filthy linens were common. Some hotels were subject to over a hundred emergency calls a year for assaults, robberies, mental health crises, overdoses and other incidents.

Hotels sheltering homeless families are supposed to be inspected every six months by their county’s social services office. Yet data obtained from OTDA shows that many wind up behind schedule. As of October, about 40% of hotels were either out of date on their inspection or didn’t have one listed.

Farmer, the OTDA spokesperson, said that nearly all hotels were inspected within a year, and that some had stopped accepting welfare recipients.

Guinn, the commissioner, said that OTDA will formally propose rules this year clarifying that people in hotels must receive the same services as they would receive in shelters. She also said her agency will increase oversight of how social services offices are delivering those services.

by Spencer Norris, New York Focus, and Joel Jacobs, ProPublica, graphics by Lucas Waldron, ProPublica

This Doctor Specializes in Diagnosing Child Abuse. Some of Her Conclusions Have Been Called Into Question.

1 week 4 days ago

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In court, Dr. Nancy Harper comes across as professional and authoritative. Often she begins her testimony by explaining her subspeciality: child abuse pediatrics, which focuses on the diagnosis and documentation of signs of child abuse. Her role, she often reminds judges and juries, is solely medical. Whether or not to remove a child from their home, terminate the parent’s rights or, in the most serious cases, charge a caregiver criminally is not up to her.

According to Harper’s testimony, she and her team at the Otto Bremer Trust Center for Safe and Healthy Children in Minneapolis handle about 700 cases of suspected abuse each year. She has testified that 10% to 20% of those wind up confirmed for physical abuse, although it is difficult to determine if these figures are accurate since child protection cases are not public.

When Harper, the center’s director, and her team diagnose abuse, parents and caregivers often struggle to challenge those opinions. By Harper’s own estimation, she’s never been wrong.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a case where I thought it was abusive head trauma and the other specialist didn’t,” Harper testified in 2023, in the case of a day care provider charged with the death of a child in her care.

The defense attorney in the case pressed her: “Have you ever incorrectly diagnosed a child with abusive head trauma?”

“Not currently to my recollection,” she answered.

But in a handful of cases, judges and juries have found day care providers and parents not guilty of crimes after Harper has testified that abuse occurred, though a verdict cannot necessarily be interpreted as a repudiation of Harper or any other expert witness’ determinations or credibility.

Additionally, two federal lawsuits filed recently accuse Harper of ignoring or even concealing alternative explanations for children’s injuries. And, more broadly, medical and legal experts are increasingly questioning a leading child abuse diagnosis, shaken baby syndrome, which is also known as abusive head trauma.

Harper did not respond to requests for comment. She has yet to respond to either lawsuit. In past court testimony, Harper has said that both shaken baby syndrome and abusive head trauma are considered scientifically valid diagnoses by the mainstream medical community. Any controversy, she has said, exists primarily in the legal world rather than the medical one.

Kathleen Pakes, a former prosecutor who now specializes in the forensics of child abuse cases for the Office of the Wisconsin State Public Defender, said Harper’s claim of never making an incorrect diagnosis strains credulity.

“There is no other specialty in medicine that has zero error rate. None,” she said.

Below are four cases in which Harper concluded there was abuse but courts or juries determined otherwise.

On July 12, 2017, an 11-month-old boy named Gabriel Cooper collapsed in his high chair at the day care that Sylwia Pawlak-Reynolds operated in South Minneapolis. Paramedics took him to Hennepin County Medical Center, where he was declared brain dead a day later.

Harper reviewed Cooper’s medical records and wrote that “in the absence of a well-documented consistent severe accidental injury, non-accidental trauma or abusive head trauma remains the primary diagnostic consideration.” The child, she wrote, was essentially shaken to death. Before any criminal charges were filed, Pawlak-Reynolds boarded a plane for her native Poland to care for her ailing father, according to her attorney. In February 2018, prosecutors charged Pawlak-Reynolds with two counts of second-degree murder, citing Harper’s diagnosis.

According to her husband, Will Reynolds, they did not realize Pawlak-Reynolds was pregnant when she boarded her flight to Poland. She remained there to give birth to their third child, who is now 6, while Reynolds remained in Minnesota with their two older children, who are now 13 and 16. Reynolds said he and his wife have no confidence that she will get a fair trial, and that she fears she will lose custody of their youngest child if she reenters the country. The family has now been separated for eight years.

Sylwia Pawlak-Reynolds’ husband, Will Reynolds, remains in Minnesota with their two older children.

Early in the case, Pawlak-Reynolds’ attorneys obtained the same copy of Cooper’s hospital records that had been provided to Minneapolis police, which included the paramedics’ report. The document had been printed out at a significantly reduced scale, shrinking the text to the point that some fields were illegible. Two years later, they obtained a second copy, printed at normal size, which revealed a possible alternate explanation for the injuries: “Mom recalls [patient] did fall 2 days ago, striking the back of his head.”

“That was the sort of proverbial silver-bullet evidence that we’re always looking for in every case and usually never find,” said Brock Hunter, Pawlak-Reynolds’ lawyer.

Polish courts, including an appeals court, have denied extradition requests from the U.S. three times, and the country’s minister of justice has affirmed the rulings. The denials are particularly critical of Harper’s assessment. Polish forensic experts evaluated the case records and took note of a finding by a neurology expert hired by Pawlak-Reynolds, who wrote that Cooper carried a gene tied to a blood clotting disorder.

The ambulance report, the Polish judges wrote, “was concealed from the defense.”

“Then, after the fact was made public, it did not affect the actions of the American authorities in any way,” a Polish district court judge wrote in 2022.

Hennepin Country Medical Center

The Hennepin County Medical Examiner’s Office certified Cooper’s manner of death as “undetermined” and the date and place of injury “unknown,” a tacit disagreement with Harper’s opinion that Cooper would have collapsed “shortly after infliction of the trauma.”

The Hennepin County Medical Examiner’s Office declined to comment.

Then in 2023, Hennepin County Attorney Mary Moriarty wrote to Pawlak-Reynolds’ attorneys after meeting with them: “We agree that to resolve the current impasse regarding Ms. Pawlak-Reynolds, the best course for all involved is to dismiss the pending charges without prejudice, and for her to return to the United States.”

But months later, Moriarty changed her mind.

In a statement to ProPublica, a spokesperson for the Hennepin County Attorney’s Office wrote that the office is completing a “final, thorough review” of the case that will include an evaluation of “concerns regarding the medical conclusions and the overall strength of the case.”

Gabriel’s parents, Joseph and Samantha Cooper, did not respond to requests for comment. In a television interview in June, they denied that Cooper struck the back of his head two days before his collapse. They said that they want justice for their son.

Pawlak-Reynolds declined to comment through her attorney. In late February, her husband filed a federal lawsuit against Harper that claims she “knowingly and intentionally falsified, modified and erased exculpatory information” from her evaluation of Cooper, and she diagnosed abusive head trauma to “promote her own personal, academic, reputational and financial needs.”

Harper has yet to respond to the lawsuit. A spokesperson for Hennepin Healthcare, which operates Hennepin County Medical Center, declined to comment on the case or the lawsuit.

“There is no oversight,” Reynolds said. “It’s the thing they’re most resistant against and the thing that is most necessary to stop this legacy of brutality, that results in kids being taken away from innocent caregivers and innocent caregivers going to prison.”

An old photograph shows Pawlak-Reynolds and one of her children

In August 2017, Kathryn Campbell called 911 after a 4-month-old girl at her day care seemed lethargic and was “breathing wrong.” First responders did not take the baby to the hospital, but her mother eventually did. At the hospital, MRI scans showed fluid in the baby’s brain and doctors noted small bruises.

Dr. Barbara Knox, a child abuse pediatrician then with the University of Wisconsin, told police it was “obvious child abuse.” The Dane County district attorney charged Campbell with physical abuse of a child. Campbell pleaded not guilty.

But before the 2021 trial, Knox left the University of Wisconsin after she was placed on leave for “unprofessional acts that may constitute retaliation” and intimidation of her own staff. A Wisconsin Watch investigation cast doubt on Knox’s judgment in several cases of alleged abuse.

Knox did not respond to the Wisconsin Watch series or to ProPublica’s requests for comment. After two families in Alaska sued her in 2022, alleging she had wrongly concluded their children had been abused, Knox wrote in an affidavit that she has no control over whether police and child protection services workers take children away from parents, that she did not “conspire” with police or anyone else on custody issues, and that she did not personally evaluate one of the children. The lawsuit was dismissed in 2024 after the families agreed to drop the matter.

Knox moved on to a job at the University of Florida. According to a spokesperson for the university, Knox resigned as a pediatrician with the Child Protective Team in late June, effective Aug. 15. He declined to comment on the circumstances.

At Campbell’s trial, Knox’s name was never mentioned. Instead, Harper stepped in as an expert witness. When Campbell heard Knox had been replaced, she was initially hopeful.

“I’m like, oh, great, new eyes,” Campbell said. “They’re going to look at it and go, ‘This is nuts, I don’t agree with this.’ And I definitely was wrong.”

Harper’s assessment affirmed Knox’s diagnosis of abuse. She told the jury that the bruises were likely caused by squeezing by an adult’s hand. A medical expert hired by Campbell’s defense argued that the child’s bleeding could not be precisely dated and that a preexisting medical condition could have caused it.

After just two hours of deliberation, the jury returned a not guilty verdict. Campbell said she is grateful to have the case concluded, though she said she is still haunted by the accusations against her.

“That was the hardest thing too, going home after this case was done, and being like, ‘Am I allowed to be alone with my children now?’” she said. “It’s all because of the quote-unquote experts not doing their due diligence and looking further into underlying issues that these kids could have.”

In a statement to ProPublica, Dane County District Attorney Ismael Ozanne expressed confidence in both Harper and Knox, saying “their testimony had been consistent with many different medical professionals and experts in their own areas of practice.”

“It is important to note that a not guilty verdict by lay jurors hardly invalidates the widespread acceptance of abusive head trauma as a diagnosis in the medical community nor would it cause us to have concerns about Dr. Harper’s qualifications or knowledge in the field,” he added. “Jurors are not bound to accept any expert testimony as accurate.”

In the winter of 2022, a 4-month-old boy began breathing abnormally at his day care in Mineral Point, Wisconsin. His parents took him to a hospital, where he died days later. A police investigation determined that his day care provider, Joanna Ford, left him and several other children alone in her home for over an hour while she went to a tattoo and piercing parlor.

Prosecutors used Harper as an expert witness in the case. After evaluating the child’s medical records, she concluded that his injuries were “clinically diagnostic of abusive head trauma,” or, put another way, Ford shook the baby violently. She was charged with first-degree reckless homicide. Ford pleaded not guilty.

Ford’s defense lawyers successfully petitioned the judge in the case for a hearing to determine whether Harper’s expert witness testimony would be scientifically valid and admissible at trial. In response to questions, Harper explained why the child’s symptoms — brain swelling, blood under his skull, damage to his eyes — pointed to abuse, and why, despite the controversy surrounding it, the diagnosis of abusive head trauma was scientifically sound. She also explained that, because the baby was not walking or crawling, the fact that none of his caregivers could explain his injuries indicated abuse.

“People should know what happened,” she testified.

On cross examination by Ford’s lawyers, Harper said she couldn’t say for certain what time the abuse would have occurred, exactly how Ford had injured the baby and that there are no “great biomechanical models” for shaken baby syndrome.

A little over a month later, Judge Lisa McDougal delivered a highly critical ruling that barred Harper from telling the jury that the child died as the result of “abusive head trauma, non-accidental injury, child abuse or murder.” She also took issue with the idea that a lack of explanation for injuries is indicative of abuse, calling it a “leap in logic.”

“Offering a conclusive opinion as to how an injury may have occurred crosses a line and does not fit within the dictionary definition of what diagnosis is,” McDougal said. The judge also said that Harper views herself as an advocate, and that that casts doubt on her “fidelity to the scientific validation of abusive head trauma diagnoses, especially when it is a close call.”

The murder charge was dismissed. For leaving the children alone, Ford pleaded guilty to the lesser charge of neglect of a child where the consequence is death. She is serving a 10-year prison sentence. Ford, through her attorney, declined a request for an interview. The Iowa County district attorney also declined to comment.

On Feb. 4, 2022, Paul and Sarah Marshall hosted a dinner for her parents and a family friend at their home in Hudson, Wisconsin. Afterward, their 7-week-old son, Fox, became fussy. Paul Marshall carried him into the mother-in-law unit on the lower level of the house, which was cool and dark, to try to calm him. He emerged minutes later in a panic, yelling that the baby spit up and stopped breathing.

