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New Uvalde Records Reveal Details About School Safety Concerns and Shooter’s Behavioral Issues

1 week 6 days ago

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Records released this week provide more details about campus safety concerns raised before the deadly 2022 Robb Elementary School shooting in Uvalde, Texas, and include some surviving teachers’ accounts that school leaders didn’t check on them after they were injured and traumatized.

The documents from Uvalde County and the school district also indicate that the 18-year-old shooter had behavioral and attendance issues before he dropped out of high school, and that his mother had told sheriff’s deputies that she was scared of him.

The county and Uvalde Consolidated Independent School District released the materials — nearly 12 gigabytes — as part of a settlement agreement in a yearslong lawsuit that news organizations, including ProPublica and The Texas Tribune, brought against state and local governments.

The records reinforce the failure of law enforcement agencies to more quickly confront the gunman, who killed 19 students and two teachers in the deadliest school shooting in Texas history. ProPublica and the Tribune previously found that officers wrongly treated the shooter as a barricaded subject, rather than an active threat, and waited 77 minutes to confront him. No officer took control of the response, which prevented coordination and communication between agencies.

The Texas Department of Public Safety, which dispatched more than 90 officers to the school, has appealed a separate judge’s order to release hundreds of videos and investigative files to the news organizations that sued for access. The agency’s effort to slow the release of information continues to draw criticism from families of the victims, teachers and the former mayor, who is now a Republican state lawmaker.

“It’s important so that the families can begin to heal, so that the families can begin to trust, so they begin to have some sort of closure,” said Jesse Rizo, whose 9-year-old niece, Jackie Cazares, was killed during the May 24, 2022, massacre.

Rizo, now a school board member who voted to release the agency’s records, added, “It will never be complete closure, but some sort of closure, and rebuilding that trust in law enforcement.”

The news organizations will continue to fight for release of the DPS records, said Laura Prather, a media law chair for Haynes Boone who is representing the outlets.

Law enforcement experts largely regard the Uvalde shooting response as among the worst in American history. A U.S. Justice Department report in January 2024 affirmed many of the newsrooms’ initial findings and recommended that all officers in the country undergo at least eight hours of active shooter training annually.

“Three years is already too long to wait for truth and transparency that could prevent future tragedies,” Prather said.

Two former Uvalde schools police officers were indicted on child endangerment charges last summer over how they responded to the shooting. That includes Pete Arredondo, who was the district’s police chief during the shooting and has been widely faulted for the delay in confronting the gunman. Adrian Gonzales, a school police officer who responded to the shooting, also faces charges related to child endangerment. Both men have pleaded not guilty and did not respond to requests for comment this week.

This week, Gonzales’ attorney filed a request seeking a trial outside of Uvalde, saying “it would be impossible to gather a jury that would not view evidence through their own pain and grief.” In a text, the attorney, Nico LaHood, maintained that Gonzales is innocent and wrote that there is no evidence for why he should be held to account for collective failures of law enforcement agents from nearly two dozen agencies.

“It begs to question why he is accused of these charges out of nearly 400 officers present,” LaHood wrote.

Arredondo has also previously asserted that he did nothing wrong on the day of the shooting.

Uvalde District Attorney Christina Mitchell, who is leading the criminal investigation, did not return requests for comment. Spokespeople for the school district and county also did not immediately respond. DPS spokesperson Sheridan Nolen wrote in an email that the agency followed “its standard protocol in which it does not release records that will impact pending prosecutions.”

Former Uvalde Mayor Don McLaughlin, now a GOP member of the state House, called it “ludicrous” that the news organizations had to launch a legal fight to obtain records. He added that DPS should also release its information so that the victims’ families could get much-needed answers.

“Maybe there’s something in there that we can keep this from happening again,” he said. “This was a costly mistake, and so I believe everybody should just release their records and give these families not closure, but at least another piece of what went on that day.”

ProPublica and the Tribune previously published 911 calls that showed the increasing desperation of children and teachers pleading to be saved and revealed how officers’ fear of the shooter’s AR-15 prevented them from acting more quickly. In a collaboration with FRONTLINE that included a documentary, the newsrooms showed that while the children in Uvalde were prepared, following what they had learned in their active shooter drills, many of the nearly 400 officers who responded were not.

The county documents include emails to and from Uvalde County Sheriff Ruben Nolasco, but they reveal little about his office’s response. Nolasco’s inbox was inundated with media requests, offers of assistance from other law enforcement agencies and emails from the public criticizing law enforcement’s 77-minute delay in confronting the shooter, according to the documents released Tuesday.

Nolasco has faced criticism for his actions on the day of the shooting. He was the first officer to respond to the house of the shooter's grandmother, whom the gunman shot in the face before going to Robb Elementary. Law enforcement experts have questioned why Nolasco did not do more to identify the shooter immediately. Shortly after that, the sheriff arrived at the school but did not appear to take charge of the escalating situation. Several officers later told state investigators that they regarded the sheriff as the incident commander.

Nolasco could not be reached for comment on Tuesday and has declined multiple interview requests from the news organizations over the course of more than two years. In an interview Nolasco gave to DPS days after the shooting that was later obtained by the news organizations, he offered few details while defending his role that day.

A DOJ investigation into the flawed response last year mentioned Nolasco by name 37 times and noted that he specifically “should also have assisted with coordinating the law enforcement personnel present and establishing a command post and unified command.” Despite the controversy, Nolasco was easily reelected last year.

None of the school district police officers were wearing body cameras that day because the district had not issued them the equipment, so no new video or audio was released. The body cameras the county released had already been obtained by ProPublica and the Tribune.

“I Tried to Stay Calm for My Students”

Still, the records released this week showed further glimpses into the disarray that day.

In one school email sent three weeks after the shooting, a fourth grade teacher at Robb Elementary wrote to the district superintendent about how terrified she was during the shooting, as she tried to keep her students safe while bullets ricocheted around her.

According to a state House committee’s investigation into the shooting, the teacher was in a classroom across the hall from the adjoining classrooms where the gunaman killed all of his victims and was barricaded.

“I fell on the floor and began knocking desks over onto my legs so I wouldn’t make noise, but I couldn’t block the students from bullets,” she emailed the former district superintendent, who retired after the shooting. “I told my students I loved them. I told them to stay quiet, and I told them to pray.”

ProPublica and the Tribune could not immediately reach the teacher. In her email, she told the superintendent she was convinced she was going to die.

“I physically sat almost laying myself on my students and in front of them to be sure I could block them from bullets,” she wrote in an email. “I knew I would die that day. I had shrapnel in my back from when he shot in my window. I had blood all over the back of me, but I tried to stay calm for my students.”

The teacher wrote about how much she loved her students and working for the district. But she also noted that no school officials ever reached out to her immediately after the shooting. She wrote that she and other staff were asked not to talk to the media.

A month after the massacre, another fourth grade teacher who survived being shot finally felt ready to ask about what was happening to her classroom.

“Is it being packed up, if so what will happen with my personal belongings?” Elsa Avila wrote in an email to the school’s principal. “The students had piñatas they were working on, were those salvaged or did they get thrown away?”

Avila said in the email that it was hard to accept that she may never get answers to many of her questions about the shooting.

“So I guess I can start with answers about my classroom,” she said.

In a brief interview this week, Avila said school leaders did not reach out to her directly while she was in the hospital. She also said the district should have released records sooner and that she hopes other agencies will follow.

Still, she said, the government’s actions are lacking “any follow up.”

“There were hundreds of officers there, so, to me, it still does not make sense that they only charged two officers,” she said. “Will there ever be any true accountability from other agencies? Because more people would need to be held accountable, more agencies need to be held accountable than just the two officers that they charged.”

The new records also show that school administrators had been aware of long-standing issues with locks on campus doors. Multiple witnesses told the legislative panel that employees often left doors unlocked, while teachers would use rocks, wedges and magnets to prop open interior and exterior doors. The shooter was able to enter the school through an unlocked exterior door, according to the legislative investigation.

According to emails released this week, administrators had met with the owner of a lock company to discuss purchasing automatic locks for the district’s exterior doors a little less than a month before the shooting. Emails sent after the shooting showed cost estimates in the millions for installing new exterior doors, hardened windows, fencing and other security infrastructure.

Students have not returned to Robb Elementary since the 2022 attack. Local officials announced plans to demolish the school in the months following the shooting. A new campus, Legacy Elementary School, is expected to open this fall, and the site of the abandoned school has been turned into a living memorial.

Troubled History

The school district documents also include previously withheld information about the shooter, Salvador Ramos. They show district officials raising alarms about him hitting another student, using sexual language and drawing inappropriate pictures.

In an email, former Superintendent Hal Harrell noted that Ramos was routinely failing classes and barely attending school.

Academic intervention plans recommended one-on-one tutoring and parent conferences, however it is unclear what actions district officials or Ramos’ guardians ever took. Intervention plans from the 2016-17 school year largely list “behavior” as the reason for intervention. Ramos eventually dropped out.

Then, around three months before the shooting, a sheriff’s deputy visited the teenager’s home two days in a row following reports of physical and verbal disturbance between him and his family.

His mother, Adriana Reyes, could not immediately be reached for comment on Tuesday. But, according to the records, she told the deputy that Ramos became angry and kicked the Wi-Fi modem after she turned off the internet connection. The deputy wrote in a report that the mother said she was “scared of Salvador and wanted help.”

by Lomi Kriel, ProPublica and The Texas Tribune, and Alex Nguyen and Paul Cobler, The Texas Tribune

America’s Largest Landlord Makes Deal With DOJ to Settle Price-Fixing Claims in RealPage Case

2 weeks ago

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What Happened: Greystar, the nation’s largest landlord, has agreed to stop using algorithmic rent-setting software that federal prosecutors say could violate laws against price-fixing.

The agreement is part of a proposed settlement with the Justice Department to resolve claims by federal authorities that the company had colluded with other landlords to raise rents in cities across the country.

The deal was announced by the DOJ on Friday but still must be approved by a judge. If it is, it will bar Greystar, which is based in South Carolina and manages nearly 950,000 apartments nationwide, from using any “anti-competitive” algorithm that relies on rivals’ sensitive data to suggest rents, the department said in a statement.

Greystar was using rent-setting algorithms from RealPage, a Texas-based software-maker who was the subject of a ProPublica investigation in 2022 that showed the firm was helping landlords decide prices in a way that legal experts said could result in cartel-like behavior. The DOJ has also sued RealPage.

What They Said: The settlement drew praise from both Republicans and Democrats.

The lawsuit began under the Biden administration, but Trump-appointed Attorney General Pam Bondi touted the agreement with Greystar last week, saying “nowhere is competition more important than in making housing affordable again.”

Assistant Attorney General Abigail Slater, head of DOJ’s Antitrust Division, said that “whether in a smoke-filled room or through an algorithm, competitors cannot share competitively sensitive information or align prices to the detriment of American consumers.”

The settlement was praised by Sen. Amy Klobuchar, a Minnesota Democrat who urged the DOJ to investigate anticompetitive practices in the apartment market after ProPublica’s story in 2022.

“This settlement is good news for renters across the country,” Klobuchar said in a statement. “It’s critical the Justice Department continues to prosecute the case against RealPage and other major landlords to provide relief for all renters.”

Response: Greystar did not admit wrongdoing as part of the settlement and said in a statement that it “firmly believes that its use of RealPage’s revenue management software complies with all applicable laws.” The company said it will continue to defend itself against claims brought by regulators and cited what it called “unclear regulatory guidance around the use of revenue management tools.”

“We entered into these settlements to make clear the government’s interpretation of the law and to ensure we continue to do things the right way,” Greystar said.

Greystar also announced it had reached “an agreement in principle” to settle litigation brought by a nationwide group of renters making similar allegations.

A Greystar spokesperson declined to comment further.

RealPage declined to comment.

In January, a RealPage executive called the federal case “flawed” and said the company was committed to “vigorously defending ourselves.” RealPage had already changed its software to remove nonpublic data, she said, despite its view that its technology was legal and “pro-competitive,” adding the company was being made a scapegoat for housing affordability problems stemming from an undersupply of housing stock.

Background: The proposed settlement is the latest development to follow ProPublica’s 2022 investigation, which also mentioned Greystar. Dozens of tenants sued RealPage after the initial story. The Justice Department filed an antitrust complaint against RealPage in August 2024, and in January, it sued six of the nation’s landlords, including Greystar, accusing them of improperly working together to raise rents. In their complaint, prosecutors said one landlord told RealPage that it started increasing rents within a week of adopting the software and, within 11 months, had raised them more than 25%.

The suit was joined by at least 10 attorneys general, including the one for California, the country’s most populous state — home to roughly 17 million renters. One other landlord, Atlanta-based Cortland, has agreed to a settlement, as well.

Senators have also held hearings and introduced legislation seeking to ban the use of rent algorithms similar to RealPage’s. Cities around the country, including San Francisco, Philadelphia and Minneapolis, moved to bar landlords from using similar algorithms to set rents.

Under the terms of the proposed settlement, Greystar has agreed to stop sharing its own “competitively sensitive” information with rival companies. And it won’t attend meetings of competitors hosted by RealPage.

Why It Matters: The DOJ’s moves against RealPage — and its landlord customers — for using shared data and technology were seen as an indication that authorities were willing to wade into a fraught corner of federal antitrust law. In the past, collusion happened with “a formal handshake in a clandestine meeting,” federal prosecutors wrote in one filing. “Algorithms are the new frontier.”

The proposed settlement is also significant as businesses watch to see how aggressively the Trump administration will pursue antitrust cases. Bondi said the agreement aligned with the president’s “pro-consumer agenda.”

Now, as part of the deal, Greystar has agreed to cooperate with the DOJ’s monopolization claims against RealPage. The case is ongoing. RealPage has sought to dismiss the suit, saying “it fails to plead anticompetitive effects in a relevant market,” among other things.

Mariam Elba contributed research.

by Heather Vogell

The FDA Let Substandard Factories Ship These Medications to the U.S.

2 weeks ago

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For more than a dozen years, the Food and Drug Administration quietly allowed substandard foreign factories to continue shipping medications to the United States even after the agency officially banned them from doing so because of dangerous manufacturing failures.

ProPublica exposed the little-known practice in June. The FDA said the decisions to exempt certain medications from import bans were made to fend off drug shortages and that guardrails were in place to ensure the products were safe, such as requiring the banned factories to do extra testing on the drugs before they were sent to Americans.

But the agency itself didn’t regularly test the drugs or proactively monitor reports filed by doctors and others that described drugs with a foul odor, abnormal taste or residue, or consumers who had experienced sudden or unexplained health problems. The FDA cautions the outcomes described in the complaints may have no connection to the drugs or could be unexpected side effects. But drug safety experts say that without further study, it’s impossible to know whether people were harmed or how many.

The FDA kept the exemptions largely hidden from the public and has never released a comprehensive list of the drugs allowed into the United States from banned factories. ProPublica is publishing that list today.

The list provides the names of the drugs or ingredients that ProPublica has identified as having been exempted from an import ban since 2013 and the names of the manufacturers that made them. The product names are written as they appeared on the FDA’s import alert list. Most of the factories on this list are no longer banned, so their drugs are coming into the country through normal channels. The FDA lifts bans after facilities make all the necessary fixes.

Some of the factories are still banned — and are still allowed to send exempted drugs to the U.S. Those are highlighted in yellow.

Exempted Drugs Since 2013

See the full list and search for a drug here.

All told, ProPublica identified more than 150 exempted products, mostly from factories in India. One factory in China and one factory in Hungary also received exemptions. Several of the factories make ingredients for drugs, which are then sent to the manufacturers that produce pills, capsules, tablets or injectables.

To compile the list of exempted drugs and ingredients, reporters pulled historical records from the internet and used Redica Systems, a quality and regulatory intelligence company with a vast collection of agency documents.

In finalizing its analysis, ProPublica counted all the drugs and ingredients that were exempted from each banned factory. Sometimes, the same product was exempted from multiple factories and was added to each factory’s total. In a handful of cases, the FDA exempted several formulations — such as a tablet, capsule or injectable — of the same drug. ProPublica counted those different forms as distinct drugs.

For this list, ProPublica only included each drug once for each manufacturer.

Generic drugs can have many manufacturers, and it can be difficult to know based on information provided on medicine bottles where drugs were made or by whom. Sometimes bottles list the names of repackagers or distributors rather than the drugmaker itself. Pharmacists and possibly health care providers can provide additional information about the source of prescribed medications.

This list is current as of Aug. 4. The FDA can add or remove exempted drugs at any time.

Company Responses

ProPublica reached out to all the drugmakers listed here. Most did not respond.

Apotex did not respond to requests for comment. After the inspections that led to the import bans, the company told the FDA that it would launch corrective actions and bring on a third-party consultant, among other things. The factories are no longer banned.

Divi’s Laboratories did not respond to requests for comment. In its response to the FDA at the time, the company said it hired third-party consultants and other experts to resolve the FDA’s concerns. The company also said it had taken corrective actions at the facility. The factory is no longer banned.

Emcure Pharmaceuticals did not respond to requests for comment. In its response to the FDA at the time, the company said it would revise procedures, provide training and engage consultants, among other things. The factory is still banned but no longer has exemptions.

Glenmark Pharmaceuticals did not respond to requests for comment. At the time of the ban, the company said it would engage with the FDA to resolve the concerns. The factory is still banned but is no longer receiving any exemptions.

GPT Pharmaceuticals did not respond to requests for comment. In its response to the FDA, the company defended the quality of its products and said it had brought on a consultant to audit the operation. The factory is no longer banned.

In a statement to ProPublica, Pfizer, which owns Hospira, said it submitted a comprehensive response to the FDA, paused production at the site and then sold the facility to another company in 2019. “We are committed to operating our manufacturing sites at the highest quality standards,” Pfizer said. The factory is no longer banned.

Intas Pharmaceuticals, whose U.S. subsidiary is Accord Healthcare, said in a statement that the company has invested millions of dollars in upgrades and new hires and launched a companywide program focused on quality. Exempted drugs were sent to the United States in a “phased manner,” the company said, with third-party oversight and safety testing. Intas also said that some exempted drugs were never shipped to the United States because the FDA found other suppliers. The company would not provide details. “Intas is well on its way towards full remediation of all manufacturing sites,” the company said. The two Intas factories are still banned and still receiving exemptions.

Ipca Laboratories did not respond to requests for comment. At the time, Ipca said it was working to resolve the issues at several factories. “The company is committed to its philosophy of highest quality in manufacturing, operations, systems, integrity and cGMP culture,” Ipca said, referring to “current good manufacturing practices,” a common phrase in the industry. The factories are no longer banned.

Jubilant Generics did not respond to requests for comment. At the time, the company said it would “engage with the agency to resolve the import alert at the earliest and ensure cGMP compliance.” The factory is no longer banned.

Shilpa Medicare did not respond to requests for comment. In a media statement at the time, the company said it planned to resolve the FDA’s concerns. “We uphold quality and compliance with utmost importance and are committed to maintaining cGMP and quality standards across all Shilpa facilities.” The factory is still banned and one of its medications is still exempt.

Sri Krishna Pharmaceuticals did not respond to requests for comment. The company at the time told the FDA that it was using a consultant to audit operations and assist in meeting manufacturing requirements. The factory is still banned but is no longer receiving exemptions.

In a statement to ProPublica, Sun Pharma said that adherence to quality standards “is a top priority for Sun, and we maintain a relentless focus on quality and compliance to ensure the uninterrupted supply of medicines to our customers and patients worldwide. We continue to work proactively with the US FDA and remain committed to achieve full resolution of any FDA regulatory issues at our facilities.” The factory is still banned and still receiving exemptions.

Teva Pharmaceuticals did not respond to requests for comment. The company said in a statement at the time that it was working to avoid drug shortages “while we focus on resolving regulatory concerns, as patients are always highest priority.” The factory is still banned but no longer receiving exemptions.

Wockhardt did not respond to requests for comment. In a conference call with reporters at the time of the import ban, according to Reuters, the Wockhardt chairman said the company was “making all kinds of effort to satisfy” FDA good manufacturing standards at the factory. The factories are still banned, but in July, Wockhardt announced that it would no longer make generics for the U.S. market.

Zhejiang Hisun Pharmaceutical did not respond to requests for comment. According to a report in Bloomberg, Hisun said at the time that it takes quality seriously and has complied with requirements. The factory is no longer banned.

Mylan/Viatris said in a statement to ProPublica that it immediately worked to resolve the FDA’s concerns. “Patient safety remains our primary and unwavering focus,” the company said. The factory is still banned and still receiving exemptions.

A lawyer for Madhu Instruments told ProPublica in an email that the company has fixed all the problems identified by the FDA and is cooperating fully. The factory is still banned but no longer has an exemption.

Brandon Roberts and Irena Hwang contributed data reporting.

by Debbie Cenziper and Megan Rose, ProPublica, and Katherine Dailey, Medill Investigative Lab

A Giant Indian Drugmaker Failed to Fix Safety Breaches. The FDA Let It Off the Hook Again and Again.

2 weeks ago

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The dispatches from one of India’s most troubled generic drug makers were contrite, filled with far-reaching promises to clean up its factory, stop contamination and send safe medication to Americans counting on the company’s drugs.

“We have started addressing FDA concerns very aggressively and comprehensively,” an executive from Sun Pharma wrote to the U.S. Food and Drug Administration in 2015.

“Sun is ensuring the presence of a strong, independent quality unit,” the company repeatedly pledged.

An FDA inspection in 2014 had turned up dangerous violations at Sun’s factory in the Indian city of Halol, and the details were grim: Managers weren’t following basic rules to prevent the contamination of injectable drugs. They had failed to determine whether “unknown impurities” found in medication were toxic. The factory itself was in disrepair. The ceiling leaked and investigators observed dripping water, another dangerous contamination risk, collecting in buckets in a sterile manufacturing area.

Sun vowed bold reform at the factory, its flagship for the U.S. market. In a series of letters to the FDA after the inspection, executives described a long list of “enhancements” in facilities, in staffing, in quality standards, in training.

But for eight years, as inspectors returned and discovered again and again that Sun’s efforts were grossly inadequate, the FDA did little to warn the public or stop the drugs from coming to the United States.

The trove of Sun correspondence obtained by ProPublica provides a rare glimpse into private discussions between the global drugmaker and the U.S. regulator singularly responsible for protecting consumers from unsafe medication. The documents show how often the FDA tolerated Sun’s broken promises and substandard manufacturing, allowing an uninterrupted flow of generics to an American public clamoring for cheaper medication.

As Sun’s fixes fell short, the agency in 2015 even declared the factory’s products “adulterated” which, according to federal law, means they were produced in a way that could have compromised their strength, quality and purity.

A 2015 warning letter from the Food and Drug Administration to Sun Pharma stated that the agency “identified significant violations of current good manufacturing practice” and that “these violations cause your drugs products to be adulterated.” (Obtained and highlighted by ProPublica)

Not until the final weeks of 2022 would the agency bar the factory from shipping its drugs to the U.S. Even then, regulators immediately excluded more than a dozen medications from the ban. The exemptions allowed Sun to continue sending those drugs — with few restrictions and no regular testing by the FDA.

In June, 11 years after that first alarming inspection, the agency went back to the factory and chronicled practically identical deficiencies. Equipment was still dirty. Injectable medications still had impurities. One worker wasn’t wearing clean gloves.

The failings convinced the FDA to keep the import ban in place, but the agency continued to allow Sun to send exempted drugs to the United States.

“Would you trust somebody who repeatedly lies to you?” said Dinesh Thakur, an industry whistleblower and drug-safety advocate. “I don’t know how you can justify your decision to try to give them a pass every time. … You are basically putting people at risk.”

More than 20 foreign factories banned from the U.S. market have received similar exemptions from the FDA since 2013 through a little-known practice used by the agency to prevent drug shortages. ProPublica reported in June that antibiotics, anti-seizure drugs and chemotherapy treatments were shipped from those plants even after inspectors identified critical violations in the way drugs were made. In all, more than 150 drugs or their ingredients received exemptions.

And, just like with Sun, the FDA never shared the details with the doctors prescribing the medications or the patients taking them. (ProPublica compiled a list of exempted drugs and ingredients since 2013.)

The agency did not respond to questions about the Sun factory, the decision to wait eight years to impose the ban or the exemptions that followed, saying only it could not discuss potential or ongoing compliance matters. The FDA referred further inquiries to Sun.

