ProPublica

by Jake Pearson, Joel Jacobs and Byard Duncan

If you’ve ever felt scammed by a mortgage company, auto lender, credit reporting agency or other financial institution, you might have turned to the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau for help. In recent years, millions of Americans have filed complaints with the agency. Sometimes they did so after a long, unsuccessful back-and-forth with customer service representatives. In other cases, a friend, family member or advocate referred them.

The number of complaints — about payday loans, debt collection practices and more — has been growing steadily. The federal agency fielded 2.7 million of them last year, and half of those resulted in some kind of relief for consumers, according to agency data.

A bar chart shows the annual complaints from 2012 to 2024. Each bar is below 1 million complaints through 2022. In 2023, the bar reaches 1.3 million complaints. In 2024, the bar reaches 2.7 million complaints.

But now, those who have recently submitted complaints, who were part of larger cases or who fall victim to scams in the future may no longer be able to turn to the agency. That’s because the Trump administration is moving to dismantle the CFPB while its leaders have dropped lawsuits against major companies like Capital One and Rocket Homes. (The companies lauded the decision to drop the lawsuits and said that they disputed the CFPB’s allegations.)

A legal battle over the agency’s future is ongoing, and some consumers are already feeling the effects. As ProPublica reported Wednesday, dozens of ongoing bureau probes are effectively frozen, potentially denying accountability and financial relief for untold numbers of consumers.

“The Bureau has gone dark,” one agency official put it in a recent court filing.

The fallout affects millions of Americans across the political spectrum, including those living in states that supported President Donald Trump’s election. In fact, consumers in a number of those states — such as Georgia, Florida, Nevada, Louisiana and Texas — file complaints to the agency at some of the country’s highest rates.

A cartogram of the United States depicts the number of complaints per 1,000 residents in each state using a color gradient. The darkest end of the gradient is labeled ">50" and the lightest end is labeled "0". The locations with the darkest color, indicating higher complaints per capita, are Florida, Georgia, District of Columbia and Delaware.

The result of the administration’s actions is widespread confusion both within and outside the bureau as to who is sifting through complaints about scams and whether the agency will have enough resources to help the people who filed them, including student borrowers, military service members, people looking to build credit and the elderly.

ProPublica wants to understand the fallout that might come from gutting the federal government’s consumer watchdog, and we need your help. Please fill out the form below if you or someone you know:

• Filed a complaint with the CFPB in the past year.
• Had problems with a company whose case the CFPB dismissed or stopped investigating.
• Were in touch with the CFPB regarding investigations or resolutions in the past year.
• Worked with communities that rely on CFPB’s resources.

We are also interested in connecting with you if you work or worked for the agency or for one of the financial institutions it regulates. If that’s you, please do not fill out the form below. Instead, text reporter Jake Pearson securely on Signal at 917-512-0276.

We take your privacy seriously. We are gathering these responses for the purposes of our reporting and will contact you if we wish to publish any part of them.

You can fill out the form here.

by Jake Pearson

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

Since the Trump administration moved to dismantle the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau last month, the bureau has dropped nine lawsuits that it had brought on behalf of consumers.

The actions effectively freed major financial firms like Capital One and the mortgage giant Rocket Homes from the threat of consequences for their alleged significant wrongdoing, shocking consumer advocates and raising questions about the future of America’s consumer watchdog. For their part, when the cases were dropped, the companies lauded the decisions, with a bank spokesperson welcoming the dismissal of the case, “which we strongly disputed,” and Rocket Homes calling the suit an “empty claim.”

But the administration’s new hands-off approach to enforcement at the CFPB extends far beyond those public lawsuits. Behind the scenes, dozens of ongoing investigations into alleged corporate malfeasance are now frozen at the agency, potentially denying accountability and financial relief for untold numbers of consumers, a ProPublica investigation has found.

Under a stop-work order issued by the agency’s new leaders, CFPB investigators have been unable to press forward on probes into companies whose products and services are used by tens of millions of Americans, including Carvana, the online used-car retailer; Mr. Cooper, one of the country’s largest mortgage servicers; and CareCredit, a leader in medical credit cards, according to multiple people with knowledge of the matters.

The ongoing inquiries, the existence of which ProPublica is revealing for the first time, were at various stages of development, with subpoenas issued in most of them and companies submitting records in response. And while the nature of the alleged wrongdoing wasn’t clear in all cases, people familiar with the inquiries said several probes tracked closely with problems featured in the agency’s own recent public reports.

Last fall, for example, the CFPB examined automobile finance companies and found numerous problems with industry practices, including failing “to timely provide consumers with title after loan payoff,” which can result in drivers losing their cars after traffic stops and accidents. That issue is one of several at play in probes of Carvana and VW Credit Inc., said the people, who like others interviewed by ProPublica spoke on condition of anonymity to discuss sensitive bureau actions.

Carvana didn’t respond to multiple emails seeking comment and a spokesperson didn’t return a voicemail. Spokespeople for VW Credit haven’t responded to emails seeking comment and a spokesperson didn’t return a phone call.

If you or someone you know has recently sought help from the CFPB, please fill out this form.

The investigatory pullback worries consumer advocates who fear the agency is now poised to effectively walk away from years of work that undergirds civil actions — a decision that they say will ultimately neuter the government’s ability to enforce America’s consumer financial protection laws while signaling to companies that all business practices, no matter how pernicious, are fair game. The latest agency data shows that it takes an average of 35 months from opening an investigation to either filing a lawsuit or settling the case.

“What we’re seeing is a wholesale abandonment of consumer protection, leaving people to fend for themselves when credit card companies, banks, payday lenders and payment apps violate the law,” said Lauren Saunders, the associate director of the National Consumer Law Center.

Indeed, the freeze in enforcement has stalled probes into companies that had previously agreed to legal payouts to settle allegations that they’d harmed consumers, the people said. At least two such companies were under investigation for allegedly backsliding into similar problematic behavior, the people said, even after those businesses had struck deals: data furnisher Afni Inc., which in 2020 agreed to pay a $500,000 civil penalty and more accurately report information to credit reporting agencies, and the home improvement fintech company GreenSky, which in 2021 paid a $2.5 million civil penalty and agreed to stop making fraudulent loans.

Afni didn’t respond to an email seeking comment and a spokesperson didn’t return a voicemail. GreenSky declined to comment.

The enforcement freeze effectively halts the CFPB’s efforts begun under former President Joe Biden to police tech companies, some of which have donated millions to President Donald Trump, the people said. Among the firms under agency scrutiny are Meta, the parent company of Facebook, and Greenlight Financial Technology, the maker of a popular debit-card-for-kids app.

The inquiry into Meta was being watched closely as a test case for the agency’s expansion into regulating tech companies whose businesses intersect with financial services.

According to people familiar with the probe, the CFPB was looking into whether Facebook was, without users’ knowledge, improperly holding onto confidential financial information that users entered into loan applications advertised by businesses on the platform.

The company disclosed the existence of the CFPB inquiry to shareholders last fall, saying it disagreed with the bureau’s claims that its advertising practices had violated the consumer financial protection laws and believed “an enforcement action is unwarranted.” In January, CEO Mark Zuckerberg told podcaster Joe Rogan that he didn’t know what the agency’s initials stood for and said of the bureau’s inquiry that “we had organizations that were looking into us that were, like, not really involved with social media.”

“We’re not a bank,” he added. “But they kind of found some theory that they wanted to investigate, and it’s like, OK.”

Meta donated $1 million to Trump’s inauguration. Asked for comment, a spokesperson referred ProPublica to the company's September 2024 securities filing.

Another prominent Trump donor, venture capitalist Marc Andreessen, has similarly criticized the bureau’s efforts to oversee financial technology companies. Andreesen, whose firm was a major backer of Greenlight, told Rogan last November that the bureau works to “terrorize financial institutions, prevent fintech, prevent new competition, new startups that want to compete with the big banks.” He didn’t disclose his investment in Greenlight during the appearance.

The CFPB has been looking into allegations that the company wasn’t allowing kids immediate access to their money as it had advertised that it would, leaving some users unable to pay for purchases, the people said. Then, they said, the company allegedly failed to provide sufficient customer service.

Greenlight didn’t respond to emailed requests for comment sent to its media address, and the company’s general counsel didn’t respond to a voicemail or an email. Neither Andreessen, his assistant nor his venture capital firm’s press office responded to emails seeking comment, and his assistant didn’t return a voicemail.

The tech leaders’ criticisms mirror those of Elon Musk, the billionaire head of Trump’s Department of Government Efficiency. He posted “Delete the CFPB” on his social media site, X, after Trump’s presidential victory in November and then, just over two months later, as DOGE workers were given access to the agency, he posted “CFPB RIP.” Between those posts, Musk’s X announced that it was getting into the mobile payments business via a partnership with Visa. That would put it squarely in the jurisdiction of the CFPB; the bureau said last fall it would also start supervising large technology companies that provide digital payments.

A spokesperson for DOGE didn’t respond to a request for comment. A voicemail left with the entity handling X’s payment services wasn’t returned. In an interview last month, Musk, when asked about how his business interests and government work may intersect, said, “I’ll recuse myself if it is a conflict.”

Since Musk’s posts, the administration has sought to fire most of the more than 1,700 agency staffers, has canceled more than 200 contracts and has issued sweeping stop-work orders, court records show. Unionized employees sued the CFPB’s acting director, Russell Vought, last month to stop many of those moves, and a federal judge has temporarily blocked some of them. The court is expected to rule soon on what staffing levels the administration must maintain for the CFPB to meaningfully perform dozens of statutorily required functions that Congress built in when it created the agency in the wake of the 2008 financial crisis.

Amid the back-and-forth, Vought and Mark Paoletta, the agency’s chief legal officer, have backed off some of their positions, permitting some work and undoing some of the canceled contracts, according to court records. The result, though, said people familiar with the bureau’s operations, is a highly micromanaged work environment.

Within the enforcement division, virtually all pending investigations have been brought to a near standstill. Except for attorneys working on seven ongoing lawsuits that Paoletta has permitted to move forward, investigators still can’t speak with lawyers representing companies that have been subpoenaed, interview witnesses or take other significant actions without first obtaining his approval, bureau emails reviewed by ProPublica show. One Feb. 10 directive from Paoletta threatened enforcement division employees with “insubordination” for working without approval. Some employees’ requests for permission to work have gone unanswered. Others haven’t logged onto their computers for days at a time.