Paramedics rushed Fox to Children’s Minnesota, a hospital about 25 minutes across the state border in St. Paul. Doctors ran tests, and a scan showed Fox had a skull fracture with fluid pooling on both sides of his brain. He died days later.

Harper examined Fox, as well as his twin sister, Liana, and found “skull fractures, likely rib fractures, metaphyseal fractures.”

“This constellation of findings in a nonambulatory infant is clinically diagnostic of inflicted injury or child physical abuse likely occurring on more than one occasion,” she wrote.

But the Marshalls said that wasn’t true. They told Harper that Sarah Marshall had experienced a difficult pregnancy with gestational diabetes and severe anemia, and that Liana had a vacuum-assisted delivery. Both twins had been to their regular pediatrician over health concerns. While Liana’s health improved, Fox’s had not.

A spokesperson for Children’s Minnesota declined to comment on the case.

Because he was the last person alone with Fox before he stopped breathing, Paul Marshall was charged with first-degree reckless homicide. He was also charged with physical abuse of a child for hurting Liana. Sarah Marshall said there was no evidence that her soft-spoken husband had hurt their children.

“The state wanted to cast me as a naive idiot,” she said. “I chose not to believe it because of the logic and facts in my face. I had no reason to believe the accusation.”

At Paul Marshall’s 2023 trial, his defense lawyer, Aaron Nelson, cross-examined the other doctors who treated or evaluated Fox and Liana, and was able to highlight points of medical disagreement. A doctor who tested Liana for genetic disorders said she could not rule out rickets as a possible cause of her bone fractures. A neuropathologist did not agree with Harper that Fox had a trauma-induced blood clotting disorder. By Harper’s own admission on cross-examination, determining the age of the skull fractures in children Fox and Liana’s age was difficult. Nelson called six of his own medical experts to suggest that the difficult birth or a vitamin deficiency could explain the twins’ injuries.

“How many people have to be wrong for Dr. Harper to be right?” Nelson said in closing arguments.

After an 11-day trial, the jury found Marshall not guilty.

In a statement to ProPublica, St. Croix County District Attorney Karl Anderson pointed out that Harper was not the only treating physician who was concerned that Fox and Liana had been abused.

“A not guilty verdict does not mean that the jury concluded that the children were not abused,” Anderson said. “Rather, it means that they did not conclude that the State proved that Paul Marshall caused the death, beyond a reasonable doubt.”

Paul and Sarah Marshall with their children at home, which is decorated with memories of their son, Fox

Six weeks after the trial, the family moved three hours away into a century-old farmhouse that is far from the community that they felt wrongfully villainized by.

One of the cruelest impacts of the abuse diagnosis, they said, came after it was clear that Fox would die and the hospital staff began making preparations for his organs to be donated. Sarah Marshall said she had hoped to someday hear her son’s heart beating in another child’s chest. Instead, a court order put a halt to the procedure.

“They were already treating him as evidence,” she said.

The experience of going from a grieving parent to an accused murderer, her husband said, has given the couple post-traumatic stress. Paul Marshall said he is grateful to be with his wife and children, but what he calls a “broken system” has left them unsure whether or not to have another baby or even be left alone with one of their daughters.

“You get pregnant. You go to all of your appointments. You voice all of your concerns. You do everything you’re supposed to do as a parent and your child still dies. And the state tells you it’s your fault,” Sarah Marshall said. “I don’t understand why I live in a world like that.”

Mariam Elba contributed research.

by Jessica Lussenhop, and photography by Sarahbeth Maney

A “Striking” Trend: After Texas Banned Abortion, More Women Nearly Bled to Death During Miscarriage

1 week 4 days ago

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Before states banned abortion, one of the gravest outcomes of early miscarriage could easily be avoided: Doctors could offer a dilation and curettage procedure, which quickly empties the uterus and allows it to close, protecting against a life-threatening hemorrhage.

But because the procedures, known as D&Cs, are also used to end pregnancies, they have gotten tangled up in state legislation that restricts abortion. Reports now abound of doctors hesitating to provide them and women who are bleeding heavily being discharged from emergency rooms without care, only to return in such dire condition that they need blood transfusions to survive. As ProPublica reported last year, one woman died of hemorrhage after 10 hours in a Houston hospital that didn’t perform the procedure.

Now, a new ProPublica data analysis adds empirical weight to the mounting evidence that abortion bans have made the common experience of miscarriage — which occurs in up to 30% of pregnancies — far more dangerous. It is based on hospital discharge data from Texas, the largest state to ban abortion, and captures emergency department visits from 2017 to 2023, the most recent year available.

After Texas made performing abortions a felony in August 2022, ProPublica found, the number of blood transfusions during emergency room visits for first-trimester miscarriage shot up by 54%.

The number of emergency room visits for early miscarriage also rose, by 25%, compared with the three years before the COVID-19 pandemic — a sign that women who didn’t receive D&Cs initially may be returning to hospitals in worse condition, more than a dozen experts told ProPublica.

While that phenomenon can’t be confirmed by the discharge data, which tracks visits rather than individuals, doctors and researchers who reviewed ProPublica’s findings say these spikes, along with the stories patients have shared, paint a troubling picture of the harm that results from unnecessary delays in care.

“This is striking,” said Dr. Elliott Main, a hemorrhage expert and former medical director for the California Maternal Quality Care Collaborative. “The trend is very clear.”

Blood Transfusions in First-trimester Pregnancy Loss ER Visits Spiked After Texas Banned Abortion

After the state’s first abortion ban went into effect in September 2021, blood transfusions increased. After abortion became a felony in August 2022, they increased more.

Note: For emergency department visits involving a pregnancy loss at less than 13 weeks gestation, or with an unknown gestational week.

The data mirrors a sharp rise in cases of sepsis — a life-threatening reaction to infection — ProPublica previously identified during second-trimester miscarriage in Texas.

Blood loss is expected during early miscarriage, which usually ends without complication. Some cases, however, can turn deadly very quickly. Main said ProPublica’s analysis suggested to him that “physicians are sitting on nonviable pregnancies longer and longer before they’re doing a D&C — until patients are really bleeding.”

That’s what happened to Sarah De Pablos Velez in Austin last summer. As she was miscarrying and bleeding profusely, she said physicians didn’t explain that she had options for care. Sent home from the emergency room without a D&C two times, she ultimately needed blood transfusions so that she wouldn’t die, according to medical records. “What happened to me was just so wrong,” she told ProPublica. "Doctors need to be providing care to pregnant women — that needs to be a baseline.”

Sarah De Pablos Velez was sent home from an emergency room while bleeding profusely during a miscarriage last year; she ultimately needed blood transfusions to save her life. (Ilana Panich-Linsman for ProPublica)

After ProPublica exposed preventable deaths following delays in care, the Texas Legislature passed a bill this year to clarify that doctors can provide abortions when a patient is facing a life-threatening emergency, even if it is not imminent.

But many Texas doctors say the reform does not address the difficulty of treating women experiencing early miscarriages, which almost always involve blood loss; they say it’s hard to know when the expected bleeding might evolve into a life-threatening emergency — one that could have been prevented with a D&C. Women can bleed and remain stable for a long time, until they crash.

Texas forbids abortion at all stages of pregnancy — even before there is cardiac activity or a visible embryo. And while the law allows doctors to “remove a dead, unborn child,” it can be difficult to determine what that means during early miscarriage, when an array of factors can signal that a pregnancy is not progressing.

An embryo might fail to develop. Cardiac activity may not emerge when it should. Hormone levels might dip or bleeding might increase. Even if a doctor strongly suspects a miscarriage is underway, it can take weeks to conclusively document that a pregnancy has ended, and all the while, a patient might be losing blood.

Some OB-GYNs and emergency room physicians have long been advising patients to complete their miscarriage at home, especially at Catholic hospitals, even if that is not the standard of care. But now, physicians across the state are faced with a law that threatens up to 99 years in prison, and more are making a new calculus around whether to intervene or even tell patients they are likely miscarrying, said Dr. Anitra Beasley, an OB-GYN in Houston. “What ends up happening is patients have to present multiple times before a diagnosis can be made,” she added, and some of those patients wind up needing blood transfusions.

While they can be lifesaving, transfusions do not stop the bleeding, experts told ProPublica, and they can introduce complications, such as severe allergic reactions, autoimmune disorders or, in rare events, blood cancer. The dangers of hemorrhage are far greater, from organ failure to kidney damage to loss of sensation in the fingers and toes. “There’s a finite amount of blood,” said Dr. Sarah Prager, a professor of obstetrics and gynecology at the University of Washington. “And when it all comes out, you’re dead.”

ProPublica’s findings about the rise in blood transfusions make clear that women who experience early miscarriages in abortion ban states are living in a more dangerous medical climate than many believe, said Amanda Nagle, a doctoral student investigating the same blood transfusion data for a forthcoming paper in the American Journal of Public Health.

“If people are seeking care at an emergency department,” Nagle said, “there are serious health risks to delaying that care.”

Waiting for Certainty

In some clinics and hospitals across Texas, the pressure to definitively diagnose a miscarriage has led to delays in offering D&Cs.

Considering the chance of criminal prosecution, some doctors now default to what many pregnancy loss experts view as an overly cautious method for diagnosing miscarriage: ultrasound images alone, using criteria from the Society of Radiologists in Ultrasound. Relying only on images to diagnose — and discounting other factors, like lab results or clinical symptoms — can take days or even weeks.

Dr. Gabrielle Taper was a resident at a Catholic hospital in Austin when the ban was enacted, and a culture of fear took hold among her colleagues, she told ProPublica. “We started asking, ‘Are we certain that we can document that we’ve met the radiology guidelines?’ as opposed to just treating the patient in front of us,” she said.

If they couldn’t show that the likely miscarriage met the criteria, they often felt they had to discharge patients without offering a D&C. “People are already in distress, and you are giving them confusion, a false sense of hope,” she told ProPublica. “Having to send a patient home knowing they may bleed so much they would need a blood transfusion — when I know there are procedures I could do or medicine I could offer — is just excruciating.”

The hospital where she worked did not respond to ProPublica’s request for comment.

The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists does not recommend this approach, advising doctors instead to review the ultrasound as one piece of information among many and counsel patients on all their options.

The Society of Radiologists in Ultrasound said that the guidelines “are not meant to apply in the setting of a life-threatening situation, such as heavy bleeding,” but did not respond to a question about whether it agreed with ACOG that doctors should use a combination of ultrasound images and clinical judgment to assess a pregnancy loss.

Dr. Courtney A. Schreiber, an obstetrics and gynecology professor and expert in early pregnancy care, said that even if a patient wants to let a likely miscarriage complete at home, the medical team should still explain different management options, including medication to speed up the process or a D&C, should symptoms like bleeding get worse.

“It’s our obligation to share information, help manage expectations and keep women safe,” she said.

What happened to Porsha Ngumezi shows how dangerous it can be to delay care, according to more than a dozen doctors who previously reviewed a detailed summary of her case for ProPublica.

When the mother of two showed up bleeding at Houston Methodist Sugar Land in June 2023, at 11 weeks pregnant, her sonogram suggested an “ongoing miscarriage” was “likely,” her doctor noted. She had no previous ultrasounds to compare it with, and the radiologist did not locate an embryo or fetus — which Ngumezi said she thought she had passed in a toilet; her doctors did not make a definitive diagnosis, calling it a pregnancy of “unknown location.” After hours bleeding, passing “clots the size of grapefruit,” according to a nurse’s notes, she received two blood transfusions — a short-term remedy. But she did not get a procedure to empty her uterus, which medical experts agree is the most effective way to stop the bleeding. Hours later, she died of hemorrhage, leaving behind her husband and young sons.

Hope Ngumezi holds a photograph of him and his late wife, Porsha, who died in a Houston hospital during a miscarriage in June 2023. (Danielle Villasana for ProPublica)

Doctors and nurses involved in Ngumezi’s care did not respond to multiple requests for comment for ProPublica’s story last fall, and the hospital did not answer questions about her care when asked about it again for this story. A spokesperson from Methodist Hospital said its OB-GYNs follow ACOG’s miscarriage diagnosis guidelines, which recommend considering clinical factors in addition to ultrasounds.

Visit After Visit

Even in circumstances in which the abortion ban allows a doctor to intervene — to treat a life-threatening emergency, for example, or to “remove a dead, unborn baby” — there’s plenty of evidence, detailed in lawsuits and federal investigations, that doctors in Texas still aren’t offering procedures.