The FDA also did not answer directly whether it believed that drugs exempted from Sun’s Halol plant and the other factories were safe. To “help assure consumer safety,” the agency said, companies are required to subject exempted drugs to extra testing with third-party oversight before the medications are sent to the United States.

ProPublica’s review of the FDA’s own records, however, shows the potential weakness of such a system. Some of the companies were caught providing unreliable testing records to the FDA before they received exemptions. FDA inspectors have found managers at Sun’s Halol factory repeatedly disregarded the results of tests showing drugs were tainted with impurities. In 2019, inspectors also discovered that Sun employees could access computer systems without oversight and edit microbiological test results to potentially minimize troubling findings.

“All of the inspectors I know who do inspections in India were aware of the problems” at Sun, said one veteran FDA investigator who did not want to be identified because they were not authorized to speak publicly. “You just worry about the patients.”

A 2022 FDA inspection report on the Sun factory observed “increased unknown impurities” identified as “extraneous matter” in batches of medication. (Obtained and highlighted by ProPublica)

Since the 2014 inspection, FDA records show, the agency has received thousands of reports from doctors and others noting concerns about the drugs that Sun makes at the Halol factory and at other plants. The complaints described potential contamination and other quality issues, or patients who had experienced sudden or unexplained health problems. The FDA cautions that the outcomes in the reports may have no connection to the drugs or could be unexpected side effects. Drug safety experts say there is no way to know for sure without further study.

Sun did not respond to detailed questions about its regulatory history. In an email, the company said it has upgraded the Halol facility and collaborated with manufacturing consultants and is testing to verify that drugs made there are safe and effective. Adherence to quality standards, the company said, “is a top priority for Sun, and we maintain a relentless focus on quality and compliance to ensure the uninterrupted supply of medicines to our customers and patients worldwide. We continue to work proactively with the US FDA and remain committed to achieve full resolution of any FDA regulatory issues at our facilities.”

Sun has been making that same promise for years.

Promises Made and Broken

Sun, one of the leading exporters of medications to the United States, began its campaign to win back the trust of the FDA shortly after three inspectors in September 2014 traveled to the Halol factory in western India and found the worrisome violations.

At the plant, the investigators zeroed in on the production of injectable medications. Delivered directly into the body, the drugs can be particularly dangerous, even lethal, when contaminated. But the factory, inspectors found, had no procedures to prevent the contamination of sterile drugs, according to the report.

One month later, Sun wrote to the FDA, saying it had brought on consultants to address quality issues, develop training programs and conduct audits of the factory.

“We take very seriously each of the issues that FDA has raised,” the company wrote. “Sun understands the concerns … and fully appreciates the need for a complete and comprehensive response and a robust compliance enhancement plan to address these matters.”

The letter was sent by two Sun vice presidents — one the head of quality, the other in charge of global manufacturing. They committed to sending a written update every other month, beginning in December that year, about changes for “long-term compliance.”

By February 2015, in its second update to the FDA, Sun touted more than 120 fixes at the factory. But based on its previous inspection, the FDA still issued a warning letter, which called the factory’s drugs “adulterated.”

“It is essential that executive management systematically improve their oversight of manufacturing quality,” the agency admonished in the December 2015 letter.

The company quickly responded, dispatching executives to FDA headquarters in Maryland to deliver personal assurances that the factory was falling in line. “We appreciated the opportunity to discuss Sun’s substantial progress,” two of the company’s quality managers wrote after the January 2016 visit. “Sun remains focused to deliver substantial improvements.”

Sun pledged to spend $218 million on facility improvements, according to one of its letters to the FDA. But inspectors in 2016 turned up more problems. Once again, Sun promised reform and detailed the steps it would take to fix violations.

This time, Sun sought to reassure the FDA about the production of a generic drug, carbidopa and levodopa, used to treat tremors and other effects of Parkinson’s disease. Some of the factory’s tablets were not dissolving properly when ingested, according to a Sun letter that year. That could have left patients with too little of the key ingredient needed to control the disease, or too much of it.

Sun told the FDA that an internal review was underway and the company would assess any other drugs with similar quality issues. Sun soon recalled 8,500 bottles of the drug in the United States.

More letters from Sun followed in 2017, some addressed directly to Carmelo Rosa, a longtime director of quality at the FDA’s Center for Drug Evaluation and Research, which oversees drug safety. The agency did not respond to a request for comment from Rosa, and Rosa did not respond to an email or LinkedIn message.

Inspectors went back to the factory in February and August 2018, unearthing more problems. In December that year, inspectors visited again — this time because Sun wanted to introduce three new injectable medications into the U.S. market. The inspectors noted that earlier problems had been corrected, records show.

But just one month later, Sun recalled 135,000 vials of vecuronium bromide, a muscle relaxer used during surgery, saying glass particles had been found and could cause life-threatening blood clots. The company at the time said it had not received any reports of harm.

Inspectors went back to the factory two more times in 2019, once in June and again in December, and found more problems with the way injectable medications were made. The December inspection was so alarming that the FDA held an urgent teleconference with the company, according to records obtained by ProPublica, which last year sued the agency in federal court to gain access to the information.

Despite the concerns, another FDA group — tasked with preventing drug shortages — reached out to Sun after the inspection to make sure that the factory would continue to produce the cancer drug doxorubicin. Sun promised it would.

The records show that for a series of important discussions with Sun, the FDA excluded the team that oversaw the inspections at the factory and were best informed about what was happening there.

“It would have been very helpful” to have the inspection division “plugged in from the beginning,” one team member emailed colleagues and his management in the months after the inspection.

Around that time, the company temporarily shut down the factory’s sterile manufacturing line, according to an email that Sun sent to Rosa. The plant was making 16 injectable drugs for the U.S. market.

Early the next year, Sun assured Rosa that it had done extensive reviews and submitted a strategy to again ship injectables to the United States.

That included testosterone, which is used to treat everything from low libido to bone health. But when patients got their bottles, some took to social media to describe the appearance of unusual crystals.

“They won’t go away, is it okay to use?” one person posted on Reddit in 2021. “I need to do my shot today.”

In 2021, a Reddit user posted a photo that appears to show crystals in a bottle of injectable testosterone manufactured by Sun Pharma at the Halol, India, factory. (Screenshot by ProPublica)

Crystals in testosterone vials are not unusual, and Sun and other manufacturers include instructions on the label to get rid of them by warming the product. FDA inspectors, however, went back to the factory in Halol in 2022 and found that Sun had received hundreds of complaints about the crystals, including two that noted it took more than five hours to dissolve them when it should normally only take minutes.

A 2022 FDA inspection report on the Sun factory in Halol, India, notes that “From Jan 2020 thru April 2022, your firm has received a total of 811 complaints for crystallization of” injectable vials of a medication whose name was redacted. The report says sample testing was performed by a sister company for which Sun “lacked documentation of their training and qualifications to perform these inspections.” (Obtained and highlighted by ProPublica)

Sun said it had investigated the concerns and concluded the testosterone was acceptable. But the company couldn’t provide documentation that showed workers were properly trained or qualified to run the tests and ultimately could not produce data confirming the crystals properly dissolved, the FDA found.

Inspectors issued another damning report. Six months later, in December 2022, the FDA assessed its toughest penalty: banning the Halol factory from shipping drugs to the United States. The move came eight years after Sun started pledging reforms. And the FDA then undercut its sanction by quickly exempting more than a dozen drugs from the ban.

In the latest inspection in June of this year, inspectors found the factory failed to investigate bacteria found in test vials, disinfect manufacturing areas and equipment or properly handle vials and stoppers meant for sterile medications, according to the report.

Though the FDA published on its website warning letters sent to the factory, it has never alerted the public about the problems in a comprehensive way or provided a list of the drugs made there. The names of Halol’s products are blacked out on inspection reports so consumers can’t check their medications and make informed decisions about whether to take them.

A portion of the FDA’s June 2025 inspection report redacted the names of potentially compromised drugs manufactured by Sun that continue to be released to the U.S. market. (Obtained by ProPublica)

“Your family members are taking these drugs, and are they safe? Well, maybe, well maybe not,” said former FDA inspector Patrick Stone, who now advises pharmaceutical companies. “The FDA turns a blind eye. If your market [share] is big enough, then you get leeway.”

Blind Faith

In 2023, Sun’s billionaire founder said the introduction of new products and gains in market share made the company well positioned to “exploit the growth opportunity in the U.S. market.”

Despite the long list of critical inspection reports, five drugs made at Sun’s Halol factory are still allowed into the U.S. 2 1/2 years after the FDA issued the import ban. The exempted medications are vecuronium bromide and doxorubicin, as well as: divalproex delayed release tablets, which are used to treat seizures and migraines; leuprolide injections, which are used by people with prostate cancer, endometriosis and other conditions; and temozolomide capsules, which treat brain cancer.

Current and former FDA inspectors and others said the agency should have acted faster, responding to the problems its inspectors uncovered rather than buying into Sun’s assurances.

One senior FDA employee familiar with the inspections said they feared the company didn’t have the know-how to make safe drugs.

“Is it that they’re trying to hide stuff? Is it that they’re trying to protect? Or is it that they have no clue how to be doing these things?” said the staffer, who declined to be identified because they were not authorized to speak publicly. “Why would you get on the phone with FDA and brag that you have all these systems in place and you didn’t?”

The adverse event reports about the company’s drugs submitted to the FDA over the years describe choking, vomiting and blistering, or say that the drugs potentially caused or contributed to “toxicity,” cardiac arrest and renal failure, among other reactions, government records show. Hundreds of the complaints describe medications with possible contaminants, drugs that didn’t dissolve properly and other quality and safety concerns.

Sun’s testosterone alone was the subject of more than 500 reports, including ones describing swelling, increased heart rate, burning sensations or pain, among other symptoms, records show.

Today, years after investigators first identified problems, the senior FDA employee said the threat of harm lingers.

“The people on the other end have faith that the products they are taking are safe and effective,” said the staffer. “I think of the faces. I think of my parents. … I think of the consumers who are basically taking these drugs on blind faith.”

Brandon Roberts contributed data reporting.

by Megan Rose and Debbie Cenziper

They Can’t Get Answers From the Oil Industry. North Dakota’s Oversight Program Hasn’t Helped.

2 weeks 1 day ago

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

One morning in February 2023, a small group of mineral owners arrived at the North Dakota Capitol on a mission. They had traveled from across the state and other parts of the country to explain to lawmakers how the powerful oil and gas companies had been chipping away at their income.

It’s not easy to recruit people to testify during the winter months of the legislative session. Ranchers are busy with the calving season. Snowbirds have relocated to warmer climates. It’s a more than three-hour drive for those living in the Bakken oil field.

But those who made it to Bismarck lined up at a podium to share details of their own experiences and the broader concerns affecting the estimated 300,000 people who receive money from the industry in exchange for the right to their underground minerals. For nearly a decade, they had grappled with companies withholding significant portions of their royalty payments without explaining how they determined how much to deduct, as the North Dakota Monitor and ProPublica reported last week.

Now they were at the Capitol for a specific reason: They wanted legislators to require companies to provide more information so owners could discern if they were being paid correctly, and to impose penalties if companies failed to comply.

Shane Leverenz, who manages income his extended family receives from numerous oil wells, read aloud email responses from companies to illustrate the lack of cooperation mineral owners face when they request information. “We are not obligated to mail each owner a calculation as to how their interest was calculated,” one company wrote.

“There is no transparency,” Leverenz told the legislators. Leverenz, whose great-grandfather homesteaded in North Dakota and had his property deed signed by President Theodore Roosevelt, has helped organize royalty owners on this issue in recent years. Leverenz grew up in Epping, a town of fewer than 100 people in the northwest part of the state, and traveled to North Dakota from Texas, where he now lives, to testify.

Shane Leverenz testifies at a bill hearing in the North Dakota Capitol in 2023. (Jeremy Turley/Forum News Service)

After input from Leverenz and others, lawmakers decided to create a new state program that they hoped would address conflicts between royalty owners and companies. In particular, mineral owners had mounting concerns over postproduction deductions, the money companies withhold to cover the costs of processing and transporting minerals after they are extracted and before they are sold. Companies say they are allowed to pass on a share of those costs, while royalty owners say they shouldn’t bear that responsibility because in most cases lease agreements don’t mention those expenses.

The state’s “postproduction royalty oversight program” had the support of the industry, but it was far less than what Leverenz and other owners wanted. In the two years since its creation, the program has not lived up to its name and has not alleviated owners’ concerns over deductions or transparency, an investigation by the North Dakota Monitor and ProPublica found. The program has resolved 69 cases so far, and none have involved postproduction deductions, according to documents obtained under a public records request. A case can represent a complaint or question from a royalty owner.

“The legislative intent was supposed to be addressing the issue of the postproduction costs that they were hitting people with,” said Rep. Don Longmuir, a Republican from Stanley, in the northwest corner of the state.

The newsrooms’ investigation found that the program has focused on other issues. It has instead helped owners resolve complaints about companies withholding payments entirely and failing to pay interest on late royalty payments, records show. Some mineral owners said in interviews that they do not trust state officials to help them get information about the deductions and therefore have not tried to use the program.

Leverenz said the program, also referred to as the ombudsman program, has not accomplished what he and other royalty owners were told it would. He has taken six complaints to the ombudsman; three were resolved but three remain open, including two for more than a year. The unresolved complaints do not involve deductions, he said, and focus on other issues with his family’s royalty payments.

“The ombudsman is running into the same thing that I have, where there’s just no response from the oil companies or they stalled,” Leverenz said. “There’s been no forward momentum.”

Ron Webb, who coordinates the program within the state’s Department of Agriculture, said it has helped facilitate communication between mineral owners and companies. He said the program is voluntary and does not have authority to compel companies to change how they calculate payments or even to provide information. “Oil companies are not required to work with us,” Webb said.

The program no longer promotes itself as being able to oversee concerns about royalty deductions even though that was part of the legislative intent. On the department’s website and in a brochure, the word “postproduction” has been dropped from the program’s name even though it is in the title of the law that created it.

The department’s legal counsel, Dutch Bialke, said the name of the law is irrelevant to how the program operates.

“The title is entirely legally non-binding and has no legal effect,” he wrote in an email, citing North Dakota law.

A bill introduced in 2023 established what it called the postproduction royalty oversight program. The program has since dropped the word “postproduction” from its name. (Obtained by North Dakota Monitor and ProPublica. Highlighted by ProPublica.) “Nothing Is Clear”

Ever since Neil Christensen and his sisters noticed in 2016 that Hess Corp. was withholding nearly 25% of their royalty income — up from less than 1% just two years earlier — his family has tried to get answers from the company.

He traveled to Minot, North Dakota, some years ago to meet with Hess representatives at their production offices. He also called the company’s accounting office and its royalty owner hotline, but he said their explanations didn’t make sense.

“It doesn’t seem as if the company has a large interest in explaining themselves,” Christensen said. Spreadsheets kept by his family show withholdings have been as much as 42% in recent years. “The transparency issue is a big problem with oil operators and mineral owners.”

Christensen manages land and oil and gas minerals in McKenzie County, North Dakota, for his family.

The royalty statements can be hundreds of pages long but provide only a general description of the reasons for the deductions, leaving owners unable to verify the companies’ costs and whether they are being paid a fair share. Christensen’s family and others said they have had payments reduced for expenses the companies incurred years earlier.

“Nothing is clear,” said his sister Naomi Staruch, who has spent most of her career working in finance for banks and churches in Minnesota. “I would get so frustrated really looking hard at the statements.”

Diana and Bob Skarphol, who have advocated for years on behalf of royalty owners, said confusing and overwhelming royalty statements are a common concern. The couple received one statement last year that included 39 pages of calculations for a single well — including reductions to past royalties going back nine years. The Skarphols received $1.15 that month from the production of the well.

Merrill Piepkorn, a Democratic former state senator from Fargo who was the prime sponsor of the transparency legislation, said oil companies’ tactics are “obfuscation through transparency.”

“You get so much information, there’s no way to find what you’re looking for,” said Piepkorn, who unsuccessfully ran for governor in 2024.

Todd Slawson, chair of the North Dakota Petroleum Council, said royalty statements are complex in part because state regulators within the last decade began requiring companies to include additional categories of information. Hess said it maintains an online portal where royalty owners can access their royalty information and operates a call center that mineral owners can contact with questions.

North Dakota does not regulate the costs that companies can pass on to individual owners, though the state and federal governments regulate deductions on government-owned land. The state audits the royalties paid on state-owned minerals to ensure the amounts are correct and, since 1979, the state’s leases do not allow deductions. But private mineral owners don’t have that same access and often learn about deductions by comparing their statements with one another.

“It’s kind of all rigged against the individual royalty owner,” Leverenz said.

State officials have told mineral owners that they can’t get involved in private disputes and that litigation is the owners’ best recourse. But litigation isn’t financially feasible for most families, according to attorney Josh Swanson, who represents mineral owners.

“It easily exceeds six figures, and that’s cost-prohibitive for most folks,” Swanson said. “Part of the playbook for a lot of operators is making these things as cost-prohibitive as they can.”

Swanson was the attorney Janice Arnson and her family hired to try to get answers from Hess. Hess had been deducting between 15% and 36% of their royalty income each month since 2015, according to a spreadsheet maintained by Arnson. They had no luck getting an explanation from the company until they hired Swanson in 2017. When Hess responded, a company attorney said in a letter that the deductions were “proper and permissible” under the terms of the lease. While Swanson disagreed, the family declined to pursue litigation because “it was going to be an expensive suit.”

First image: Janice Arnson in her Williston, North Dakota, home. Second image: Arnson places her hand on land once owned by her family, where she still retains mineral ownership, near the northern shore of Lake Sakakawea in northwest North Dakota.

“We were one small, little family,” said Arnson. “We just didn’t have the resources against Hess to fight.”

(In response to questions about royalty deductions, Hess reiterated its comments published previously that the increased costs are due to infrastructure investments made in the past decade. Those changes were made to reduce natural gas flaring and meet state regulations.)

Some royalty owners have turned to the Northwest Landowners Association, a nonprofit advocacy group, for help. Troy Coons, the group’s chair, said he has fielded multiple calls a week from royalty owners who are angry that state leaders have not helped them with the deductions. “It’s a massive concern for people,” said Coons, whose group has sued the state on behalf of property owners on a different issue. “We’re not supposed to be bearing the burden of expenses.”

Troy Coons, chair of the nonprofit Northwest Landowners Association, on his property in Donnybrook, North Dakota. Mineral owners have reached out to the association for help with deductions.

Lawmakers initially had bipartisan support in 2023 for a bill that would have guaranteed mineral owners access to electronic spreadsheets detailing their payments and would have required companies to provide more information on how they calculate a royalty owner’s share of the income from each well. It also would have directed courts to require companies to reimburse royalty owners for attorneys’ fees if they successfully sued for the information.

But that bill was discarded in favor of legislation creating the royalty oversight program.

The Legislature “took our bill and they stripped it of everything, and they shoved the ombudsman program into it,” Leverenz said. They created the program “with the promises that, you know, this is going to be the answer to all the issues that have been brought up over the years with the royalty owners.”

Sen. Brad Bekkedahl, a Republican from Williston, initially backed both bills. The senator said he hoped the bill creating the ombudsman program would be amended in the legislative process to give it more authority to advocate on behalf of mineral owners. That didn’t happen.

“That would have been, I think, more beneficial to royalty owners,” said Bekkedahl, who ultimately voted against it.

North Dakota state Sen. Brad Bekkedahl, a Republican who is also Williston’s finance commissioner, outside Williston City Hall after a commission meeting in June “Barking Up a Tree”

In pitching the program to lawmakers in 2023, Doug Goehring, the state’s agriculture commissioner, said the goal was to “try to develop some resolution” for royalty owners with questions about their payments, including concerns over deductions.

The bill required a report to legislators. Goehring told lawmakers he would share with them “full and complete information concerning the cases” handled by the program and the issues faced by mineral owners in order to inform future legislation. “We’ll certainly provide you scenarios, situations, and some of the challenges and difficulties we’ve dealt with,” Goehring, a Republican, testified in 2023. “And even some suggestions about how you correct some of this moving forward.”

The result has fallen short of what Goehring pledged in testimony, the news organizations found. Goehring now says it is not the program’s job to find resolution for royalty owners who question the deductions. “We don’t have a leg to stand on to try and advocate or try to extort money out of the company,” Goehring said. He said an exception is if deductions are specifically prohibited in leases, but most agreements, especially those signed decades ago, are silent on the issue of deductions.

Instead of a detailed report, Goehring delivered a one-page summary to legislators in September that broadly categorized the issues handled through the program. Legislators accepted the report without discussion. Goehring said a more detailed report was not necessary. “They don’t want to know that,” he said. “We generally don’t write reports in that manner. We give them the basic information.”

North Dakota Agriculture Commissioner Doug Goehring, a Republican, says the royalty oversight program has been successful, citing feedback from the oil industry. (Kyle Martin for the North Dakota Monitor)

Of the 147 cases filed with the program, about half remain unresolved, including more than two dozen that have been pending since 2023. Goehring said some of the cases remain open at the request of royalty owners.

Two of the pending cases involve postproduction deductions, including one that has been open since September 2023, according to Bialke, the Agriculture Department’s legal counsel.

The cases are assigned to two energy companies that serve as ombudsmen, Diamond Resources and Aurora Energy Solutions, which contact the companies on behalf of the mineral owners. Neither of the companies responded to questions from the North Dakota Monitor and ProPublica.

The news organizations paid $425 to obtain records related to the cases that had been resolved as of late June. In those cases, the ombudsmen have answered royalty owners’ questions and obtained answers for them when companies had not been responsive. In some cases, they mediated solutions that resulted in royalty owners receiving payments they were owed, records show.

In one case, an ombudsman spent nearly 10 months going back and forth with a company until the royalty owner got paid. In other cases, ombudsmen helped royalty owners understand technical issues related to taxes and the probate process after inheriting minerals. The department redacted company names from the documents released, with Bialke citing state law.

“It has been extremely helpful for frustrated royalty owners who cannot get their questions answered,” said Slawson of the North Dakota Petroleum Council, who also owns an energy company. “Having deductions suddenly show up on revenue checks and questions not being answered or not explained well can lead to suspicions of wrongdoing.”

Kenneth Schmidt, who owns minerals near Ray in Williams County, contacted the program after struggling to convince a company that it owed interest on late royalty payments as mandated by state law. It took a few months, he said, but the company paid him.

“I was very satisfied with the program,” said Schmidt. “Instead of going to an attorney and I’ll pay $400 an hour, they did it for free, but through the state.”

Goehring said the program has been successful, citing feedback from the industry as well as the fact that no bills related to royalty deductions were introduced during this year’s legislative session, the first time in nearly a decade.

“If there’s no bills that are coming up, then isn't that an indication? It’s kind of like if you don’t have a cough, then maybe you don’t have a cold,” he said.

While the program has resolved disputes like Schmidt’s, which are more cut-and-dried, it isn’t well equipped to handle more complex disagreements, Goehring said. That isn’t a surprise to one of the lawmakers who worked on the bill.

“I don’t doubt that in some cases, facilitating that communication probably helped, but I don’t think it gives all the answers to the royalty owners that they’re looking for,” Bekkedahl said.

A number of royalty owners told the news organizations they simply don’t trust the program to help. “I didn’t feel the ombudsman program had any teeth in it whatsoever to do anything,” said Brian Anderson, who has not filed a complaint even though he wants companies to more fully explain their deductions. “They’ll placate you; they’re not going to do anything about it.”

Curtis Trulson, a royalty owner in Mountrail County, agreed: Going to the program, he said, is just “barking up a tree.”

Clarification, Aug. 12, 2025: This story has been updated to reiterate previous comments from Hess.

by Jacob Orledge, North Dakota Monitor, photography by Sarahbeth Maney, ProPublica

Veterans’ Care at Risk Under Trump as Hundreds of Doctors and Nurses Reject Working at VA Hospitals

2 weeks 4 days ago

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Veterans hospitals are struggling to replace hundreds of doctors and nurses who have left the health care system this year as the Trump administration pursues its pledge to simultaneously slash Department of Veterans Affairs staff and improve care.

Many job applicants are turning down offers, worried that the positions are not stable and uneasy with the overall direction of the agency, according to internal documents examined by ProPublica. The records show nearly 4 in 10 of the roughly 2,000 doctors offered jobs from January through March of this year turned them down. That is quadruple the rate of doctors rejecting offers during the same time period last year.