When administrations change, it is not uncommon for agency leaders to evaluate existing work and shift priorities to align with the new president’s agenda. During Trump’s first administration, Mick Mulvaney, the CFPB’s acting director, ordered agency attorneys to write summaries to justify working on more than 100 open cases, The New York Times reported. No such mandate has been issued since Trump took office two months ago.

Neither the CFPB nor Paoletta responded to ProPublica’s requests for comment.

While some of the stalled cases involve companies with no prior enforcement history, like Meta, others have had past run-ins with the agency.

The mortgage servicer Mr. Cooper, for example, had previously agreed to pay $73 million to more than 40,000 borrowers as part of a 2020 settlement with the CFPB to resolve allegations that it had engaged in multiple servicing problems, including improperly increasing monthly loan payment amounts and foreclosing on borrowers after it had promised not to do so while they were in the process of resolving the loans.

The bureau’s current inquiry revolves around the company’s disclosure that the sensitive personal information of nearly 15 million people — what the company described in a 2023 securities filing as “substantially all of our current and former customers” — was hacked, people familiar with it said. The CFPB had publicly issued guidance a year prior warning companies that “inadequate security for the sensitive consumer information collected, processed, maintained, or stored by” companies subject to agency oversight can violate consumer financial protection laws.

The company didn’t respond to an emailed message seeking comment, and the chief legal officer did not respond to a call and email.

Likewise, Synchrony Financial, whose subsidiary CareCredit is one of the top three medical credit card issuers, agreed to pay $225 million in 2014 to resolve a bureau probe into discriminatory card practices. It was subpoenaed again in 2017 by the agency for information about credit cards it promoted that allowed consumers to defer paying interest, court records show. The deals can result in consumers owing huge sums of accrued interest all at once when the deferral period ends. The American Banker reported that that inquiry did not result in any enforcement.

CareCredit is now the subject of another inquiry that, according to people familiar with it, closely tracks with a bureau report from last summer that found consumers “frequently complained of healthcare providers misrepresenting the specifics” of medical credit card promotions. Consumers also said they were “pressured by healthcare providers to open a credit card while receiving treatment.”

A spokesperson said the company works closely with federal regulators but wasn’t aware of any CFPB enforcement actions. In a July 2023 earnings call, Synchrony CEO Brian Doubles said the company was “very proud of the CareCredit products that we offer."

The agency was also investigating Point, a major player in the so-called alternative mortgage industry, another sector that caters to vulnerable borrowers, people familiar with the investigation said.

Lenders offer an up-front payment in exchange for a percentage of the growth in the value of the home at a future date. The deals often result in huge balloon payments, and purchasers have complained “about the financing terms, surprise at the size of the repayment amounts, disputes about appraisal values” and other issues, according to a CFPB industry report issued five days before Trump’s inauguration.

A spokesperson for Point didn’t respond to an email or voicemail seeking comment.

If you or someone you know has recently sought help from the CFPB, please fill out this form.

by Joshua Kaplan and Justin Elliott

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

Elon Musk’s aerospace giant SpaceX allows investors from China to buy stakes in the company as long as the funds are routed through the Cayman Islands or other offshore secrecy hubs, according to previously unreported court records.

The rare picture of SpaceX’s approach recently emerged in an under-the-radar corporate dispute in Delaware. Both SpaceX’s chief financial officer and Iqbaljit Kahlon, a major investor, were forced to testify in the case.

In December, Kahlon testified that SpaceX prefers to avoid investors from China because it is a defense contractor. There is a major exception though, he said: SpaceX finds it “acceptable” for Chinese investors to buy into the company through offshore vehicles.

“The primary mechanism is that those investors would come through intermediate entities that they would create or others would create,” Kahlon said. “Typically they would set up BVI structures or Cayman structures or Hong Kong structures and various other ones,” he added, using the acronym for the British Virgin Islands. Offshore vehicles are often used to keep investors anonymous.

Experts called SpaceX’s approach unusual, saying they were troubled by the possibility that a defense contractor would take active steps to conceal foreign ownership interests.

Kahlon, who has long been close to the company’s leadership, has said he owns billions of dollars of SpaceX stock. His investment firm also acts as a middleman, raising money from investors to buy highly sought SpaceX shares. He has routed money from China through the Caribbean to buy stakes in SpaceX multiple times, according to the court filings.

The legal dispute centers on an aborted 2021 deal, when SpaceX executives grew angry after news broke that a Chinese firm was going to buy $50 million of the company’s stock. SpaceX then had the purchase canceled. In separate testimony, the rocket company’s CFO explained that the media coverage was “not helpful for our company as a government contractor.” SpaceX’s business is built on those contracts, with the U.S. government paying the company billions to handle sensitive work like building a classified spy satellite network.

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Do you have any information we should know about Elon Musk’s businesses? Josh Kaplan can be reached by email at joshua.kaplan@propublica.org and by Signal or WhatsApp at 734-834-9383. Justin Elliott can be reached by email at justin@propublica.org and by Signal or WhatsApp at 774-826-6240.

Company executives were concerned that coverage of the deal could lead to problems with national security regulators in the U.S., according to Kahlon’s testimony and a filing from his attorneys.

SpaceX, which also launches rockets for NASA and sells satellite internet service, is perhaps the most important pillar of Musk’s fortune. His estimated 42% stake in the company is valued at around $150 billion. If he owned nothing else, he’d still be richer than Bill Gates.

Federal law gives regulators broad power to oversee foreign investments in tech companies and defense contractors. Companies only have to proactively report Chinese investments in limited circumstances, and there aren’t hard and fast rules for how much is too much. However, the government can initiate investigations and then block or reverse transactions they deem a national security threat. That authority typically does not apply to purely passive investments in which a foreign investor is buying only a small slice of a company. But experts said that federal officials regularly ask companies to add up Chinese investments into an aggregate total.

The U.S. government charges that China has a systematic strategy of using even minority investments to secure leverage over companies in sensitive industries, as well as to gain privileged access to information about cutting-edge technology. U.S. regulators view even private investors in China as potential agents of the country’s government, experts said.

The new materials do not contain allegations that the Chinese investments in SpaceX would violate the law or were directed by the Chinese government. The company did not respond to detailed questions from ProPublica. Kahlon declined to comment on the reasons for SpaceX’s approach.

It’s not uncommon for foreigners to buy U.S. stock through a vehicle in the Cayman Islands, often to save money on taxes. But experts said it was strange for the party on the other side of a deal — the U.S. company — to prefer such an arrangement.

ProPublica spoke to 13 national security lawyers, corporate attorneys and experts in Chinese finance about the SpaceX testimony. Twelve said they had never heard of a U.S. company with such a requirement and could not think of a purpose for it besides concealing Chinese ownership in SpaceX. The 13th said they had heard of companies adopting the practice as a way to hide foreign investment.

“It is certainly a policy of obfuscation,” Andrew Verstein, a UCLA law professor who has studied defense contractors, said of the SpaceX testimony. “It hints at potentially serious problems. We count on companies to be forthright with the government about whether they’ve taken money from America’s rivals.”

The new material adds to the questions surrounding Musk’s extensive ties with China, which have taken a new urgency since the world’s richest man joined the Trump White House. Musk has regularly met with Communist Party officials in China to discuss his business interests in the country, which is where about half of Tesla cars are built.

Last week, The New York Times reported that Musk was scheduled to get a briefing on secret plans for potential war between China and the U.S. The Times later reported that the briefing was called off, and Trump denied it had ever been scheduled. The president told reporters it would be wrong to show the war plans to the businessman: “Elon has businesses in China, and he would be susceptible perhaps to that,” Trump said.

The Delaware court records reveal SpaceX insiders’ intense preoccupation with secrecy when it comes to China and detail a network of independent middlemen peddling SpaceX shares to eager Chinese investors. (Unlike a public company, SpaceX exercises significant control over who can buy into the company, with the ability to block sales even between outside parties.)

But the case leaves unanswered the question of exactly what percentage of SpaceX is owned by Chinese investors.

The Financial Times recently reported that Chinese investors had managed to acquire small amounts of SpaceX stock and that they were turning to offshore vehicles to do so. The deals were structured to limit the information investors receive, the outlet said. The Delaware records reveal additional, previously unreported Chinese investments in SpaceX but do not say how much they were worth. The few Chinese investments in SpaceX where a dollar figure is publicly known total well under $100 million.

The experts said the court testimony is puzzling enough that it raises the possibility that SpaceX has more substantial ties to China than are publicly known and is working to mask them from U.S. regulators. A more innocent explanation, they said, is that SpaceX is seeking to avoid scrutiny of perfectly legal investments by the media or Congress.

Once a welcome source of cash, Chinese investment in Silicon Valley has become the subject of intense debate in Washington as hostility between the two countries deepened in recent years. Corporate lawyers told ProPublica they’d counsel their clients against requiring the use of offshore vehicles because it could make it look like they are trying to hide something from the government.

Bret Johnsen, the SpaceX CFO, testified in the Delaware dispute that the company does not have a formal policy about accepting investments from countries deemed adversaries by the U.S. government. Rather, he said, SpaceX has “preferences that kind of feel like a policy.” Sensitive to how such financial ties could make it “more challenging to win government contracts,” Johnsen said that he asks fund managers to “stay away from Russian, Chinese, Iranian, North Korean ownership interest.”

In the public portion of his deposition, Johnsen wasn’t asked whether routing Chinese money offshore made such investments acceptable to SpaceX. But he lent credibility to Kahlon, the investor who said that was enough to get the green light. Johnsen said that he has a long-standing personal relationship with Kahlon and that he’s discussed the company’s approach to Chinese ownership with him. The CFO added that he trusts Kahlon to bring in only investors that the company approves of.

Over the years, Kahlon has personally helped Chinese investors buy stakes in SpaceX on “a number of occasions” through “proxies such as British Virgin Islands- or Cayman Islands-based entities,” according to a filing from his lawyers. He also knows of “many” other Chinese investors who own SpaceX shares, the filing said. He learned about them through conversations with investors and brokers, as well “from having viewed investor lists.”

Kahlon is a consummate SpaceX insider. He “has been with the company in one form or fashion longer than I have,” said Johnsen, who’s worked at SpaceX for 14 years. Early in his career, Kahlon worked for Peter Thiel at the same venture capital firm that once employed JD Vance, and he first met with SpaceX around 2007 a few years after it was founded.