As soon as Sarah De Pablos Velez, a 30-year-old media director, learned she was pregnant last summer, she began attending regular checkups at St. David’s Women’s Care, in Austin. During her third appointment at about nine weeks, a resident, Dr. Carla Vilardo, and her supervisor, Dr. Cynthia Mingea, reviewed the ultrasound, according to medical records, which indicated her pregnancy wasn’t viable. Instead of being offered treatment for a miscarriage, De Pablos Velez says she was advised to hold out hope and come back for the next checkup.

Five maternal health experts and practicing OB-GYNs who reviewed the records for ProPublica said by that ultrasound visit, doctors would have had enough information to determine that the pregnancy wasn’t viable, even under the most conservative guidelines. If they wanted to be extra sure, they could have done blood work or one more ultrasound during that visit.

Instead, De Pablos Velez was told to come back in two weeks, according to medical records. During a visit when she should have been nearly 11 weeks pregnant, Mingea wrote in her chart she was “not optimistic” about the pregnancy's viability. Still, De Pablos Velez was advised to return in another week to be sure.

Within a few days, when the cramping got so bad she could barely walk, De Pablos Velez went to the emergency room at St. David’s Medical Center, unaware that a D&C could stop the pain and the bleeding. “I’ve never researched what it looks like for women who have a miscarriage,” she told ProPublica. “I always thought you go to the bathroom and have a little bit of blood.”

Over two visits to the emergency room, doctors told her that she could complete the miscarriage at home, even as she reported filling up three toilet bowls with blood and a nurse remarked that they needed a janitor to clean the floor, De Pablos Velez and her husband recalled. No obstetrician ever came to assess her condition, according to medical records, and while her hospital chart says “all management options have been discussed with the patient and her husband,” De Pablos Velez and her husband both told ProPublica no one offered her a D&C.

She was told to follow up with her OB at her next appointment in three days. Six hours after discharge, though, she was trying to ride out the pain at home when her husband heard her muttering “lightheaded” in the bathroom and ran to her in time to catch her as she collapsed. “She was pale as a ghost, sweating, convulsing,” said her husband, Sergio De Pablos Velez. “There was blood on the toilet, the trash can — like a scene out of a horror movie.”

An ambulance rushed her to the hospital, where doctors realized she no longer had enough blood flowing to her organs. She received two blood transfusions. Without them, several doctors who reviewed her records told ProPublica, she would have soon lost her life.

De Pablos Velez and her husband, Sergio, at home in Austin (Ilana Panich-Linsman for ProPublica)

Vilardo and the doctors who saw De Pablos Velez in the emergency room did not respond to requests to speak with ProPublica or declined to be interviewed. St. David’s Medical Center, which is owned by HCA, the largest for-profit hospital chain in America, said it could not discuss her case unless she signed privacy waivers. The hospital did not respond to ProPublica’s questions even after she submitted them. The De Pablos Velezes say that a hospital patient liaison told them after the ordeal that the hospital would conduct an internal investigation, educate the emergency department on best practices and share the results. It never shared anything. When ProPublica asked about the status of the investigation, neither the liaison nor the hospital responded.

Mingea, who supervised Vilardo’s care during checkups, reviewed the clinic’s records with ProPublica and agreed that De Pablos Velez should have been counseled about miscarriage management options at the clinic, weeks before she ended up in the ER. She said she did not know why she wasn’t but pointed ProPublica to the Society of Radiologists in Ultrasound criteria, which is hanging on the clinic’s wall and is used to teach residents.

She was adamant that her clinic, which she described as “very pro-choice — about as much as we can be in Texas,” regularly provides D&Cs for miscarrying patients. “I feel badly that Sarah had this experience, I really do,” she said. “Everybody deserves to be counseled about all their options.”

Doctors had five opportunities to counsel De Pablos Velez about her options and offer her a D&C, said Dr. Jodi Abbott, an associate professor of obstetrics and gynecology at Boston University School of Medicine, who reviewed case records. If they had, the life-or-death risks could have been avoided.

De Pablos Velez “basically received the same care Porsha Ngumezi did, only Porsha died and she survived,” said Abbott. “She was lucky.”

Sophie Chou contributed data reporting, and Mariam Elba contributed research.

by Kavitha Surana, Lizzie Presser and Andrea Suozzo

Miscarriage Is Increasingly Dangerous for Women in Texas, Our Analysis Shows. Here’s How We Did It.

1 week 4 days ago

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Even though about a million women a year experience a miscarriage, there is little research on complications related to pregnancy loss in the first trimester, when most miscarriages happen. The need to explore this phase is urgent, experts told ProPublica, given the way state abortion bans have disrupted maternal health care.

Although most early miscarriages resolve without complications, patients with heavy bleeding can hemorrhage if they don’t get appropriate treatment — which includes a procedure called dilation and curettage, or D&C, that is now tangled up in legislation that bans abortion. As women recounted being left to lose dangerous amounts of blood, and ProPublica told the story of a mother who died in a Houston hospital while seeking miscarriage care, reporters searched for a way to gain a broader understanding of what was happening in the state.

We consulted dozens of researchers and clinicians to develop our methodology and understand how to look at early miscarriage outcomes in the emergency department.

Our latest analysis, of hospital discharge data from Texas, found that after the state made performing abortions a felony in August 2022, the number of blood transfusions during emergency room visits for first-trimester miscarriage shot up by 54%.

The number of emergency room visits during first-trimester miscarriage also rose by 25%, a sign that women may be returning to hospitals in worse condition after being sent home, more than a dozen experts told ProPublica.

Experts say the spike is a troubling indicator of delays in care.

The most effective way to prevent severe blood loss during miscarriages, experts said, is a D&C, which uses suction to remove remaining tissue, allowing the uterus to close. The procedure is also used to terminate pregnancies.

Dr. Elliott Main, an expert on maternal hemorrhage and the former medical director for the California Maternal Quality Care Collaborative, said the increase in transfusions suggested to him that doctors working under abortion bans are now delaying those interventions for miscarrying patients for longer — “until they’re really bleeding.”

These findings add to ProPublica’s growing body of reporting revealing that maternal outcomes have gotten worse after the state’s abortion bans. In February, we published an analysis of second-trimester pregnancy loss hospitalizations, which found that the rate of sepsis climbed by more than 50% after the state banned abortion. That study focused only on inpatient stays in Texas hospitals. However, many of the clinicians and researchers we spoke with told us that that focus would limit what we could say about miscarriage care earlier in pregnancy; most people experiencing first-trimester pregnancy complications would likely be seen in a shorter emergency department visit, rather than an inpatient stay.

This methodology lays out the steps we took to examine early miscarriage outcomes in the emergency department, to help experts and interested readers understand our approach and its limitations.

Identifying First-Trimester Emergency Visits

We purchased seven years of discharge records for inpatient and outpatient encounters at hospitals and ambulatory surgery centers from the Texas Department of State Health Services. These records contain deidentified data for visits, with information about the encounter, including diagnoses recorded and procedures performed, as well as some patient demographic information and billing data.

We limited our analysis to visits with a diagnosed pregnancy loss across both the inpatient and outpatient datasets. We followed a methodology that maternal health researchers have used for many years to identify “abortive outcomes” — instances of pregnancy loss at less than 20 weeks, which includes diagnoses like ectopic pregnancy and miscarriage. Researchers have typically identified these cases in order to exclude them from metrics assessing complications in childbirth. In contrast, we focused our analysis only on those encounters with a pregnancy loss diagnosis. Medical experts suggested that it's possible more women are self-managing abortions at home; since a self-managed medication abortion would present like a spontaneous miscarriage, however, we can’t differentiate those patients in our data.

We also limited our analysis to either emergency department visits or inpatient stays that began in the emergency department. The state’s outpatient data also includes encounters for outpatient procedures and data for ambulatory surgery centers, which we excluded to focus on emergent hospital care. Ultimately, our analysis focused on 35,500 first-trimester visits per year that came into hospitals through the emergency department, excluding a small number (about 1,400 per year) of inpatient stays that did not begin in the emergency room.

To limit our analysis to pregnancy loss in the first trimester, we looked for a diagnosis code indicating gestational weeks. In cases where a long hospitalization had multiple gestational week codes recorded over the course of the stay, we took the latest one. We excluded any row that had a gestational week code of 13 weeks or more, which marks the start of the second trimester. The vast majority — 78% — of emergency department visits for pregnancy loss had a code indicating unknown gestational week or no gestational week diagnosis code at all. We included those visits in the first-trimester category. Clinicians told us that a pregnant patient coming to the emergency department in her first trimester is less likely to have had a doctor’s appointment establishing gestational age. Since pregnancy loss in the second or third trimester is more serious, and because it is easier to establish gestational age in a pregnancy that is further along, an emergency department doctor would likely be able to establish a gestational age over the course of treatment in those cases.

We then filtered our list of visits to ones where the patient was female and between the ages of 10 and 54, to exclude rows with potential errors. This removed 2,692 visits, or 1.1% of all visits we’d identified.

The number of emergency department first-trimester hospitalizations were relatively stable prior to COVID-19. In 2022, the first full year after the state passed its six-week abortion ban, the number of encounters jumped by 11%. And in 2023, the year after the state criminalized abortion, they rose again, increasing by 25% from pre-COVID levels.

While we could identify an increase in visits, we could not identify patients across visits, which means we can’t say how many of these visits represent the same person returning to the emergency department multiple times for the same pregnancy loss. Texas has seen an increase in live births since the state banned abortion — about 2.7% in 2022, compared with the pre-COVID average, and declining slightly in 2023. But this increase in births — and, by extension, pregnancies — does not explain the rate of change in emergency visits, which far surpasses it.

Clinicians also told us that the threshold for diagnosing pregnancy loss increased after the state banned abortion. To assess how many relevant visits our analysis might be leaving out, and whether we were missing more visits after hospital policy changes, we looked for visits without a pregnancy loss code but with a diagnosis of “threatened abortion” or “early pregnancy hemorrhage,” indicating uterine cramping or bleeding in early pregnancy. Since clinicians told us that these diagnoses might range from light spotting to significant bleeding, and since bleeding in pregnancy is common and does not always indicate a miscarriage in progress, we did not include these visits in our main analysis. However, we also identified a 23% increase in visits with those codes — from an annual average of 70,936 prior to COVID to 87,431 in 2023.

Identifying Transfusions

Next, we identified pregnancy loss visits with a transfusion, which typically indicates that there has been a dangerous loss of blood.

For our inpatient dataset, where procedures performed during a hospitalization were recorded as ICD-10-PCS codes, we identified visits with a blood transfusion using a list of codes defined by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. The outpatient dataset, which uses Current Procedural Terminology codes, has just one code — 36430 — for blood transfusions.

Prior to COVID-19, there were 840 first-trimester pregnancy loss emergency department visits each year, on average, with a blood transfusion. In 2022, the first full year after the state passed its first abortion ban, transfusions climbed to 1,076 — an increase of 28% from pre-COVID years. By 2023, the first full year after abortion was criminalized, that number climbed to 1,290 — an increase of 54% compared to pre-COVID. That’s 450 more visits with a blood transfusion in 2023 than the pre-COVID average.

Blood Transfusions in First-trimester Pregnancy Loss ER Visits Spiked After Texas Banned Abortion

After the state’s first abortion ban went into effect in September 2021, blood transfusions increased. After abortion became a felony in August 2022, they increased more.

Note: For emergency department visits involving a pregnancy loss at less than 13 weeks gestation, or with an unknown gestational week.

Even as the number of visits to the emergency department increased, the proportion of those visits with a transfusion also went up, from 2.5% in pre-COVID years to 2.8% in 2022 and 3% in 2023 — suggesting that the increase in transfusions may not be explained by an increase in encounters alone.

Experts who reviewed ProPublica’s data wondered if the increase in transfusions might be driven by more women experiencing complications of ectopic or molar pregnancies, rare nonviable pregnancies in which the likelihood of a blood transfusion is much higher than for a spontaneous miscarriage. The data did not bear this out. When we excluded visits with ectopic and molar pregnancy diagnoses, the increase in the number of pregnancy loss transfusions was even higher — it rose by 61% by 2023.

To understand whether there were increases in the numbers of transfusions in other maternal visits over the same time period, we also looked at blood transfusions in delivery events, using the federal methodology to identify birth complications. In hospital births, the number of transfusions increased by 6.7% in 2022 and 9.9% in 2023 compared with the pre-COVID average — an increase, but smaller in magnitude than the increase in first-trimester pregnancy loss hospitalizations.