The VA in March said it intended to cut its workforce by at least 70,000 people. The news sparked alarm that the cuts would hurt patient care, prompting public reassurances from VA Secretary Doug Collins that front-line health care staff would be immune from the proposed layoffs.

Last month, department officials updated their plans and said they would reduce the workforce by 30,000 by the end of the fiscal year, which is Sept. 30. So many staffers had left voluntarily, the agency said in a press release, that mass layoffs would not be necessary.

“VA is headed in the right direction,” Collins said in a statement.

But a review of hundreds of internal staffing records, along with interviews with veterans and employees, reveal a far less rosy picture of how staffing is affecting veterans’ care.

After six years of adding medical staff, the VA this year is down more than 600 doctors and about 1,900 nurses. The number of doctors on staff has declined each month since President Donald Trump took office. The agency also lost twice as many nurses as it hired between January and June, records viewed by ProPublica show.

In response to questions, a VA spokesperson did not dispute numbers about staff losses at centers across the country but accused ProPublica of bias and of “cherry-picking issues that are mostly routine.”

Agency spokesperson Peter Kasperowicz said that the department is “working to address” the number of doctors declining job offers by speeding up the hiring process and that the agency “has several strategies to navigate shortages,” including referring veterans to private providers and telehealth appointments. A nationwide shortage of health care workers has made hiring and retention difficult, he said.

Kasperowicz said that the recent changes at the agency have not compromised care and that wait times are getting better after worsening under President Joe Biden.

While wait times for primary, mental health and specialty care for existing patients did increase during Biden’s presidency, the VA’s statistics show only slight reductions since Trump took office in January.

However, appointment wait times for new patients seeking primary and specialty care have slightly increased, according to a report obtained by ProPublica.

As of early July, the average wait time nationally to schedule outpatient surgery appointments for new patients was 41 days, which is 13 days higher than the goal set by the VA and nearly two days longer than a year ago.

In some locations, the waits for appointments are even longer.

At the Togus VA Medical Center in Augusta, Maine, internal records show that there is a two-month wait for primary care appointments, which is triple the VA’s goal and 38 days longer than it was at this time last year. The wife of a disabled Marine veteran who receives care at the facility told ProPublica that it has become harder in recent months to schedule appointments and to get timely care.

Her husband, she said, served in Somalia and is completely disabled. He has not had a primary care doctor assigned to him for months after his previous doctor left over the winter, she said.

“He has no person who is in charge of his health care,” said the woman, who did not want to be named because of fears her comments might affect benefits for her husband. “It was never like this before. There’s a lack of staff, empty rooms, locked doors. It feels like something that’s not healthy.”

Kasperowicz said the VA is taking “aggressive action” to recruit primary care doctors in Maine and anticipates hiring two new doctors by the end of the year.

Nationwide, records reviewed by ProPublica show, the vacancy rate for doctors at the VA was 13.7% in May, up from 12% in May of 2024. Kasperowicz said those rates are in line with historical averages for the agency. But while the vacancy rate decreased over the first five months of 2024, it has risen in 2025.

Sen. Richard Blumenthal, D-Conn., who has been critical of Collins’ stewardship, has argued that the VA is heading in a dangerous new direction. He said that ProPublica’s findings reinforce his concerns about “damaging and dangerous impacts” from cuts and staffing reductions.

“Dedicated professionals are fleeing — and recruitment is flagging — because of toxic work conditions and draconian funding cuts and firings,” he told ProPublica. “We’ve warned repeatedly about these results — shocking, but not surprising.”

In the VA’s Texas region, which covers most of the state, officials reported in an internal presentation in June that approximately 90 people had turned down job offers “due to the uncertainty of reorganization” and noted that low morale was causing existing employees to not recommend working at the medical centers.

Anthony Martinez, a retired Army captain who did tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan, said he has witnessed a downgrade in care at the Temple, Texas, VA facility. He said that the hospital has lost records of his recent allergy shots, which he now has to repeat, and he has to wait longer for appointments.

“Problems have always existed but not to this degree,” Martinez said.

Martinez, who runs a local nonprofit for veterans, said he’s heard similar frustrations from many of them. “It’s not just me. Many vets are having bad experiences,” he said.

Kasperowicz said the agency couldn’t discuss Martinez’s case without a patient privacy waiver, which Martinez declined to sign. He said wait times for primary care appointments for existing patients at Temple are unchanged over the past fiscal year. But internal records show an increase in wait times for new patients in specialties such as cardiology, gastroenterology and oncology.

Administrators there have expressed concern about the impact of staff losses, warning in their June internal presentation about “institutional knowledge leaving the Agency due to the increase of supervisors departing.”

It is not just the loss of doctors and nurses impacting care. Shortages in support staff, who have not been protected from cuts, are also adding to delays.

In Dayton, Ohio, vacant positions for purchasing agents resulted in delays in acquiring hundreds of prosthetics, according to an internal VA report from May. Kasperowicz said the hospital has recently cut processing time for such orders by more than half.

Some facilities are experiencing trouble hiring and keeping mental health staff.

In February, a human resources official in the VA region covering much of Florida reported in an internal warning system that the area was having trouble hiring mental health professionals to treat patients in rural areas. The jobs had previously been entirely remote but now require providers to be on site at a clinic.

When the region offered jobs to three mental health providers, all of them declined. The expected impact, according to the warning document, was longer delays for appointments. Kasperowicz said the VA is working to address the shortages.

Yet even as the agency faces these challenges, the Trump administration has dramatically scaled back the use of a key tool designed to help the VA attract applicants and plug gaps in critical front-line care.

The VA in recent years has used incentive payments to help recruit and keep doctors and other health care workers. In fiscal 2024, the agency paid nearly 20,000 staffers retention bonuses and over 6,000 new hires got signing bonuses. In the first nine months of this fiscal year, which started Oct. 1, only about 8,000 VA employees got retention bonuses and just over 1,000 received recruitment incentives. The VA has told lawmakers it has been able to fill jobs without using the incentive programs.

Rep. Delia Ramirez, D-Ill., said during a congressional oversight hearing in July that the Trump administration is withholding the bonuses because it “wants them to leave” as part of a plan to privatize services.

“It’s not that VA employees are less meritorious than they were under Biden,” she said. “They want every employee to be pushed out so they can decimate the VA’s workforce.”

Do you have information about the VA that we should know about? Contact reporters David Armstrong on Signal, DavidArmstrong.55, or via email, david.armstrong@propublica.org; Eric Umansky on Signal, Ericumansky.04, or via email, eric.umansky@propublica.org; and Vernal Coleman on Signal, vcoleman91.99, or via email, vernal.coleman@propublica.org.

Joel Jacobs contributed reporting.

by David Armstrong, Eric Umansky and Vernal Coleman

“We Want to Save This Investment”: Advocates Race to Secure Maternal Health Funding Before It Runs Out

2 weeks 4 days ago

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Seven years ago, when President Donald Trump signed the Preventing Maternal Deaths Act into law, it was hailed as a crucial step toward addressing the nation’s maternal mortality crisis.

The law pumped tens of millions of dollars a year into a program to help fund state committees that review maternal deaths and identify their causes. The committees’ findings have led to new protocols to prevent hemorrhage, sepsis and suicide. Federal money has allowed some states to establish panels for the first time.

The committees’ work only became more urgent after the Supreme Court overturned the constitutional right to abortion. Last year, Georgia’s committee determined the state’s abortion ban contributed to the preventable death of 41-year-old Candi Miller.

But now the program that enabled this progress — known as Enhancing Reviews and Surveillance to Eliminate Maternal Mortality, or ERASE MM — is in danger, maternal health advocates say.

The program’s funding expires on Sept. 30, and efforts to renew it have thus far not succeeded. Congress included money to extend ERASE MM in a broader stopgap funding measure that almost passed in December 2024 before being scuttled by Republican opposition. The program isn’t paid for in the Trump administration’s budget proposal for 2026. Late last week, the Senate Appropriations Committee introduced a bill to fund the Department of Health and Human Services for the next fiscal year that includes money for ERASE MM, but the measure hasn’t moved forward yet.

Adrienne Griffen, executive director of the Maternal Mental Health Leadership Alliance, said she fears how little attention the program’s fraught future has drawn amid waves of layoffs at federal health agencies and ferocious debate over impending Medicaid cuts.

“We were concerned when the president’s budget did not include these programs,” Griffen said. “While we are happy with the progress, there is still a lot that needs to happen.”

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, which is responsible for awarding ERASE MM grants and guiding the work of state maternal mortality committees, didn’t answer specific questions from ProPublica about the future of the program. Andrew Nixon, communications director for HHS, the CDC’s parent agency, said in a statement that HHS “is committed to improving maternal and infant health outcomes.”

“We are currently reviewing the maternal and infant health portfolio to identify the most effective ways to collect and analyze data and improve the health and safety of mothers and infants,” the statement said.

HHS Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. didn’t respond to requests for comment on whether advocates’ concerns are warranted.

The Trump administration’s budget proposal jettisons not only ERASE MM but a slate of programs known as the Safe Motherhood initiative, which aims to reduce risks such as premature births and infections that affect mothers and infants. All previously had bipartisan support. That’s left some members of Congress mystified about why their funding is in jeopardy.

At a June budget hearing, Rep. Greg Landsman, D-Ohio, pressed Kennedy on why the administration had proposed eliminating the programs, including ERASE MM.

“I genuinely believed this was zeroed out either accidentally or by some sort of oversight,” Landsman said, asking Kennedy to work with members of the House Committee on Energy and Commerce to restore funding.

After their exchange at the hearing, Landsman told ProPublica that Kennedy had agreed to meet to discuss restoring the funding.

“We want to save this investment,” he said. “It’s critical for expecting moms.”

ERASE MM came about in 2019 after reporting by ProPublica and others showed that hundreds of American women were dying each year from preventable causes related to pregnancy. U.S. maternal mortality rates had risen sharply over two decades as rates in other affluent nations had dropped.

Other countries, particularly the United Kingdom, had reliable national data on maternal mortality, as well as robust case-review systems designed to turn information into improvements in care. In the U.S., by contrast, only two-thirds of states had review processes at all and even those sometimes went years between reports or operated inconsistently.

ERASE MM was designed to plug these holes, ensuring that lessons from maternal deaths didn’t go unlearned.

Over the last five years, the CDC has distributed nearly $90 million to fund the work of state review committees. At least by federal standards, the program is relatively inexpensive; it divvied up a total of about $40 million last year between 46 states, an average of $870,000 apiece.

The members of maternal mortality review committees — usually a mix of physicians, nurses, mental health professionals and advocates — volunteer their time. ERASE MM grants typically pay to hire the staffers who gather records from hospitals, medical examiners, police and other agencies and abstractors who redact private information from case summaries.

Committees are advisory in nature, but their findings have made a difference, advocates say. In recent years, many states have developed mental health initiatives for pregnant people and new mothers based on maternal mortality reviews. Recommendations by New Hampshire’s committee, for example, led to a program in which OB-GYNs collaborate with psychiatrists on treatments for post-partum depression or substance use disorder.

In Indiana, which used ERASE MM funds to establish a maternal mortality review committee in 2018, the panel’s work spurred state officials to expand an initiative to have nurses make post-partum home visits to new mothers.

Indiana is one of at least five states that rely entirely on federal dollars to pay for their maternal mortality reviews (the others are South Carolina, Iowa, Missouri and Utah). Committee members in several states expressed alarm that this money may evaporate.

Before ERASE MM, Utah had a joint committee that reviewed both infant and maternal deaths, said Dr. Marcela Smid, a maternal-fetal health specialist. Utah set up a maternal mortality review committee for the first time in 2019 using funds from ERASE MM, which Smid chairs. It found increasing numbers of maternal deaths by suicide, leading to programs for better mental heath and substance use disorder screening and treatment. Since 2021, the committee has received about $1.7 million from the CDC.

“If we get defunded, I suspect it would be devastating,” Smid said.

As part of reviews, committee members consider the legal and socioeconomic context in which a woman dies. Those steps were critical in Georgia when the committee reviewed deaths that had occurred after Roe v. Wade was overturned in 2022 and the state prohibited abortion. The CDC hasn’t directed committees to ask explicitly about such laws, but committee members say the process has provided a window that could be lost if ERASE MM ends.

Case reviews are typically confidential, but ProPublica reported last year that Georgia’s committee had concluded the abortion-related deaths of Miller and Amber Thurman, 28, had been preventable.

Reviewers found both women had taken abortion pills and suffered a rare complication when they failed to expel all the fetal tissue from their bodies. Miller decided not to go to the doctor when she began having symptoms of sepsis because she feared repercussions related to the state’s abortion ban, the review committee found. Thurman went to the hospital but died after doctors waited 20 hours to perform a dilation and curettage to clear her uterus; the procedure, also used to perform abortions, had become entangled in restrictions subjecting doctors to criminal penalties if they violated the law.

Even before the threat to ERASE MM’s funding emerged, four states, including Florida and Texas, had opted out of accepting money from the program. The Florida Department of Health didn’t respond to questions from ProPublica about why it had done this. The Texas Department of Health said the state Legislature had instructed it not to take the funds and instead allocated funding to create its own system. Texas, which accounts for about 10% of U.S. maternal deaths, also stopped sharing data collected by its maternal mortality review committee with the CDC shortly after restricting abortion access.

Officials at the Texas Department of Health also have chosen not to have the state’s maternal mortality review committee examine cases from 2022 and 2023, a period that includes two preventable deaths ProPublica reported on last year. The panel was nearly four years behind on case reviews, and state officials said skipping two years would help it catch up. The state also forbids its panel from investigating deaths related to abortion.

Dr. Thomas Westover, a maternal-fetal medicine specialist who also sits on the maternal mortality review committee in New Jersey, said he worries that if ERASE MM goes away, there will be no consistency from state to state in how maternal deaths are reviewed or what data is collected on them.

“You’ll have states that pick and choose what to review,” Westover said. He noted that some states likely would ignore accidental deaths to manage their caseloads, while others, like Texas, choose to exclude deaths related to abortions, making data less comparable nationally. “That’s a bad decision.”

As part of ERASE MM, the CDC gives state review committees detailed guidance on what contributing factors to consider when assessing maternal deaths, including obesity, mental health issues, substance abuse and homicide.

This information fuels analysis that goes well beyond what’s in death certificates, said Amy Raines-Milenkov, an associate professor at the University of North Texas Health Science Center and longtime maternal health scholar-practitioner. Based on this information, Texas expanded nurse home visits to post-partum mothers that’s similar to Indiana’s initiative.

“What we choose to measure is what we value in society,” Raines-Milenkov said.

Maternal health advocates say they’re working together to bring national attention to the potential funding threat to ERASE MM. Griffen, the executive director of the Maternal Mental Health Leadership Alliance, said she’s hopeful with more meetings on Capitol Hill that a solution can secure the program.

Women’s lives depend on it, she said.

Kavitha Surana contributed reporting. Mariam Elba contributed research.

by Cassandra Jaramillo

How the Rapid Spread of Misinformation Pushed Oregon Lawmakers to Kill the State’s Wildfire Risk Map

2 weeks 5 days ago

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This is how misinformation gets accepted as fact.

A year after Oregon endures its most destructive fire season on record in 2020, state lawmakers order a map estimating the wildfire risk for every property in the state. It’s the kind of rating now available on real estate sites like Zillow. The state wants to use the results to decide where it will apply forthcoming codes for fire-resistant construction and protections around homes.

Around the same time, insurance companies start dropping Oregon homeowners’ policies and raising premiums to limit future losses, much as they have done in other disaster-prone states. Insurers have their own sophisticated risk maps to guide them, but some brokers instead tell homeowners the blame lies with the map the state produced. The belief gets treated as fact both on social media and in mainstream news — even though insurers and regulators say it’s not true.

The anger quickly spreads. Not only is Oregon’s map seen as at fault for higher insurance premiums, one conservative talk radio host calls it an attempt to “depopulate rural areas.” People in an anti-map Facebook group start musing about “Agenda 21,” a conspiracy theory implicating the United Nations in an effort to force people into cities so they can be more easily controlled.

By the time the state pulls back the map and starts over, the myths about it have gained so much momentum there’s no stopping them. Oregon’s hotter, drier climate isn’t the problem; the map is.

Christine Drazan, the Oregon House Republican leader, joins more than a dozen other Republicans in February 2025 behind a sign that says “REPEAL THE WILDFIRE HAZARD MAP.” She calls the state’s map “faulty, defective, harmful” and says it, along with related fire-safe building and landscaping rules that are in the works, is “a heavy-handed bureaucratic takeover” that’s kept rural residents from insuring or selling homes.

“This map is destroying their property values,” she says.

In the end, what’s most remarkable about the campaign against Oregon’s wildfire map isn’t that misinformation found an audience.

It’s that it worked.

A melted sign hangs from a fence in Lyons, Oregon, in 2020. (Nathan Howard/Getty Images)

Chris Dunn, a wildfire risk scientist at Oregon State University and a former wildland firefighter, thought Oregon had a chance to be a national model for adapting to wildfire risks when he was asked to make the statewide map in 2021.

Oregon adopted a unique set of land use laws in the late 1960s and 1970s that helped curb urban sprawl. A coalition of farmers and conservationists formulated the legislation to preserve farmland and keep cities compact. To Dunn, protecting homes seemed within reach because the state had maintained agricultural buffers around cities, helping to serve as firebreaks.

At the time, Zillow hadn’t yet come out with risk ratings. By building its own map, Oregon could use local input and make adjustments as it went along.

The map results would help Oregon decide where to require a tool proven to save homes from wind-driven wildfires: “defensible space.” Owners would have to prune trees up and away from their houses; they would need to keep their roofs clear of leaves, needles and other dead vegetation. The idea was to deny wind-borne embers fuel that can burn down dwellings — a problem fresh on lawmakers’ minds after Oregon’s devastating 2020 fire season destroyed more than 2,000 homes.

Dunn knew public communication would be important. Before the map was released, a private property rights group had warned its members in a letter that the map and its rules were worrisome. Gov. Kate Brown’s wildfire council, advising state leaders about the map’s rollout, knew about the letter and the potential for pushback, according to emails Dunn provided to ProPublica.

Dunn said he was clear with Brown’s wildfire director, Doug Grafe, and others on the council that the map needed a significant, coordinated and effective communications campaign starting months before its release. Dunn said all the state developed was a one-page document on the roles of each government agency.

(Brown and Grafe did not respond to ProPublica’s questions. Grafe told Oregon Public Broadcasting in 2022 that “we are committed to ensuring people understand what they can do to increase the likelihood their homes and properties will survive wildfires.”)

Without state outreach, many homeowners learned their homes were in “extreme risk” zones from a July 2022 letter in the mail. It gave them 60 days to appeal the designation or face complying with new building and defensible-space codes the state was developing.

The wildfire hazard map and online user interface, created by Chris Dunn, a wildfire scientist at Oregon State University, shows high hazard areas in orange and those with moderate hazards in purple. (Screenshot by ProPublica of the Oregon Statewide Wildfire Hazard Map)

Dunn could see that an uproar was building around his work. One community meeting where he was scheduled to present was canceled after state officials received threats of violence.

On Facebook, more than 6,000 people joined a private group, ODF Wildfire Risk Map Support, a base of opposition. ODF stands for the Oregon Department of Forestry, the state agency overseeing the map’s creation.

One member warned that state officials would snoop around their rural properties to tell owners what to do.

“Guys this is a agenda 21,” said the member, referencing the conspiracy theory promoted in part by former Fox News talk show host Glenn Beck.

Along with 31 thumbs-ups, eight angry faces and several other emojis, the post got 24 comments.

  • This insane bill out of Salem is crazy! Every designation was decided by an algorithm by politicians in Salem who don't a clue about our property, our house, our lifestyles! If you think it’s not their agenda to destroy rural property owners, think again. (10 likes)
  • The UN Sustainable Development Goals are driving this push to eliminate rural living. Look into ICLEI and see how the UN infiltrates state and local governments and influences policy and legislation. https://iclei.org (6 likes)
  • I learned about this when I first became involved in conservative politics. Back when globalist-backed Agenda 21 and now Agenda 2030 were still thought of as conspiracy theories. (6 likes, 1 sad reaction)

These Facebook comments have been excerpted to preserve anonymity.

Oregon can’t stop firestorms with regulations, conservative talk show host Bill Meyer told listeners, “unless you just get people off the land, and people wonder if that’s what the intent of all of this is ultimately.” Invoking a phrase associated with the Agenda 21 conspiracy, Meyer said rural residents would wind up having to move into “stack-and-pack” housing in Oregon’s cities. (Meyer did not respond to ProPublica’s emails.)

State officials’ lack of communication with the public “led to really significant challenges,” Dunn told ProPublica. “We don’t know if we could have well-communicated and sort of avoided those conspiracy theories and misinformation. But it was just so propagated in the media that it just took over.”

Jeff Golden, the Democratic state senator who helped draft the bill creating the map, said rural residents were understandably upset. The impacts of climate change were abstract to many people, Golden said, until they started getting those letters — at the same time insurance companies were dumping them.

“It’s a really hard adjustment,” said Golden, chairperson of the Senate’s Natural Resources and Wildfire Committee. “This is a very big chicken coming home to roost.”

Misinformation stoked people’s anger. “It makes a conversation that would have been difficult at best almost impossible,” Golden said.

State officials withdrew the map just over a month after its 2022 release, saying that while they had met the legislative deadline for delivering it, “there wasn’t enough time to allow for the type of local outreach and engagement that people wanted, needed and deserved.”

Oregon state Sen. Jeff Golden helped draft the bill creating the wildfire risk map. (Jenny Kane/AP Photo)

After homeowners blamed the newly released risk map for insurance cancellations and premium increases, Oregon’s insurance regulator formally asked insurers: Did you use the state risk map?

Companies filed statements, required by law to be answered truthfully, saying they had not. Oregon’s then-insurance commissioner, Andrew Stolfi, announced the industry’s response publicly at the time.

“Insurance companies have been using their own risk maps and other robust risk management tools to assess wildfire risk for years in making rating and underwriting decisions,” Stolfi said in a news release.

Stolfi told consumers to submit any documentation they received from insurance companies showing that the state’s map had been used to influence underwriting or rating decisions. Jason Horton, a spokesperson for Oregon’s insurance regulator, told ProPublica the agency has not substantiated any complaints.

For good measure, lawmakers in 2023 passed a bill explicitly banning insurers from using the map to set rates.

But as Dunn reworked the map, the cloud of misinformation continued to swirl on social media.

After Zillow and other real estate sites began posting wildfire risk ratings on properties nationwide last year, participants in the anti-map Facebook group alleged the state was behind it.

“Who would decide to move out here after seeing that?” one asked.

Zillow uses data from the research firm First Street, a Zillow spokesperson told ProPublica. A First Street spokesperson also said the group doesn’t use Oregon’s map.

Andrew DeVigal, a University of Oregon journalism professor who has studied news ecosystems around the state, said places where news outlets have shrunk or closed down have grown particularly reliant on such Facebook groups. These community watercoolers help confirm participants’ biases. “You surround yourself with people who think like you, so you’re in your space,” he said.

A ProPublica reporter identified himself to the group’s participants, asking in June for evidence that they’d been harmed by the state’s map. None provided definitive proof. Some acknowledged that they couldn’t demonstrate that the map had affected them but said they suspected it lowered their homes’ values or their insurability.

Among the respondents was Chris Dalton, who lives in La Pine, south of Bend. Dalton described spending about $2,000 trimming trees and another $500 putting down gravel to create defensible space.

However, Dalton said, the house’s location had been designated as being at moderate risk. That means it was not subject to the state’s defensible-space requirements. And even if Dalton’s property had been designated as high enough risk to be governed by the new regulations, they had not been finalized at that point and were not being enforced.

“I guess you could say we used common sense to get ahead of future problems,” Dalton said.

The Darlene Fire burned more than 3,000 acres around La Pine, Oregon, in June 2024. (Deschutes County Sheriff’s Office)

Watch video ➜

Oregon officials decided to give the map another try last year.

They re-released it, this time doing more outreach. Following California’s lead and aiming to make the map less confusing, Oregon also changed its nomenclature. Properties weren’t in risk classes, they were in hazard zones. The highest rating was no longer “extreme,” it was “high.” Dunn, the Oregon State scientist, said he thought the map had survived the effort to kill it.

But the backlash continued. Of the 106,000 properties found to face the highest hazard, more than 6,000 landowners filed appeals. At least one county appealed the designation on behalf of every high-hazard property in its borders — more than 20,000 of them.