Kahlon eventually opened his own firm called Tomales Bay Capital, becoming a major player among the middlemen who cater to would-be investors in SpaceX. He’s helped people like former Education Secretary Betsy DeVos buy pieces of the rocket company. He also said he has served as a “back channel” between SpaceX and international regulators as the company sought to bring its satellite internet products to countries like India.

Kahlon and Johnsen were forced to testify after the deal with a Chinese firm fell apart in late 2021, sparking years of litigation. That year, Kahlon had the opportunity to buy more than half a billion dollars of SpaceX stock from a West Palm Beach private equity firm. Kahlon had already brought Chinese money into SpaceX before, he testified, and he again turned to China as he gathered funds to purchase the stake.

Kahlon soon connected with a Shanghai-based company called Leo Group, short for “Love Each Other.” As Kahlon made his pitch during their first call, Leo was told that “it would be best not to disclose the name of SpaceX,” an executive at the Chinese company later testified. “They deemed that information to be quite sensitive.”

Leo quickly sent Kahlon $50 million. He then messaged another business associate in China: “Have any folks interested in spcex still?”

Kahlon testified that he was planning to tell Johnsen about the Leo investment and expected the CFO to sign off on it. But the deal blew up after Leo mentioned SpaceX in a regulatory filing that generated widespread coverage in the Chinese business press. (Whether Leo had Kahlon’s permission to make the disclosure is a matter of dispute.) In a panic, Kahlon enlisted a Leo vice president to try to get the articles taken down. But when Johnsen and Tim Hughes, SpaceX’s top in-house lobbyist, spotted the stories, they grew alarmed.

“This is not helpful for our company as a government contractor,” the SpaceX CFO later testified regarding the press attention. “It, in essence, arms our competitors with something to use as a narrative against us.”

“In my entire professional career, this was literally the worst situation that I’ve been in,” Kahlon said. “I failed at what I thought was a core responsibility in the relationship we had.”

SpaceX ultimately decided to let Kahlon buy only a smaller portion of the stake, purchasing much of the half-billion dollar investment itself. According to contemporaneous messages and testimony from Kahlon, he was told that decision was made by Musk. However, Kahlon continued to have a strong relationship with SpaceX after the mishap, court records say, with the company allowing his firm to keep buying a large quantity of shares.

Musk’s business interests in China extend far beyond SpaceX’s ownership structure — a fact that has drawn criticism from Republican lawmakers over the years. In 2022, after Tesla opened a showroom in the Chinese region where the government runs Uyghur internment camps, then-Sen. Marco Rubio tweeted, “Nationless corporations are helping the Chinese Communist Party cover up genocide.”

In addition to Tesla’s sprawling factory in Shanghai, last year, almost 40% of Tesla’s sales were to Chinese customers. The company has also secured major tax breaks and regulatory victories in the country. In 2019, the Chinese premier offered Musk the country’s equivalent of a green card.

In recent years, the billionaire has offered sympathetic remarks about China’s desire to reclaim Taiwan and lavished praise on the government. “My experience with the government of China is that they actually are very responsive to the people,” Musk said toward the end of Trump’s first term. “In fact, possibly more responsive to the happiness of people than in the U.S.”

Do you have any information we should know about Elon Musk’s businesses? Josh Kaplan can be reached by email at joshua.kaplan@propublica.org and by Signal or WhatsApp at 734-834-9383. Justin Elliott can be reached by email at justin@propublica.org and by Signal or WhatsApp at 774-826-6240.

Alex Mierjeski contributed research.

by Sharon Lerner and Lisa Song

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

Although it was too late for him to benefit, Daniel Kinel felt relieved in December when the Environmental Protection Agency finally banned TCE. The compound, which has been used for dry cleaning, manufacturing and degreasing machines, can cause cancer, organ damage and a potentially fatal heart defect in babies, according to independent studies and the EPA. It has also been shown to greatly increase people’s chances of developing Parkinson’s disease.

Kinel and three of his colleagues were diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. They all worked in a law office in Rochester, New York, that sat next to a dry cleaner that had dumped TCE into the soil. Kinel was diagnosed with the neurodegenerative condition at age 43, after working there for seven years. His three colleagues have since died. At least 15 of the firm’s partners developed cancers related to TCE.

“It felt good that we were finally getting rid of this terrible chemical,” said Kinel, whose symptoms now make it impossible to type, write or work as a lawyer. “My children and grandchildren would be protected.”

But his feeling of solace has been short-lived.

The ban has been challenged on multiple fronts since President Donald Trump assumed office for a second time in January. Republicans in the Senate and House introduced resolutions to repeal the ban, which was vulnerable to being overturned through the Congressional Review Act because it was issued shortly before the inauguration. Meanwhile, companies and trade groups have sued to stop the ban in court. A Trump executive order delayed the implementation of the ban until March 21. And last week, the EPA asked a federal appeals court to further delay the ban until the end of May.

TCE, short for trichloroethylene, is one of five toxic substances for which full or partial bans put in place by the EPA under President Joe Biden are now under threat. The Trump administration told the courts that it wants to review all five bans to determine whether they should be rolled back. Those banned substances include a deadly paint stripper called methylene chloride; PCE, a solvent that’s similar to TCE; carbon tetrachloride, which is used as a cleaning fluid; and the cancer-causing mineral asbestos. David Fotouhi, the lawyer Trump nominated to be second-in-command of the agency, tried to overturn the asbestos ban in October, when he was serving as an attorney for a group of car companies. The EPA classifies all of the recently banned chemicals as either carcinogenic or probably carcinogenic to humans.

But the EPA’s ban on TCE is in greater peril than the rest because it has yet to take effect. The prohibition on the chemical was to begin this year for all consumer uses and many industrial and commercial uses. The EPA allowed a more gradual phasing out for more than a dozen industrial uses, such as for some aerospace and defense applications. In those cases, the Biden EPA required employers to provide health protections for workers who come into contact with TCE. The Trump EPA’s recent petition to the federal appeals court to extend the ban’s delay would also mean that employers would not be required to implement the new health protections for workers.

Delaying the ban means that people will continue to be exposed to the chemical, which causes liver cancer, kidney cancer and non-Hodgkin lymphoma, as well as holes in infants’ hearts that can be fatal. While safer alternatives now exist for many of its uses, TCE has seeped into the drinking water of more than 17 million people in the U.S., according to data compiled by the nonprofit Environmental Working Group. Dangerous plumes of TCE have been identified in Woburn, Massachusetts; Wichita, Kansas; and Camp Lejeune Marine Corps base in North Carolina, where hundreds of service members developed Parkinson’s disease and cancer. There is another TCE plume on Long Island in New York, in the district abutting the one that EPA Administrator Lee Zeldin represented in Congress.

The idea that people will still be exposed to TCE infuriates Jerry Ensminger. This chemical “needs to go away,” said the retired Marine Corps master sergeant who’s an outspoken advocate for military families exposed to TCE. Ensminger’s daughter Janey died from leukemia when she was 9; Ensminger said Janey was conceived at Camp Lejeune and the family lived there during most of the pregnancy’s first trimester, then returned when she was 6. Ensminger recalled seeing workers on the base dip truck engines into vast metal vats of TCE in the late 1970s and early 1980s.

Scientists began raising concerns about the toxicity of TCE almost a century ago. The EPA’s work on the chemical proceeded slowly. In 1987, it deemed TCE a “probable human carcinogen.” In 2001, a draft EPA assessment found the chemical to be more toxic than previously thought and highly likely to cause cancer. The conclusion came under attack from some industry and government scientists. The Department of Defense, which is responsible for hundreds of TCE-contaminated sites, criticized the report as based on “junk science.” Two reviews by panels of independent scientists, however, found the assessment was sound. Still, the EPA didn’t begin drafting stricter regulations on TCE until the end of President Barack Obama’s administration.

Those efforts were dealt a blow during Trump’s first term when the EPA weakened a report on TCE’s effects on fetal heart abnormalities and stopped work on the new regulations. Nancy Beck, who before joining the first Trump administration had been a high-level lobbyist for the American Chemistry Council, an industry trade group, presided over the EPA’s chemical program when it pulled back from the TCE ban and, more broadly, retreated from rules that the chemical industry saw as burdensome.

After returning to the private sector, Beck was recently named the principal deputy assistant administrator in the EPA’s office of chemical safety and pollution prevention. She did not respond to requests for comment.

Her appointment has left environmentalists despairing over the fate of the long-awaited TCE ban.

“The same industry lobbyist who was in charge of EPA’s chemical program before is in charge of it again,” said Daniel Rosenberg, director of federal toxics policy at the Natural Resources Defense Council. “When she was there the first time, she moved heaven and earth to weaken the evaluation of the chemical and downplay the hazard TCE posed to people’s health. That appears to be where this is headed again.”

More than 100 groups representing public health, environment and community interests recently sent a letter to Zeldin urging him to reinstate the TCE ban. Referencing Zeldin’s proclaimed interest in clean water for every American, the letter noted that the EPA estimated its rule would produce $20 million in health benefits from reduced cancer rates and said that “delaying implementation of these rules will lead to preventable death, disease and incapacitation and increase medical costs and hardships to families and communities.” This week, environmental and labor groups filed a court brief opposing the EPA’s efforts to delay implementation of the TCE ban.

The EPA did not respond to questions about the TCE ban. Sen. John Kennedy, R-La., who introduced the resolution to repeal the TCE ban in the Senate, and Reps. Mariannette Miller-Meeks, R-Iowa, and Diana Harshbarger, R-Tenn., who introduced a resolution for its repeal in the House, also did not respond to inquiries from ProPublica. A spokesperson from the American Chemistry Council referred ProPublica to its press release from December, which acknowledged that the EPA had included “important adjustments” in the TCE ban to provide flexibility to affected industries.

In a press release about his bid to repeal the ban, Kennedy said that the “Biden administration waged war against America’s chemical producers,” and he urged Congress to “move quickly to take off the handcuffs that President Biden placed on Louisiana and U.S. businesses.” In the same release, Harshbarger described the TCE ban as “one of many examples of the Biden Administration’s overregulation.”

In a hearing about chemical regulation in the House in January, Harshbarger said that a company in her district, Microporous, which makes membranes used in lithium-ion batteries, is facing an “existential threat” from the TCE ban. The ban made an exception for the use of TCE for this purpose, allowing the battery industry to continue using it until 2044. Microporous, which has challenged the ban in court, did not respond to a question about why it needed 20 years to find a suitable replacement for TCE.