Sophie Chou contributed data reporting.

by Andrea Suozzo, Kavitha Surana and Lizzie Presser

Connecticut’s New Towing Law Will Help Some, but Not All, Drivers. Here’s What They Told Us.

1 week 5 days ago

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A Hartford woman never saw her car again after it was towed while she sat in housing court fighting an eviction.

A home care worker had her car towed while she hurried to assist a patient down the stairs.

A young man lost his car and slipped into financial instability after he mistakenly put his apartment’s parking sticker in the wrong spot.

Late last month, Connecticut lawmakers, following a series of stories by The Connecticut Mirror and ProPublica, passed sweeping reforms to the state’s towing laws that will address many of the issues drivers have complained about. The stories highlighted how towing companies can begin the process to sell people’s cars after 15 days, one of the shortest windows in the country.

Reporters heard from dozens of drivers across Connecticut who had to pay exorbitant fees or had their vehicles sold when they couldn’t afford the charges. Many told reporters about the severe consequences they experienced after their cars were towed or sold, including the loss of jobs, personal mementos and housing.

While some people’s cars might not have been towed under the new law, which takes effect Oct. 1, it doesn’t solve all the problems that vehicle owners raised.

Here are some of their stories, as well as whether the changes in the new law would have helped them.

Towing Home Health Aides

Not fixed: The bill does not address this issue.

Home care worker Maria Jiménez circled the Hartford apartment complex for low-income seniors, looking for a place to park. Jiménez drives patients to and from errands like doctor’s appointments and grocery shopping. Her patient that day last November used a cane, and Jiménez planned to park close so that her patient wouldn’t have to walk too far.

Unsuccessful, Jiménez stopped in front of the building’s entrance.

“I turned on the hazard lights and left the car on, just long enough to let her know I had arrived, since I didn’t have her phone number,” she said. Jiménez said she told a few bystanders she would be right back and asked them to keep an eye on her car.

She said she went inside only briefly, and when she returned, the car was gone. Bystanders told Jiménez the car had been towed and that they’d pleaded with the truck’s driver, to no avail.

Tracy Wodatch, president and CEO at Connecticut Association for Healthcare at Home, said many of her members complain about getting ticketed or towed when they’re doing their jobs helping people.

When it happens frequently enough at a particular complex, she said, an agency might speak with the landlord to ask for a designated spot. But there isn’t a statewide mandate.

New Jersey passed a law in 2018 allowing home health care workers, visiting nurses and others to apply for a placard similar to an accessible parking tag to place in their cars.

“Maybe we can talk to the legislators off session to see if there’s anything we can do,” Wodatch said.

The company that towed Jiménez, MyHoopty.com, was in Watertown, and Jiménez was stranded over 30 miles away in Hartford. “How will I get there if I don’t have a car?” she recalled thinking.

MyHoopty owner Michael Festa said the vehicle was parked in the fire lane without its hazard lights on for 17 minutes before it was towed and that the apartment complex had hired MyHoopty to prevent such parking violations.

“This is a critical safety issue, particularly at an elderly housing complex where the emergency access can be a matter of life and death,” Festa said. (MyHoopty has appeared in other stories in our series.)

Get in Touch

If you have information about health workers and caregivers being towed while on the job, email Dave Altimari at daltimari@ctmirror.org or Ginny Monk at gmonk@ctmirror.org, or call 203-626-4705.

The apartment complex owners didn’t respond to calls and emails for comment.

Jiménez said she makes about $290 a week. By the time she got to MyHoopty, the company told her the bill was more than $400.

Her husband footed the bill. But it wasn’t easy: “The only reason I could afford it is because I work mornings, I work nights,” he said.

Short Meters and Unpaid Tickets

Not fixed: The bill does not address this issue.

Marie Franklin paid the parking meter and dashed into Hartford housing court for a December 2023 hearing that would determine if she would get evicted from her apartment. She worried about the parking. People can wait for hours for the judge to call their cases, but the Hartford Parking Authority limits nearby meters to two hours.

So people facing eviction sometimes run the risk of getting a parking violation, getting their cars towed or missing their names being called for hearings, which can cause them to lose their housing in a default judgement for not showing up to court.

Joshua Michtom, a Hartford City Council member and an attorney who has represented children and parents in juvenile court, said although there’s a nearby parking garage, it’s more expensive and it fills up.

“You have to be there, but then you don’t know how long you’re going to have to wait,” Michtom said. “And the courts are not particularly forgiving if you’re not there the moment your case gets called.”

When Franklin’s name was finally called, a judge rejected her plea to stave off eviction. Dejected and stressed about losing her home, she walked out of court only to discover her 2015 Volvo was gone. Franklin had more than a dozen unpaid parking tickets, some of which were nearly 20 years old. She’d forgotten about some, and others were for vehicles she no longer owned. About half of the tickets were for exceeding the meter limit or parking over the line near the courthouse.

“I had paid for the parking meter and everything,” Franklin said. “They drive around, and they look for people’s cars.”

Marie Franklin’s car was towed during her eviction hearing. (Shahrzad Rasekh/CT Mirror)

Jill Turlo, CEO of the Hartford Parking Authority, said the agency’s officers use license plate scanners to find people with outstanding tickets. Turlo said “high-traffic metered areas,” like the street the courthouse is on, are “regularly patrolled by parking enforcement.” Turlo said that the parking authority has not received any requests to extend the time for metered parking near the courthouses.

While towing cars for unpaid parking tickets is a common practice for cities, Minnesota passed a law last year barring such tows, seeing them as an unfair burden on low-income families. Several cities, including Los Angeles, San Diego and San Francisco, have also stopped such tows after a California appeals court ruled that towing cars for unpaid parking tickets violated people’s rights against warrantless seizures, said Rebecca Miller, an attorney with the Western Center on Law & Poverty.

Hartford has one of the strictest policies in Connecticut. A city ordinance allows tows after two or more unpaid tickets that date back to September 2012. Other cities including Danbury and New Britain don’t tow for unpaid tickets. Norwalk and Waterbury will tow if there are four unpaid tickets; Stamford tows for three unpaid tickets or more than $250 owed, officials in those cities said. The limit in Bridgeport is $100, and New Haven’s is $200.

“We do have an ordinance where we can boot a car for unpaid tickets, but we haven’t used it in years,” said Deborah Pacific, director of the Danbury Parking Authority.

When Franklin went to eviction court, she had been trying to hold onto the place she and her daughter lived while she looked for a new job. Between unpaid fines, late fees, and towing and storage charges, it would have cost almost $3,000 to get her car back, she said.

Get in Touch

If you have information about towing near courthouses, email Dave Altimari at daltimari@ctmirror.org or Ginny Monk at gmonk@ctmirror.org, or call 203-626-4705.

“I would have chose to pay whatever I owed to my housing. So my car, there was nothing I could do,” Franklin said.

The vehicle was towed by Metro Auto Body & Towing, which did not return calls and emails for comment. It was later sold by the lender.

After losing her car and housing, Franklin moved to Florida to stay with her son.

Parking Sticker in the Wrong Place

Fixed: Apartment residents now have 72 hours if caught without a parking permit or with an expired one.

It’s often little discrepancies that lead to big consequences. When Tishawn Tillman moved into his Hartford apartment in September, he got a parking sticker that allowed him to park in the building’s private lot. He said he wasn’t sure where to put it, so he stuck it on the driver’s side window.

But less than a month later, his car was towed by Cross Country Automotive in Hartford.

“There is absolutely no legal documentation in my lease that says that this has to be strictly on the windshield,” Tillman said.

Minor rule violations such as parking crooked or not backing into a space have caused people’s cars to be towed and then sold when they couldn’t afford the fees. Stories like Tillman’s drove legislators to act. Under the new law, the towing company would have had to warn Tillman, giving him 72 hours to get a new sticker and place it in the right spot. The law also says towers have to get permission from the apartment complex to tow a vehicle unless it’s blocking traffic or parked in a fire lane.

Tillman said he assumed his car had been stolen. But the police told him it had been towed.

Tillman contacted Cross Country: “I asked them, ‘Did you see my sticker?’ And they said, ‘We didn’t see the sticker.’” He said he called the apartment manager, but he wouldn’t help.

“When I realized that neither of the parties were going to budge on the matter, I told them that I wasn’t going to pay the fine, even if I had the money, which I didn’t at the time,” Tillman said.

Tillman said his bill was “$200 but growing every day.”

He filed a complaint with the attorney general’s office, which said it unsuccessfully tried to resolve the issue through its voluntary mediation program and recommended he complain to the Department of Motor Vehicles.

Sal Sena, Cross Country’s owner, submitted a letter to the attorney general saying there are signs all over the parking lot explaining the rules. The apartment manager, Jack Matos, wrote to the attorney general that he talked with Sena about giving TIllman a discount on the towing fees.

“I reiterated Tishawn needs to make sure that it’s placed on the windshield,” Matos wrote.

Frustrated, Tillman eventually gave up trying to get his car back.

“I went from being a self-made young man with his own apartment and car to having to burn a hole in my pocket just to get to and from work on ride-share services like Uber and Lyft,” he said.

Unable to Reclaim Car Despite Having the Title

Fixed: The law allows vehicle owners to reclaim their cars with other documents besides DMV registration.

Shaleah Carr needed two more weeks until her DMV appointment in April to register the Chevrolet Malibu she had just bought from her mom. It was the earliest appointment she could get.

Her boyfriend had taken the car to his brother’s house to work on it when they decided to take it for a test drive. But the car broke down on U.S. Route 5 in South Windsor, and police called for a tow.

Her boyfriend told the tow truck driver that the car was registered to Carr’s mother and that Carr had the title and proof of insurance. But the towing company, Tolland Automotive, wouldn’t release the vehicle to Carr because she wasn’t the registered owner, said the company’s owner, George Fellows. The vehicle was towed on a Friday afternoon, and by the time Carr was able to get to the lot on Monday morning, she owed more than $300.

“I told them I’m on one income and I can’t afford it,” Carr said. “I just paid my rent for that month, and I even asked, ‘Do you guys do payments?’”

Since then, her Malibu has been sitting in the company’s lot.

Shaleah Carr couldn’t reclaim her car even though she has the title. (Shahrzad Rasekh/CT Mirror)

Carr’s dilemma has happened to people whose cars have been towed across Connecticut — they’ve been unable to quickly register their cars and then blocked from reclaiming them because they’re not registered in their names yet. By the time they can register their cars, so much time has passed that the tow bill is too expensive or the company has sold their car.

The new law gives consumers time to register their car before it can be towed and requires towers to release vehicles if presented with the title or a bill of sale as proof of ownership. The law also requires towers to accept other forms of payment besides cash and demands towers have business hours on weekends so fees don’t accrue while they’re closed.

Fellows said police called them to the scene. “Then we found out that this guy didn’t own the car at all,” Fellows said. Without the owner there, “it had to come back to our shop.”

Carr called her mother. “I was like, ‘You’re going to have to come up here,’ but even if she does, she can’t really do much,” Carr said. “She didn’t have the money to get it back either.”

Carr said the last time she called Tolland Automotive, the bill was $800. Given that she paid her mother only $500 for the car, she said, it almost wasn’t worth trying to get it back anymore.

Fellows said Carr’s mother did come into the office earlier this month with proof of registration, and he is willing to release the vehicle if she pays what is owed.

“It’s all on them,” he said. “I mean they knew what the issue was back then. Why haven’t they come back?”

Asia Fields contributed reporting.

by Dave Altimari, Ginny Monk and Shahrzad Rasekh, The Connecticut Mirror

A Doctor Challenged the Opinion of a Powerful Child Abuse Specialist. Then He Lost His Job.

1 week 5 days ago

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

On a February afternoon in 2022, Dr. Bazak Sharon logged into a remote video meeting from his home office in Minneapolis. He propped up his cellphone next to his laptop and hit record on a video app.

There were several people in the meeting with Sharon, who at the time was a pediatrician with the University of Minnesota. Two hospital leaders, Sharon’s boss and a lawyer were there, too. But the person Sharon was most wary of was in the lower-right corner of the grid of faces: Dr. Nancy Harper, the director of the child abuse team at University of Minnesota Masonic Children’s Hospital in Minneapolis.

Sharon suspected that the discussion, about the care of a 3-month-old named Hank, was going to be contentious. He worried that someday, perhaps even in court, he might need evidence of his role caring for Hank. He was prepared to argue with Harper if she challenged his clinical judgment, but it was quickly apparent that the quality of the care he provided was not at issue.