In January, a new Oregon legislative session kicked off and wildfire preparedness was once again a top priority for the body’s Democratic leadership. Gov. Tina Kotek ordered a pause on decisions about homeowners’ appeals until the session ended, giving lawmakers a chance to decide what to do with the map.

Drazan, the House minority leader, led fellow Republicans in opposition.

She told ProPublica she “can’t know for sure” that the map caused homeowners to lose insurance or have trouble selling, as she’d asserted at February’s news conference. “I am reflecting what we were told,” she said.

Regardless, she said, the mandates on protecting properties went too far. “We’re not looking for the state to be the president of our homeowner’s association and tell us what color our paint can be,” Drazan said.

Even Golden, who’d helped shepherd the original bill mandating a map, began to waver.

Golden described conversations with homeowners who struggled to understand why work they’d done to protect their properties from fires didn’t lower their state risk rating. He said the map couldn’t account for the specific characteristics of each property, ultimately making it clear to him that it couldn’t work.

“I got tired of trying to convince people that the model was smarter than they were,” Golden said.

Dunn told ProPublica that the map was not intended to reflect all the changing conditions at a particular property, only the hazards that the surrounding topography, climate, weather and vegetation create. It wasn’t about whether homeowners had cleared defensible space — just whether they should. The work they do makes their individual homes less vulnerable, he said, but it doesn’t eliminate the broader threats around them.

Neighbors walk through their destroyed neighborhood in Phoenix, Oregon, in 2020. Hundreds of homes in the area were destroyed. (Mason Trinca for The Washington Post via Getty Images) Fire retardant coats a playground in a neighborhood largely destroyed by a wildfire in Talent, Oregon, in 2020. Climate change has increased the risk of wildfires in the state. (David Ryder/Getty Images)

By April, the map was on its way out.

The state Senate voted unanimously, Golden included, to repeal the state’s defensible-space and home-hardening requirements as well as the map that showed where they would apply.

Ahead of a 50-1 vote in the House to kill the map, familiar claims got repeated — including from a legislative leader’s office.

Virgle Osborne, the House Republican whip, lamented in a May press release: “These wildfire maps have cost people property values, insurance increases, and many heartaches.”

Osborne told ProPublica he stood behind his comment even though he had no evidence for it. Osborne said he believed Oregon’s maps helped insurance companies justify rate increases and policy cancellations.

“I can’t give you, you know, here’s the perfect example of somebody that, you know, did it, but no insurance company is that foolish,” Osborne said. “They’re not going to write a statement that would put them in jeopardy. But common sense is going to tell you, when the state is on your side, the insurance companies are going to bail out. And they have.”

With or without a map, former California insurance commissioner Dave Jones said, Oregon lawmakers could require insurers to provide incentives for homeowners to protect their properties. Colorado, for instance, ordered insurers this year to account for risk-reduction efforts in models used to decide who can obtain insurance and at what price.

Jones nonetheless called Oregon’s decision to kill the wildfire map “very unfortunate.”

“One of the biggest public health and safety challenges states are facing are climate-driven, severe-weather-related events,” Jones said. “Not giving people useful information to make decisions on that, to me, is not a path to public health and safety.”

During the June vote in the Oregon House, the lone person who voted to preserve Oregon’s wildfire map and its associated mandates was Dacia Grayber, a Democrat from the Portland area who’s a longtime firefighter and worked a brush rig during the 2020 wildfires.

She told ProPublica that by training, the first things she looks for while defending homes in wildland fires are the types of hazards the state intended to target: firewood under the deck, cedar shake siding, flammable juniper bushes growing close to homes.

Grayber said she was disturbed by the sentiment in the Capitol as the repeal vote neared. The decision to kill the map and eliminate home-hardening requirements, she said, had become a “feel-good, bipartisan vote.”

“We are walking away from a very clear decision to build safer, more resilient communities,” Grayber said.

The tragedy of it, she said, is “that it was 100% based in misinformation.”

Kotek, Oregon’s Democratic governor, signed the repeal on July 24.

Oregon Rep. Dacia Grayber is the sole legislator who voted to keep the wildfire hazard map alive. (Jenny Kane/AP Photo)
by Rob Davis

The Man Running Israel’s Intelligence Operation

2 weeks 5 days ago

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David Barnea, the director of the Mossad for some of the most remarkable successes in its storied history, never intended to be an intelligence officer. As a young man, he served as a team leader in the Israeli military’s most elite commando unit and then came to New York to study for a career in business.

After earning a master’s degree in finance at Pace University, he took jobs at an Israeli investment bank and then a brokerage firm, the first steps toward a career in which the biggest danger was an unexpected shift in the world’s financial markets.

Barnea’s world was jolted in November 1995 when an extremist right-wing Israeli assassinated Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin at a peace rally. Rabin had signed the 1993 Oslo Accords with Yasser Arafat, leader of the Palestine Liberation Organization, and was pushing for a two-state solution to decades of conflict between Arabs and Jews.

“The Rabin assassination shocked him like many other Israelis,” recalled David Meidan, a retired senior Mossad operative considered Barnea’s mentor. He said the killing prompted Barnea, at age 30, to rethink everything and look for “some meaning in his life.” A friend suggested he apply to the Mossad, and after passing the required physical and psychological tests, he was accepted into the agency’s trainee program.

Barnea showed a knack for spotting, recruiting and running agents who would work for the Mossad inside countries hostile to Israel. A year after he joined the spy agency, he became a case officer in its Tzomet, or Junction, division.

Meidan said Barnea had the qualities essential for success in the role: “emotional intelligence and empathy.” His foreign postings included years in a European capital, where Mossad colleagues said he proved to be charming, focused and determined.

The latter qualities were evident from an early age. Barnea was born in Ashkelon, Israel, in 1965. His father, Yosef Brunner, left Hitler’s Germany in 1933 for British-ruled Palestine and eventually served as a lieutenant colonel in the early years of the Israel Defense Forces.

At age 14, Barnea’s parents enrolled him in a military boarding school. He became a fitness fanatic and still runs or cycles when he has the chance. When it came time to do his required military service, Barnea won a coveted spot in the Sayeret Matkal, an elite commando unit frequently dispatched across Israel’s borders to collect intelligence or carry out covert attacks or sabotage.

In the 1990s, when he began his career as a spy, the Mossad’s main focus was on Palestinian terrorism. Barnea, who speaks Arabic, proved adept at running agents in and around the PLO and other organizations.

He rose through the ranks and was part of the Mossad’s leadership when it decided to make gathering intelligence on Iran its top priority in 2002. The shift reflected growing concern about Iran’s secretive nuclear program and its ties with powerful regional proxies such as Hezbollah.

In 2019, Barnea was named deputy head of the Mossad and chief of its operations directorate. Within the agency, he stood out as an advocate of aggressive operations aimed at Iranian scientists, nuclear sites and Iran’s growing arsenal of missiles that could reach Israel.

In November 2020, Barnea oversaw the operation that assassinated Mohsen Fakhrizadeh, a physicist and Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps general who was in charge of the military aspects of Iran’s nuclear program. After months of surveillance by non-Israeli agents, the Mossad was able to figure out Fakhrizadeh’s travel patterns. A plan was hatched to park a Nissan pickup truck by the side of the road and install a unique remote-controlled machine gun on its bed. The weapon had a sophisticated camera and artificial intelligence software that would identify Fakhrizadeh and shoot only at him.

The operation was controlled from Mossad headquarters, north of Tel Aviv, where Barnea was joined in the command center by his boss, agency director Yossi Cohen. They could see the nuclear physicist’s car approaching, and then the gun opened fire, hitting Fakhrizadeh several times while sparing his wife, who was sitting next to him.

Seven months later, Barnea was appointed head of the Mossad by Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. He is the 13th man to hold the job.

In the years that followed, Barnea built on the strengths of the Fakhrizadeh operation, recruiting scores of non-Israeli agents for operations inside Iran. Those agents played crucial roles in the June airstrikes against Iran’s nuclear program, identifying the locations of nuclear scientists’ homes and knocking out Iran’s air defenses.

A colleague in the Mossad’s top ranks, Haim Tomer, said that Barnea may not be as “strategic, charismatic or flamboyant” as some of his predecessors, but he has proved himself to be a “top-tier operator.”

The Mossad’s successes under Barnea include the exploding pagers that decimated Hezbollah, the assassination of Iranian nuclear scientists and a Hamas political leader who was visiting Tehran, and the commando raids that destroyed Iran’s air defenses and allowed Israel to strike the nuclear facilities without losing a plane.

Those missions represent a remarkable turnaround for Israelis in the intelligence community, many of whom felt they had failed the nation after the Oct. 7, 2023, attack in which Hamas killed more than 1,200 Israelis and kidnapped 251. That sense of shame was felt in every agency, even ones like the Mossad that were not chiefly responsible for monitoring Hamas.

The Mossad’s directors generally serve for five years, and so Barnea, or Dadi as he is known to his staff, may be replaced by the middle of 2026; but his term could be extended as recognition of his successes.

“These are historic days for the people of Israel,” Barnea told a gathering of operatives at Mossad headquarters after the brief war in June, where he referred to his close cooperation with the CIA. “The Iranian threat, which has endangered our security for decades, has been significantly thwarted thanks to extraordinary cooperation between the Israel Defense Forces, which led the campaign, and the Mossad, which operated alongside — together with the support of our ally, the United States.”

Yossi Melman is a commentator on Israeli intelligence and a documentary filmmaker. Dan Raviv is a former CBS correspondent and host of “The Mossad Files” podcast. They are the co-authors of “Spies Against Armageddon: Inside Israel’s Secret Wars.”

by Yossi Melman and Dan Raviv for ProPublica

Israel Secretly Recruited Iranian Dissidents to Attack Their Country From Within

2 weeks 5 days ago

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In the early morning hours of June 13, a commando team led by a young Iranian, S.T., settled into position on the outskirts of Tehran. The target was an anti-aircraft battery, part of the umbrella of radars and missiles set up to protect the capital and its military installations from aerial attack.

Across the country, teams of Israeli-trained commandos recruited from Iran and neighboring nations were preparing to attack Iranian defenses from within.

As described by their handlers, their motives were a mix of personal and political. Some were seeking revenge against a repressive, clerical regime that had imposed strict limits on political expression and daily life. Others were enticed by cash, the promise of medical care for family members or opportunities to attend college overseas.

The attack had been planned for more than a year by the Mossad, the Israeli intelligence service. Just nine months earlier, the spy agency had shocked the world with its technical prowess — executing a plot hatched in 2014 by its director at the time, Tamir Pardo, that crippled Hezbollah by detonating pagers booby-trapped with tiny but lethal amounts of explosives. According to Hezbollah, the blasts killed 30 fighters and 12 civilians, including two children, and injured more than 3,500.

At 3 a.m. on June 13, S.T. and a foreign legion of roughly 70 commandos opened fire with drones and missiles on a carefully chosen list of anti-aircraft batteries and ballistic missile launchers. (His handlers in the Mossad would only tell us his initials.) The next day, another group of Iranians and others recruited from the region launched a second wave of attacks inside Iran.

In detailed interviews, 10 present and former Israeli intelligence officials described the commando raids and a wealth of previously undisclosed details of the country’s decadeslong covert effort to prevent Iran from building a nuclear bomb. They requested anonymity so they could speak freely.

The officials said the commando attacks were pivotal in June’s airstrikes, allowing Israel’s air force to carry out wave after wave of bombing runs without losing a single plane. Informed by intelligence gathered by the Mossad’s agents on the ground, Israeli warplanes pounded nuclear facilities, destroyed around half of Iran’s 3,000 ballistic missiles and 80% of its launchers, and fired missiles at the bedrooms of Iranian nuclear scientists and military commanders.

As they had with the pagers, Israeli spies took advantage of their ability to penetrate their adversary’s communications systems. Early in the aerial attack, Israeli cyberwarriors sent a fake message to Iran’s top military leaders, luring them to a phantom meeting in an underground bunker that was then demolished in a precision strike. Twenty were killed, including three chiefs of staff.

The strategic map of the region has been dramatically redrawn since the Oct. 7, 2023, attacks in which Hamas killed more than 1,200 Israelis and took 251 hostages. Public attention, particularly in recent weeks, has focused on Israel’s retaliation against Gaza, which has caused scores of thousands of deaths and a deepening famine that has been globally condemned.

The secret war between Israel and Iran has attracted far less public attention but has also played a significant role in the region’s changing balance of power.

In 2018, Israeli-trained operatives broke into an unguarded Tehran warehouse and used high-temperature plasma cutters to crack safes containing drawings, data, computer disks and planning books. The material, weighing over 1,000 pounds, was loaded onto two trucks and driven into neighboring Azerbaijan. Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu displayed the material at a press conference in Tel Aviv and said it proved Iran had been lying about its nuclear intentions.

Two years later, the Mossad killed one of Iran’s top physicists, using artificial intelligence-enhanced facial recognition to direct a remotely operated machine gun parked on a roadside near his weekend house.

In the lead-up to June’s air attacks, according to Israeli planners, they arranged for unwitting truck drivers to smuggle into Iran tons of “metallic equipment” — the parts for the weapons used by the commando teams.

Israeli officials said these operations reflect a fundamental shift in the Mossad’s approach that began about 15 years ago. The agents in Iran who broke into the safes, set up the machine guns, blasted the air defenses and watched the scientists’ apartments were not Israelis. All were either Iranians or citizens of third countries, according to senior Israeli officials with direct knowledge of the operations. For years, such missions in Iran had been the exclusive work of Israeli field operatives. But officials said the growing unpopularity of the Iranian regime has made it much easier to attract agents.

S.T. was one of them. Israeli officials said he grew up in a working-class family in a small town near Tehran. He enrolled in college and was living a seemingly ordinary student life, when he and several classmates were arrested by Iran’s feared Basij militia and taken to a detention center where they were tortured with electric shocks and brutally beaten.

S.T. and his friends were ultimately released, but the experience left him enraged and eager for revenge. Soon after, a relative living overseas provided his name to an Israeli spy whose job was to identify disaffected Iranians. Messages were exchanged via an encrypted phone app, and S.T. accepted a free trip to a neighboring country.

A case officer from the Mossad invited him to work as a covert operative against Iran. He agreed, asking only that Israel pledge to take care of his family if anything went wrong. (Iran summarily executes anyone caught spying for foreign countries, especially Israel.)

He was trained for months outside of Iran by Israeli weapons specialists. Just before the attack was to begin, he and his small team slipped back into the country to play their role in one of the biggest and most complex military operations in Israel’s history.

The Origins of a Secret War

The Mossad made Iran its top priority in 1993 after Israelis and Palestinians signed the Oslo Accords on the White House lawn, seemingly ending decades of conflict.

Israeli Foreign Minister Shimon Peres, center-right — flanked by, from left, Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, Israeli negotiator Joel Singer, President Bill Clinton and Yasser Arafat, chairman of the Palestine Liberation Organization — signs the Oslo Accords in 1993. The agreement sought to end decades of conflict between the Israelis and Palestinians. (J. David Ake/AFP via Getty Images)

Israel had long had a complicated relationship with Iran. For decades, it maintained a strategic alliance with the shah of Iran. But Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini and the Islamists who overthrew the monarch in 1979 described the Jewish state as a “cancerous tumor” that should be excised from the Middle East.

Israel’s strategy is, in effect, to protect its nuclear monopoly in the region. It does not publicly acknowledge its arsenal, estimated at more than 90 warheads. The Israeli air force destroyed Iraq’s nuclear reactor in 1981 and a Syrian reactor under construction in 2007.

After the Iraq airstrike, Israel’s prime minister, Menachem Begin, declared that his country had a right to prevent neighbors from building their own bomb. “We cannot allow a second Holocaust,” he said.

Israeli Prime Minister Menachem Begin, left, in 1981 with Ariel Sharon, who at the time was the defense minister and would become prime minister in 2001. Begin said that his country had a right to prevent its neighbors from building a nuclear bomb. (STF/AFP via Getty Images)

A few years later, Iran began researching nuclear weapons, drawing on the expertise of a Pakistani engineer, Abdul Qadeer Khan, who had once worked for a Dutch company that produced enriched uranium.

Shabtai Shavit, the Mossad director whose term ended in 1996, said Israel was aware of Khan’s travels in the region but did not initially detect his crucial role in Iran’s program. “We didn’t fully understand his intentions,” Shavit told us in an interview before his death in 2023. “If we had known, I would have ordered my combatants to kill him. I believe that could have reversed the course of history.”

According to United Nations nuclear inspectors, the Iranians used blueprints provided by Khan to begin building the centrifuges needed to enrich uranium they purchased from Pakistan, China and South Africa.

In 2000, Shavit’s successor drew up plans for the Mossad’s special missions unit known as Kidon — Hebrew for “bayonet” — to assassinate Khan while he was visiting what one official described as “a Southeast Asian country.” The mission was shelved when Pakistan’s president, Gen. Pervez Musharraf, told President Bill Clinton he would rein in Khan’s global activities.

Iran turned to Abdul Qadeer Khan, a Pakistani engineer who had worked for a Dutch company that produced enriched uranium, as Iran began researching nuclear weapons. (Robert Nickelsberg/Getty Images)

That promise wasn’t kept.

That same year, the Mossad discovered that the Iranians were building a secret enrichment plant near Natanz, a city about 200 miles south of Tehran. The spy agency tipped off an Iranian dissident group, which went public with the revelation two years later.

Mossad veterans said that operatives — likely Israelis posing as Europeans installing or servicing equipment — walked around Natanz wearing shoes with double soles that collected dust and soil samples. Testing eventually revealed that the Iranian-made centrifuges were enriching uranium well beyond the 5% level needed for a nuclear power plant. (Medical isotopes use 20% enriched uranium; bombs need 90%.)

In 2001, Israel elected Gen. Ariel Sharon, famous for his belligerent toughness, as prime minister. The following year, Sharon named one of his favorite generals, Meir Dagan, as director of the Mossad. Both had a reputation for pushing boundaries and defying norms.

Dagan, who led the Mossad from 2002 to 2011, decided to make stopping Iran’s nuclear program the spy agency’s main goal.

Like Begin, who was born in Poland, Dagan was haunted by the Holocaust. Heads of foreign intelligence agencies recalled visiting his office and seeing a photograph of Nazi soldiers brutalizing Dagan’s grandfather on the wall. Explaining the photo’s meaning at an anti-Netanyahu rally in 2015, he said: “I swore that that would never happen again. I hope and believe that I have done everything in my power to keep that promise.”

Meir Dagan, who led the Mossad from 2002 to 2011, had this photograph of Nazi soldiers brutalizing his grandfather on the wall of his office. He explained its meaning in 2015: “I swore that that would never happen again. I hope and believe that I have done everything in my power to keep that promise.” (Yad Vashem)

Under Dagan’s leadership, the Mossad organized an array of covert operations to slow the Iranian program. Israeli agents began assassinating Iran’s nuclear scientists, sending operatives on motorcycles to attach small bombs to cars in traffic.

The Art of Recruitment

Dagan took pride in the Mossad’s growing ability to recruit Iranians and others for covert operations inside Iran.

One key to the spy agency’s success is the ethnic composition of Iran. Israeli officials noted in interviews that roughly 40% of the country’s population of 90 million is made up of ethnic minorities: Arabs, Azeris, Baluchis, Kurds and others.

Shortly before he died in 2016, Dagan told us that “the best pool for recruiting agents inside Iran lies within the country’s ethnic and human mosaic. Many of them oppose the regime. Some even hate it.”

Present and former officials said Dagan championed the shift to relying on foreign-born agents. In the early years of the effort to penetrate Iran, the spy agency had relied mostly on Israelis, known to Mossad insiders as “blue and white” — a reference to the colors of Israel’s flag.

Under Dagan, the Mossad’s leadership came to believe they could find highly effective agents in Iran or among Iranian exiles and others living in one of the seven countries that border it.

Meir Dagan, seen in an undated photograph, was a proponent of using foreign-born agents for the Mossad’s missions against Iran. (Yaakov Saar/GPO/Getty Images)

Present and former officials said the recruits fell into two categories. Some gravitated to the realm of traditional espionage, gathering intelligence and passing it on to their handler. Others expressed a willingness to carry out violent operations, including attacks on nuclear scientists.

Not surprisingly, given the risk of summary execution, many had initial doubts.

“Convincing someone to betray their country is no small feat,” said a former senior Mossad officer who oversaw units handling foreign agents. “It’s a process of gradual erosion. You start with a minor request, an insignificant task. Then another. These are trial runs. If they perform well, you assign them something larger, more meaningful. And if they refuse — well, by then you have leverage: pressure, threats, even blackmail.”

Spymasters, he said, try to avoid threats or coercion. “It’s better to guide them to a place where they act willingly — where they take the first step themselves,” the former officer said.

The most critical element is trust. “Your agent must be loyal and emotionally tied to you. Like a soldier who charges forward despite the danger, trusting his comrades, so it is with agents. He goes on the mission because he trusts his handler and feels a deep sense of responsibility toward him.”

Most of the people who agreed to work for Israel expected payment for the risks they were taking. But the present and former officials said the driving force for people who agree to spy on their own country is often more primal.

“Financial reward is, of course, important,” the former Mossad officer said. “But people are also driven by emotion — hatred, love, dependence, revenge. Yet it always helps when the recruit’s motives are supported by some kind of tangible benefit: not necessarily a direct payment but some type of indirect help.”

This is how S.T. was recruited.

His handlers said he was consumed by hatred toward the regime and what had been done to him by the Basij militia. But what finally pushed him to cooperate was the Mossad’s offer to arrange medical treatment unavailable in Iran for a relative.

For decades, medical care has been one of the Mossad’s signature recruitment methods. Israeli intelligence has links with doctors and clinics in several countries, and arranging surgery and various therapies was also used to penetrate Palestinian extremist groups. It has featured even more in approaches to Iranians, in the hope of persuading them to help Israel.

The Mossad also uses the internet to attract agents, creating websites and publishing social media posts aimed at Iranians that offer to help people suffering from life-threatening illnesses such as cancer. These posts include phone numbers or encrypted contact options.

Israeli intelligence can mobilize its international network to find trusted doctors or clinics — places that won’t ask too many questions. The Mossad typically pays the bills directly and discreetly.

Another incentive used to entice potential spies is higher education in a foreign country. Based on years of research and experience, Mossad recruiters know that Iranians crave access to quality education. Even the fundamentalist religious regime of the current supreme leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, encourages academic advancement. This makes offers of placement in Western universities, or boarding schools for teenagers, an especially compelling tool.

Once a candidate is identified, the Mossad sets up an initial meeting in an accessible location — often in neighboring countries such as Turkey, Armenia or Azerbaijan, which are relatively easy for Iranians to enter. Other options include destinations in Southeast Asia like Thailand and India that allow Iranian citizens to apply online for business, medical or tourist visas.

Candidates undergo a series of meetings and psychological evaluations. Psychologists observe their behavior, often from behind one-way mirrors. They fill out detailed questionnaires about their personal history, including intimate details about their family life, and are questioned by a polygraph examiner.

Agents are regularly retested after they begin working in the field. Every action, whether minor or major, is followed by another lie detector test to confirm continued loyalty.

They receive extensive training and supervision. To avoid arousing suspicion, they are told what to wear, where to buy their clothing, what cars to drive, and even how, when and where to deposit the money they receive.

The agent-handler relationship is critical, as a former Mossad operative who “ran” agents explained. In many cases, the handler is simultaneously confessor, babysitter, psychologist, spiritual mentor and surrogate family member.

The goal is to build a bond so strong that the agent feels safe and supported — comfortable enough to share even their deepest personal secrets, including their sexual relationships.

Any and all information about the agent can be valuable to the Mossad, either as a red flag marking a potential vulnerability to Iran’s secret police or another aspect of the agent’s life that the handlers can put to use. Among the key questions: Who’s in the person’s social circle? Can he or she use that relationship to the Mossad’s benefit?

The operatives who were assigned to assassinate nuclear scientists on the street received extensive training from Mossad case officers. They were taught to ride motorcycles and either shoot their targets at close range or plant explosives on their vehicles.

The intent was both to deprive the Iranian program of expertise and to discourage promising scientists from working on nuclear weapons. From 2010 to 2012 the Israelis killed at least four scientists and barely missed another.

The operations were managed by Israelis, down to the smallest details, often from nearby countries or directly from Mossad headquarters north of Tel Aviv, and occasionally by Israeli intelligence officers who briefly entered Iran.