Since Trump’s inauguration, the EPA has been touting its efforts to roll back environmental protections. Earlier this month, the agency announced the “most consequential day of deregulation in U.S. history,” listing 31 rules it planned to step away from, related to oil and gas, air pollution and greenhouse gases. The agency celebrated the announcement with a 6,500-word press release that included praise from 61 industry leaders, CEOs and Republican politicians.

Still, some who have been focused on TCE were surprised that the Trump administration was delaying and reconsidering the recent ban. “I thought it was a done deal,” said Dr. Sara Whittingham, a retired United States Air Force flight surgeon who was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease at 46. When she heard that the rule might be repealed, she was aghast. “What the heck, how can nobody care about this?” she said. “This should be a nonpartisan issue.”

Whittingham believes her disease may stem from the two years she spent as an aircraft maintenance officer at Kelly Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas, from 1996 to 1998. Her office was above a shop where workers used TCE to clean engine parts.

Last week, Whittingham teamed up with two friends, both Air Force graduates who were diagnosed with Parkinson’s as women in their 40s, to urge people to pressure Congress to drop the resolutions.

“We signed up to go fight for our country,” she said, but now the attitude seems to be, “‘We don’t care about your health, you’ve already signed on the dotted line.’ It’s a kind of a kick in the face.”

Before being diagnosed with Parkinson’s, Whittingham had hoped that her children would follow her career path. But recently she discouraged her daughter, who is a senior in high school, from joining the military. The health risks, she said, were too high.

by Jesse Coburn

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The findings were stark. In one investigation, the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development concluded that a Texas state agency had steered $1 billion in disaster mitigation money away from Houston and nearby communities of color after Hurricane Harvey inundated the region in 2017. In another investigation, HUD found that a homeowners association outside of Dallas had created rules to kick poor Black people out of their neighborhood.

The episodes amounted to egregious violations of civil rights laws, officials at the housing agency believed — enough to warrant litigation against the alleged culprits. That, at least, was the view during the presidency of Joe Biden. After the Trump administration took over, HUD quietly took steps that will likely kill both cases, according to three officials familiar with the matter.

Those steps were extremely unusual. Current and former HUD officials said they could not recall the housing agency ever pulling back cases of this magnitude in which the agency had found evidence of discrimination. That leaves the yearslong, high-profile investigations in a state of limbo, with no likely path for the government to advance them, current and former officials said. As a result, the alleged perpetrators of the discrimination could face no government penalties, and the alleged victims could receive no compensation.

“I just think that’s a doggone shame,” said Doris Brown, a Houston resident and a co-founder of a community group that, together with a housing nonprofit, filed the Harvey complaint. Brown saw 3 feet of water flood her home in a predominantly Black neighborhood that still shows damage from the storm. “We might’ve been able to get some more money to help the people that are still suffering,” she said.

On Jan. 15, HUD referred the Houston case to the Department of Justice, a necessary step to a federal lawsuit after the housing agency finds evidence of discrimination. Less than a month later, on Feb. 13, the agency rescinded its referral without public explanation. HUD did the same with the Dallas case not long after.

The development has alarmed some about a rollback of civil rights enforcement at the agency under President Donald Trump and HUD Secretary Scott Turner, who is from Texas. “The new administration is systematically dismantling the fair housing enforcement and education system,” said Sara Pratt, a former HUD official and an attorney for complainants in both Texas cases. “The message is: The federal government no longer takes housing discrimination seriously.”

HUD spokesperson Kasey Lovett disagreed, saying there was precedent for the rescinded referrals, which were done to gather more facts and scrutinize the investigations. “We’re taking a fresh look at Biden Administration policies, regulations, and cases. These cases are no exception,” Lovett said in a statement. “HUD will uphold the Fair Housing Act and the Civil Rights Act as the department is strongly and wholeheartedly opposed to housing discrimination.”

The Justice Department did not respond to a request for comment.

The Harvey case concerns a portion of a $4.3 billion grant that HUD gave to Texas after the hurricane inundated low-lying coastal areas, killing at least 89 people and causing more than $100 billion in damage. The money was meant to fund better drainage, flood control systems and other storm mitigation measures.

HUD sent the money to a state agency called the Texas General Land Office, which awarded the first $1 billion in funding to communities affected by Harvey through a grant competition. But the state agency excluded Houston and many of the most exposed coastal areas from eligibility for half of that money, according to HUD’s investigation. And, for the other half, it created award criteria that benefited rural areas at the expense of more populous applicants like Houston.

The result: Of that initial $1 billion, Houston — where nearly half of all homes were damaged by the hurricane — received nothing. Neither did Harris County, where Houston is located, or other coastal areas with large minority populations. Instead, the Texas agency, according to HUD, awarded a disproportionate amount of the aid to more rural, white areas that had suffered less damage in the hurricane. After an outcry, GLO asked HUD a few days later to send $750 million to Harris County, but HUD found that allocation still fell far short of the county’s mitigation needs. And none of that money went directly to Houston.

HUD launched an investigation into the competition in 2021, ultimately finding that GLO had discriminated on the basis of race and national origin, thereby violating Title VI of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and possibly the Fair Housing Act as well.

“GLO knowingly developed and operated a competition for the purpose of allocating funds to mitigate storm and flood risk that steered money away from urban Black and Hispanic communities that had the highest storm and flood risk into Whiter, more rural areas with less risk,” the agency wrote. “Despite awareness that its course of action would result in disparate harm for Black and Hispanic individuals, GLO still knowingly and disparately denied these communities critical mitigation funding.”

GLO has consistently disputed the allegations. It contends that many people of color benefited from its allocations. The Texas agency has also argued that the evidence in the case was weak, citing the fact that, in 2023, the Justice Department returned the case to HUD. At the time, the DOJ said it wanted HUD to investigate further. The housing agency then spent more than a year digging deeper into the facts and assembling more evidence before making its short-lived referral in January.

Asked about the rescinded referral, GLO spokesperson Brittany Eck told ProPublica: “Liberal political appointees and advocates spent years spinning false narratives without the facts to build a case. Four years of sensationalized, clickbait rhetoric without evidence is long enough.”

The other HUD case involved Providence Village, a largely white community north of Dallas of around 9,000 people. Purported concerns about crime and property values led the Providence Homeowners Association to adopt a rule in 2022 prohibiting property owners from renting to holders of Section 8 Housing Choice Vouchers, through which HUD subsidizes the housing costs of poor, elderly and disabled people. There were at least 157 households in Providence Village supported by vouchers, nearly all of them Black families. After the HOA action, some of them began leaving.

The rule attracted national attention, leading the Texas Legislature to prohibit HOAs from banning Section 8 tenants. Undeterred, the Providence HOA adopted amended rules in 2024 that placed restrictions on rental properties, which HUD found would have a similar effect as the previous ban.

Throughout the HOA’s efforts, people peppered community social media groups with racist vitriol about voucher holders, describing them as “wild animals,” “ghetto poverty crime ridden mentality people” and “lazy entitled leeching TR@SH.” One person wrote that “they might just leave in a coroner’s wagon.”

The discord attracted a white nationalist group, which twice protested just outside Providence Village. “The federal government views safe White communities as a problem,” flyers distributed by the group read. “The Section 8 Housing Voucher is a tool used to bring diversity to these neighborhoods.”

In January, HUD formally accused the HOA, its board president, a property management company and one of its property managers of violating the Fair Housing Act. The respondents have disputed the allegation. The HOA has argued its rules were meant to protect property values, support well-maintained homes and address crime concerns. The property management company, FirstService Residential Texas, said it was not responsible for the actions of the HOA.

The HOA and FirstService did not respond to requests for comment. The property manager declined to comment. Mitch Little, a lawyer for the HOA board president, said: “HUD didn’t pursue this case because there’s nothing to pursue. The claims are baseless and unsubstantiated.”

The Providence Village and Houston cases stretched on for years. All it took was two terse emails to undo them. “HUD’s Office of General Counsel withdrew the referral of the above-captioned case to the Department of Justice,” HUD wrote to Pratt this month regarding one of the cases. “We have no further information at this time.” That was the entirety of the message; neither email explained the reasoning behind the decisions.

The cases may have fallen victim to a broader roll-back of civil rights enforcement at the Justice Department, where memos circulated in January ordering a freeze of civil rights cases and investigations.

The development is the latest sign that the Trump administration may dramatically curtail HUD’s housing discrimination work. The agency canceled 78 grants to local fair housing groups last month, sparking a lawsuit by some of them. HUD justified the cancellations by saying each grant “no longer effectuates the program goals or agency priorities.” (Pratt’s firm, Relman Colfax, is representing the plaintiffs in that suit.) And projections circulating within HUD last month indicated the agency’s Office of Fair Housing and Equal Opportunity could see its staff cut by 76% under the new administration.

If HUD does not pursue the cases, the complainants could file their own lawsuits. But they may not soon forget the government’s about-face on the issue. “If there is a major flood in Houston, which there almost certainly will be, and people die, and homes get destroyed, the people who made this decision are in large part responsible,” said Ben Hirsch, a member of one of the groups that brought the Harvey complaint. “People will die because of this.”

Update, March 26, 2025: The day after this article was published, FirstService Residential Texas emailed ProPublica a statement saying the company denies the allegations in the case involving the Providence Village homeowners association and “remains committed to operating with fairness, integrity, and compliance with the law.”

by Vernal Coleman

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The Gregorio brothers had just begun their daybreak commute to work assembling wooden pallets in late January when federal officers in SUVs pulled them over in a Chicago suburb. Jhony and Bayron were in one car. A third brother, Marco, was traveling separately, in another car behind them.

After Jhony Gregorio handed over his identification, an officer with Immigration and Customs Enforcement opened his door and pulled him out. Before long, more than a dozen other officers had arrived. Gregorio could see they had also stopped his brother Marco.

All three had been living and working in the United States without authorization after arriving from Guatemala. None had criminal records. But Bayron Gregorio had received a deportation order. Instead of detaining only him, authorities took all three brothers into custody.

Attempting to fulfill a campaign pledge to deport millions of people, the Trump administration has turned to tactics that have prompted a flurry of court challenges across the country and created an atmosphere of fear. Each week has brought a new example, as agents have detained immigrants and shuttled them out of the country to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba; Panama; and, most recently, a dangerous prison in El Salvador without hearings, much less opportunities to communicate with lawyers and relatives.

But in Chicago and other cities, there are quieter operations underway that raise similar legal questions as federal agents pick up people in ones, twos and threes.