Hank was born small and was not eating well or gaining enough weight; sometimes, according to his parents, he just seemed to be in pain. (ProPublica is using a nickname for the child at the parents’ request.) At an appointment in January, a doctor ordered an endoscopy, a procedure where a tiny camera is threaded through the body, and also suggested an MRI.

The scans of Hank’s brain showed fluid pooled under both sides of his skull. The blood was old, possibly months old, and Hank was admitted to the hospital. Sharon met him the next day.

A member of Harper’s team named Dr. Caroline George also evaluated Hank that day. In her opinion, according to court records, the bleeding was “consistent with abusive head trauma.” Sharon had suggested other possible causes, including an injury from birth, an infection or even spontaneous bleeding. Sharon wrote in the child’s medical record that it’s “likely we will never identify the exact mechanism that caused his injury.”

Three days after Hank was admitted, Sharon said he learned that a county child protection services worker was preparing to come to the hospital to take custody of the baby, as well as his 2-year-old brother, William.

Sharon said that he was stunned that no one had spoken to him since he was Hank’s primary doctor. So he did something that seemed to put him at odds with George, Harper and hospital leadership: He told Hank’s parents, CPS and police he didn’t think the bleeding alone was enough evidence to say this was abuse.

Sharon was also concerned that separating a sick infant from his parents based only on a suspicion of abuse would cause more harm to Hank. Working with the detective assigned to the case, he admitted William, though the older boy was not sick, so that the whole family could stay in the hospital under the supervision of a nursing assistant while doctors continued to treat and monitor Hank.

But four days later, according to Sharon, his supervisor told him that he was being removed from Hank’s care team, and that he should not communicate further with the parents. When Sharon asked why, he said he was told it was at Harper’s recommendation. “The care,” he said, “changed the second she got involved.”

In less than 48 hours, a judge determined that Hank and William were in need of child protection services and their parents were forced to leave the hospital without them. The same day, Sharon said, he was summoned to the first of two meetings with hospital leadership and Harper. When his supervisors scheduled the second meeting — titled “Review of CPS Patient” in the emailed invitation — less than a month later, Sharon came prepared to record it.

Before all this, Sharon had an appreciation for Harper’s formidability and for her influence in the world of child abuse pediatrics. She began her career as a pediatrician in the U.S. Navy before leading a child abuse team at a hospital in Texas. In 2014, she became the director of the University of Minnesota’s Center for Safe and Healthy Children.

A certified child abuse pediatrician for almost 16 years, the 56-year-old Harper consulted on suspected cases of abuse for several Twin Cities hospital systems, testified as an expert witness in child abuse trials across the U.S. and lectured on diagnosing signs of abuse. She was also the vice president of the Ray E. Helfer Society, a national nonprofit organization for physicians who work on the medical aspects of child abuse and neglect, and she became its president in 2023.

Harper testifies for the prosecution at a 2021 trial. (Coburn Dukehart/Wisconsin Watch)

Sharon, now 53 years old, was also well-respected. Originally from Israel, he came to the U.S. in 2003 to continue his medical studies. He began as a fellow at the University of Minnesota in 2006 and had been on faculty for 12 years. Specializing in infectious diseases, he became medical director of the university’s pediatric COVID-19 clinic and was a contributing member of the state Health Department’s Long COVID Guiding Council. Sharon was also a hospitalist, meaning he directed the care for admitted patients like Hank, coordinating with other doctors and specialists.

As the online February meeting progressed, it became clear to Sharon that, in a face-off with Harper, his medical expertise and the fact that he considered many of the people on the call to be friends counted for little. The lawyer noted that differing medical opinions could open the hospital or the doctors themselves up to a lawsuit. George added that the differences in opinions had also “made things difficult for particularly law enforcement.”

“I’m not a child abuse expert,” said Dr. Sameer Gupta, the chief medical officer of the hospital, on the call. “But, you know, my experience is this: Try to be completely aligned. That’s one story that’s coming from the medical team as much as possible, to avoid the potential for, one, litigation, two, to let the experts really drive the ship.”

Sharon became increasingly agitated during the call, shaking his head. He was angry that the conversation had revolved around protocols and the hospital’s legal liabilities, rather than Hank’s care.

“I think I did the best any doctor can do at that point in making sure that my patient is getting the best care while I’m not trying to hide any potential abuse,” he said during the meeting, the video of which he shared with ProPublica. “I felt very uncomfortable that CPS are showing up unannounced and taking two children away from the parents without having a discussion with the doctors who take care of this patient. I hope no one expects me not to say something when that happens in front of me.”

But Harper seemed to suggest that Hank might have been seen by too many doctors, and that Sharon had interfered with her team’s ability to “frame” the case to CPS and law enforcement. She said she did not consider it her role to be concerned about what could happen to a family after a diagnosis.

“Unfortunately,” she said, “if I spent all of my time worrying about … what’s going to happen with child protection and foster care or the cost for the legal stuff afterwards, I wouldn’t be able to do my job.”

Sharon began to protest. He said he had been reading the scientific literature on abusive head trauma and found it unconvincing, a conclusion more and more doctors were coming to. Harper cut him off. “If I spent two weeks reading the literature on COVID, would you consider me as qualified as you are?” she asked. “I’ve been doing this for decades.”

Gupta abruptly shut down the conversation. He said that Sharon’s plan to keep the family in the hospital was the “wrong decision and will never, ever happen again,” and then he ended the call.

As the screen went blank, Sharon let out a long, deep sigh. Though disturbed and frustrated, he did not yet realize his actions on behalf of Hank and his family would affect his career. Over time, Sharon came to see Harper as the main driver of a campaign to get him to fall in line with the child abuse team.

“She’s very black and white, right and wrong, no gray area,” he said, “which is not the way to do medicine or pediatrics.”

Harper did not respond to requests for comment. She and a spokesperson for University of Minnesota Physicians, which is the clinical practice for the university’s medical school faculty, also did not respond to a detailed list of questions. But the spokesperson wrote that the Otto Bremer Trust Center for Safe and Healthy Children, as it is now called and which is led by Harper, provides “trauma-informed medical care and psychosocial support while addressing research, prevention, advocacy, policy and education.”

“When healthcare providers and community organizations refer patients to CSCH, the team only makes decisions about diagnoses and subsequent medical care based on expert assessment of medical evidence (e.g., medical history, physical exam, lab and radiological findings, input from other medical specialists and information provided by caregivers),” the spokesperson added. “Further investigations and legal determinations are outside of our team’s scope.”

A spokesperson for Fairview Health Services, which owns Masonic Children’s Hospital, said in a statement that although Harper is an employee of University of Minnesota Physicians, “we obviously take these concerns seriously and are actively reviewing the matter.”

“Our highest priority is the safety, dignity, and wellbeing of our patients and families — especially in moments of crisis. We are aware of concerns being raised regarding the conduct of a University of Minnesota Physicians (UMP)-employed provider who practices in a UMP-led clinic within the M Health Fairview Masonic Children’s Hospital,” the spokesperson added. “We are in close communication with our academic partners and are evaluating any steps we may need to take to preserve the trust our patients and families place in us.”

Harper’s arrival in Minnesota coincided with the fallout of a high-profile tragedy: the 2013 death of 4-year-old Eric Dean.

Dean lived with his family in sparsely populated Pope County, in west-central Minnesota. According to an investigation by The Minnesota Star Tribune, teachers and caregivers reported signs that Dean was being abused to child protection workers at least 15 times before his stepmother threw him across a room, causing injuries that would kill him. She is in prison serving a life sentence.

In response, then-Gov. Mark Dayton signed an executive order in 2014 creating the Governor’s Task Force on the Protection of Children. The next year, along with a slew of other reforms, the state Legislature created a $23.35 million grant to give counties money based partially on the number of open child protection investigations.

She’s very black and white, right and wrong, no gray area, which is not the way to do medicine or pediatrics.

—Dr. Bazak Sharon

The number of child abuse cases soared. For instance, in Hennepin County, where Minneapolis is located, cases of physical abuse more than doubled from 2015 to 2016, before dropping over the next several years. Child abuse experts attributed the rise to what Joanna Woolman, a law professor who specializes in child abuse law, called “a moment of hyper-awareness around medical child abuse and child abuse in general.”

“We were convening a task force that was heavily made up of people with the view that we needed to do more, have more eyes on, be more aware,” added Woolman, who is also the executive director of the nonprofit Keeping Families Connected Minnesota, which provides free legal services to families going through child protection proceedings.

A subspecialty of pediatrics first recognized by the American Board of Pediatrics in 2006, child abuse pediatrics focuses on the diagnosis and documentation of signs of abuse. A diagnosis can help determine whether a parent loses custody of their child or faces criminal investigation. In cases where children die, it can mean murder charges. Harper was one of the first certified child abuse pediatricians in the country — the board counts over 350 subspeciality certifications nationwide — and is one of seven currently certified in Minnesota.

“Physicians with less training on child abuse and neglect both over- and under-identify injuries in children, whether they’re physical abuse injuries, sexual abuse injuries,” she testified in a 2019 trial. “A child with a missed injury could come back later with a more serious injury or even die. And so these are sort of issues where we realize that we needed expertise.”

Harper was hired as director of the Center for Safe and Healthy Children by the University of Minnesota the same year as Dayton’s executive order. According to testimony she gave in a 2019 criminal trial, the university recruited her to build up the center and create a regionwide child abuse consultation system.

“When I’m on call, I can be covering up to six different places where children can be seen,” Harper testified.

In 2016, the Otto Bremer Trust, a private charitable organization based in St. Paul, announced a $2.5 million grant to fund Harper’s ambitions to expand the center, which is based at Masonic. Harper is also program director for the university’s Child Abuse Pediatrics Fellowship, a three-year training program, giving her influence over the next generation of child abuse pediatricians. A spokesperson for the trust added that it does not have any “role in the day-to-day operations of the Center.”

Hennepin County has a contract with Harper’s employer, University of Minnesota Physicians, to provide medical consultation, expert witness testimony and case consultation with county attorneys. According to testimony Harper has given in the past, she and her team handle about 700 cases of suspected abuse each year. She has testified that 10% to 20% of those wind up confirmed for physical abuse, although it is difficult to determine if these figures are accurate since child protection case records are not public. She has given different answers on the witness stand when asked if she has ever testified for the defense; in 2021, she said she’d testified for the defense in a “half dozen or a dozen” cases. In 2023, she said she’d done so twice.

In 2018, Harper’s center began cohosting an annual Child Abuse Summit with the Hennepin County Attorney’s Office. In 2022, she received an introduction during a panel discussion from Dan Allard, senior assistant Hennepin County attorney, that illustrated the close relationship between Harper and her team and county prosecutors.

“If you haven’t heard Dr. Harper testify, she does a wonderful job. She knows her stuff,” Allard, who is also the head of the county attorney’s child abuse team, said at the summit. “We just barely try to keep up understanding what she’s talking about. So we just kind of let her go.”

In response to a detailed list of questions, Daniel Borgertpoepping, a spokesperson for the Hennepin County Attorney’s Office, wrote, “Since our office represents Hennepin County in CPS matters, we are unable to comment.”

Before Sharon’s encounter with Harper, he hadn’t given much thought to her team’s practices, which included evaluating and treating some of the worst cases of physical and sexual abuse of children. While he said he had referred a dozen or so cases of suspected neglect to her team, he viewed their work as a bleak side of pediatrics. He was happy to avoid it.

“I had a lot of respect for the child abuse doctors, like, ‘Thank you for doing that for us,’” he said.

But for roughly 15 years, the world of child abuse pediatrics has been roiled by criticism of the diagnosis once known as shaken baby syndrome and now categorized under the umbrella term abusive head trauma. A triad of symptoms — brain bleeding, brain swelling or injury, and blood in the retina — was once considered evidence that a child had been violently shaken, even if there were no other injuries or even bruising.

In court testimony, Harper has said that both shaken baby syndrome and abusive head trauma are considered scientifically valid diagnoses by “the mainstream medical community,” and that the controversy is more of a legal one than a medical one. She has acknowledged there are medical conditions that mimic possible signs of abuse, including bruises, bone fractures and head trauma symptoms, but she said that her assessments take all of that into account in concert with specialists like neurosurgeons and radiologists.

“We take a very detailed history from the family. We do a physical examination, look at past medical history, other medical conditions, the initial laboratory and X-ray reports,” she testified in 2023.