Operation Rising Lion

Over the years, the Mossad and Israel’s military repeatedly drew up plans to halt Iran’s nuclear program by bombing its key facilities. Israel’s political leaders always drew back under pressure from American presidents who feared an attack would trigger a regional war, destabilizing the Middle East. Hezbollah, Iran’s proxy in Lebanon, had stockpiled tens of thousands of missiles, enough to overwhelm Israel’s air defenses and hit its largest cities.

Those calculations shifted dramatically in the past year.

In April and October of 2024, Iran fired missiles and drones directly at Israel. Nearly all were shot down with the help of the United States and allies. The Israeli air force responded with airstrikes that destroyed much of Iran’s air defenses.

The remains of an Iranian missile ended up near the Dead Sea in Israel on Oct. 2, 2024. (Erik Marmor/Getty Images)

The Israeli military had begun planning a bombing campaign against Iran in mid-2024 that it hoped would be ready within a year. With Donald Trump’s victory in the November election, and Hezbollah neutralized, Israeli officials saw a window of opportunity.

Israel’s American-trained pilots had been secretly flying over Iran since 2016 — learning the landscape and exploring various routes to minimize the chances of detection.

One nuclear target in Iran, however, was considered so formidable that the Israeli air force had no plan for destroying it. The Iranians had built a uranium-enrichment facility at Fordo and buried it inside a mountain — nearly 300 feet beneath the surface. Iran tried to keep Fordo a secret, but the Mossad and American and British intelligence were able to track movements in and out of the mountain. President Barack Obama disclosed its existence in 2009, and United Nations inspectors who visited the site soon after found that Iran was planning for up to 3,000 highly advanced centrifuges to enrich uranium.

A 2013 satellite image shows a uranium-enrichment facility in Fordo, Iran. (DigitalGlobe via Getty Images)

Only the United States had a bomb powerful enough to pierce a mountain: the GBU-57 Massive Ordnance Penetrator, the world’s largest conventional bomb known as a “bunker buster.”

And so Israeli military planners drew up a plan for a highly risky ground operation, details of which are disclosed here for the first time. Under the plan, elite commandos were to be smuggled to the Fordo site without being detected. Then they would storm the building, taking advantage of the element of surprise. Once inside, their mission would be to blow up the centrifuges, grab Iran’s enriched uranium and escape.

The new head of the Mossad was skeptical. David Barnea, known as Dadi, had long pushed for aggressive actions against Iran. He had overseen the remote-machine gun attack in 2020 just before being promoted to the top job. Yet he thought the plans for a commando attack on Fordo were far too risky. Barnea worried that some of Israel’s best soldiers and spies would be killed or taken hostage, a nightmare for Israelis already deeply pained by the ordeal of Israeli hostages held by Hamas in Gaza since the attack of Oct. 7, 2023.

Barnea and other Israeli officials came to believe that the Trump administration might join an Israeli attack on Iran, with U.S. warplanes dropping the massive “bunker busters” on Fordo. Trump had repeatedly and publicly declared that he would not allow Iran to obtain a nuclear bomb.

To prepare for what would be dubbed Operation Rising Lion, the Mossad and the military intelligence agency, Aman, stepped up their tracking of Iran’s military leaders and nuclear teams. Several of the operation’s planners said that Barnea significantly expanded the Mossad’s Tzomet, or Junction, division, which recruits and trains non-Israeli agents. The decision was made to entrust this foreign legion with Israel’s most sophisticated equipment for paramilitary operations and communications. The cover stories for each agent, known as their legends, were checked and rechecked for inconsistencies.

The Mossad’s espionage efforts were helped by a geographic fact. Iran is bordered by Iraq, Turkey, Azerbaijan, Armenia, Pakistan, Turkmenistan and Afghanistan. Smuggling is a way of life in the region, as thousands of people earn their living using donkeys, camels, cars and trucks to carry drugs, fuel and electronics across the borders.

The Mossad had developed contacts with smugglers — and often with the government intelligence agencies — in all seven nations.

“Bringing equipment in and out is relatively easy,” said an Israeli who has worked with Mossad on logistics, “and the Mossad also used front companies that legally shipped boxes and crates by sea and on trucks driven legitimately through border crossings.”

The material was delivered to “infrastructure agents,” Mossad operatives inside Iran who store the material until it’s needed. Mossad veterans said the gear can be hidden in safe houses for years, updated as technology evolves or maintenance is needed.

Officials said the Mossad trained the non-Israeli agents who would attack Iranian targets for about five months. Some were brought to Israel, where models had been built to enable practice runs. Others rehearsed their missions in third countries where they met Israeli experts.

There were two groups of commandos, each with 14 teams of four to six members. Some already lived in Iran. Others were anti-regime exiles who slipped into the country on the eve of the attack.

Each had their instructions, but they were also in touch with Israeli planners who could change or update the attack plan. Most of the teams were tasked with striking Iranian air defenses from a list of targets provided by the Israeli air force.

The Mossad had code names for each of the teams and their assignments, which were based on combinations of musical notes.

On the night of June 12, the teams arrived at their positions as orchestrated. The Israelis in charge of the covert operations directed the agents to leave little or no equipment behind. (Iranian media reports after the attack asserted that the infiltrators had missed their targets and fled without their gear; Israeli officials said what the Iranians found were insignificant components — the equivalent of gum wrappers.)

“One hundred percent of the anti-aircraft batteries marked for the Mossad by the air force were destroyed,” a senior Israeli intelligence official said. Most were near Tehran in areas where the Israeli air force had not previously operated.

In the first hours of the war, one of the commando teams struck an Iranian ballistic missile launcher. Israeli analysts believe this mission had a disproportionate impact, causing Iran to delay its retaliatory salvo against Israel out of fear that other missile launchers were vulnerable to attacks from inside Iran.

Officials emphasized that the military logistics of the plan were the work of Aman and the Israeli air force, which hit more than a thousand targets over the 11 days of airstrikes. But officials agree that the Mossad contributed key intelligence for one aspect of Rising Lion: the assassinations of senior Iranian commanders and nuclear scientists.

The Mossad compiled detailed information on the habits and whereabouts of 11 Iranian nuclear scientists. The dossiers even mapped the locations of the bedrooms in the men’s homes. On the morning of June 13, Israeli air force warplanes fired air-to-ground missiles at those coordinates, killing all 11.

After a delay, Iran retaliated with a barrage of missiles. Most were intercepted, but the ones that got through did considerable damage. Israel reported 30 civilian deaths and estimated its reconstruction costs at $12 billion. Iran’s state media put the death toll in their country at more than 600.

An aerial view of the destruction after an Iranian ballistic missile hit Ramat Gan near Tel Aviv, Israel, on June 14. (Yair Palti/Anadolu via Getty Images)

The question of how much Iran’s nuclear efforts were set back remains in dispute. Trump has insisted the American airstrikes on Fordo, Natanz and Isfahan “obliterated” Iran’s program. Analysts in Israeli and American intelligence have been more restrained.

“This war significantly set them back,” said a former head of Aman, Gen. Tamir Hayman. “Iran is no longer a nuclear threshold state, as it was on the eve of the war. It could be able to return to threshold status in one or two years at the earliest, assuming a decision by the Supreme Leader to break out toward a bomb.”

Hayman, who now heads the Institute for National Security Studies in Israel, said it’s possible the assault might have the opposite of its intended effect, if Iran becomes even more eager to build a bomb that could deter future Israeli attacks.

Yossi Melman is a commentator on Israeli intelligence and a documentary filmmaker. Dan Raviv is a former CBS correspondent and host of “The Mossad Files” podcast. They are the co-authors of “Spies Against Armageddon: Inside Israel’s Secret Wars.”

by Yossi Melman and Dan Raviv for ProPublica

“An American Nightmare”: Three Men Deported to CECOT and Their Families Reflect on Their Monthslong Ordeal

2 weeks 6 days ago

Leer en español.

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up to receive our biggest stories as soon as they’re published. This article is co-published with The Texas Tribune, a nonprofit, nonpartisan local newsroom that informs and engages with Texans, and Alianza Rebelde Investiga and Cazadores de Fake News.

The Trump administration’s move four months ago to send more than 230 Venezuelan migrants to a maximum-security prison in El Salvador known as CECOT took a staggering toll, not only on the men themselves but also on their families. The men were released to Venezuela on July 18 as part of a prisoner swap without much explanation, and they and their relatives have begun sharing the details of their ordeal.

Juan José Ramos Ramos describes the physical torture he says he endured during his incarceration at CECOT as his mother, Lina Ramos, explains the emotional agony of not knowing whether she’d ever see her son again. Andry Blanco Bonilla and his mother, Carmen Bonilla, still struggle to make sense of how they could have been caught up in something like this when Blanco didn’t have a criminal record and, in fact, had a deportation order to be sent back to his home country. Wilmer Vega Sandia, who had migrated to the United States to find work that would help him pay for his mother’s cancer treatment, says he prayed every day of his incarceration that he’d make it home in time to hold her in his arms.

Without providing evidence, the U.S. government branded them all Tren de Aragua gang members, the “worst of the worst,” “sick animals” and “monsters.” Our reporting, a first-of-its-kind, case-by-case examination, shows how the government knew a majority of them had not been convicted of a crime in the U.S. — and only a few had serious convictions such as assault and gun possession. We found a dozen or so had criminal records abroad and included those in our comprehensive database, too.

Nearly half, 118 of the more than 230 men, including Ramos, came to the U.S. legally and were deported in the middle of their immigration cases. He entered the U.S. with a CBP One appointment, a program the Biden administration used to try to bring order to the soaring numbers of migrants attempting to enter the country.

At least 166 of the more than 230 men had tattoos, including Blanco, Ramos and Vega. Our investigation found that the government relied heavily on tattoos to tie the men to the Venezuelan gang, even though Tren de Aragua experts say tattoos are not reliable indicators of gang affiliation.

A handful of the men, including Vega, had been granted voluntary departures by an immigration judge, which means they had agreed to pay their way home to Venezuela. Instead, they were deported to El Salvador.

Watch the video here.

Melissa Sanchez, Perla Trevizo, Mica Rosenberg and Gabriel Sandoval of ProPublica; Ronna Rísquez of Alianza Rebelde Investiga; and Adrián González of Cazadores de Fake News contributed reporting. Mauricio Rodríguez Pons and Almudena Toral of ProPublica contributed production.

by Gerardo del Valle, ProPublica, and Alejandro Bonilla Suárez and Edwin Corona Ramos for ProPublica

These GOP Lawmakers Referred Constituents to the CFPB for Help. Then They Voted to Gut the Agency.

2 weeks 6 days ago

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A New York business frozen out of its checking account. A Georgia chemotherapy patient denied a credit card refund after a product dispute. A New Jersey service member defrauded out of their savings.

These consumers — along with hundreds of others — reached out to their congressional representatives for help in the past 12 months.

“I have been unable to pay my rent, utilities, personal bills, student loans, or my credit card. I have been unable to buy groceries or put gas in my car,” wrote the New Yorker, who contacted Rep. Nicole Malliotakis’ office.

Records show their representatives — all Republicans — referred them to the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau, the watchdog agency formed in the wake of the Great Recession to shield Americans from unfair or abusive business practices. All three consumers got relief, according to agency data.

Then the lawmakers — along with nearly every other Republican in Congress — voted to slash the agency’s funding by nearly half as part of President Donald Trump’s signature legislative package, the One Big Beautiful Bill Act, a step toward the administration’s goal of gutting the agency.

Republicans have long been critical of the CFPB, accusing it of imposing unreasonable burdens on businesses. Already, the CFPB under Trump has dropped a number of cases and frozen investigations into dozens of companies.

Yet the agency has historically benefited consumers across the political spectrum, securing around $20 billion in relief through its enforcement actions.

Data obtained by ProPublica through a public records request shows that many of the same Republican members of Congress who have targeted the CFPB for cuts have collectively routed thousands of constituent complaints to the agency.

Rep. Darrell Issa of California and Rep. Rob Wittman of Virginia, for example, voted to reduce the CFPB’s budget. Yet each of their offices has referred more than 100 constituents to the CFPB for help, among the most of any House members. The office of Sen. John Cornyn of Texas, who also voted for the CFPB cuts, has routed more than 800 constituent complaints to the agency, the most of any current lawmaker from either party, ProPublica found.

A spokesperson for Issa said in an email that most of his office’s referrals to the agency “occurred several years ago” and reflected “a conventional way” to handle constituents’ consumer issues.

Wittman and Cornyn didn’t respond to questions from ProPublica about the disconnect between their offices’ use of the CFPB’s services and their votes to cut it. Neither did New Jersey Rep. Chris Smith, whose office fielded the defrauded service member’s complaint, or Malliotakis, who was approached by the New York business owner, or Rep. Rick Allen, whose office directed the Georgia chemotherapy patient to the agency.

Overall, members of Congress have steered nearly 24,000 complaints to the CFPB since it opened its doors in 2011. Roughly 10,000 of those were referred by the offices of current and former Republican lawmakers, ProPublica found.

“This is how members of Congress from both parties get help for the people who live in their districts,” said Erie Meyer, the CFPB’s former chief technologist, who left the agency in February. The agency has a particular mandate to help service members and seniors, she noted. “This is how, if a service member is getting screwed on an auto loan, this is the only place they can go.”

Sen. Richard Blumenthal, D-Conn., has referred more than 200 constituents to CFPB since its creation. In a statement to ProPublica, he accused Republicans in Congress of “pursuing senseless cuts that will undermine their own ability to protect their constituents, who will be left in the lurch when they fall victim to scams or deceptive and unfair business practices.”

“Republicans have made clear that they stand on the side of big businesses — not consumers,” he added. “Their irresponsible pursuit of dismantling the CFPB will have far-reaching and long-lasting consequences.”

An Irreplaceable System

In recent years, the CFPB’s public database shows the number of complaints has exploded, from around 280,000 in 2019 to more than 2.7 million last year.

Complaints have grown across many categories, including credit cards and debt collection. Last year, most of the complaints filed, over 2.3 million, were about mistakes or other problems involving credit reporting agencies, and more than half of them resulted in relief, CFPB data shows.

“These credit score formulas govern so many factors of your life. It’s not just your ability to get a loan, it’s your ability to secure housing or qualify for a job,” said Adam Rust, director of financial services at the Consumer Federation of America. “It’s important that you can resolve something, but it’s difficult to do it on your own.”

Once a complaint is submitted, it is routed to the company, which has 15 days to respond. Companies can request an additional 45 days to reach a final resolution.

Many consumers end up getting nonmonetary relief, such as fixes to erroneous credit reports or an end to harassment by debt collectors, but some get financial help as well. More than $300 million has been returned to Americans through the complaint system, including $90 million just last year.

Normally, staff at the CFPB monitor the complaints to identify systemic issues and escalate complaints involving consumers who are at immediate risk of foreclosure, although that didn’t happen for a few weeks this year when the agency’s acting director halted its work.

The CFPB also shares complaint information with other federal agencies, states and localities to help them protect consumers. No other government or private entity has the capacity to effectively handle the volume of complaints that the CFPB does, experts and current and former employees say.

States often have limited resources for consumer protection efforts. Many states — including some conservative ones that supported a lawsuit challenging the constitutionality of the CFPB’s structure — steer consumers to the agency on their websites, providing links to it.

In legal filings opposing the Trump administration’s steps to effectively shut down the CFPB, 23 Democratic attorneys general noted that their states collectively have referred thousands of complaints to the agency and that its services can’t be replaced by state-level operations.

“In the CFPB’s absence, consumers will be left without critical resources,” they wrote.

These Republican lawmakers have referred constituents to the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau even while voting to slash the agency’s budget. Clockwise from top left: Rep. Nicole Malliotakis of New York, Rep. Darrell Issa of California, Rep. Rick Allen of Georgia, Rep. Rob Wittman of Virginia, Sen. John Cornyn of Texas and Rep. Chris Smith of New Jersey. (House Creative Services via Wikimedia Commons)

The complaint system has also lessened the burden on congressional offices, which can route constituent problems to an agency dedicated to, and expert in, addressing consumer issues. Yet that hasn’t stopped Republicans from pursuing dramatic cuts to the agency.

The CFPB receives its funding from the Federal Reserve instead of annual appropriations bills. The structure is meant to safeguard the agency’s independence, though critics say this makes the agency less accountable, giving elected officials less power over its operations.

Initially, Republicans pressed for extreme cuts to the CFPB as part of Trump’s legislative package. House members approved a 70% cut. The Senate Banking Committee attempted to go even further, zeroing out the agency’s funding entirely.

Ultimately, the final version of the bill signed into law by Trump on July 4 cut the CFPB’s budget by around 46%, reducing the agency’s funding cap — the maximum amount it can request from the Federal Reserve — from $823 million to $446 million for this fiscal year. The agency requested $729 million last fiscal year.

The offices of lawmakers who voted for the bill have referred about 3,400 complaints to the agency, running the gamut of consumer problems — from crushing debt to mortgage issues to financial scams, ProPublica’s data analysis shows. (In some of these cases, consumers also took complaints to the CFPB themselves in addition to reaching out to their representatives. Consumers’ names aren’t disclosed in the data.)

Their constituents are sometimes desperate: “I’m about to be homeless because of this,” wrote a Florida resident whose bank account was frozen.

Others have expressed frustration at getting the runaround from a company. “I’ve spent countless hours on hold trying to speak with a representative, only to be met with silence or outdated instructions to send letters,” wrote one Virginian in a complaint about their bank.

In a statement after the CFPB funding cut passed, the chair of the Senate Banking Committee, Tim Scott, R-S.C., applauded the measure for saving taxpayer money but insisted it would not affect the agency’s mandatory functions, which include handling complaints.

Consumer experts as well as current and former CFPB employees, however, said the cuts will likely hinder the agency’s effectiveness.

“I think the whole process is at risk,” said Ruth Susswein, director of consumer protection at the nonprofit advocacy group Consumer Action. “If you starve the system, it cannot provide the benefits that it now offers.”

Signs of Strain

The Trump administration’s initial efforts to unilaterally hobble the CFPB give a hint of what may lie ahead for the complaint system.

In February, acting Director Russell Vought issued a stop-work order to all CFPB employees and canceled a slew of contracts, including for antivirus software that scanned files attached to consumer complaints.

The actions largely froze the complaint system for about a week. More than 70,000 complaints were submitted, but most were not sent to companies for their response during that period, data shows.

Although some issues were later fixed, the work stoppage spawned a backlog of more than 16,000 complaints that required manual review, according to court records from a lawsuit filed by the union that represents CFPB employees. About 75 complaints from consumers at risk of imminent foreclosure, which would normally be escalated to CFPB staff, weren’t acted upon.

In late March, U.S. District Judge Amy Berman Jackson ordered the CFPB to end the work stoppage, reverse contract terminations and reinstate probationary employees who were fired. However, an appeals court allowed layoffs to proceed, triggering a frenzied effort by the administration to cut about 90% of the CFPB’s staff.

The layoffs included the vast majority of the roughly 130-member team that manages the complaint system as well as nearly every staffer in legally mandated offices focused on service members and seniors.

The CFPB has fielded over 440,000 complaints from current and former service members and their families since 2011, according to CFPB data, more than 100,000 of which have resulted in relief.

The CFPB did not respond to multiple requests for comment. In a court declaration, Mark Paoletta, the CFPB’s chief legal officer, said that the agency’s leadership had “been assessing how the agency can fulfill its statutory duties as a smaller, more efficient operation. In making this assessment, leadership discovered vast waste in the agency’s size.”

Paoletta also said the agency would have a “much more limited vision for enforcement and supervision activities, focused on protecting service members and veterans, and addressing actual tangible consumer harm and intentional discrimination.”

In April, Jackson issued an order blocking the firings made at the CFPB after the appeals court decision. The administration has appealed Jackson’s ruling.

Lawsuits won’t protect the CFPB or its complaint apparatus from the cuts included in the recently passed spending bill, current and former agency employees pointed out.

These changes are likely to hit home with consumers no matter which party they favor, said Lauren Saunders, associate director of the National Consumer Law Center, which is a plaintiff in the union’s lawsuit.

“Republicans don’t want to be abused by big corporations that ignore them any more than Democrats do,” she said.

Have You Recently Sought Help From the CFPB? ProPublica Wants to Hear From You.

by Joel Jacobs

Trump’s War on Big Law Means It’s Harder to Challenge the Administration

2 weeks 6 days ago

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Two weeks into President Donald Trump’s second presidency, and just days after he pardoned hundreds of Capitol rioters, officials Trump had placed in charge of the Justice Department made a sweeping demand. They wanted the names of the thousands of FBI employees who had played a role in investigating the Jan. 6, 2021, attack on the U.S. Capitol.

Fearing mass firings, or worse, retaliation by the people they helped prosecute, a group of agents scrambled to enlist a legal team who could stop the administration in court. Norm Eisen, a prominent ethics lawyer now leading dozens of lawsuits against the Trump administration, agreed within hours to represent the agents pro bono, along with Mark Zaid, a veteran whistleblower attorney. For more firepower, the two approached the giant Chicago-based law firm Winston & Strawn, which has a history of providing free representation to people and organizations that squared off against Trump’s first administration.

But Winston declined to represent the FBI agents, three people with knowledge of the matter said. It was one of several cases Winston turned down in quick succession, they added, that would have pitted the firm against an openly retributive president.

Some of the country’s largest law firms have declined to represent clients challenging the Trump administration, more than a dozen attorneys and nonprofit leaders told ProPublica, while others have sought to avoid any clients that Trump might perceive as his enemies. That includes both clients willing to pay the firms’ steep rates, and those who receive free representation. Big Law firms are also refusing to take on legal work involving environmental protections, LGBTQ+ rights and police accountability or to represent elected Democrats and federal workers purged in Trump’s war on the “deep state.” Advocacy groups say this is beginning to hamper their efforts to challenge the Trump administration.

Their fears intensified after Trump signed a battery of executive orders aimed at punishing top firms over old associations with his adversaries. But as the Winston episode shows, Big Law began to back away from some clients almost the minute he returned to power. The country’s top firms remain deeply wary, even though the president has lost all four initial court challenges to those executive orders.

“The President’s Policy is working as designed,” said a lawsuit the American Bar Association filed against the administration in June. “Even as federal judges have ruled over and over that the Law Firm Orders are plainly unconstitutional, law firms that once proudly contributed thousands of hours of pro bono work to a host of causes — including causes championed by the ABA — have withdrawn from such work because it is disfavored by the Administration.”

The bar association itself has struggled to find representation, the lawsuit said. One unnamed firm, which has represented the association since the 1980s in lawsuits related to ABA’s accreditation of law schools, “is no longer willing to represent the ABA in any litigation against or potentially adverse to the Administration and its policies.” Sidley Austin, the sixth-ranked corporate firm by revenue in the world, has represented the ABA in at least five lawsuits over its accreditation practices since 1989.

The ABA and Susman Godfrey, which is representing the association in its lawsuit against the administration, declined to comment. Winston, Sidley and the White House did not respond to questions sent in writing.

Trump’s grievances with Big Law stem partly from its role in blocking his first-term agenda. In his executive order targeting Jenner & Block, a firm with close ties to the Democratic Party that fought Trump on transgender rights and immigration, he assailed the firm for allegedly “abus[ing] its pro bono practice to engage in activities that undermine justice.” Another firm, WilmerHale, was where former Special Counsel Robert Mueller worked before and after leading the Russian interference investigation.

The executive orders barred attorneys working for the firms from entering federal buildings where they represent clients, terminated the firms’ government contracts, revoked partners’ security clearances and required government contractors to disclose if they work with the targeted firms. Perkins Coie, one of Trump’s first targets, began to lose business “within hours,” its suit said. The judge who halted the executive order against WilmerHale wrote that the firm “faces crippling losses and its very survival is at stake.”

“I just think that the law firms have to behave themselves,” Trump said at a press conference in late March.

Nine corporate law firms behaved themselves in the form of reaching public settlements with Trump. The deals require them to provide $940 million in total of pro bono support for Trump-approved causes. There has been no public indication of the White House calling on them to perform specific work, and Trump has not released any new executive orders against firms since April.

Yet organizations that challenge the government are still feeling the chill.

“There’s been a real, noticeable shift,” said Lauren Bonds, the executive director of the National Police Accountability Project, a national nonprofit that brings lawsuits over alleged police abuse and was a frequent pro bono client of Big Law.