Lawyers for Jhony and Marco Gregorio are arguing that their arrests were among at least 22 that violated a court settlement prohibiting authorities from detaining undocumented people they coincidentally encounter while serving warrants for others. So-called collateral detentions were the subject of a 2022 class-action settlement that set out stricter parameters for how agents should handle these situations, including new restrictions on warrantless arrests.

Attorneys for the Trump administration have denied allegations that the arrests occurred in violation of that agreement, called Nava, after one of the original plaintiffs. Specifically, administration lawyers argued the arrests were not warrantless, according to court records.

Under the Nava settlement, ICE agents are required to adhere to strict guidelines to make warrantless arrests, including establishing that someone will attempt to flee instead of participating in court proceedings.

“The administration’s approach to immigration enforcement and how it has responded to court orders was bound to be the canary in the coal mine of this administration’s overall approach to our democracy and the rule of law,” said Mark Fleming, associate director of litigation at the National Immigrant Justice Center, which is representing Jhony and Marco Gregorio and other detainees as the center goes to court alleging Nava settlement violations.

Observers and advocates say they don’t expect the White House to let up on its crackdown or adjust its tactics because of any legal pushback.

“I don’t think they back down,” said Kathleen Arnold, DePaul University professor of refugee and forced migration studies. “They assumed that there weren’t due process roadblocks that could prevent ICE from doing exactly what they want.”

Neither ICE nor the Department of Homeland Security responded to requests for comment.

During the initial roundups in January, the administration made it clear that collateral arrests were part of a strategy for enforcement in Chicago and other sanctuary cities where local law enforcement declines to assist in migrant arrests. “There’s going to be more collateral arrests in sanctuary cities because they forced us to go into the community and find the guy we’re looking for,” White House border czar Tom Homan told reporters in a televised interview.

The stricter arrest guidelines from Nava were adopted as national policy under the Biden administration, attorneys for the plaintiffs said, but were rescinded after Trump entered office in January. The agreement remains in effect in Illinois, Indiana, Kansas, Kentucky, Missouri and Wisconsin, all states covered by the Chicago ICE office, the attorneys said. It’s set to expire in May.

Attorneys for National Immigrant Justice Center and ACLU of Illinois this month went to court in Chicago citing the Nava settlement and seeking an order that the federal government stop creating warrants in the field, reimburse their clients for bond costs and provide weekly reports of any warrantless arrests. They also are asking for the release of the two clients identified in the suit who are still being held.

In making the argument that ICE and Homeland Security are violating the Nava settlement, attorneys for the two Gregorio brothers said Jhony and Marco clearly were not flight risks. They both have been living in the U.S. for over a decade and have ties to the Chicago area and suburban Maywood, where they live. Jhony Gregorio is married and has a child who was born in the U.S.

The only warrants for them, the attorneys said, were written up after they were detained.

“The creation of a warrant after the fact does not cure the warrantless nature of these incidents,” attorneys for the plaintiffs wrote, “and the Settlement’s training material specifically forbid reliance on post hoc administrative warrants to avoid warrantless arrest requirements.”

In the end, the two brothers and most of the other migrants cited in the lawsuit were released and able to remain in the United States, at least for now. Two of the 22 still are in ICE custody, and one has been deported, lawyers for the two advocacy groups said.

Jhony and Marco Gregorio now face an immigration case that could see them removed from the United States. Attorneys for the pair are not claiming that ICE’s arrest of their brother, Bayron, was unwarranted, and he is not a party in the lawsuit. It is unclear if he’s been deported.

Among those released is Julio Noriega, a 54-year-old Chicago man. He was handing out resumes to local businesses in search of work when he was approached by ICE officers in January, according to his witness declaration in the latest Nava filings.

Before he had a chance to explain, Noriega said, the officers placed him in handcuffs and moved him into a van. It wasn’t until after he’d already been taken to an ICE processing center and waited several hours that officers checked his wallet and realized he is a U.S. citizen.

Abel Orozco-Ortega, 47, who is also named in the new Nava filings, was arrested in January, too. He’d just returned home from buying breakfast for his family when officers detained him outside his house in Lyons, a suburb of Chicago where he’s lived with his family for the last 15 years.

Federal agents were looking for Orozco-Ortega’s son. They didn’t find him but took Orozco-Ortega into custody. Orozco-Ortega said in his statement that he has no criminal history. Filings in his case do not detail why agents were looking for his son. Orozco-Ortega has been residing in the U.S. without authorization.

His wife, Yolanda, said he is no criminal and pleaded for his release. “He doesn’t have any vices, he doesn’t do drugs, he goes to church,” she said speaking through an interpreter at a recent press conference. “Is it a crime to get up early every day for work to support your family? I just don’t know.”

Fleming said the center is continuing to compile examples of arrests that the firm believes show warrantless arrests.

by James Bandler, ProPublica, A.C. Thompson, ProPublica and FRONTLINE, and Max Maldonado, FRONTLINE

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Early last year, Matthew Allison could be found at the Space Banana dance club, awkwardly swaying to his own beat. Clutching the cheapest house beer, he’d greet people with a bear hug, a broad grin and his familiar, “Yo, bro!” salutations.

Allison, then a 37-year-old convenience store worker and Saturday-night DJ, seemed to like everyone he met in Boise, Idaho’s small electronic dance music scene. And most people seemed to like him back.

He was so gentle, former friends remember, that for a time he eschewed honey so as not to cause harm to bees.

He was “a little goofy,” a former friend, Tyler Whitt, recalled. “But bro goofy.”

But that lovable persona hid a more sinister core. When he was behind his computer screen, Allison used the handle BTC, short for BanThisChannel, he told ProPublica and FRONTLINE. On the social media and messaging platform Telegram, authorities say, Allison was a key figure in a network of white supremacist and neo-Nazi chat groups and channels known as Terrorgram.

There, Allison held court, promoting himself as “the most infamous and prolific propagandist of our time.”

Hyperbole aside, BTC was infamous. Extremism researchers in the U.S. and in Europe studied his posts but did not know who he was. Leftist activists sought to expose him. And law enforcement authorities tried to identify and jail him.

Last September, he was finally arrested.

Prosecutors allege that Allison was one of the leaders in the Terrorgram Collective, a secretive group that produced propaganda and instructions for terrorists, and disseminated that information through the Terrorgram ecosystem.

They say Allison used the Telegram platform to solicit “attacks on government infrastructure, such as government buildings and energy facilities,” to encourage the assassination of “‘high-value targets’ — like politicians and government officials” with a “hit list,” and to help produce and distribute a Terrorgram Collective publication that featured instructions for making “Napalm, thermite, chlorine gas, pipe bombs, and dirty bombs.”

About This Partnership

This story is part of a collaborative investigation from ProPublica and FRONTLINE that includes an upcoming documentary, “The Rise and Fall of Terrorgram,” which premieres March 25 at 10 p.m. EDT/9 p.m. CDT on PBS stations (check local listings) and will be available to stream on YouTube, the PBS App and FRONTLINE’s website.

Authorities also contend in court filings that Allison had fantasies about committing gruesome violence and sexual assault, and that he may have been planning to act on them.

Allison has pleaded not guilty.

For about five years, the Terrorgram network operated largely unchallenged on Telegram, which has nearly one billion users. The Dubai-based company did little to prevent influencers like Allison from circulating their propaganda and encouraging isolated young men to kill, a ProPublica and FRONTLINE investigation found.

The news organizations obtained a trove of now-deleted Telegram chats and channel logs and used them to trace Allison’s activity and influence in the Terrorgram network.

Telegram has declined repeated requests to make its executives available for interviews but said in a statement, “When the Terrorgram name first surfaced years ago, we began removing groups and channels that used variations on the Terrorgram name. Calls for violence from any group are not tolerated on our platform.”

In the annals of white supremacist content online, Allison’s work stood out. “It was some of the most inflammatory propaganda that I had seen,” said Jennefer Harper, a researcher who has amassed a large archive of neo-Nazi materials from Telegram. Allison was also prolific. “This propaganda was being posted 24/7! The account wasn’t taking a break, it was like, ‘Don’t you have anything else to do in your life?’”

He specialized in what he called documentaries, and over more than five years, he said, he made and posted around 120 videos. There were images of riots, burning cities and Black people brutalizing white people. There was GoPro footage of massacres filmed by white killers as they murdered people of color.

Allison and the other Terrorgram leaders found a receptive audience for their propaganda. Some of their fans got off their phones and took action: scoping out high-profile targets and even killing people. ProPublica and FRONTLINE used the chat logs, court records and other sources to connect 35 criminal cases to the Terrorgram network. Each case involved an individual who posted in Terrorgram chats, followed Terrorgram accounts or was a member of an organized group whose leaders participated in the Terrorgram community.

Prosecutors have linked Allison and his co-defendant, Dallas Humber, to a trio of mass shootings that killed a total of six people and wounded a dozen others, and to a stabbing incident that injured five, according to the indictment and a subsequent brief.

In early 2024, Allison’s work caught the attention of a young man from New Jersey named Andrew Takhistov.

Takhistov was in a Terrorgram group chat in which someone had posted several Allison videos, including a 51-second clip showing how to disable overhead electrical lines, according to court records. In another post, Takhistov indicated that he’d seen one of Allison’s most infamous propaganda videos.

By that summer, Takhistov, then 18, was planning his own infrastructure attacks, scheming to disable two electrical substations in New Jersey using the technique featured in Allison’s video, according to prosecutors. In court records, they say Takhistov was a fan of one of the Terrorgram Collective’s terrorism how-to guides, which Allison allegedly helped produce.

On Sept. 9, 2024, the Biden administration’s Justice Department announced the arrests and indictments of Allison and Humber, his alleged co-conspirator.

“Today’s arrests are a warning that committing hate-fueled crimes in the darkest corners of the internet will not hide you, and soliciting terrorist attacks from behind a screen will not protect you,” declared then-Attorney General Merrick Garland in a statement. “The United States Department of Justice will find you, and we will hold you accountable.”

Allison and Humber were each charged with 15 felony counts, including soliciting hate crimes, soliciting the murder of federal officials and conspiring to provide material support to terrorists.

Arrested in Boise, Allison was extradited to California, where Humber is also facing trial. They both pleaded not guilty.

Humber, visited in jail by a ProPublica and FRONTLINE reporter, said she would not talk to journalists. Her lawyer declined to comment.

Allison, against the advice of his own lawyer, granted two interviews. Looking pale and gaunt and dressed in jailhouse orange, Allison proudly acknowledged being BTC but denied he was a terrorist or that he had incited others to violence.