Sharon readily concedes that he wasn’t an expert in child abuse medicine. But as he and the other doctors tried to understand the bleeding in Hank’s brain as well as his lack of weight gain, he spent his evenings reading the scientific and legal literature about shaken baby syndrome and abusive head trauma, scribbling notes to himself. He read a key American Academy of Pediatrics statement reaffirming its belief in the diagnoses; he also read studies that challenged the science underlying them.

“It is wrong to fail to advise parents and courts when these are simply hypotheses, not proven medical or scientific facts,” Sharon wrote on a copy of one law review article.

He read about how the first neurosurgeon to posit the theory of shaken baby syndrome said in an interview years later that he was “disturbed that what I intended as a friendly suggestion for avoiding injury to children has become an excuse for imprisoning innocent parents.” According to the National Registry of Exonerations, over 40 people convicted in cases related to the diagnosis have been exonerated since the 1990s, often over increasing doubts that the three symptoms can be interpreted so definitively.

Sharon also learned that the subspecialty of child abuse pediatrics itself has also been under increasing scrutiny. Perhaps the most famous child abuse pediatrician case became the basis for the Netflix documentary “Take Care of Maya,” in which a 10-year-old girl’s pain syndrome was diagnosed by a child abuse pediatrician as Munchausen syndrome by proxy. A jury found the hospital liable for medical malpractice and awarded the family over $200 million; the hospital has appealed. Several families are suing a Pennsylvania hospital for what they say are false diagnoses of abuse by Dr. Debra Esernio-Jenssen, who led its child abuse team. A series of allegations of overzealous diagnoses of abuse have followed Dr. Barbara Knox from her job leading a child abuse team at the University of Wisconsin to similar positions in Alaska and at the University of Florida.

Sharon began to question the scientific nature of shaken baby syndrome and abusive head trauma after his dispute with Harper’s team. “It is wrong to fail to advise parents and courts when these are simply hypotheses, not proven medical or scientific facts,” he wrote on a copy of one law review article.

The child abuse pediatrician community is tightknit. After Knox left Wisconsin, Harper replaced her as an expert witness in some criminal cases. Esernio-Jenssen wrote Harper a nomination letter for a Ray E. Helfer Society award, calling her “an unstoppable force.”

Esernio-Jenssen and Knox, as well as the Helfer Society, did not respond to requests for comment. In a response to the lawsuit, attorneys for Esernio-Jenssen and her former hospital network wrote that they “are being attacked and demonized for protecting children from abuse and following the law,” and that the allegations of bad-faith abuse investigations are “obviously untrue.” The lawsuit is ongoing.

Knox was sued by two families in Alaska who accused her of leveling false accusations of abuse against them. In response, Knox said in an affidavit that she has no say over whether child protection takes children away from their parents, that she did not “conspire” with police or anyone else on custody issues or criminal prosecution, and that she did not personally evaluate one of the named children. The lawsuit was dismissed in 2024 after the families agreed to drop the matter.

According to a spokesperson for the University of Florida, Knox resigned her job there as a pediatrician with the Child Protective Team, effective Aug. 15. He declined to comment on the circumstances.

From the start, Sharon thought what was happening to Hank — a child struggling with eating and weight gain, with abnormal results on his endoscopy and weeks-old, unexplained cranial bleeding without any other symptoms of abuse — fit into his wheelhouse treating complex and even mysterious cases more than it fit into Harper’s. After poring through the literature on abusive head trauma, he was even more convinced.

Sharon followed his supervisor’s instruction not to speak to Hank’s parents. But after the couple’s attorney approached him, he provided a five-page account of Hank’s medical treatment. He included several potential alternative diagnoses.

“It is clear to me that missing child abuse is as serious as missing bacterial meningitis and should be considered as malpractice,” he wrote. “But also, as a hospitalist, who frequently manage children without clear definitions of their diagnosis, I’m used to ambiguity.”

Dr. Matthias Zinn, Hank’s neurologist, agreed with Sharon that the fluid in Hank’s brain, what he called “subdural collections,” could not be definitively tied to abuse. He provided a letter to the couple’s attorney as well. Zinn, who said he’s consulted on hundreds of cases of suspected abuse, said Harper’s child abuse team was by far the most aggressive he’s worked with.

“It was just crazy,” he said. “I remember speaking to them and saying, ‘What evidence do you have, other than the subdural collections?’ And they made it clear that they did not respect my opinion.”

Zinn has since left the University of Minnesota for a position in Florida.

Both a CPS investigator and a police detective spoke to Sharon repeatedly, and according to Hank’s parents, they also relayed Zinn’s opinion and begged CPS to talk to him as well. But the CPS petition alleging Hank was a victim of abuse only cited George’s assessment. There’s no mention of Sharon or Zinn.

George did not respond to requests for comment.

A spokesperson for Hennepin County declined to comment on individual cases or to respond to a detailed list of questions. But she provided a statement from Kwesi Booker, the director of Hennepin County Children and Family Services, which oversees child protection services. In that statement, Booker said “child protection social workers appropriately rely on the subject matter expertise of trained medical professionals in situations involving complex medical issues.”

Unable to let the matter go, Sharon wrote letters to the hospital’s leadership council about what he called “dangerous overreach” by Harper’s child abuse team. In response, Gupta said he referred the letter for review to the hospital’s Committee for Professional Enhancement. Citing privacy laws, hospital administrators would not tell Sharon the outcome of the committee’s review.

Separately, Gupta wrote Sharon a “peer review” letter informing him that, in several of his cases, there were concerns about his conduct, professionalism and a disregard for hospital protocol. Sharon said he was aware of his reputation for being strong-willed and, at times, dismissive or even rude to colleagues. The letter warned him against doing anything that could be seen as “retaliatory” toward other members of the staff. Gupta gave three examples related to Sharon’s purportedly improper procedures for prescribing medications for pediatric COVID-19 patients; he also referred to Sharon’s interaction with the child abuse team.

“Your documentation in the chart and communication with law enforcement was contrary to what was being stated by the child abuse team,” Gupta wrote in the peer review letter. “This created confusion with the community workers and with the family in a situation in which consistency is very important.”

Gupta did not respond to repeated requests for comment or to a list of questions.

Masonic Children’s Hospital

Hank’s family had a limited view of what was going on behind the scenes at Masonic Children’s Hospital, even though Hank’s mother, Kay, worked in the neonatal intensive care unit there. She recognized Sharon and knew of George, though she hadn’t worked closely with either. Because Hank’s parents both work in the pediatric field and for the privacy of their children, they asked that ProPublica not use their full names.

The day after Hank’s admission, Kay and her husband, Ross, explained to George about the baby’s difficulty with breastfeeding, his inexplicable pain and his inability to tolerate formula. When George asked her about possible accidents or injuries, the only thing Kay could think of was a time when she was driving and slammed on the brakes with Hank in his car seat.

After she read the CPS petition alleging her children were victims of physical abuse, Kay said that she came to suspect that George had been trying to collect information to use against her and her husband, not to treat Hank.

“I think she was sitting there hoping that I was just going to confess or tell her that I thought my husband might have done it,” Kay said. “And I was just hoping that she was going to help me.”

While Hank and William were in foster care, police confiscated the couple’s cellphones, laptops and baby monitors, and interviewed various family members and friends. In April 2022, Hennepin County decided not to pursue criminal charges.

CPS found no additional evidence of abuse, and after nearly four months, a judge ordered both boys returned to the couple, though it was on the condition that a grandparent live in the home full time as well. In June, just before a trial to determine if Hank had been abused, CPS agreed to begin the process of dismissing the matter, though the agency still made a “finding of maltreatment” by an “unknown offender.”

In late July, the Hennepin County Attorney’s Office signed off on the dismissal. It had been nearly seven months since Hank was first admitted to the hospital.

Around the same time, Kay and Ross took Hank for genetic testing, which showed he carried an abnormal gene duplication with unknown effects. He was also put on medication that resolved his stomach sensitivity issues and increased his appetite. One of Sharon’s theories was that the bleeding under his skull was due to poor feeding, dehydration or vitamin deficiency, though no one has been able to identify a definitive cause.

“He’s just been our little mystery baby, but he is a beautiful, healthy, thriving little 3-year-old,” Kay said.

William, she said, still has nightmares about being taken from his parents. At 5 years old, he insists on sleeping in their bed every night. Defending themselves, Kay said, plus the cost of additional caregivers amounted to roughly $100,000 for the family.

Kay never met Harper and only later came to understand the role she played. Because there was no trial, she never had the chance to confront Harper or George, or lay out any of the arguments that she and her husband had been falsely accused of abuse.

But just before the case closed, Kay saw an advertisement for the 2022 Child Abuse Summit, with Harper as a featured panelist. She bought a ticket to the event and sat right in front of Harper.

“They do these things and probably never have to see the people again, outside of places where they’re in charge,” she remembered thinking. “You’re going to have to see me.”

Sharon did not know it at the time, but he was far from the only person struggling in recent years to keep a family from losing their children after Harper’s involvement. In his job as an attorney for indigent parents at Hennepin County Adult Representation Services, Scotty Ducharme has dealt with horror stories and seen cases of extreme child abuse up close. But when allegations have arisen almost exclusively from a medical diagnosis from a child abuse pediatrician, which he calls a “CAP,” he has also seen signs that not all the doctors on the child’s treatment team are in lockstep.

“If you read the medical records written by the CAPs versus the regular doctors in the cases I’ve worked on, you can see the breadcrumbs by the regular doctors who don’t believe what the CAPs are saying,” he said. “I’ve only caught, on the record, doctors directly contradicting each other a few times.”

“I’ve only caught, on the record, doctors directly contradicting each other a few times,” said Scotty Ducharme, a former attorney for indigent parents at Hennepin County Adult Representation Services who is now in private practice.

In the spring of 2023, Ducharme met María Alejandra Ramírez Rodríguez and her husband, Cristian Andrés Guzmán de la Ossa, a couple in their 20s. Recent arrivals from Colombia who spoke no English, they brought their 4-week-old son to Hennepin County Medical Center in Minneapolis after noticing bruises on his thighs, back, forehead and face. They had taken photos of previous bruises as well, which they shared with doctors. (ProPublica is not naming the child to protect his privacy.) The couple also brought him to the hospital when he was 12 days old because his umbilical stump wouldn’t stop bleeding.

Harper examined the baby and reviewed X-rays of his skeleton. The results were alarming; he had 14 healing rib fractures, as well as fractures in his arms and legs in various states of healing. Harper wrote that the baby was “at grave risk for further injury, morbidity and mortality,” and the Hennepin County Attorney’s Office filed an expedited petition to permanently sever the parents’ rights. The baby was placed in foster care with a woman who worked as a nurse.

When Ducharme looked at the medical records, he saw that the baby had gone through a number of blood tests, including ones to check for clotting disorders. Several metrics were marked slightly outside of the normal range, including a reading for a protein tied to a genetic clotting disorder called von Willebrand disease. Ducharme zeroed in on a particular note, perhaps a “breadcrumb,” written by the pediatrician who saw the baby before Harper; he wrote that the baby would need more follow up from the hematology department “if more bruising develops.”

While in the care of the foster parent, the baby developed new bruises and Harper evaluated him again. A new abuse investigation was opened against the foster parent, and he was moved to a second foster family — in this case, a pediatrician and her husband. Once again, the baby developed new bruises, according to his visitation supervisor.

“This is medical, something weird is going on here,” Ducharme remembered thinking.

But according to notes from the CPS investigator, Harper declined to change her determination or to perform additional blood clotting disorder tests as the first doctor had advised: “Would not be any different now so they did not repeat those tests,” he wrote. He added that in Harper’s opinion, whoever bruised the baby in April was the most likely offender in subsequent incidents.

In her notes, Harper also questioned whether the marks noticed on the baby while he was living with his second foster family were true bruises. Instead, prosecutors posited a new theory in the case: that Ramírez and Guzmán were surreptitiously abusing their son during visits, even though the visits were supervised by a woman who works as an observer in CPS cases. To Ducharme, that strained credulity. He became concerned that Harper was too unwilling to change her diagnoses, and that prosecutors were reluctant to challenge her.

“She has this level of cachet with prosecutors, it’s like a trauma bond. I’m sure she’s right more than 90% of the time,” he said. “They’re unwilling to see her failures.”

But not everyone is. In several cases in recent years, judges and juries have found Harper’s diagnoses unconvincing. In 2024, a Wisconsin judge barred Harper from telling the jury that a child died as the result of “abusive head trauma, non-accidental injury, child abuse, or murder.”