In November, as soon as Trump won reelection, a top firm that was helping NPAP develop a lawsuit against a city’s police force abruptly stopped attending all planning calls, Bonds said. Later, the firm became one of the nine that struck a deal with Trump, after which the firm half-heartedly told Bonds, she said, that it would reconsider the case in the future. Bonds declined to identify the firm.

Activist nonprofits have long relied on free representation because they typically lack the resources to mount major lawsuits on their own. Civil rights cases in particular are complex undertakings usually lasting years. Many call for hundreds of hours spent deposing witnesses and performing research, as well as upfront costs of tens of thousands of dollars. Big Law, with its deep ranks of attorneys and paying clients to subsidize their volunteer work, is in a unique position to help. In exchange, the work burnishes the firm’s reputation and serves as a draw for idealistic young associates.

“I know that [cases] have been shot down that in Trump Administration 1, firms would crawl over each other to get our name at the top of the case so that we could get the New York Times headline,” said a Big Law partner whose firm has not been one of Trump’s targets. “That’s the environment. What’s become radioactive has grown from a very small number of things to anything this administration and Trump might notice and get angry about.”

Jill Collen Jefferson, the president and founder of Julian, a small nonprofit that investigates civil rights violations, has felt the chill too.

Three years ago, Julian partnered with the elite law firm Wachtell, Lipton, Rosen & Katz, the country’s No. 1 corporate firm most years by per-partner revenue, to bring lawsuits against the town of Lexington, Mississippi, and its police force for racial discrimination.

“It wasn’t hard at all to get help,” she recalled. George Floyd’s death had raised public support for police accountability, and the details Julian was exposing in Lexington were especially grim. The police chief was secretly recorded promising to cover for a fellow officer if he killed someone “in cold blood.” A DOJ investigation released in 2024 found Lexington police operated in “a system where officers can relentlessly violate the law.” (The town’s board fired the chief, Sam Dobbins, over the recording. In a court filing, Dobbins said he was not guilty of “any actionable conduct” and denied Julian’s characterization of the recording, asserting that “the recording speaks for itself.” Julian’s litigation is still ongoing.)

Since January, when Trump began gutting police accountability measures, Jefferson’s efforts to recruit pro bono help have yielded almost no commitments. The official explanation many firms offer is that they lack the capacity to help, she said, though lawyers at those firms have privately told her that was false. Wachtell did not respond to a request for comment.

Jefferson now doubts Julian’s ability to bring a police abuse lawsuit it had planned to file before the statute of limitations expires this month.

“It’s been a nightmare,” she said. “People don’t want to stand up, and because of that, people are suffering.”

NPAP ultimately joined forces with another civil rights organization to salvage the case after its co-counsel disappeared from planning calls last November. But the suit will be “less robust” without the firepower of a major law firm, Bonds said. And NPAP’s capacity to file future suits is in question. Civil rights attorneys in NPAP’s network have developed novel legal theories for challenging arrests by Immigration and Customs Enforcement under state constitutions, but they lack enough outside partnerships.

“There are cases that aren’t being brought at a time when civil rights abuses are maybe at the highest they’ve been in modern times,” Bonds said.

Big Law was often in the vanguard of fighting Trump’s first administration. After he signed the 2017 travel ban affecting several predominantly Muslim countries, partners from Kirkland & Ellis and Davis Polk rushed alongside hundreds of other lawyers to international airports to help travelers stuck in limbo. Kirkland teamed up with the LGBTQ+ legal advocacy organization Lambda Legal to challenge Trump’s transgender military ban.

Now, Davis Polk is among the many firms that are avoiding pro bono immigration cases, The New York Times reported. Kirkland, by some measures the top moneymaker in Big Law, entered a deal with Trump to provide $125 million in pro bono work, and the firm is notably absent from Lambda’s nearly identical challenge to Trump’s reinstated ban on transgender military service members. Kirkland and Davis Polk did not respond to requests for comment.

Winston & Strawn’s annual pro bono reports show how its focus — or at least, its language — has changed. The firm’s 2023 impact report highlighted its advocacy on behalf of a transgender competitive marathoner. “I am also pleased to report that Winston dedicated 30% of our pro bono hours to racial justice and equity matters in 2023,” nearly double its share in 2020, wrote Angela Smedley, the pro bono committee chair. The 2024 report, published after Trump’s reelection, contained zero mentions of “equity” and spotlighted attorneys who helped small nonprofits navigate “complex mergers and business challenges.”

Eisen and Zaid, the lawyers representing the FBI agents, themselves became the target of a presidential memorandum in March that revoked their access to classified material. Both have aggravated Trump for years. Zaid represented a whistleblower who helped bring about Trump’s first impeachment.

Zaid sued to restore his security clearance in May, in a case that is ongoing. His lawyer, Abbe Lowell, is a high-profile defense attorney who left Winston this spring in order to form his own firm. Lowell said his goal is to represent those “unlawfully and inappropriately targeted.” New York Attorney General Letitia James, who won a fraud judgment against Trump and is now a target of his DOJ, was one of his first clients.

“The Administration’s attempt at retribution against Mark for doing his job — representing whistleblowers without regard to politics — is as illegal as its similar efforts against law firms that have been enjoined in every case,” Lowell wrote in an email to ProPublica.

Good-government groups and small and mid-sized law firms have stepped into the breach, helping to file hundreds of lawsuits against the Trump administration. And the four firms that sued Trump over his executive orders are devoting thousands of pro bono hours to others challenging the administration. Perkins Coie, for example, has replaced Kirkland as Lambda Legal’s partner in challenging Trump’s transgender military ban.

But until they build up the capacity to fully replace Big Law, Bonds said, some of the administration’s legally dubious actions will go unchallenged.

“There’s a financial resources piece that we’re really missing when we can’t engage a firm,” Bonds said. “Even if there’s a big case and we feel really confident about it, we’ll just have to pass on it.”

by Molly Redden

Are You a Public Housing Resident Behind on Rent? Received an Eviction Notice? Here’s What to Know in Maine.

2 weeks 6 days ago

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

People living in public housing across the nation have special protections meant to prevent low-income tenants from being evicted when they fall behind on rent.

The consequence of an eviction from public housing for people in Maine is especially challenging because there are not enough affordable housing options in the rural state, and those evicted are more likely to face homelessness. Maine public housing authorities file a disproportionately high share of eviction cases compared with all landlords in the state, according to an analysis of court data obtained by the Bangor Daily News and ProPublica.

If you’re one of 1.6 million tenants living in public housing nationally, including 6,000 in Maine, here are some available safeguards. The following is not legal advice.

Rent Relief Options

If you start having trouble paying your rent, there are options available to you before you face eviction. You can ask for help in the following ways:

Lowering your rent. In public housing, your rent is typically based on your income. So if your paycheck decreases, you can write to the housing authority to request what’s known as an interim recertification to lower your rent.

Pausing rental payments. If you currently pay the minimum rent allowed at your housing authority and fall behind, you can request what’s called a hardship exemption to pause your rental payments. You may qualify if:

  • You lost government assistance such as food stamps or Medicaid, or are waiting to see if you can get it.
  • You lost your job.
  • A family member died and it affects your household income.

You can also ask if your housing authority sets other qualifications for a hardship exemption.

30-Day Notice

The eviction process starts as soon as you get a 30-day notice letter from your housing authority. It might be called a “termination” or “eviction” notice. The letter should tell you what you owe. If you fail to begin payments within 30 days, the housing authority can bring an eviction case against you in court. The notice does not mean you have to move out immediately.

  • Public housing authorities have to give you a 30-day notice, which is a new federal requirement as of January 2025.
  • The notice must include instructions on how you can update your income with the housing authority and/or ask for a hardship exemption.
  • It must provide an itemized list of how much back rent you owe, broken down by month. The list may also include any penalties for lease violations or other fees you owe for maintenance, utilities or other services.
  • It also has to say how you can switch from flat rent to income-based rent. (Flat rent is based on what the federal government considers a fair rent for your area, and income-based rent is based on how much you earn.)
  • The notice must share information about the housing authority’s grievance process, which allows you to formally dispute the eviction before it reaches court.
The Grievance Procedure

(Cat Willett for ProPublica)

After receiving the 30-day notice, you can try to avoid eviction by requesting an informal meeting with your public housing authority, which is the first step in the grievance process. It’s wise to make this request in writing by the deadline in your eviction notice. In this meeting, you will have the chance to talk over your case and see what options might be available to avoid eviction, such as agreeing to a repayment plan (more on those below).

If that doesn’t work, you can request a formal grievance hearing to try to prevent your eviction from going to court. It’s better to do this in writing, too.

Ahead of the hearing, you can request:

  • Documents in your tenant file.
  • The housing authority’s Admissions and Continued Occupancy Policy, which explains in detail the housing authority’s rules, including how the grievance hearing should unfold.

At the hearing you have the right to:

  • Have a lawyer present.
  • Present your own evidence and question evidence offered by the housing authority.
  • Call witnesses to support your case and question any witnesses called by the housing authority.

The hearing is decided by an arbiter or panel. If you win the grievance, the housing authority cannot file the eviction case against you in court. If you lose, the case heads to eviction court.

Repayment Agreement

The federal government encourages housing authorities to enter into repayment agreements with tenants who are behind on rent in order to prevent evictions from public housing. Such an agreement, which housing authorities are not required to offer, is a legally binding contract that outlines how long you have to repay your debt. You can ask your housing authority if this is an option.

Despite federal guidance to offer repayment agreements outside of court, public housing authorities sometimes will take you to court before offering one. If you decline the agreement, you could be evicted following the court hearing.

What to know about in-court agreements:

  • Signing a repayment agreement in court can put an eviction on your permanent record, even if you meet all the agreement’s requirements. This important fact might not even be mentioned in the agreement, so it’s worth asking.
  • Housing authorities can ask you to agree to be evicted immediately if you fail to abide by the terms of the agreement, such as making payments on time.
  • A repayment agreement reached in court can require you to follow all housing authority rules — such as those prohibiting smoking, requiring you to take down holiday decorations or shovel your driveway — or face an immediate eviction.

Pay cap. The federal government encourages — but does not require — housing authorities to create repayment plans that do not make you pay more than 40% of your monthly income (taking into account your regular monthly rent and additional payment to cover back rent).

Timeframes differ. Every housing authority has its own rules about how long a repayment agreement can last.

Eviction Court

(Cat Willett for ProPublica)

If you lose the grievance process, are not offered a repayment agreement or fail to uphold your end of a repayment agreement reached outside of court, the housing authority will likely file an eviction case in court. Research your local eviction court process because eviction rules can differ by state or municipality.

In Maine, here’s what to expect at the courthouse:

  • Like most states, Maine does not provide you with an attorney in eviction court. But you still have the option to hire your own lawyer. There are several organizations in Maine that provide free or reduced-cost legal services and lawyers to people with low incomes.
    • Pine Tree Legal Assistance
    • Disability Rights Maine
    • Legal Services for Maine Elders
    • Volunteer Lawyers Project
  • You do not have to respond to the public housing authority’s eviction complaint ahead of the hearing, but you do need to show up in court. If you don’t appear at the hearing, the judge will automatically rule against you. This means you will be evicted.
  • Once you’re in court, there will not be a jury. Eviction court is typically crowded, and the process moves quickly.
    • The judge will call your case and typically will ask if you, the tenant, want to try to reach an agreement with the housing authority’s attorney.
    • If you don’t reach an agreement, the judge will review the evidence presented by the housing authority and any defense you may have shortly before making a ruling.
    • Maine courts also let you resolve eviction cases through mediation on the same day as your hearing. This informal process happens at the courthouse. It gives you an opportunity to speak with the housing authority and is directed by an independent mediator. Mediators have no power to decide a case; their job is just to help you and the housing authority find a compromise.

This guide was compiled using resources from the National Housing Law Project, Pine Tree Legal Assistance and the Department of Housing and Urban Development.

We are still reporting. Have you been evicted in Maine? To share your story, reach Bangor Daily News reporter Sawyer Loftus at sloftus@bangordailynews.com.

This story was supported in part by a grant from the Fund for Investigative Journalism.

by Sawyer Loftus, Bangor Daily News

The Trump Administration Is Promoting Its Anti-Trans Agenda Globally at the United Nations

3 weeks ago

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

It was meant to be a routine discussion on pollution. One by one, delegates at the United Nations expressed support for a new panel of scientists who would advise countries on how to address chemicals and toxic waste.

But the U.S. delegate took the meeting in a new direction. She spent her allotted three minutes reminding the world that the United States now had a “national position” on a single word in the documents establishing the panel: gender.

“Use of the term ‘gender’ replaces the biological category of sex with an ever-shifting concept of self-assessed gender identity and is demeaning and unfair, especially to women and girls,” the delegate told the U.N. in June.

The Trump administration is pushing its anti-trans agenda on a global stage, repeatedly objecting to the word “gender” in international resolutions and documents. During at least six speeches before the U.N., U.S. delegates have denounced so-called “gender ideology” or reinforced the administration’s support for language that “recognizes women are biologically female and men are biologically male.”

The delegates included federal civil service employees and the associate director of Project 2025, the conservative blueprint for Trump’s policies, who now works for the State Department. They delivered these statements during U.N. forums on topics as varied as women’s rights, science and technology, global health, toxic pollution and chemical waste. Even a resolution meant to reaffirm cooperation between the U.N. and the Association of Southeast Asian Nations became an opportunity to bring up the issue.

Insisting that everyone’s gender is determined biologically at birth leaves no room for the existence of transgender, nonbinary and intersex people, who face discrimination and violence around the world. Intersex people have variations in chromosomes, hormone levels or anatomy that differ from what’s considered typical for male and female bodies. A federal report published in January, just before President Donald Trump took office, estimated there are more than 5 million intersex Americans.

On at least two occasions, U.S. delegates urged the U.N. to adopt its language on men and women, though it’s unclear if the U.S.’ position has led to any policy changes at the U.N. But the effects of the country’s objections are more than symbolic, said Kristopher Velasco, a sociology professor at Princeton University who studies how international institutions and nongovernmental organizations have worked to expand or curtail LGBTQ+ rights.

U.N. documents can influence countries’ policies over time and set an international standard for human rights, which advocates can cite as they campaign for less discriminatory policies, Velasco said. The phrase “gender ideology” has emerged as a “catchall term” for far-right anxieties about declining fertility rates and a decrease in “traditional” heterosexual families, he said.

At the U.N., the administration has promoted other aspects of its domestic agenda. For example, U.S. delegates have demanded the removal of references to tackling climate change and voted against an International Day of Hope because the text contained references to diversity, equity and inclusion. (The two-page document encouraged a “more inclusive, equitable and balanced approach to economic growth” and welcomed “respect for diversity.”)

But the reflexive resistance to the word “gender” is particularly noteworthy.

Advocates for LGBTQ+ rights said the U.S.’ repeated condemnation of “gender ideology” signals support for more repressive regimes.

The U.S. is sending the world “a clear message: that the identities and rights of trans, nonbinary, and intersex people are negotiable,” Ash Lazarus Orr, press relations manager at the nonprofit Advocates for Trans Equality, said in a statement.

Laurel Sprague, research director at the Williams Institute, a policy center focused on sexual orientations and gender identities at the University of California, Los Angeles, said she’s concerned that other countries will take similar positions on transgender rights to gain favor with the U.S. Last month Mike Waltz, Trump’s nominee for ambassador to the U.N., told a Senate committee that he wants to use a country’s record of voting with or against the U.S. at the U.N. as a metric for deciding foreign aid.

In response to detailed questions from ProPublica, White House Deputy Press Secretary Anna Kelly said in a statement: “President Trump was overwhelmingly elected to restore common sense to government, which means focusing foreign policy on securing peace deals and putting America First — not enforcing woke gender ideology.”

A clash between Trump’s administration and certain U.N. institutions over transgender rights was almost inevitable.

Trump’s hostility to transgender rights was a key part of his election campaign. On his first day in office, he issued an executive order called “Defending women from gender ideology extremism and restoring biological truth to the federal government.” The order claimed there were only two “immutable” sexes. Eight days later, Trump signed an executive order restricting gender-affirming surgery for anyone under 19. Federal agencies have since forced trans service members out of the military and sued California for its refusal to ban trans athletes from girls’ sports teams.

In June, the U.N. High Commissioner for Human Rights criticized American government officials for their statements “vilifying transgender and non-binary people.” The human rights office urges U.N. member states to provide gender-affirming care and says the organization has “affirmed the right of trans persons to legal recognition of their gender identity and a change of gender in official documents, including birth certificates.” The office also supports the rights of intersex people.

“Intersex people in the U.S. are extremely worried” that they will become bigger targets, said Sylvan Fraser Anthony, legal and policy director at the intersex advocacy group InterACT.

“In all regions of the world, we are witnessing a pushback against women’s human rights and gender equality,” Laura Gelbert Godinho Delgado, a spokesperson for the U.N.’s human rights office, said in an email. “This has fueled misogyny, anti-LGBTI rhetoric, and hate speech.”

The Trump administration’s insistence on litigating “gender” complicates the already ponderous procedures of the U.N. Many decisions are made by consensus, which could require representatives from more than 100 countries to agree on every word. Phrases and single words still under debate are marked with brackets. Some draft documents end up with hundreds of brackets, awaiting resolution at a subsequent date.

At the June meeting on chemical pollution, delegates decided to form a scientific panel but couldn’t agree on crucial details about whether the panel’s purpose included “the protection of human health and the environment.” A description of the panel included brackets on whether it would work in a way that integrates “gender equality and equity” or “equality between men and women.”

The U.S. delegate, Liz Nichols, reminded the U.N. at one point that it “is the policy of the United States to use clear and accurate language that recognizes women are biologically female and men are biologically male. It is important to acknowledge the biological reality of sex to support the needs and perspectives of women and girls.”

Career staffers like Nichols are hired for subject-matter expertise and work to execute the agenda of whichever administration is in charge, regardless of personal beliefs. Nichols has a doctorate in ecology from Columbia University and has worked for the State Department since 2018. When asked for comment, she referred ProPublica to the State Department.

A State Department spokesperson said in a statement, “As President Trump’s Executive Orders and our public remarks have repeatedly stated, this administration will continue to defend women’s rights and protect freedom of conscience by using clear and accurate language and policies that recognize women are biologically female, and men are biologically male.”

Gender is a crucial factor in chemical safety, said Rachel Radvany, environmental health campaigner at the Center for International Environmental Law who attended the meeting. Pregnant people are uniquely vulnerable to chemical exposure and women are disproportionately exposed to toxic compounds, including through beauty and menstrual products.

Radvany said the statement read by Nichols contributed to the uncertainty on how the panel would consider gender in its work. The brackets around gender-related issues and other topics remained in the draft decision and will have to be resolved at a future gathering that may not happen until next summer.

The U.S. has also staked out similar positions at U.N. meetings focused on gender. At a session of the Commission on the Status of Women in March, Jonathan Shrier, a longtime State Department employee who now works for the U.S. Mission to the United Nations, said the U.S. disapproved of a declaration supporting “the empowerment of all women and girls” that mentioned the word “gender.” The phrase “all women and girls” in U.N. documents has been used as a way to be inclusive of trans women and girls.

Shrier read a statement saying that several factors in the text made it impossible for the U.S. to back the resolution, which the commission had recently adopted. That included “lapses in using clear and accurate language that recognizes women are biologically female and men are biologically male.”

During the summit, Shrier repeated those talking points at an event co-sponsored by the U.S. government and the Center for Family and Human Rights, or C-Fam. The group’s mission statement says its goal is the “preservation of international law by discrediting socially radical policies at the United Nations and other international institutions.”

Shrier directed questions to the U.S. Mission to the United Nations, which did not respond. Responding to questions from ProPublica, C-Fam’s president, Austin Ruse, said in a statement that the U.S. position on gender is in line with the definitions found in an important U.N. document on the empowerment of women from 1995.

Some countries have pushed back against the U.S.’ stance, often in ways that appear subtle to the casual observer. The U.N. social and environmental forums where these speeches have been delivered tend to operate with a culture of civility and little direct confrontation, said Alessandra Nilo, external relations director for the Americas and the Caribbean at the International Planned Parenthood Federation. Nilo has participated in U.N. forums on HIV/AIDS and women’s health since 2000.

When other delegates speak out in support of diversity and women’s rights, it’s a sign of their disapproval and a way to isolate the U.S., Nilo said. During the women’s rights summit, the delegate from Brazil celebrated “the expansion of gender and diversity language” in the declaration.

Nilo said many countries are scared to speak out for fear of losing trade deals or potential foreign aid from the U.S.

Advocating an “America First” platform, Trump has upended U.S. commitments to multinational organizations and alliances. He signed orders withdrawing the U.S. from the World Health Organization and various U.N. bodies, such as the Human Rights Council and the cultural group UNESCO.

It’s rare for the U.N. to directly affect legislation in the U.S. But the Trump administration repeatedly cites concerns that U.N. documents could supersede American policy.

In April, the U.S. criticized a draft resolution on global health debated at a meeting of the U.N. Commission on Population and Development. Spencer Chretien, the U.S. delegate, opposed references to the U.N.’s Sustainable Development Goals, which provide a blueprint for how countries can prosper economically while improving gender equality and protecting the environment. Chretien called the program a form of “soft global governance” that conflicts with national sovereignty. Chretien also touted the administration’s “unequivocal rejection of gender ideology extremism” and renewed membership in the Geneva Consensus Declaration, an antiabortion document signed by more than 30 countries, including Russia, Hungary, Saudi Arabia and South Sudan. The first Trump administration co-sponsored the initiative in 2020 before the Biden administration withdrew from it.

Chretien helped write Project 2025 when he worked at The Heritage Foundation. He is now a senior bureau official in the State Department’s Bureau of Population, Refugees and Migration. Chretien couldn’t be reached for comment.

The U.N. proposal on global health faced additional opposition from Burundi, Djibouti and Nigeria, where abortion is generally illegal. Delegates from those countries were upset about references to “sexual and reproductive health services,” which could include abortion access. The commission chair withdrew the resolution, seeing no way to reach consensus.

During a July forum about a document on sustainable development, the U.S. delegate, Shrier, asked for a vote on several paragraphs about gender, climate change and various forms of discrimination. In his objections, he cited two paragraphs that he argued advanced “this radical abortion agenda through the terms ‘sexual and reproductive health’ and ‘reproductive rights.’”

The final vote on whether to retain those paragraphs was 141 to 2, with only the U.S. and Ethiopia voting no. (Several countries abstained.)

When the results lit up the screen, the chamber broke into thunderous applause.

Doris Burke contributed research.

by Lisa Song

A Maine Woman Paid Her Back Rent. Her Record Still Says She Was Evicted.

3 weeks ago

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

When Jasmin Belanger agreed to a plan to pay $750 in back rent, she had no idea how the decision would haunt her.

It wasn’t until 10 months later, while apartment hunting to distance herself from an ex-boyfriend she said had abused her, that she discovered an eviction on her record. She hadn’t ever been ordered to move out, having paid her back rent on schedule. But it turned out that the 2023 deal she made in court with her landlord to help her avoid eviction created a paper record that made it look like she had been evicted. That black mark kept her from finding a new place to live.

Belanger’s landlord was the Bangor public housing authority, which operates apartments for low-income residents. The U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development strongly encourages public housing authorities to offer so-called repayment agreements to tenants who have fallen behind on rent in order to help them stay in their homes. It recommends that authorities reach these deals before cases reach eviction court.

But housing authorities have flexibility as to how to design and enforce such agreements. And the way these second-chance opportunities are executed in some parts of Maine — verbally in eviction courts with little judicial oversight — has come back to harm even tenants who meet every term of their deals.

That’s because judges here don’t pause eviction cases even when tenants and housing authorities reach agreements. In fact, those judges often grant landlords possession of properties at the time that repayment deals are made — expediting the process of kicking out tenants who violate the agreements.

Some states have taken steps to prevent this, requiring landlords to return to court to evict tenants who don’t fulfill the terms of their repayment plans. Housing authorities also could choose to pause or close eviction cases if repayment agreements are made in court, but they rarely do so in Maine, said Erica Veazey, an attorney with Pine Tree Legal Assistance, a legal aid group based in Portland that represents low-income tenants throughout the state.

Most housing authorities in Maine, including Bangor’s, told the Bangor Daily News and ProPublica that they follow HUD’s guidance and try to reach agreements with tenants outside of courts. But court records show that’s not always true in Bangor, the state’s second-largest housing authority. There, 54 tenants had repayment agreements made in court, according to the newsrooms’ examination of eviction filings between 2019 and 2024. All 54 tenants ended up with eviction judgments in court records, including those who may have repaid their debts. (If a repayment agreement was made outside of court, it would not appear in any official record.)