He called the indictment “bullshit,” claimed to be a video “artist” and indicated that he intended to fight the case on First Amendment grounds.

Allison said the alleged hit list of targets for assassination was merely a doxing list, a response to efforts by anti-fascist groups “to dox me” and anyone who claimed “to be pro-white.” He insisted he didn’t hate anyone.

His lawyers, in a bail motion, said the indictment was misleading. They argued that there was no evidence that Allison was a leader of a transnational terrorist organization. He was, they wrote, just a participant in chats that “‘are mostly a chaotic mix of hyperbole and posts without any recognized leader.”

Matthew Allison DJed in Boise, Idaho, before being arrested and charged with supporting terrorism. (Excerpt from “The Rise and Fall of Terrorgram”)

Watch video ➜

After Allison’s arrest, an FBI agent made his way to rural Perry, Missouri, to see Matthew’s father, John Allison, who lives in the basement of a rambling and drafty decommissioned church he’s renovating.

“Matthew was a perfect child,” John Allison remembers saying before closing the door on the agent. The father said the agent seemed interested only in incriminating information, so he refused to cooperate.

The first of four children, Matthew had sandy blond hair and blue eyes. Early on, he showed musical promise. Like Mozart in the movie “Amadeus,” John Allison recalls, Matthew could play the piano upside down.

The boy wasn’t raised to hate, his father told ProPublica and FRONTLINE in an interview.

But from the time he was 10 years old, the younger Allison took an interest in gruesome violence, prosecutors say. Matthew’s brother told federal agents that the boy enjoyed watching “graphic violent material,” including videos and images of “beheadings,” according to a prosecution brief. His legal team declined to comment on the allegation.

After high school in Perris, California, Matthew got an offer to attend a local college. He decided instead to follow his best friend to Idaho.

Allison’s lawyers said in a court filing that he spent 17 of the last 19 years in Boise, a relatively liberal city in a state that has become a haven for antigovernment and white supremacist activists.

He worked a variety of low-wage service jobs and did a lot of couch surfing, his friends say.

In 2013, Allison got a job working the night shift at a downtown coffee shop and bakery. His boss and co-worker remember him as quiet, polite and professional. He was in a long-term romance with a male co-worker and seemed very much in love.

“I always thought it was a very cohesive relationship,” said Tyler Armstrong, who worked at the bakery with both men. “They were together all the time. We’d all get together, smoke weed and just hang out.”

In Boise’s electronic dance music scene, Allison found a welcoming, inclusive community. He hosted parties where he would DJ, playing progressive house music.

He lived in a Spartan apartment. He didn’t have a car, or even a driver’s license. He told friends he wanted to stay under the radar.

Over the years, he lived in several upscale buildings, including The Fowler, a midrise that boasts a well-appointed fitness center and stunning views of the downtown.

While some acquaintances wondered how he afforded the rent on low-wage service jobs, four friends say that Allison had an illicit side hustle. As Tyler Whitt, one of his friends, put it, “He was an excellent plug” — a drug dealer.

Allison sold cocaine packaged in signature blue-tinted vials, according to Whitt and three other people who purchased drugs from him. Allison denied that he sold cocaine in an interview with FRONTLINE and ProPublica, and he has not been charged with any drug-related offenses.

In 2018, unbeknownst to his dance party friends, Allison was trying to break through on social media as an anonymous conservative influencer.

His early videos on YouTube under the Ban This Channel handle served up standard conservative fare. He peppered the videos with Tucker Carlson clips and used titles such as “The Russian Collusion Lie” and “Lies About Trump Exposed.” Most of the videos landed without notice.

Allison kept cranking out videos. They got more racist, homophobic and antisemitic. Eventually, after he posted the Nazi Party anthem, YouTube banished him from the platform.

His tilt to extremism came amid trouble in his personal life. Allison and his long-term boyfriend broke up, leaving him angry and depressed, according to Armstrong. And his younger brother in Nevada was imprisoned on drug charges, court records show.

In 2020, Allison abruptly left Idaho. He quit his job as a laborer for a flooring company, citing a family emergency. For a time, he lived in Nevada, taking care of his brother’s children.

Allison also lived with his father and stepmother in Utah for nearly six months, but he spent most of the time holed up in his room on his computer, his father said.

“That was a hard day,” Matthew Allison said after one 10-plus-hour session. His father stared at him, baffled.

Allison asked his father to help him start a website to host his content, which included videos he’d made from old Nazi propaganda footage, John Allison said.

“No, I’m not going to be a party to that,” he said he told his son.

Allison soon found another home for his content: Telegram.

Pete Simi, a sociology professor at Chapman University in Orange, California, has spent much of his career studying violent extremist groups and has closely tracked their migrations to Telegram.

It was sometime in 2021, during the pandemic, when Simi first became aware of BTC.

Simi had just been admitted to a private Telegram chat group.

The administrator of the chat hadn’t been willing to let Simi join until he provided proof of his whiteness. He’d thought his middle-aged skin might raise suspicion, so he’d shared a photo of his adult son’s forearm.

As soon as he entered the chat, someone shared a six-minute video called “Last Battle.” Simi downloaded a copy.

Simi had studied a lot of neo-Nazi propaganda — some of it crude and ineffective. But this video stood out, though the overall message was familiar: It told the story of a nation being destroyed by drag queens, immigrant invaders, Black criminals, interracial marriage and a “Jewish communist takeover.”

What was compelling about this video, Simi thought, was the way it blended violent imagery, ominous music and storytelling to impart a sense of fear and white victimhood. The only salvation, the video suggested, was for heterosexual white people to stand together and arm themselves.

“VOTING WILL NOT REMOVE THEM,” reads text on the screen. “THEY WANT YOU DEAD.”

“I would say ‘Last Battle’ would be one of the more effective videos I’ve seen,” Simi said.

Simi started teaching the video in class as an example of propaganda that would be compelling to many alienated young men.

Allison, as BTC, became a Terrorgram Collective leader in 2022 after a previous leader was arrested, according to prosecutors.

He allegedly distributed lengthy digital how-to guides for making explosives and attacking critical infrastructure, as well as audiobooks of murderers’ manifestos. Prosecutors say he helped create a hit list of perceived enemies — politicians, executives and academics — presented as red-and-black trading cards with assault weapon logos, which included headshots, addresses and photos of the targets’ homes.

One of his major contributions was the 24-minute movie “White Terror,” which he told ProPublica and FRONTLINE that he edited. It was an homage to 105 white men and women who committed acts of terrorism. Humber narrates the script in a remorseless monotone, describing the victims with slurs and praising the terrorists as “saints,” an honorific the Terrorgram influencers bestowed upon white supremacist murderers.

As Allison’s content became more extreme, Telegram started to take down his channels. Each time, the channel just popped back up with a slightly modified name. In December 2021, he bragged in a post that 50 of the channels he had started had been banned by Telegram.

Using data from the social media analysis platform Open Measures and other sources, ProPublica and FRONTLINE identified more than 20 channels in the Terrorgram ecosystem that were run by Allison.

The channels were “widely shared and promoted by other members of the Terrorgram scene,” said Pierre Vaux, a London-based researcher who has studied Terrorgram extensively. Vaux said that Allison also belonged to 120 chat groups and posted in them prolifically. “He’s a superspreader,” said Vaux.

In October 2022, a Slovakian teen who had spent years being indoctrinated on Telegram opened fire on an LGBTQ+ bar in the city of Bratislava, killing two people and wounding a third.

The shooter had been in direct contact with Terrorgram influencers, and according to U.S. prosecutors, sent his manifesto to Allison before the attack.

Another Telegram account Allison ran called BowlTurdsCoinInvesting shared the manifesto. In posts, Allison referred to the victims using a slur for gay people and called the manifesto “fucking amazing.”

Telegram shut the channel down.

But Allison quickly resurfaced — this time as BigTittyChica. He reposted an audiobook version of the Bratislava shooter’s manifesto.

Around this time, Humber sent Allison more news that she found encouraging. She had been communicating with a Terrorgram fan who was contemplating a school shooting targeting people of color, prosecutors said in court filings. About a month later, the user acted, killing four and wounding 11 at an elementary and middle school in Aracruz, Brazil.

Terrorgram consecrated another saint.

Allison’s legal team has suggested that the government may have misinterpreted the communications between Allison and the Slovakian killer. The evidence, they said, did “not show direct messages between Mr. Allison and the shooter but rather are messages that the shooter sent to Telegram group chats that were later forwarded between Mr. Allison’s purported two phones.”

Sociology professor Pete Simi and ProPublica reporter James Bandler watch Allison’s propaganda videos. (Excerpt from “The Rise and Fall of Terrorgram”)

Watch video ➜

While the real world and online lives of Allison might seem irreconcilable — a gay man who allegedly led a neo-Nazi terror group and advocated the murder of gays and lesbians — Simi, the Chapman University professor, has seen such cases before. It illustrates, he said, “the propensity that all of us have for leading contradictory lives. We have a great capacity for compartmentalizing as humans.”

Simi once interviewed a gay man who was also a member of Hammerskin Nation, a violent, hypermasculine Nazi skinhead gang whose members despise LGBTQ+ people. Ultimately, the cognitive dissonance became too great and the man quit the white supremacist movement.

There are other more recent examples. Taylor Ashley Parker-Dipeppe concealed his transgender identity from fellow members of the neo-Nazi Atomwaffen Division, a violently homophobic group. His gender identity was revealed in court after he pleaded guilty in 2021 to conspiracy and stalking charges related to threats against journalists and activists.

Allison’s friends had no inkling that the man they partied with was celebrating the murder of gay people on Telegram. But one friend, Tyler Armstrong, recalled a troubling moment in 2020. He stumbled on a Snapchat post in which Allison repeated a white supremacist meme about high crime rates in the Black community.

When Armstrong asked how Allison, as a gay man, could demonize another vulnerable population, Allison replied, “Don’t get me started on the LGBTQ” community, according to Armstrong. Allison denied the exchange to FRONTLINE and ProPublica.

“Sup bro. do house parties exist anymore?”

It was February 2024, and Allison was texting a friend, trying to score DJ gigs. He’d been working a ton lately at a convenience store job he hated and only partying Saturday nights. “Anyone else tapped in to the scene who would know what’s up?” he asked. “I’m killing it djing and got all the gear.”

Meanwhile on Telegram, Allison was putting the final touches on a movie trilogy, which he said documented “one man’s process of radicalization every step of the way.”