“Dr. Harper sees herself as an advocate, at least in part, and this blurs her role as scientist and clinician with the role of advocate against child abuse, further calling into question her fidelity to the scientific validation of abusive head trauma diagnoses, especially when it is a close call,” the judge said.

In another Wisconsin case, Paul Marshall was found not guilty in 2023 of shaking his 7-week-old son, Fox, to death. Harper examined the boy at Children’s Minnesota, a hospital in St. Paul. A spokesperson for Children’s Minnesota declined to comment on the case.

“We were put through the grinder,” Marshall said. “We don’t get our son back, and we don’t get a lot of the closure that we should have had as a family. That was robbed from us.”

The Marshalls at home with their two daughters. “We don’t get our son back, and we don’t get a lot of the closure that we should have had as a family. That was robbed from us,” Paul Marshall said.

After Ducharme became convinced that there was a medical explanation for Ramírez’s baby’s injuries, he prepared a memo that pointed out a number of possible contributing factors, including that Ramírez had gone days without eating while she was pregnant and traveling across the U.S.-Mexico border from Colombia and had a difficult delivery in Minneapolis. Ramírez got her own medical records from Colombia which showed that, as a child, she’d also experienced unexplained bruising.

To challenge the prosecutors’ theory that the baby’s new bruises were from further abuse by the parents, Ducharme spoke to their visitation supervisor. She provided a sworn affidavit saying that she did not witness any abusive behavior from the parents, and that she’d become so stressed in part from the pressure to say she had witnessed abuse that she asked to be taken off the case. She also wrote that CPS workers were lying to and about the couple, claiming that the foster parents spoke Spanish, which they did not, and that Ramírez and Guzmán were unreliable about keeping visitation appointments.

“The parents attended every visit. They never cancelled,” the supervisor wrote. “Even when their tire popped on the way to their first supervised visitations, they got an Uber and were only about five minutes late.”

A judge ruled that there was “no evidence” that the parents were abusing their baby at visits and ordered a second medical opinion. But before that could happen, the county agreed to drop the termination of parental rights petition after Ramírez and Guzmán agreed to acknowledge that their son “sustained serious injury” while living with them, without admitting guilt. The case was converted to a regular child protection matter, which allowed the couple to have home visits. They eventually regained custody, and the case was closed in April 2024.

“There’s no accountability. There’s no finding of fact,” Ducharme said. “You think: ‘You get your baby back. None of the rest of it matters.’ But it matters.”

The couple found the entire experience bewildering and traumatic. Although they are now reunited, they missed six months of their newborn son’s life. Ramírez didn’t have the chance to breastfeed after the first foster parent began feeding her son formula instead of the breast milk she was pumping.

“We didn’t see him crawl. We didn’t see him turn over —” Guzmán said.

“We didn’t see him sit up,” Ramírez said.

María Alejandra Ramírez Rodríguez and her husband, Cristian Andrés Guzmán de la Ossa, brought their 4-week-old son to Hennepin County Medical Center in Minneapolis after noticing bruises on his body. After an evaluation by Harper, their son was sent into foster care for months before he was returned to them.

Although they worry about doing anything that might draw attention from immigration authorities, in late May they filed a federal civil lawsuit against Harper and the institutions she works for. Ducharme, who left his job at Hennepin County and is now in private practice, is representing the couple in the lawsuit, which alleges that Harper acted in “bad faith,” and that because of her actions there was no “genuine investigation” into the baby’s medical condition.

According to a spokesperson for Harper’s employer, University of Minnesota Physicians, they have not been served with the lawsuit yet and have not responded to the allegations.

“Why, after they didn’t find any physical abuse, did the hospital not keep doing exams to see if there was something medically wrong with him?” Guzmán asked. “They robbed us of our child without any real explanation.”

In late May 2023, a year and a half after Hank’s case, Sharon was on his way home from work when he got a phone call. A new case had come into the emergency room at Masonic Children’s Hospital that needed his consultation: a 3-month-old boy named Daniel. An MRI had shown fluid on his brain. CPS was already investigating whether this was abuse.

“Not again,” Sharon recalled thinking. He turned his car around.

At the hospital, he learned the unusual circumstances that had brought Daniel to the hospital: His mother, a pediatric nurse, had volunteered her son for an academic study that needed the MRIs of healthy children as a baseline. Someone on the research team noted fluid in Daniel’s brain, and a report was made to child protection services.

After meeting with the parents, examining Daniel and reviewing the MRI report, Sharon wrote up a one-page note. Among other things, he recommended that CPS continue assessing Daniel for possible abuse. But after what had happened with Hank’s case the year before, Sharon also put his views on the record.

“One should practice extreme caution attributing isolated intracranial fluid collection to abusive head trauma when no additional clinical signs or symptoms are found,” he wrote, “as the evidence to support this is controversial and has been questioned by many authorities (medical as well as legal).”

After a day in the hospital, Daniel and his parents, Grace and Paul, were allowed to go home together, although they said the CPS investigation remained open for a month. George, the same doctor involved in Hank’s case, asked Daniel’s parents to bring him back two weeks later, where Grace said he screamed as he was pinned down for additional X-rays and to check for bruises. According to medical records, George determined that Daniel had experienced an “accidental trauma” but did not attribute the cranial fluid to abuse.

Nevertheless, according to Sharon, his supervisor called to tell him that, once again, Harper was concerned about the legal liability created by his note, and that his opinion about the bleeding was “beyond the scope” of his practice. Struck by the similarities in Daniel’s and Hank’s cases, Sharon wrote another letter reiterating his concerns from the conference call in February 2022. He said that he’d spoken to many colleagues at the hospital who shared those concerns, and that he strongly believed “our organization must acknowledge and address these concerns in a transparent manner.”

In late June, University of Minnesota records show that three complaints were filed within days of one another against Sharon. Because the complaints were closed without discipline, they are protected personnel data under Minnesota law.

The first complaint was filed the same day he said he received an invite to a meeting with Dr. Joseph Neglia, head of the University of Minnesota Medical School’s Department of Pediatrics, physician-in-chief at Masonic Children’s Hospital and one of the people included on the February 2022 call. The second complaint was filed a few days later, while the third came the day before the meeting took place.

According to Sharon, an attorney for University of Minnesota Physicians at the meeting told him he was “weaponizing” his notes. A week and a half after that, Sharon said, Neglia brought him in again and gave him a choice: resign or be terminated on the spot. Sharon was shocked. He ultimately resigned.

Under an agreement with University of Minnesota Physicians, Sharon stayed on the job for several months with strict guidelines, including that he was prohibited from working with the infectious disease division. Neglia warned Sharon in a letter to “maintain a high level of professionalism and decorum” and not to engage in “any behavior that could be perceived as retaliation,” echoing the language in Gupta’s peer review letter to Sharon.

“You will refrain and remove yourself from involvement in any cases of suspected child abuse or potential non-accidental trauma,” Neglia wrote. “This includes any interactions with or communication with parents or guardians of a patient in such a case.”

Neglia did not respond to requests for comment.

At the time of his departure, Sharon was one of only a small number of doctors in the country who treated a complicated immune disease with behavioral symptoms in children known by the acronym PANDAS or PANS. Parents of Sharon’s patients were so upset by news of his resignation that they went to the local newspaper.

The coverage prompted an investigator from the Minnesota Attorney General’s Office to reach out to Sharon, and Sharon said he took the opportunity to share his concerns about the child abuse protocols at his former workplace. He said he has yet to hear back. A spokesperson at the attorney general’s office declined comment.

On a recent April afternoon, Sharon arrived at a restaurant in a suburb of Minneapolis. Tucked in a back corner table was Daniel, now a blond-headed 2-year-old, Grace, Paul and Grace’s mother. Sharon had not seen them since that day in the emergency room two years ago, and the family wanted to thank him for what he’d done. (Because Grace is a pediatric nurse and because she wants to protect her son’s privacy, ProPublica agreed to withhold the families’ full names.)

Grace still feels traumatized by the 24 hours she spent at Masonic Children’s Hospital, not sure if she’d be allowed to take her son home. She remembers that the one person who seemed to be in her corner was Sharon and how it felt to read that single line in her son’s medical report that may have cost Sharon his job.

“That was the light in the darkness at that point,” she said.

Daniel with parents, Grace and Paul. Grace still feels traumatized by the 24 hours she spent at Masonic Children’s Hospital, unsure if she’d be allowed to take her son home.

Since the incident, Grace said, she has had to work with George on cases of suspected child abuse and said she has become more understanding of how parents are treated.

For his part, Sharon characterizes the entire experience as “surreal.” He commutes from Minnesota to Colorado and Wyoming for temporary hospitalist and clinical work, but he is still looking for a full-time job. He wants to get back to treating infectious diseases and thinking about pediatric immunology, and he worries that he could be hurting his own reputation by speaking out about how hospitals deal with cases of suspected child abuse.

At the same time, he said he feels that he has to push back against the attempt to get him, and other physicians like him who may disagree with a child abuse pediatrician, to “fall in line.”

After leaving his job, Sharon got a tattoo on the inside of his left forearm, a quote attributed to Albert Einstein he said reflects his thinking and his actions at Masonic Children’s Hospital: “Unthinking respect for authority is the greatest enemy of truth.”

Mariam Elba contributed research. Melissa Sanchez and Agnel Philip contributed reporting.

by Jessica Lussenhop, and photography by Sarahbeth Maney

Kristi Noem Secretly Took a Cut of Political Donations

1 week 5 days ago

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In 2023, while Kristi Noem was governor of South Dakota, she supplemented her income by secretly accepting a cut of the money she raised for a nonprofit that promotes her political career, tax records show.

In what experts described as a highly unusual arrangement, the nonprofit routed funds to a personal company of Noem’s that had recently been established in Delaware. The payment totaled $80,000 that year, a significant boost to her roughly $130,000 government salary. Since the nonprofit is a so-called dark money group — one that’s not required to disclose the names of its donors — the original source of the money remains unknown.

Noem then failed to disclose the $80,000 payment to the public. After President Donald Trump selected Noem to be his secretary of the Department of Homeland Security, she had to release a detailed accounting of her assets and sources of income from 2023 on. She did not include the income from the dark money group on her disclosure form, which experts called a likely violation of federal ethics requirements.

Experts told ProPublica it was troubling that Noem was personally taking money that came from political donors. In a filing, the group, a nonprofit called American Resolve Policy Fund, described the $80,000 as a payment for fundraising. The organization said Noem had brought in hundreds of thousands of dollars.

There is nothing remarkable about a politician raising money for nonprofits and other groups that promote their campaigns or agendas. What’s unusual, experts said, is for a politician to keep some of the money for themselves.

“If donors to these nonprofits are not just holding the keys to an elected official’s political future but also literally providing them with their income, that’s new and disturbing,” said Daniel Weiner, a former Federal Election Commission attorney who now leads the Brennan Center’s work on campaign finance.

ProPublica discovered details of the payment in the annual tax form of American Resolve Policy Fund, which is part of a network of political groups that promote Noem and her agenda. The nonprofit describes its mission as “fighting to preserve America for the next generation.” There’s little evidence in the public domain that the group has done much. In its first year, its main expenditures were paying Noem and covering the cost of some unspecified travel. It also maintains social media accounts devoted to promoting Noem. It has 100 followers on X.

In a statement, Noem’s lawyer, Trevor Stanley, said, “Then-Governor Noem fully complied with the letter and the spirit of the law” and that the Office of Government Ethics, which processes disclosure forms for federal officials, “analyzed and cleared her financial information in regards to this entity.” Stanley did not respond to follow-up questions about whether the ethics office was aware of the $80,000 payment.

Stanley also said that “Secretary Noem fully disclosed all of her income on public documents that are readily available.” Asked for evidence of that, given that Noem didn’t report the $80,000 payment on her federal financial disclosure form, Stanley did not respond.

Before being named Homeland Security secretary, overseeing immigration enforcement, Noem spent two decades in South Dakota’s government and the U.S. House of Representatives, drawing a public servant’s salary. Her husband, Bryon Noem, runs a small insurance brokerage with two offices in the state. Between his company and his real estate holdings, he has at least $2 million in assets, according to Noem’s filing.

While she is among the least wealthy members of Trump’s Cabinet, her personal spending habits have attracted notice. Noem was photographed wearing a gold Rolex Cosmograph Daytona watch that costs nearly $50,000 as she toured the Salvadoran prison where her agency is sending immigrants. In April, after her purse was stolen at a Washington, D.C., restaurant, it emerged she was carrying $3,000 in cash, which an official said was for “dinner, activities, and Easter gifts.” She was criticized for using taxpayer money as governor to pay for expenses related to trips to Paris, to Canada for bear hunting and to Houston to have dental work done. At the time, Noem denied misusing public funds.