Maine’s court system is one of the last in the country to rely on paper records, making a holistic accounting of such ghost evictions difficult. But the Bangor cases show for the first time how these repayment agreements can backfire for tenants against the intent of the HUD guidance.

Presented with these findings, Mike Myatt, executive director of Bangor’s housing authority, said he did not know public housing residents would automatically end up with evictions on their records if they entered into repayment agreements in court.

“I don’t quite understand or know how those processes may be changed,” Myatt said, “but we would certainly lead an effort or be part of an effort that would change those rules.”

Mike Myatt, executive director of Bangor’s housing authority. He said he did not know that public housing residents would automatically end up with evictions on their records if they entered into repayment agreements in court. (Linda Coan O’Kresik/BDN)

HUD, during President Donald Trump’s first term, began urging housing authorities to reach repayment agreements before taking tenants to eviction court in July 2020 amid the coronavirus pandemic. In January, just before President Joe Biden left office, the agency reemphasized that guidance as part of new safeguards for public housing tenants; that doesn’t include a recommendation about whether evictions should be included on tenants’ records as part of such deals.

“HUD’s intent seems pretty clear: Eviction filing should be a last resort for housing authorities and not essentially a way to strong-arm tenants into agreeing to whatever terms you want to put them under,” said Hannah Adams, a senior attorney at the National Housing Law Project, a nonprofit legal advocacy center for low-income tenants and homeowners. She practices in Louisiana, where judges regularly sign off on repayment agreements without entering an eviction judgment.

Of the more than three dozen tenants contacted by the Bangor Daily News and ProPublica, only Belanger agreed to publicly share her experience about the consequences of having an eviction on her record.

An eviction, even one that never actually happened, can haunt a person’s financial record for years, visible to lenders and prospective landlords and hurting opportunities to obtain credit or rent a home, Adams said.

Asked to comment on a range of questions, including the effect of housing authorities deviating from federal guidance, HUD spokesperson Kasey Lovett issued a statement saying the Trump administration is reviewing all rules finalized during the last administration.

“Many artificially raised the cost of housing and administration of HUD programs,” Lovett said. “HUD is looking into this specific rule and considering necessary options to revise or remove this burden.”

The agency did not respond to follow-up questions about whether or how it would revise the guidance about repayment agreements.

Perils of Court-Based Deals

Belanger said she fell behind on her rent in 2023 because she was paying to stay at a hotel to live away from her ex. She had also lost income because she was no longer showing up regularly to her cosmetology job due to the stress.

An eviction notice delivered to her door in May 2023 prompted her to meet with a financial counselor at the Bangor housing authority. The counselor advised her to seek a repayment plan in order to remain in her apartment and avoid eviction court, Belanger said. But the housing authority initially refused, telling her that she could only get a repayment plan in court, according to a text message from a housing authority representative to Belanger. The text message appears to contradict Myatt’s characterization of his agency’s standard practice.

Myatt would not explain why Belanger was not allowed to enter into an agreement before court, saying he could not speak about individual eviction cases even with Belanger’s permission.

“Every eviction case is unique and has different circumstances,” he said. “We go above and beyond to help people stay in their housing.”

When her court date arrived two months later in July, Belanger said the process moved quickly. The judge called her name, and she was ushered to a conference room off the courthouse hallway where the housing authority’s attorney, Joseph Bethony, verbally offered her a deal: She could remain in her apartment if she paid her back rent. She said he never mentioned anything about an eviction going on her record. Bethony declined to comment, referring the Bangor Daily News and ProPublica to Myatt. There is no guidance on what housing authority attorneys are supposed to tell tenants when making repayment agreements, Myatt said.

“Our goal is to keep families housed and collect the very important rent we need to pay our expenses,” Myatt said. “Our counsel works with everyone to accomplish that goal.”

Belanger, who did not have an attorney, said she agreed to the repayment plan without seeing it in writing.

Maine judges typically do not review repayment agreements made in eviction court between housing authorities and tenants. (Linda Coan O’Kresik/BDN)

She returned to the courtroom, where a judge asked if she had reached an agreement with the housing authority. She responded yes and the hearing ended, Belanger said. She believed the deal had been simple: Pay what she owed, make the payments on time and the housing authority would let her stay.

The repayment agreements are drawn up by attorneys for the housing authority and are not typically reviewed by judges, according to Barbara Cardone, a spokesperson for the Maine Judicial Branch. Cardone said the court’s authority in eviction cases is limited to determining whether the landlord can take possession of the property.

The housing authority said it does not give tenants the agreements to sign in court. After the hearing, the agency sends a letter to the tenant outlining the repayment agreement and terms of the court ruling. Myatt said he does not review the agreements.

The copy of the agreement that Belanger eventually received was dated seven days after the court hearing and was signed by Bethony but not Belanger, according to the document reviewed by the Bangor Daily News and ProPublica. The one-page document said Belanger had agreed that the judge ruled in favor of the housing authority, which would have the power to immediately evict her if she does not pay her rent — and back rent — on time over the next year.

She would not understand the implications until March 2024, while trying to move away from her ex, when a prospective landlord informed her she would not get the apartment because an eviction judgment had been entered against her in court. Belanger even had a reference letter from the housing authority saying that she had fulfilled her repayment agreement and her previous struggles paying rent “were due to the monies she has had to spend staying away from her apartment to be safe,” according to an email reviewed by the Bangor Daily News and ProPublica.

“I had paid off all of my debt,” Belanger said in an interview. “I would have fought this if I had known this was a consequence.”

Myatt, head of the Bangor housing authority, said he trains his staff to use court-based agreements as a last resort. He said tenants should not be punished with eviction records if they’ve fulfilled their agreements.

“If the obligations are met,” he said, “the eviction should be lifted.” There is currently no way to expunge an eviction record in Maine.

A housing complex managed by the Bangor public housing authority. It is the state’s second-largest housing authority. (Linda Coan O’Kresik/BDN)

Unlike in Maine, other places across the country have set up more guardrails around repayment agreements and evictions. Massachusetts requires all repayment agreements made in court to be in writing and approved by judicial officials. In addition, landlords can’t automatically evict tenants who don’t abide by their agreements; they must return to court to prove tenants did not uphold their side of the deals before obtaining enforceable eviction orders.

In SeaTac, a Seattle suburb, local ordinances require eviction proceedings to stop in court if a tenant and landlord agree to a repayment agreement, so tenants do not wind up with evictions on their records. In Portland, Oregon, the public housing authority allows residents to sign repayment agreements at any point before eviction hearings.

Nicole Summers, an associate professor at Georgetown Law who has extensively studied eviction settlements, refers to repayment agreements as “civil probation.” That’s because these agreements often include rules and conditions governing tenants’ behavior well beyond paying off back rent.

In Maine, Veazey said that under some agreements, violating public housing rules by failing to mow your lawn or smoking too close to the building can lead to a tenant’s forced removal without having to return to court for an eviction order.

In Presque Isle, the housing authority gave a public housing resident 48 hours to pack up and leave after she missed a rent payment. The woman, featured in a story by the Bangor Daily News and ProPublica in December, was homeless for three years after violating the repayment plan she had made in court. When there is no repayment agreement in place, landlords normally must provide tenants 30 days’ notice for most lease violations before filing eviction cases in court.

Belanger’s agreement in Bangor featured a similar trigger for eviction. She wasn’t just required to pay what she owed, she also had to make future rent payments on time for 12 months.

In the two years since Belanger agreed to the repayment deal in court, she said she has felt trapped.

Despite a positive reference from the Bangor housing authority’s director of property management, landlord after landlord rejected her rental application because of the eviction. It took the single mother of a toddler nine months to get into another apartment far away from her ex, who was out on bail after being arrested for allegedly beating and threatening to kill her. (He was later found not guilty after a trial.)

Belanger said she’s afraid to move again because the paper eviction hasn’t gone away.

“I’m probably still going to have this hassle coming along with me wherever I go.”

This story was supported in part by a grant from the Fund for Investigative Journalism.

Mariam Elba of ProPublica and Christina Wallace contributed research.

by Sawyer Loftus, Bangor Daily News

“You Feel Like You’re Being Cheated”: Oil Companies Unfairly Take Millions, North Dakota Mineral Owners Say

3 weeks 1 day ago

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

For more than half a century, Diana Skarphol’s family received a check every month from the company that drilled the first successful oil well in North Dakota on their land in 1951.

The checks, from the company that became Hess Corp., were straightforward. Her family, which owns the oil and gas underground, received a percentage of the revenue generated from the company’s sale of the minerals, called a royalty.

But in April 2015, when she opened that month’s check and looked at the accompanying statement detailing her share, she noticed for the first time that a significant portion of the payment had been deducted. About 35% of what she thought she was owed was gone, and she didn’t know why.

She was so taken aback that she called her husband, Bob Skarphol, a state lawmaker on the verge of retirement, as he drove from the capitol in Bismarck to their home in Tioga, a small community in the oil-rich Bakken in the western part of the state.

“Why are there minuses?” Diana Skarphol recalls asking. “Rather than being added in, things were being subtracted. I was puzzled and confused.”

The couple remembers that call because it was the start of a frustrating, decade-long search for answers from the company and of a string of unanswered pleas for help from the state, which has not taken action to help royalty recipients even as other states have. Over the past decade, Hess has withheld about 31%, or $137,635, of the Skarphols’ royalty income to cover the company’s costs to move oil and gas from the well site to market, records show.

Oil and gas companies owed the state’s private mineral owners, like the Skarphols, an estimated $4.6 billion in 2023 before deductions, according to North Dakota State University research. But those deductions — which can vary greatly — are deeply contentious in the state: The companies claim certain costs should be shared with royalty owners, while owners say that in most circumstances, the deductions shouldn’t be permitted at all. The state itself doesn’t regulate what can be deducted and there is no official accounting of how much of that money is withheld.

The North Dakota Monitor and ProPublica spoke with 18 mineral owners, interviewed experts and lawmakers, and reviewed court records and royalty statements to understand the extent of deductions. A dozen owners provided records of companies withholding 20% or more of their oil and gas royalties. Some monthly statements showed deductions as high as 50%. Similarly, at least one energy company and one independent researcher have found the deductions to be around 20% in recent years.

The industry’s chief lobbyist said percentages that high are atypical. Ron Ness, president of the North Dakota Petroleum Council, said it would be “impossible” to calculate an average deduction but suggested it couldn’t be more than 7% to 10% based on the cost of transporting oil out of state. If deductions were in that range, North Dakota royalty owners collectively would have lost between $322 million and $460 million in 2023.

The Skarphols’ leases with Hess were signed during a time when oil and gas was often sold at or near well sites. The leases didn’t say anything about deductions.

“It’s a matter of fairness,” Diana Skarphol said. “We didn’t get any say in it. They just up and changed it. You feel like you’re being cheated. It’s not right.”

Bob and Diana Skarphol have kept records of payments for their mineral rights going back decades.

While the language in the leases has not changed, the industry has. Most companies now choose to move the commodities away from the well site before selling them, incurring additional transportation and processing costs. They pass on a share of those costs to the royalty owners, which the North Dakota Supreme Court has ruled is legal.

By contrast, North Dakota officials have taken steps to safeguard state-owned royalties. Since 1979, all state leases with oil and gas companies prohibit deductions. When state trustees noticed deductions were being taken anyway, they fought back and have spent years negotiating settlements to recoup those missing royalties.

But the majority of the oil and gas in North Dakota is privately owned by about 300,000 individuals, according to the industry. And North Dakota policymakers have not taken action that would protect private minerals, an investigation by the North Dakota Monitor and ProPublica has found.

“There’s a double standard,” said Rep. Keith Kempenich, a Republican from Bowman, a community in the oil field. He has co-sponsored several pieces of unsuccessful legislation aimed at helping private owners.

Lawmakers have rejected efforts to rein in deductions and to make it easier for royalty owners to understand what costs are being deducted and why. And oil and gas regulators have claimed they have no jurisdiction to help.

“It’s ridiculous,” said Bob Skarphol, who has led the advocacy efforts by private mineral owners. “The industry has an incredible amount of influence in North Dakota.”

The state, which owns about 6% of the minerals in North Dakota, has advantages that private mineral owners don’t have. It has the resources to audit companies that pay royalties and to litigate disputes. State law also requires that companies provide electronic copies of royalty and production data to regulators, but private royalty owners are guaranteed access only if they travel to the company’s office, which could be out of state.

And unlike the state, private mineral owners rarely have the leverage to negotiate a lease that prohibits deductions, and leases don’t expire unless oil production lapses.

In responses to questions from the North Dakota Monitor and ProPublica, officials from three companies that operate in North Dakota — Hess Corp., Slawson Exploration Co. and Zavanna Energy — said they follow the language in the leases. In fact, most leases, like the Skarphols’, don’t explicitly mention deductions. The companies also said that while there are additional expenses to selling the oil and gas farther away from the well site, doing so also leads to a better price for both the companies and the owners.

The companies, as well as the organization that advocates for the industry, blamed some of the fees charged to private owners on costly state regulations enacted a decade ago.

“Basically it got really, really expensive and really, really challenging. And I think it put the economics of gas in a whole different position,” said Ness of the North Dakota Petroleum Council, which represents more than 550 oil and gas companies in the state. “Pure and simple, the world changed.”

“Saddled With Expenses”

Diana Skarphol was less than a year old when her mother’s family, the Iversons, first leased the rights to any oil found under their land to Amerada Petroleum, which later merged with Hess, in 1949. The Iverson family had immigrated from Norway at the turn of the century. They’d farmed the land for decades, survived the dust bowl of the hard ’30s and were still feeling the effects of the Great Depression.

The discovery of oil in 1951, setting off the state’s first oil boom, changed everything. Oil executives and workers flooded the small community. Diana Skarphol said her relatives welcomed them and invited them over for coffee.

The Clarence Iverson Well #1 on April 4, 1951, its first night of operation. The well was the first in North Dakota to produce oil. Clarence Iverson was a relative of Diana Skarphol. (William Shemorry, courtesy of State Historical Society of North Dakota. SHSND 10958-0059-00001)

It was a change in fortune for the Iversons and many other families. “They weren’t very rich farmers. They were just getting by. And this supplemented their income,” she said. The leases promised a 12.5% royalty on the oil’s market value the day it left the well site, “free of cost.” That means that the mineral owner is not responsible for costs to drill or operate a well or other production expenses.

That’s why families like the Skarphols say they were perplexed when the deductions began.

The Skarphols keep decades of monthly royalty checks, so they can track when Hess began deducting money. A column titled “other deductions” first appeared in 1998 but remained blank until April 2007, when the company began to deduct less than 2% of their royalty, an amount they said was too small to notice at the time.

North Dakota’s oil and gas industry was on the verge of momentous change. The shale oil boom, triggered by new technologies, had arrived. Crude oil was fetching $100 a barrel by 2008, and the “drill, baby, drill” spirit took hold before the phrase was ever uttered in the White House.

But the oil was leaving the surface intermingled with vast quantities of wet natural gas, which the companies often disposed of by burning it. The sight of small flames, called flares, became ubiquitous in the Bakken.

Flaring looked unsightly, polluted the air and wasted a natural resource that could be sold. State officials enacted regulations in 2014 that required companies to curtail the flaring. The industry, in turn, said it has spent an estimated $25 billion so far to build the necessary infrastructure to collect the gas, process it and export it through pipelines.

Flares burn off natural gas at a production site in Williams County, North Dakota, in June 2025.

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Companies pass on to owners a share of those infrastructure costs, as well as the expenses associated with processing and transporting oil and gas, sometimes to far-flung markets. Whether owners ought to share in these costs is the heart of the debate.

The industry justifies the shared costs by citing a North Dakota Supreme Court ruling that empowered companies to deduct expenses. That 2009 ruling, which addressed a narrow issue related to natural gas, concluded that the value of the gas for royalty purposes should be calculated “at the well,” where it leaves the ground.

That laid the groundwork for postproduction deductions. The ruling meant that when calculating royalties, companies could start with the sale price and then deduct the costs incurred after the minerals were extracted — what has been called the postproduction phase — to determine how the resources would have been valued at the well. But to royalty owners whose leases promise a royalty “free of cost,” the fact that companies incur expenses before selling the oil and gas is not their problem.

“Mineral owners are being saddled with expenses,” said Neil Christensen, the agent for his three sisters who inherited mineral rights in McKenzie County that they lease to Hess. Those expenses, he suggested, should “reduce stockholder dividends, not reduce mineral owner income.”

Private Royalties in North Dakota, Estimated in the Billions Royalties fluctuate based on the price of oil and the amount produced. The figures are prior to deductions. (Source: North Dakota State University research)

There’s a lot of money at stake. North Dakota Sen. Brad Bekkedahl, a Republican who routinely sponsors bills advocating for the interests of both the industry and royalty owners, estimates that companies deduct “at least hundreds of millions of dollars” every year. He says companies should use their revenues to cover the postproduction costs — as they did before the most recent oil boom.

An executive with XTO Energy told lawmakers in 2021 that the oil and gas company deducts on average $30 million annually, or about 21% of the royalties owed to private leaseholders in North Dakota. Mary Ellen Denomy, a forensic accountant who has audited royalty statements across the country and for at least 30 North Dakotans in the last decade, said that about 22% of royalties are deducted on average — which would have amounted to $1 billion in 2023. These figures are in line with royalty statements that mineral owners shared with the North Dakota Monitor and ProPublica.

It’s difficult to verify what specific costs each company deducts because companies don’t detail those, either for royalty owners or for the state, instead providing only broad categories on the statements that accompany their checks.

Hess said it is a “common industry practice” to pass on some infrastructure costs, such as the $1.5 billion the company spent on pipelines, the expansion of a gas processing plant and construction of other facilities in the early 2010s. Hillary Durgin Harmon, a Hess spokesperson, said those investments support economic growth by increasing oil and gas production and transporting it to more markets, benefiting royalty owners and the state overall.

Zavanna Energy also attributed the increased deductions to infrastructure expenses, including the cost of getting landowners’ permission to install pipelines in the state, according to the company’s general counsel.

“I’ve seen the costs associated with obtaining pipeline easements in some parts of North Dakota increase as much as 3000% over the last 10 years,” Zavanna’s Gillian Wilkin said. “Those increased costs can substantially influence the price that must be paid to get oil and gas to downstream markets.”

Todd Slawson, chairman of the North Dakota Petroleum Council, defended owners sharing the costs to move and enhance oil and gas after leaving the well site. Such “post-marketability” costs, he said, benefit the owners, too.

“The objective of the operator is also to obtain the best prices for all parties,” said Slawson, who owns Slawson Exploration Co., another energy company. “We are all in this together, so everyone wants the best price.”

He called royalty owners like the Skarphols, who inherited leases, “very lucky and fortunate.” “What a great country we live in where minerals can be privately owned — I do not know of another country where that occurs, but there probably are some,” he said. In most countries, oil and gas are largely owned by the government.

Bob and Diana Skarphol didn’t feel fortunate when Hess began taking unexpected deductions in 2015. Nor did Brian Anderson, who also inherited a lease with Hess that his father signed in 1949. Donald Anderson was then a 21-year-old farmer who worked in a coal mine on his property to support his younger siblings.

The family started getting royalties soon after. But since the company began taking deductions a decade ago, Brian Anderson said his family has lost more than $600,000.

“The fact that they just arbitrarily started taking it just sticks in my craw so bad,” said Anderson, who at one time worked for Hess. “You don’t take anything for 60 years, and then all of a sudden you, abracadabra, can do it?”

Brian Anderson inherited an oil and gas lease from his father. He began noticing deductions on his royalty statements a decade ago. Anderson’s property in Tioga in the 1950s in an old photograph hanging in his dining room, first image; his family home still stands on that land. Second image: An oil well on his property in June.

By the fall of 2018, Skarphol had talked to enough other mineral owners to realize that deductions had begun appearing on many of their royalty statements — and they weren’t stopping.

Skarphol called a meeting at City Hall in Williston on a brisk October evening to discuss what they could do about it. Dozens of mineral owners filled every seat and stood shoulder to shoulder in the back of the room.

Janice Arnson, who along with her seven siblings inherited mineral rights from their mother, stood up and declared that deductions were “out of control.” One particular lease, signed by her mother in 2009, began paying royalties a few years later when Hess drilled a well. The deductions were minuscule at first and then skyrocketed to 23% of Arnson’s royalty check in February 2015. “We just want to be paid our fair share,” she said at the meeting.

“I want the Legislature to take this seriously,” said Linda Meyer, a mineral owner in Williams County.

Skarphol, who called the meeting, responded. “Do we want to get angry enough to do something about it?” Skarphol asked the crowd. “I do.”

That night, the mineral owners formed the Williston Basin Royalty Owners Association.

Bob Skarphol shows a group of mineral royalty owners the breakdown of a royalty statement. At that October 2018 meeting, Skarphol and other mineral owners founded the Williston Basin Royalty Owners Association. (Jamie Kelly/Williston Herald) “Such a Hopeless Feeling”

The group started with a request at the beginning of the 2019 legislative session for the state to study the issue and consider potential solutions. Lawmakers approved the request, but the committee that selects which studies should be completed discarded the proposal.

In 2021, royalty owners worked with legislators to draft a bill to directly address their concerns. Among other changes, the legislation would have prohibited deductions unless they were explicitly allowed for in a lease and would have permitted royalty owners to audit a company’s records, at the royalty owners’ expense, to ensure they are being paid correctly.

Curtis Trulson, a retired farmer, shared concerns about the deductions with lawmakers during that session. He receives royalty payments through leases with multiple companies, and he first started noticing his royalty payments were diminishing during the start of the COVID-19 pandemic.

“Nobody ever called and said, ‘Well, we’re going to start taking these costs and here’s why.’ It just started disappearing,” Trulson said. “Almost every operator is doing the same thing now. They didn’t all do it to start with.”

Curtis Trulson on his farmland near Stanley, North Dakota. He has asked lawmakers to help mineral owners.

Trulson emailed details of his situation, and a royalty statement, to seven senators on the committee considering the bill drafted by the royalty owners. Some deductions “go totally unexplained!” he told them. The only legislator who responded was the one Democrat, Merrill Piepkorn.

“I hate to say this because I lean a little more on the Republican side and I’m more conservative,” Trulson said. “Other ones didn’t even bother to respond or say thanks for the information or anything.” He added: “The state of North Dakota doesn’t want to help us out.”

The legislation was turned into a study, which ultimately recommended no changes to state law.

“I had a hard time keeping from screaming,” Anderson said of his frustration during the hearings, which he attended in person.

The mineral owners tried for more modest changes in 2023. That year, they pushed for a bill that would have required companies to provide royalty statements in spreadsheets. While state law requires that companies provide them that way for publicly owned minerals, there is no such requirement for private owners.

That legislation failed, too.

“Every time we make any kind of an attempt it seems like the industry has a whole lot more influence over the Legislature in North Dakota than the people do,” Christensen said.

Arnson, who worked with Skarphol to bring concerns about this issue to legislators’ attention, said she feels betrayed by her representatives.

“It was such a hopeless feeling,” Arnson said. “Have I lost a lot of faith? Yes I have.”

Janice Arnson on land once owned by her family. Arnson and her siblings inherited mineral rights from their mother in Williams County, North Dakota.

Legislators from both parties who were involved in the efforts to amend state law told the North Dakota Monitor and ProPublica that repeated legislative measures have failed because of the industry’s impact on the state economy and subsequent influence in state politics. State and local governments took in about $32 billion in oil and gas taxes between 2008 and 2024, according to a study by the Western Dakota Energy Association. That same study found that more than 50% of all local tax collections are tied to oil and gas.

The industry’s influence “has curtailed any investigation or legislation regarding looking into the validity of the deductions,” Piepkorn said. “Ron Ness is a pretty smooth talker,” he said of the industry’s chief lobbyist. “We just take what he says for gospel.” Ness said his reputation with policymakers as “a trusted and respected voice for the industry” has been “hard earned” over 27 years.

Bekkedahl, chair of the Senate Appropriations Committee that crafts the state budget, said more than half the state’s revenues are tied to oil and gas activity. He called the energy industry’s lobbying efforts on this issue “very aggressive” but said lawmakers need to address concerns about royalty deductions.

“I’ve always maintained that we should, as the Legislature, provide some clarity to this issue so that the courts can make the interpretations with clear statutes in place, which they don’t have now,” Bekkedahl said.