In July, Allison filled out an online application for a part-time job at a popular downtown Boise breakfast spot just a short bike ride from his apartment.

“Hi there, my name’s Matt. I have relevant job experience in baking, making New York style bagels from scratch,” he wrote. “I’m a friendly, clean cut, sociable, reliable, and highly organized hard worker.”

He was hired and began working immediately.

That same month, federal agents arrested Takhistov, the New Jersey man who had watched Allison’s videos and read the Terrorgram Collective manual.

Prosecutors say Takhistov was working with another extremist to disable electrical power stations. What he didn’t know was that his co-conspirator was an undercover investigator. Takhistov was charged with soliciting another individual to destroy energy facilities. In building their case, investigators obtained his chat history, including more than 2,500 files.

Court records do not make it clear whether Takhistov has entered a plea. His attorney declined to comment.

The feds were getting closer. But if Allison was worried about the arrest of this young Terrorgram fan, he didn’t let on at work.

Over the next weeks at his new job, Allison was polite, professional and friendly. He told his father it was the best job he’d ever had.

On Friday, Sept. 6, armed federal agents confronted Allison as he prepared to bike to work.

He did not resist. And for two hours he spoke to investigators, waiving access to a lawyer. Allison admitted to making artwork for one Terrorgram production and to participating in a large number of Telegram channels with white supremacists, according to court records. He explained that he was just sharing “propaganda” and “documenting” his “understanding of the world.”

He repeatedly demanded: “What part of any of this was illegal?”

But investigators found more reasons for concern. In his backpack, agents found zip ties, duct tape, ammunition, a firearm, a knife, lockpicking equipment, two phones and a thumbdrive, court documents say.

In his apartment, they discovered an assault rifle, two laptops and a “go bag” with $1,500 cash, a black balaclava and the kind of skull mask favored by members of Atomwaffen Division, court records show.

Federal authorities also searched his storage unit, where they found disturbing handwritten letters titled “Commit Homicide” and “Post-Mortem Disembowelment” that contained graphic fantasies about murdering a baby and her mother, followed by the post-mortem rape and dissection of the woman’s body, according to the court filings. Prosecutors do not allege that he committed these crimes.

At a detention hearing, Allison’s defense claimed the writings were old song lyrics from his high school death metal band, Putrid Flesh.

In a motion for bail, Allison’s lawyers argued that he was not a threat to anyone and that his speech was protected under the First Amendment.

The judge denied Allison bail.

Late last year in Boise, the two Tylers who partied with Allison — Tyler Whitt and Tyler Armstrong — sat down to process the confounding double life of their former friend.

But first they watched “White Terror,” the BTC production that coldly celebrates terrorist killers with a mix of gruesome violence and dehumanizing language. Both men said the video left them in shock.

“That’s somebody who spent a lot of time thinking and giving in to all this hate in his heart,” Armstrong said. “And I’m like, Where does that come from?”

Whitt, who is gay, said he was still struggling to understand. “That’s got to be a totally broken person,” he said. “It was like hating everybody else is more important than loving one part of himself.”

But Whitt said he had no sympathy for his former friend and hopes Allison will spend the rest of his life in prison.

“I’m glad they got him.”

Tom Jennings, Annie Wong and Karina Meier of FRONTLINE contributed reporting.

by ProPublica and PBS's Frontline

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

This story is part of a collaborative investigation from ProPublica and FRONTLINE that includes an upcoming documentary, “The Rise and Fall of Terrorgram,” which premieres March 25 at 10 p.m. EDT/9 p.m. CDT on PBS stations (check local listings) and will be available to stream on YouTube, the PBS App and FRONTLINE’s website.

A new investigative collaboration from FRONTLINE and ProPublica explores a transnational online network of extremists accused of inciting acts of white supremacist terrorism on the messaging platform Telegram. They called themselves Terrorgram — and called their leadership the Terrorgram Collective.

From an award-winning team led by reporters A.C. Thompson and James Bandler and acclaimed filmmakers Thomas Jennings and Annie Wong, “The Rise and Fall of Terrorgram” continues years of groundbreaking reporting on violent extremism and online radicalization from ProPublica and FRONTLINE.

“Drawing on a trove of archived posts, our reporting shows how Telegram and other lightly regulated platforms became a gathering place for ‘militant accelerationists’ — neo-Nazis who want to use terror and violence to bring down governments and create new, white ethnostates,” says Thompson, who has been reporting on the evolution of violent extremism in the U.S. for years and, with this project, expands his focus worldwide.

“These people on the messaging and social media app Telegram were trying to stir other people to commit acts of incredible violence and to spark a race war,” says Bandler. “What we’ve seen through the Terrorgram story is that there are consequences to unfettered free speech, to having influencers out there advocating violence or mass murder.”

Telegram said in a statement that it has always screened postings for problematic content and that “calls for violence from any group are not tolerated on our platform.”

“The Rise and Fall of Terrorgram,” part of a collaborative investigation from FRONTLINE and ProPublica.

“The Rise and Fall of Terrorgram” also probes how authorities in several countries would eventually arrest around a dozen people allegedly tied to the Terrorgram Collective.

“Are these arrests the end of Terrorgram? You may have a collapse specifically of this particular network, but is that the end? Absolutely not,” sociologist Pete Simi says in the documentary. “There will be new Terrorgrams that take its place by another name, and we will continue to see this kind of extremism propagated through platforms of various sorts, not just Telegram.”

More than a year in the making, the 90-minute documentary is part of a multiplatform effort that also includes a series of stories from ProPublica.

“The Rise and Fall of Terrorgram,” premieres Tuesday, March 25 at 10 p.m. EDT/9 p.m. CDT on PBS stations (check local listings) and will be available to stream on YouTube, the PBS App and FRONTLINE’s website.

by Annie Waldman and Sharon Lerner

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

The National Institutes of Health will no longer be funding work on the health effects of climate change, according to internal records reviewed by ProPublica.

The guidance, which was distributed to several staffers last week, comes on the back of multiple new directives to cut off NIH funding to grants that are focused on subjects that are viewed as conflicting with the Trump administration’s priorities, such as gender identity, LGBTQ+ issues, vaccine hesitancy, and diversity, equity and inclusion.

While it’s unclear whether the climate guidance will impact active grants and lead to funding terminations, the directive appears to halt opportunities for future funding of studies or academic programs focused on the health effects of climate change.

“This is an administration where industry voices rule and prevail,” said Dr. Lisa Patel, executive director of The Medical Society Consortium on Climate and Health, a coalition of medical professionals that raises awareness about the health effects of climate change. “This is an agenda item for the fossil fuel industry, and this administration is doing what the fossil fuel industry wants.”

She called the new guidance “catastrophic” and said it would have a “devastating” impact on much-needed research.

As extreme weather events, such as hurricanes, heat waves, wildfires and floods, continue to intensify and become more frequent, researchers are increasingly examining the impact climate change has on public health. The NIH, which provides billions of dollars annually for biomedical research across the country, has funded hundreds of grants and programs in recent years devoted to researching this issue.

In 2021, under President Joe Biden, the agency launched the Climate Change and Health Initiative to further coordinate and encourage greater research and training. The initiative received $40 million in congressional appropriations for research in both 2023 and 2024. However, last month, the initiative and two other similar NIH programs devoted to climate change and health were dismantled, according to reporting from Mother Jones.

The latest directive cuts all future climate change and health funding across the agency, regardless of its connection to the previously canceled initiative.

In response to ProPublica’s questions about the directive, a spokesperson for the Department of Health and Human Services said the agency “is taking action to terminate research funding that is not aligned with NIH and HHS priorities.”

“At HHS, we are dedicated to restoring our agencies to their tradition of upholding gold-standard, evidence-based science,” the spokesperson said. “As we begin to Make America Healthy Again, it’s important to prioritize research that directly affects the health of Americans. We will leave no stone unturned in identifying the root causes of the chronic disease epidemic as part of our mission to Make America Healthy Again.”

Climate and health researchers faced hostility during President Donald Trump’s first administration but were able to continue their work, according to Linda Birnbaum, a former director of the National Institute of Environmental Health Sciences who served as a federal scientist for four decades.

“Under Trump One, we scratched the word ‘change’ from our work and talked about ‘climate’ and ‘health,’ and that was acceptable,” she said. “If NIH doesn’t study the health impacts of climate, we are not going to be able to prevent some of those health impacts, and we aren’t going to be able to find ways to deal with them.”

In a report from December, the NIH listed numerous ongoing climate change and health projects that it was funding, including research to examine the health impacts of the Maui wildfires in Hawaii, develop models to predict dengue virus transmission by mosquitos, and study the effect of heat on fertility and reproductive functions. The Trump administration has since pulled the report offline.

“We can see with our own eyes how extreme heat and extreme weather are harming people’s health,” said Veena Singla, an adjunct assistant professor at Columbia University’s Mailman School of Public Health.

The new NIH directive follows the Trump administration’s broader agenda to gut efforts to document and address climate change. Trump has paused billions of dollars of spending on climate-related causes. He has also issued executive orders aimed at increasing the production of fossil fuels and scaling back the government’s efforts to address climate change.

His administration is also considering a plan to eliminate the scientific research office of the Environmental Protection Agency, which could result in the firing of more than 1,000 scientists, according to The New York Times. Some scientists in that office have also been researching the health effects of climate change, investigating such questions as how rising temperatures might change the body’s response to air pollution and how climate change impacts the amount of toxic chemicals in air and water.

The NIH and White House did not respond to ProPublica’s request for comment. The EPA did not answer questions about whether research on climate change and health will continue at the agency. In an emailed response to questions from ProPublica, the EPA press office wrote that “The Trump EPA is dedicated to being led by our commitment to the agency’s core mission of protecting human health and the environment, unlike Biden EPA appointees with major ethical issues that were beholden to radical stakeholder groups.”

Trump’s perspective on climate change appears to be at odds with that of his health secretary, Robert F. Kennedy Jr., who spent decades as an environmental attorney. “I believe the climate crisis is real, that humans are causing it, that it’s existential,” he said in an interview last year. HHS did not respond to ProPublica’s questions on the secretary’s views.

However, Patel told ProPublica that she did not expect the new health secretary, whose mandate oversees the NIH, to support views that were at odds with the administration’s agenda.

“What we can readily see, from the things that RFK Jr. is allowing to happen and unwilling to weigh in on, he is not going to be an anti-industry voice,” she said. “He is not there to follow the best science.”