Noem’s personal company, an LLC called Ashwood Strategies, shares a name with one of her horses. It was registered in Delaware early in her second term as South Dakota governor, around 1 p.m. on June 22, 2023. Four minutes later, the nonprofit American Resolve Policy Fund was incorporated in Delaware too.

American Resolve raised $1.1 million in 2023, according to its tax filing. The group reported that it had zero employees, and what it did with that money is largely unclear.

Noem’s Ashwood Strategies received an $80,000 fundraising fee in 2023 for raising $800,000 for the nonprofit, according to the group’s tax filing. (Internal Revenue Service. Screenshot and highlights by ProPublica.)

In 2023, the nonprofit spent only about $220,000 of its war chest — with more than a third of that going to Noem’s LLC. The rest mostly went toward administrative expenses and a roughly $84,000 travel budget. It’s not clear whose travel the group paid for.

The nonprofit reported that it sent the $80,000 fundraising fee to Noem’s LLC as payment for bringing in $800,000, a 10% cut. A professional fundraiser who also raised money for the group was paid a lower rate of 7%.

In the intervening years, American Resolve has maintained a low public profile. In March, it purchased Facebook ads attacking a local news outlet in South Dakota, which had been reporting on Noem’s use of government credit cards. Noem’s lawyer did not answer questions about whether the group paid her more money after 2023, the most recent year for which its tax filing is available.

The nonprofit has an affiliated political committee, American Resolve PAC, that’s been more active, at least in public. Touting Noem’s conservative leadership under a picture of her staring off into the sky, its website said the PAC was created to put “Kristi and her team on the ground in key races across America.” Noem traveled the country last year attending events the PAC sponsored in support of Republican candidates.

American Resolve’s treasurer referred questions to Noem’s lawyer. In his statement, Noem’s lawyer said she “did not establish, finance, maintain, or control American Resolve Fund. She was simply a vender for a non-profit entity.”

While Noem failed to report the fundraising income Ashwood Strategies received on her federal financial disclosure, she did provide some other details. She described the LLC as involving “personal activities outside my official gubernatorial capacity” and noted that it received the $140,000 advance for her book “No Going Back.” The LLC also had a bank account with between $100,001 and $250,000 in it and at least $50,000 of “livestock and equipment,” she reported.

The fact that Ashwood Strategies is Noem’s company only emerged through the confirmation process for her Trump Cabinet post. South Dakota has minimal disclosure rules for elected officials, and Noem had not previously divulged that she created a side business while she was governor.

Noem’s outside income may have run afoul of South Dakota law, according to Lee Schoenbeck, a veteran Republican politician and attorney who was until recently the head of the state Senate. The law requires top officials, including the governor, to devote their full time to their official roles.

“There’s no way the governor is supposed to have a private side business that the public doesn’t know about,” Schoenbeck told ProPublica. “It would clearly not be appropriate.”

Noem’s lawyer said South Dakota law allowed her to receive income from the nonprofit.

Do you have any information we should know about Kristi Noem or other administration officials? Justin Elliott can be reached by email at justin@propublica.org and by Signal or WhatsApp at 774-826-6240. Josh Kaplan can be reached by email at joshua.kaplan@propublica.org and by Signal or WhatsApp at 734-834-9383.

by Justin Elliott, Joshua Kaplan and Alex Mierjeski

States Fear Critical Funding From FEMA May Be Drying Up

2 weeks 1 day ago

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Upheaval at the nation’s top disaster agency is raising anxiety among state and local emergency managers — and leaving major questions about the whereabouts of billions of federal dollars it pays out to them.

The Federal Emergency Management Agency still has not opened applications for an enormous suite of grants, including ones that many states rely on to pay for basic emergency management operations. Some states pass on much of that money to their most rural, low-income counties to ensure they have an emergency manager on the payroll.

FEMA has blown through the mid-May statutory deadline to start the grants’ application process, according to the National Emergency Management Association, with no word about why or what that might indicate. The delay appears to have little precedent.

“There’s no transparency on why it’s not happening,” said Michael A. Coen Jr., who served as FEMA’s chief of staff under former Presidents Barack Obama and Joe Biden.

FEMA’s system of grants is complex and multifaceted and helps communities prepare for and respond to everything from terrorist attacks to natural disasters.

In April, the agency abruptly rescinded a different grant program that county and local governments were expecting to help them reduce natural hazard risks moving forward. The clawback of money included hundreds of millions already pledged. FEMA also quietly withdrew a notice for states to apply for $600 million in flood mitigation grants.

On top of that, on June 11, U.S. Department of Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem began requiring that she review all FEMA grants above $100,000. That could slow its vast multibillion grants apparatus to a crawl, current and former FEMA employees said.

FEMA did not answer ProPublica’s questions about the missed application deadline or the impact of funding cuts and delays, instead responding with a statement from DHS Assistant Secretary Tricia McLaughlin that Noem is focused on bringing accountability to FEMA’s spending by “rooting out waste, fraud, abuse, and working to ensure only grants that really help Americans in time of need are approved.”

The memo announcing the change arrived the day after President Donald Trump said he wants to begin dismantling FEMA at the close of hurricane season this fall.

All of this has left states — some of which rely on the federal government for the vast majority of their emergency management funding — in a difficult position. While Trump has sharply criticized FEMA’s performance delivering aid after disasters strike, he has said almost nothing about the future of its grant programs.

“It’s a huge concern,” said Lynn Budd, president of the National Emergency Management Association and director of the Wyoming Office of Homeland Security, which houses emergency management. The state agency gets more than 90% of its operating budget from federal funds, especially FEMA grants. “The uncertainty makes it very difficult,” she said.

In North Carolina, a state hit hard by a recent natural disaster, federal grants make up 82% of its emergency management agency’s budget. North Carolina Emergency Management leaders are pressing state lawmakers to provide it with “funding that will sustain the agency and its core functions” and cut its reliance on federal grant funding, an agency spokesperson said.

A forced weaning off of federal dollars could have an outsize impact in North Carolina and the other states that pass on much of their FEMA grants to county and local agencies. Many rural counties have modest tax bases and are already stretched thin.

In May, ProPublica published a story detailing the horrors of Hurricane Helene’s impact on one of those counties, Yancey. Home to 19,000 people, it suffered the largest per capita loss of life and damage to property in the storm. Jeff Howell, its emergency manager, was operating with only a part-time employee and said that for years he had been asking the county commission for more help. It wasn’t until after the storm that county commissioners agreed with the need.

“They realized how big a job it is,” said Howell, who has since retired.

But even large metropolitan counties rely on the grants. The hold upin opening the grant applications concerns Robert Wike Graham, deputy director of Charlotte-Mecklenburg Emergency Management, which serves an area of 1.2 million people and is home to a nuclear power plant. The training and preparation FEMA grants help the agency pay for are critical to keeping the community safe in the face of a nuclear catastrophe.

Yet Graham said he has resorted to scouring social media posts and news reports for bits of clues about the grants — and the future of FEMA itself.

“We’re all having to be like, hey, what have you heard? What do you know? What’s going on? Nobody knows,” Graham said.

Trump is on his second acting FEMA administrator in five months, and the director who coordinates national disaster response turned in his resignation letter June 11. More than a dozen senior leaders, including the agency’s chief counsel, have left or been fired, along with an unknown mass of its full-time workers.

“Every emergency manager I know is screaming, ‘You’re screwing the system up.’ We’ve all been calling for reform,” Graham said. “But it’s too much, too fast.

Vulnerable to Political Shifts

Shortly after President Jimmy Carter created FEMA in 1979 to centralize federal disaster management, the agency began to dole out grants to help communities grappling with large-scale destruction. Over the years, its grants ballooned, especially after the terrorist attacks on Sept. 11, 2001, when huge new programs helped states harden security against this alarming new threat.

Today, FEMA operates roughly a dozen preparedness grant programs. Among other things, the money serves as a financial carrot to ensure that even spending-averse and tax-strapped states and counties employ emergency managers who help communities prepare for and respond to terrorist attacks and natural disasters.

Former FEMA leaders said states have been largely content to sit back and let the feds pay up. As a result, they said, the grants have created a system of dependence that leaves emergency managers vulnerable to ever-shifting national priorities and, at the moment, a president set on dismantling the agency.

Across the country, the percentage of state emergency management agencies’ budgets paid by federal funding ranges from zero to 99.4%, a 2024 National Emergency Management Association report says. A spokesperson declined to provide a state-by-state breakdown, so ProPublica canvassed a few.

Wyoming tops 90%. Texas’ agency gets about three-quarters of its operational budget from federal funding. Virginia gets roughly 70%. South Carolina comes in around 61% federal funding for day-to-day operations.

Most state emergency managers agree that their states need to depend less on the federal government for their funding, “but there’s got to be some glide path or timeline where we can all work toward the goal,” Budd said.

Some states would need upwards of a decade to prepare for such a seismic shift, especially those like Wyoming that budget every other year, she added. Its Legislature is in the middle of budget negotiations for fiscal year 2027-28.

Get in Touch

ProPublica is continuing to report on the aftermath of Hurricane Helene in North Carolina. If you are an emergency manager who would like to tell us about your needs or share your experience with recovery efforts, please email helenetips@propublica.org.

If emergency managers instead are scrambling, “the effects that we’re going to see down the line is a lack of preparedness, a lack of coordination, training and partnerships being built,” Budd said. “We’re not going to be able to respond as well.”

A key reason states have become so dependent on FEMA grants despite the risk of national political upheaval is that state legislatures and local elected leaders haven’t always prioritized paying for emergency management themselves despite its critical role. With FEMA’s grants, they haven’t had to.

W. Craig Fugate has seen reluctance to wean off FEMA grants from all levels of government. He served as FEMA administrator under Obama and, before that, as head of Florida’s emergency management division under then-Govs. Jeb Bush and Charlie Crist.

“My experience tells me locals will not step up unless they are dealing with a catastrophe,” Fugate said.

Because most of the preparedness grants require no match from state or local governments, he said, it strips away any motivation for them to do so — especially with other pressing needs vying for those dollars.

“The real question is how much of this is actually critical and should be the responsibility of local governments to fund?” Fugate said. “Neither local governments nor states have been very forward in funding beyond the minimums to match federal dollars.”

Small-Town North Carolina

After Hurricane Helene, North Carolina’s Emergency Management agency commissioned a report that pointedly criticized the state’s “over-reliance on federal grants to fund basic operations.” Only about 16.5% of the state agency’s budget comes from state appropriations.

The report noted that this reliance had led to an inadequate investment by the state in its emergency management staffing and infrastructure. A staff shortage at the agency “severely compromised the state’s response to Hurricane Helene.” Among other things, a lack of staff hampered the State Emergency Response Team’s ability to maintain a 24-hour operation that was supposed to support local and county officials who were overwhelmed by the massive storm.

North Carolina state Rep. Mark Pless, the Republican co-chair of the House Emergency Management and Disaster Recovery Committee, said the state’s conservative spending and $3.6 billion in reserves have “afforded us the ability to fund ourselves for preparedness” if FEMA suddenly yanks its grants.

But Democratic Rep. Robert Reives, the House minority leader, worried that any financial flexibility would dry up if planned and potential tax cuts in the years ahead create a budget shortfall, as some have predicted.

In mostly rural Washington County, along North Carolina’s hurricane-prone coast, Lance Swindell is a one-man emergency management office. His county, home to 11,000 people, lacks a big tax base.

Like other emergency managers across the state, Swindell said he supports cutting FEMA red tape and waste, but “grant funding is a major funding source just to keep the lights on.”

One of the grants in the FEMA program that blew past its deadline for opening applications pays half of his salary. That grant can fund core local operations such as staffing, training and equipment. It is critical to local emergency management offices: Almost 82% of counties across the country report tapping into it.

Cuts to this particular grant under the Biden administration already reduced what North Carolina gets — and therefore what gets passed down the governmental food chain to people like Swindell. North Carolina was allocated $8.5 million in fiscal year 2024, down from $10.6 million two years earlier.

Looking ahead, Swindell is still waiting for the applications to open while wondering if FEMA will more drastically slash the grants — and, if so, whether his county could find the money to continue paying his full-time salary.

Mollie Simon contributed research.

by Jennifer Berry Hawes