North Dakota Petroleum Council staff have testified to lawmakers that the state should not get involved in what it describes as private contract disputes.

But the Legislature has gotten involved in other contract issues championed by the energy industry, including this year when it approved legislation related to coal leases. The new state law allows the companies to extract critical minerals from coal without having to negotiate amendments to existing leases.

Joseph Schremmer, a University of Oklahoma law professor who specializes in the energy industry, said the Legislature can take action on other issues affecting private contracts as long as there is a “legitimate state interest.”

“The Legislature has the power to do many things that would potentially modify the operation of existing contracts,” he said.

Gov. Kelly Armstrong, a Republican who is both a royalty owner and a former executive in his family’s oil company, declined to comment for this story. He said in an interview last year that royalty owners should rely on the courts, though litigation is expensive and not feasible for most.

“If you think you have a litigation issue, litigate it,” Armstrong said. “You’re trying to use the state of North Dakota as your private lawyer. If you are in a contract dispute, there is a better place to settle that.”

North Dakota Petroleum Council President Ron Ness, left, talks to North Dakota Gov. Kelly Armstrong, center, and North Dakota State University researcher Dean Bangsund during an event to highlight the economic impact of the oil and gas industry. (Kyle Martin for North Dakota Monitor)

Diana Skarphol is doing just that. She is one of 34 plaintiffs from the extended Iverson family who sued Hess in 2021 for $10 billion in damages, arguing that the company breached their contracts by taking deductions.

Northwest Judicial District Judge Robin Schmidt ruled in favor of Hess and dismissed the case last week. North Dakota law, which the Skarphols and other families have been asking the Legislature to change for years, “is not on your side,” she told the plaintiffs in a June hearing.

But where this will end is unclear: The North Dakota Supreme Court has overturned this judge’s rulings on a different case related to deductions. And the Skarphols’ attorney said they will likely appeal. Schmidt also told the plaintiffs they could bring a new lawsuit over a different set of oil wells.

Meanwhile, Bob and Diana Skarphol continue to open the checks each month and calculate their losses. So far this year, Hess has deducted 36%.

by Jacob Orledge, North Dakota Monitor, photography by Sarahbeth Maney, ProPublica

The IRS Says Churches Can Now Endorse Candidates. That Could Give Texas Pastors More Power Than Ever.

3 weeks 1 day ago

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

Texas Rep. Nate Schatzline recently stood before a gathering of conservative activists just outside Fort Worth, recapping legislative wins and previewing what’s next at the Capitol. On this day, however, he was speaking not only as a lawmaker but also as a pastor.

A week earlier, the Internal Revenue Service decided to allow religious leaders to endorse political candidates from the pulpit, effectively upending a provision in decades-old tax law barring such activity. Schatzline, a longtime pastor at Mercy Culture Church in Fort Worth, was excited. The IRS affirmed “what we already knew,” he said at the July 14 meeting: The government can’t stop the church from getting civically engaged.

“There is absolutely no reason that a politician should be more vocal about social issues than your pastor, and so I need pastors to stand up,” Schatzline told the crowd made up of members of True Texas Project, a Tarrant County-based organization that is a key part of a powerful political network pushing lawmakers to adopt its hard-line opposition to immigration and LGBTQ+ rights and to advance conservative education policies.

“We need pastors to be bold.”

For decades, pastors like him have fought for the right to speak on political issues and actively endorse candidates in their capacity as religious leaders. Now, before a judge has weighed in on whether to allow the IRS policy change, some religious leaders are already calling on congregations to demand greater political involvement from their churches.

While the tax agency’s stance applies to churches nationwide, Texas is expected to be where it will matter most, said Ryan Burge, a political and religious expert at Washington University in St. Louis.

More than 200 megachurches call Texas home. In the Lone Star State, pastors seem to have a larger profile in social, political and religious discussions. “Texas will be the epicenter for testing all these ideas out,” he said.

Schatzline said as much in a follow-up interview with Fort Worth Report. A nonprofit that Mercy Culture Church previously created to help elect candidates to political office is working with President Donald Trump’s National Faith Advisory Board to expand that work and to mobilize churches and pastors to get them more civically engaged, the state representative said.

Officials from the White House and the advisory board did not respond to a request for comment.

While Schatzline said pastors can choose not to be vocal about candidates, congregations like his may feel differently. “Especially our conservatives across America, they have an expectation that their pastor is going to speak to the issues of truth,” he said.

For more than 70 years, churches and other religious institutions in the United States were told to steer clear of “any political activity” or risk losing their tax-exempt status. That federal measure, the Johnson Amendment, was added into IRS tax law in 1954 and named after its author, Lyndon B. Johnson, then a Texas congressman.

In August 2024, during the last months of the Biden administration, an association of religious broadcasters and two East Texas churches sued the IRS, arguing that the Johnson Amendment infringed upon their freedom of speech and religion.

Nearly a year later, the IRS, now under Trump, and the plaintiffs filed a proposed joint settlement outlining in the agreement that when a house of worship speaks to its congregation about “electoral politics viewed through the lens of religious faith,” it neither participates nor intervenes in a political campaign and so doesn’t violate the amendment. The court must now consider their proposal.

IRS officials did not respond to a request for comment on what prompted its decision.

The biggest implication of the proposed legal agreement is a push on pastors to be “more political than they want to be,” said Burge, a former Baptist pastor who is now a professor of practice at Washington University’s John C. Danforth Center on Religion and Politics.

“It all comes down to the 5% of people on each side of the political spectrum who are the loudest and are trying to drag you into their fervor,” said Burge, adding that congregants could threaten to leave a church if their pastor doesn’t talk about their political stances.

A previous investigation by ProPublica and The Texas Tribune highlighted 20 examples of churches that were seemingly violating the Johnson Amendment. That was more than what the IRS itself had investigated in the previous decade. Thirteen of those congregations were in the North Texas area, including Mercy Culture, where Schatzline was ordained a pastor in 2024.

The tax agency largely abdicated enforcing the amendment, the newsrooms previously reported.

For example, in the mid-2000s, the IRS investigated a little more than 100 churches, including 80 for endorsing candidates from the pulpit, after citing an increase in allegations of church political activity leading up to the 2004 presidential election. Agency officials didn’t revoke the tax-exempt status of any churches, instead sending warning letters.

Following the filing of the proposed settlement in July, the Fort Worth Report identified at least three churches in Texas whose leaders openly praised the IRS decision, including Mercy Culture and Sand Springs Church, one of those involved in the lawsuit that sparked the IRS change.

The day after the court filing, Mercy Culture Church posted a screenshot on Instagram and Facebook of The New York Times article detailing the news and noting it was “time for the church to get loud!”

“We will not be silent on issues of righteousness, life, liberty, or leadership. We don’t endorse parties — we stand for the Kingdom!” the post read.

In Athens, less than 100 miles south of the Dallas-Fort Worth area, Sand Springs Church senior pastor Erick Graham told congregants during a July 9 Bible study that the IRS ruling is “encouraging.”

He told congregants during the teaching, which was livestreamed on Facebook and reviewed by the newsroom, that the church was not going to comment on the IRS court filing until the judge’s final ruling approving or denying the proposed settlement.

First image: A member of True Texas Project wears an organization T-shirt during a monthly meeting at the Texas Star Golf Course in Euless. Second image: A Mercy Culture Church sign at its flagship Fort Worth campus, one of five locations in Texas. (First image: Mary Abby Goss/Fort Worth Report. Second image: Marissa Greene/Fort Worth Report.) “A Powerful Tool”

Megachurches with the means to livestream services online or by broadcasting “could be a powerful tool for promoting political candidates,” said David Brockman, a nonresident scholar at Rice University’s Baker Institute for Public Policy and an adjunct professor at Texas Christian University and Southern Methodist University.

In North Texas, First Baptist Dallas draws about 16,000 members to attend worship in person or through several streaming methods, according to the church’s website. Nondenominational Mercy Culture Church draws thousands of worshipers to its flagship location in Fort Worth, The Washington Post has reported. Since its inception, the church has formed other campuses in east Fort Worth, Dallas, Waco and Austin.

First Baptist Dallas’ lead pastor, Robert Jeffress, an avid Trump supporter, thanked the president on Facebook for the IRS’ recent interpretation of the Johnson Amendment.

“This would have never happened without the strong leadership of our great President Donald Trump! Honored to get to thank him personally today in the Oval Office,” Jeffress wrote in his July 9 post. “Government has NO BUSINESS regulating what is said in pulpits!”

Religion News Service reported this spring that Jeffress was one of multiple pastors who told Trump during a White House Easter service in April that the IRS had investigated their churches for their political endorsements. Jeffress told The New York Times he believed the conversation was a “tipping point,” in the new IRS interpretation of the Johnson Amendment, something Trump himself promised to do during his 2016 presidential campaign.

He did not respond to requests from the Fort Worth Report for comment. A spokesperson for the church said he was out of town.

Different religious traditions may respond to the policy change in distinct ways, said Matthew Wilson, a religious and politics professor at Southern Methodist University.

The U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops and the United Methodist Church, for example, both announced they would maintain their stances on not endorsing or opposing political candidates. The Freedom From Religion Foundation, a national nonprofit advocating for separation between church and state, announced July 30 it is joining others in condemning efforts to ignore or weaken the Johnson Amendment.

While some religious leaders may be reluctant to engage in politics, white conservative churches, which generally support Republican candidates, and African American churches, which historically have favored Democrats, have “come right up to the line” of the provisions in the Johnson Amendment — “if not sometimes crossing it,” Wilson said.

“Those religious organizations have spoken in more explicitly political terms for a long time, and this [IRS decision] frees them even more to do that,” he said.

Mansfield Mayor Michael Evans, who has been pastor for 30 years at Bethlehem Baptist Church, southeast of Fort Worth, said he doesn’t plan to endorse candidates for the congregation because it could only lead to more division. At his predominantly African American church, congregants come from both ends of the political spectrum, he said.

While the candidates put forth by political parties and their philosophies may change, Evans said, “the word of God remains the same.”

Mercy Culture Church is already well down the path of exerting its political influence. Schatzline launched its nonprofit For Liberty & Justice in 2021 after a church elder unsuccessfully ran to become the mayor of Fort Worth. The organization partners with local churches in grassroots campaigning efforts to “promote Godly candidates for local government,” according to its website.

The nonprofit created an online program called “Campaign University,” designed to train people of faith on how to run for office. The organization’s “liberty rallies” have “influenced the decisions of local school boards and city councils to lead with Christian values in Tarrant County,” according to its website.

For Liberty & Justice has supported 48 candidates since its inception. One was Schatzline.

Cecilia Lenzen of the Fort Worth Report contributed reporting.

Marissa Greene is a Report for America corps member, covering faith for the Fort Worth Report. Contact her at marissa.greene@fortworthreport.org.

by Marissa Greene, Fort Worth Report and Report for America

Microsoft Used China-Based Engineers to Support Product Recently Hacked by China

3 weeks 4 days ago

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Last month, Microsoft announced that Chinese state-sponsored hackers had exploited vulnerabilities in SharePoint, the company’s widely used collaboration software, to access the computer systems of hundreds of companies and government agencies, including the National Nuclear Security Administration and the Department of Homeland Security.

The company did not include in its announcement, however, that support for SharePoint is handled by a China-based engineering team that has been responsible for maintaining the software for years.

ProPublica viewed screenshots of Microsoft’s internal work-tracking system that showed China-based employees recently fixing bugs for SharePoint “OnPrem,” the version of the software involved in last month’s attacks. The term, short for “on premises,” refers to software installed and run on customers’ own computers and servers.

Microsoft said the China-based team “is supervised by a US-based engineer and subject to all security requirements and manager code review. Work is already underway to shift this work to another location.”

It’s unclear if Microsoft’s China-based staff had any role in the SharePoint hack. But experts have said allowing China-based personnel to perform technical support and maintenance on U.S. government systems can pose major security risks. Laws in China grant the country’s officials broad authority to collect data, and experts say it is difficult for any Chinese citizen or company to meaningfully resist a direct request from security forces or law enforcement. The Office of the Director of National Intelligence has deemed China the “most active and persistent cyber threat to U.S. Government, private-sector, and critical infrastructure networks.”

ProPublica revealed in a story published last month that Microsoft has for a decade relied on foreign workers — including those based in China — to maintain the Defense Department’s cloud systems, with oversight coming from U.S.-based personnel known as digital escorts. But those escorts often don’t have the advanced technical expertise to police foreign counterparts with far more advanced skills, leaving highly sensitive information vulnerable, the investigation showed.

ProPublica found that Microsoft developed the escort arrangement to satisfy Defense Department officials who were concerned about the company’s foreign employees, and to meet the department’s requirement that people handling sensitive data be U.S. citizens or permanent residents. Microsoft went on to win federal cloud computing business and has said in earnings reports that it receives “substantial revenue from government contracts.” ProPublica also found that Microsoft uses its China-based engineers to maintain the cloud systems of other federal departments, including parts of Justice, Treasury and Commerce.

In response to the reporting, Microsoft said that it had halted its use of China-based engineers to support Defense Department cloud computing systems, and that it was considering the same change for other government cloud customers. Additionally, Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth launched a review of tech companies’ reliance on foreign-based engineers to support the department. Sens. Tom Cotton, an Arkansas Republican, and Jeanne Shaheen, a New Hampshire Democrat, have written letters to Hegseth, citing ProPublica’s investigation, to demand more information about Microsoft’s China-based support.

Microsoft said its analysis showed that Chinese hackers were exploiting SharePoint weaknesses as early as July 7. The company released a patch on July 8, but hackers were able to bypass it. Microsoft subsequently issued a new patch with “more robust protections.”

The U.S. Cybersecurity and Infrastructure Security Agency said that the vulnerabilities enable hackers “to fully access SharePoint content, including file systems and internal configurations, and execute code over the network.” Hackers have also leveraged their access to spread ransomware, which encrypts victims’ files and demands a payment for their release, CISA said.

A DHS spokesperson said there is no evidence that data was taken from the agency. A spokesperson for the Department of Energy, which includes the National Nuclear Security Administration, said in a statement the agency was “minimally impacted.”

“At this time, we know of no sensitive or classified information that was compromised,” the spokesperson, Ben Dietderich said.

Microsoft has said that, beginning next July, it will no longer support on-premises versions of SharePoint. It has urged customers to switch to the online version of the product, which generates more revenue because it involves an ongoing software subscription as well as usage of Microsoft’s Azure cloud computing platform. The strength of the Azure cloud computing business has propelled Microsoft’s share price in recent years. On Thursday, it became the second company in history to be valued at more than $4 trillion.

Doris Burke contributed research.

by Renee Dudley

Alaska Ignored Warning Signs of a Budget Crisis. Now It Doesn’t Have Funding to Fix Crumbling Schools.

3 weeks 4 days ago

This article was produced for ProPublica’s Local Reporting Network in partnership with KYUK Public Media and NPR’s Station Investigations Team. Sign up for Dispatches to get our stories in your inbox every week.

When Alaska House Speaker Bryce Edgmon toured the public school in Sleetmute last fall, he called the building “the poster child” for what’s wrong with the way the state pays to build and maintain schools. The tiny community 240 miles west of Anchorage had begged Alaska’s education department for nearly two decades for money to repair a leaky roof that over time had left part of the school on the verge of collapse.

Seated at a cafeteria table after the tour, Edgmon, a veteran independent lawmaker, told a Yup’ik elder he planned to “start raising a little bit of Cain” when he returned to the Capitol in Juneau for the 2025 legislative session.

Other lawmakers said similar things after an investigation by KYUK Public Media, ProPublica and NPR earlier this year found that the state has largely ignored hundreds of requests from rural school districts to fix deteriorating buildings, including the Sleetmute school. Because of the funding failures, students and teachers in some of Alaska’s most remote villages face serious health and safety risks, the news organizations found.

Sen. Elvi Gray-Jackson, an Anchorage Democrat, called the investigation’s findings “heartbreaking” and said in an email during the legislative session earlier this year that “the current state of these schools is unacceptable.” Sen. Scott Kawasaki, a Fairbanks Democrat, wrote to say that the “responsibility lies squarely on the legislature” and acknowledged “we do not do enough.” Senate Majority Leader Cathy Giessel, a Republican who represents part of Anchorage, wrote, “We are working to right the ship!”

Yet during a legislative session where money for education was front and center, lawmakers were only able to pass $40 million in school construction and maintenance funding, about 5% of the nearly $800 million that districts say they need to keep their buildings safe and operating.

Alaska House Speaker Bryce Edgmon visits Sleetmute students last fall. (Emily Schwing/KYUK)

In June, Alaska Gov. Mike Dunleavy vetoed more than two-thirds of that, nearly $28 million.

“Basically, we don’t have enough money to pay for all of our obligations,” Dunleavy explained in a video posted on YouTube.

In the video, seated at an empty table in a darkened room and flanked by U.S. and Alaska flags, Dunleavy, a Republican, painted a grim picture of the state’s future. “The price of oil has gone down; therefore our revenue is going down,” he said.

The crisis Dunleavy described isn’t just a short-term problem. State officials have known for decades that relying on oil to fund the budget is risky as prices and production have declined. But year after year, they have failed to agree on a solution to finance school repairs and renovations. Alaska is one of only two states without an income tax or statewide sales tax.

Average annual spending on education facilities declined by nearly 60% after 2014, the year oil prices plummeted, according to a 2021 report by the University of Alaska Anchorage. Overall spending on rural facilities is now less than half of what the National Council on School Facilities recommends.

Sen. Löki Tobin, a Democrat from Anchorage who chairs the Senate Education Committee, said it’s hard to get “momentum” around various ideas to fund education, “let alone just getting folks to realize that we have been by attrition defunding our schools.”

Education Front and Center

Alaska’s Legislature seemed primed this year to address education funding. Several new candidates from both parties campaigned on education and won seats in November’s statewide election.

“We flipped an entire statehouse,” said Tobin, who was elected to the Legislature in 2022, “based on the question of adequate school funding.”

Lawmakers filed a bill to fund education before the session even began. And in the first months of the year, dozens of superintendents, students and school board members traveled to Juneau to testify before lawmakers and urge them to increase funding for curriculum, teacher salaries and other costs.

During one Senate Finance Committee hearing, panel co-chair Lyman Hoffman, who has represented rural Alaskan school districts for 38 years, raised the specter of a civil rights lawsuit similar to those the state has faced in the past over education in primarily Indigenous communities.

The prospect, he said, could be “more costly to the state than if we came forward and tried to do something about the condition of these schools.”

Sleetmute’s roof has been leaking for so long that the wall has started to buckle under the weight of snow and ice, first image, and a bathroom ceiling is covered in mold. (Emily Schwing/KYUK)

In April, Alaska’s House and Senate passed a bipartisan bill that would have offered the largest increase in nearly a decade in what the state spends on each student annually. It did not include capital funds for school construction or maintenance.

Days later, Dunleavy, a former superintendent and school board member, vetoed it. He said it didn’t include enough support for homeschooling and charter schools — policy changes that he’s long pushed for.

Before the legislative session adjourned in May, lawmakers passed a compromise bill that included less spending and eased regulations for charter schools. Dunleavy again vetoed it, but lawmakers overrode the veto. The next month, Dunleavy used his line-item veto power to slash 3% from the education budget, the largest cut to any department in the state.

This year’s total state budget came to $14.7 billion, about $1 billion less than the previous year. Some lawmakers have described it as “bare bones” and “flat funded.”

Among Dunleavy’s cuts was more than $25 million that was supposed to pay for school construction and maintenance. School districts have to apply to the state for those funds each year, and their proposed projects are then ranked. The reduction doesn’t leave enough money this year to pay for even the top three projects among the 84 maintenance proposals school districts submitted. Seventeen major construction projects, including the replacement of five rural schools, received no funding at all.

One of those projects is a new school in Stebbins, a Yup’ik village on the coast of the Norton Sound and the Bering Sea where the building burned down last year. More than 200 K-12 students now attend classes in about a dozen small temporary buildings. Mayor Sharon Snowball said several students left the community after the fire to attend boarding school or live with family in other communities.

First image: The remains of the Tukurngailnguq School in Stebbins, Alaska, last June after a fire. Second image: Workers apply the finishing touches to a temporary yurt in Stebbins in September. (Ben Townsend/KNOM) At a potlatch in Stebbins last fall, Yup'ik residents practiced their traditional dance. (Ben Townsend/KNOM)

Two hundred miles southwest in Mertarvik, a village that recently relocated due to climate change, the school district did not receive the funds it applied for to build a wastewater system for a school that’s set to open in 2026. The district said it couldn’t answer questions about how it will move forward with the project.

Dunleavy has called lawmakers back to Juneau on Aug. 2 for a special session to discuss reforming the state’s education system. It’s unclear whether maintenance and construction funds will be part of those discussions.

Scrapping for Solutions

Alaska’s budget crisis has been detrimental to the state’s rural school districts, which rely almost entirely on the annual budget for funding to fix and maintain buildings because they serve unincorporated communities that don’t have the power to levy taxes.

The budget depends heavily on profits from the production and sale of crude oil, which go into the state’s Permanent Fund, a state-owned investment fund. Returns on those investments pay for more than half of Alaska’s operational needs each year.

Prices of crude oil from Alaska’s North Slope dropped by more than a third from 2014 to this spring, according to the Alaska Department of Revenue. The result is a budget deficit that some economists say will exceed $1 billion by next year.

State lawmakers have failed to address the warning signs of a budget crisis for decades. By the early 2000s, Alaska’s daily oil production had fallen by half from its peak in the 1980s. Last year, it was a quarter of that.

But for a time, high oil prices allowed Alaska to make it work. When Edgmon came into office in 2007, he said every day was a windfall.

“We put a ton of money into schools both operationally and capital budgetwise,” he said.

Legislators have weighed numerous options to fund the budget. They’ve considered whether to trim the annual dividend checks that Alaska pays to its year-round residents from the return on Permanent Fund investments. Last year, Alaskans received just over $1,700. Cutting payments is wildly unpopular, in part because research has shown the money reduces the number of Alaskans in poverty by up to 40%.

Lawmakers have dipped into the state’s dwindling savings accounts to cover the deficit, said Matt Berman, a University of Alaska Anchorage economics professor who co-authored a 2016 report that examined various deficit-reduction methods.

“The fact that the study was done 10 years ago and that absolutely no action has taken place since then speaks for itself,” Berman wrote in an email.

Mertarvik’s school district did not receive the funds it needs to build a wastewater system for a school that’s set to open in 2026. (Emily Schwing/KYUK)

Some lawmakers have long called for Alaska to adopt a statewide income or sales tax, but neither idea has gained much traction. A bipartisan working group studied the possibility of enacting taxes in 2021. After a year on the working group, state Rep. Kevin McCabe, a Republican from north of Anchorage, said he wasn’t convinced taxes were the answer.

“We experimented with sales tax, maybe a seasonal sales tax, we tried an income tax, progressive income tax,” he said. “It’s just not gonna bring in the money that we need for all of our infrastructure deficit.”

Alaska used to have a special tax on every employed resident to help pay for education. But it was repealed in 1980 after the construction of the Trans-Alaska Pipeline, which allowed the state to sell more oil from North Slope.

“I’ll never forget my first payroll check,” said Click Bishop, a former six-term Republican senator from Fairbanks. He said his boss went through the statement with him. “He gets down here on this line, and it says ‘education head tax $5,’ and he said, ‘Kid, that $5 is going to the state to help you get your education,’” he recalled.

Bishop, who is exploring a run for governor, has proposed reinstating an annual education tax. But his proposal would only raise about $14 million each year, hardly enough to scratch the surface on the state’s school maintenance needs.

Instead of taxes, McCabe and other lawmakers say a more long-term solution for both schools and Alaska’s overall budget would be to build a natural gas pipeline that would raise money from gas sales.

Estimates from the U.S. Geological Survey show the state is home to more than a hundred trillion cubic feet of untapped natural gas, but there’s no way to bring it to market.

Described by the industry as “big, expensive and complex,” the pipeline project has been in discussions for at least 50 years. In 2020, the Alaska Gasline Development Corp., an independent state corporation tasked with developing the infrastructure, estimated construction could cost close to $40 billion. Though an energy developer recently announced interest from dozens of international customers, it’s unclear who would foot that bill.

Correction

Aug. 1, 2025: This story originally misstated the district that Alaska Senate Majority Leader Cathy Giessel represents. She represents part of Anchorage, not Fairbanks.

by Emily Schwing, KYUK