Did You Work on a Terminated NIH Grant? ProPublica Wants to Hear From You.

by Abrahm Lustgarten

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

For Chris Wright, there may be no simple truths. At his Senate confirmation hearing on Jan. 15, the man poised to take control of the U.S. Department of Energy and its vast apparatus of technological research and development sat behind a walnut desk wearing a gray suit and a crisply knotted red tie. Wright, the founder and CEO of Liberty Energy, a $3 billion natural gas fracking company, harkened back to his days as a solar energy researcher and offered lawmakers a vision of open-mindedness and innovation. Climate change is an urgent challenge, he reassured them, and he would address it.

“It is a global issue. It is a real issue. It’s a challenging issue. And the solution to climate change is to evolve our energy system,” he told the Senate Committee on Energy and Natural Resources. “I am for improving all energy technologies that can better human lives and reduce emissions.”

Since his confirmation as the secretary of energy on Feb. 3, though, Wright has outlined an anti-climate agenda. Speaking to conservative audiences, he is charismatic, animated and far more zealous. Wright dismissed the transition to renewable energy as nonexistent in a Feb. 18 speech at the Alliance for Responsible Citizenship conference, a gathering associated with the podcast host Jordan Peterson, and called global efforts to boost the use of renewables, which he said drive up the price of energy, “lunacy.”

“The world simply runs on hydrocarbons,” he told the group, “and for most of their uses, we don’t have replacements.”

Before Congress, he pledged to listen and learn and then chart his course. Before Peterson’s group, he announced he already had “a nine-point plan” that would more than double the world’s consumption of the very fuels causing the planet to overheat. “Number one is, get out of the way of the production, export and enhancement of our volumes of coal, oil and gas,” he said. Yes, they cause climate change, he has repeatedly acknowledged, but it amounts to an inconvenient complication.

Over the past several weeks, Wright has delivered speeches not just at Peterson’s conference but also at the Conservative Political Action Conference and at CERAWeek, widely seen as the oil industry’s most influential business event, during which he continued to assert that the world’s economy is primarily dependent on the expansion of hydrocarbons and that alternatives like solar and wind have proved both costly and a failure — characterizations that ignore the swiftly falling costs and rapid adoption of both technologies. “I think the agenda might be different here than climate change,” he mused at Peterson’s forum, referring to “the climate-obsessed people” he’s spoken with. Then he hit on a theme that he emphasized again in the weeks that followed: “It’s certainly been a powerful tool used to grow government power, top-down control and shrink human freedom. This is sinister.”

Chris Wright has different answers for different audiences … … on fossil fuel dependence

In Congress, at the Senate Confirmation Hearing on Jan. 15, 2025, Wright said: “The only pathway to reduce greenhouse gas emissions and lift up people's quality of life is through energy innovation. And America has been a hotbed of that.”

At the Alliance for Responsible Citizenship conference on Feb. 17, 2025, Wright said: “The world simply runs on hydrocarbons and for most of their uses, we don't have replacements.”

… on responding to climate change

In Congress, at the Senate Confirmation Hearing on Jan. 15, 2025, Wright said: “I've studied and followed the data and the evolution of climate change for at least 20 years now. It is a global issue. It is a real issue. It's a challenging issue. And the solution to climate change is to evolve our energy system.”

At CERAWeek on March 10, 2025, Wright said: “I'm honored to play a role in reversing what I believe has been very poor direction in energy policy. The previous administration's policy was focused myopically on climate change with people as simply collateral damage.”

… on alternative energy sources

In Congress, at the Senate Confirmation Hearing on Jan. 15, 2025, Wright said: “I will be an unabashed steward for all sources of affordable, reliable and secure American energy and the infrastructure needed to develop, deliver and secure them.”

At CERAWeek on March 10, 2025, Wright said: “Beyond the obvious scale and cost problems, there is simply no physical way that wind, solar and batteries could replace the myriad uses of natural gas. I haven't even mentioned oil or coal yet.”

As Wright’s views have become more public, it suggests that he and the rest of Trump’s cabinet will embrace the premise of climate change but downplay its threat, even building a case that it is a benefit to society. The White House is seeking to reverse the legal definition of carbon dioxide as a climate pollutant and undo scores of rules addressing the economic costs of the extreme warming it causes. “Recently I’ve been called a climate denier or climate skeptic,” Wright told attendees at CERAWeek. “This is simply wrong. I am a climate realist.”

“The Trump administration will treat climate change for what it is, a global physical phenomenon that is a side effect of building the modern world,” he continued. Global life expectancy has soared. Poverty has sharply declined. Modern medicine and telecommunications and airplanes have all resulted. And in the process, “We have indeed raised global atmospheric CO2 concentration by 50%.”

“Everything in life involves trade-offs,” he added. “Everything.”

Such a jarring claim amounts to more than a philosophical difference about the priorities of the world. It is unambiguously dismissive of a climate crisis that the vast majority of global scientists warn will prove devastatingly disruptive. It has given some of the people he addressed in Congress whiplash. Sen. Alex Padilla, D-Calif., who sits on the Committee on Energy and Natural Resources, wrote through a spokesperson in response to questions from ProPublica that Wright stated a willingness to “support all energy sources,” but now that he is prioritizing a fossil fuel agenda, it is “deeply disappointing.”

The one thing it is not, however, is new.

In 2024, Liberty Energy published a little-noticed, 180-page manifesto called “Bettering Human Lives,” connected to the similarly named poverty-alleviation foundation his company created that year to bring cooking fuels to Africa. The document amounts to a spirited moral argument for how energy produced from oil and gas has advanced the developed world and how essential it will be to raise undeveloped countries out of poverty. Wright’s premise is that communities that lack electricity or modern fuels should get the immediate benefit from the cheapest existing energy source available to them. He says that recent climate policies prohibiting U.S. investment in infrastructure that could provide that energy using oil and gas does enormous human harm. But the “Bettering Human Lives” report goes further, suggesting that there is little role for non-hydrocarbon technologies and arguing that if oil and gas production are not expanded globally, billions of people will be held in poverty.

At his senate confirmation, Wright was asked several times to explain his embrace of “all sources” of energy. During one exchange, in which Sen. Catherine Cortez Masto, D-Nev., pushed him to expand on what he meant, Wright listed them: wind, nuclear, geothermal, hydropower. “And if I didn’t say solar, it was an oversight.”

The statement is a sharp contrast to what Wright has told his investors in Liberty Energy’s earnings calls, where he has blamed many of those renewables for rising poverty and declining growth and has criticized “the incessant repeating of the simply false term,” referring to “the so-called energy transition.” He argues that for all the years and dollars invested in lowering carbon and subsidizing a transition to cleaner energy, hydrocarbons still fuel roughly the same 85% of global energy supply that they have for decades. Renewables, he says, still account for less than 3%. (The remainder being nuclear and hydroelectric energy, among other sources.)

According to the Energy Institute’s “Statistical Review of World Energy,” the energy industry’s trusted source for global market trends, though, hydrocarbons have dropped to 81.5% of global energy consumption, and renewables now account for roughly 8% of global energy use — more than twice what Wright claims — and are projected to grow sharply over the next few years. Moreover, the report states that solar and wind capacity grew by 67% in 2023, adding more wind and solar capacity than ever before and driving the vast majority of the world’s increase in electricity generation for the year.

Wright, whose office did not respond to a detailed list of questions, has said he rejects similar calculations on methodological grounds.

He also ignores the ways in which the energy transition in the U.S. is already well underway. According to the U.S. Energy Information Administration, the government’s primary energy data office, wind and solar are responsible for substantial growth in American electricity generation while generation from natural gas is forecast to decrease. South Dakota, for example, gets 80% of its electricity from renewables, and Vermont relies on them nearly 100%.

Facts aside, Wright, in his recent remarks, has begun to present his agenda in ideological terms, drawing a straight line between fossil fuel use and conservative fears that Americans’ freedom is under assault. At CPAC, liberated from the necktie he said he’d been compelled to wear since his confirmation hearing, roaming the brightly lit stage with his arms outstretched, he reframed oil and gas not as the cause of climate change the way he’d previously conceded but as a fuel that is patriotic and moral. “Not everyone in the world has access to the liberty and energy we have,” he told the audience. “But in our own country, both of those concepts have been under great threat in the last four years. Maybe that’s why my political career started. Liberty under threat, energy resources under threat.”

It was a whole different message from the one Wright delivered before the Senate.

Amy Westervelt of Drilled contributed research.

by Beth Hundsdorfer and Molly Parker, Capitol News Illinois

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

The U.S. Department of Justice has opened a wide-ranging investigation into Illinois’ treatment of people with developmental disabilities, examining whether the state provides adequate resources for community living and protects residents from harm in public institutions.

Tonya Piephoff, director of the Illinois Department of Human Services’ Division of Developmental Disabilities, informed employees of the investigation in a letter dated March 13 that was obtained by Capitol News Illinois.

“The investigation will examine whether the state unnecessarily institutionalizes, or puts at serious risk of institutionalization, adults with intellectual and developmental disabilities,” the letter stated. Illinois has long had one of the highest populations of people with developmental and intellectual disabilities living in state-run institutions in the nation.

The letter said the investigation also will look into abuse and neglect allegations of patients at three of the seven state-operated residential institutions run by IDHS, including the Choate Mental Health and Developmental Center, in rural southern Illinois, which was the subject of an investigative series by Capitol News Illinois and ProPublica starting in 2022. The news organizations launched the series after the arrests of Choate staff members for abuse and neglect of residents; the articles documented instances of mistreatment by staff.

Gov. JB Pritzker said Friday that Illinois has already made significant changes to improve the safety of people with developmental disabilities living in state-run institutions, including installing cameras to help investigate mistreatment allegations. Pritzker said that individuals had moved to other institutions, and that the state had also enhanced the services provided to residents in those places. He did not address parts of the federal investigation focused on whether Illinois is relying too heavily on institutions to provide care instead of supporting people in community-based settings.

“The work has been done already,” Pritzker said of the DOJ investigation, speaking at an unrelated news conference. “It’s fine if there’s an investigation, but the reality is that things have moved significantly in the right direction, and I have done what I said I should do, and that I think we all agree should be done, which is keep everyone safe.”

IDHS issued a written statement on Wednesday that read: “As always, the department will cooperate in full with the independent investigation and continue, as permitted and appropriate, to keep staff and interested stakeholders updated.”

It added: “IDHS has made unprecedented investments in home and community based options to empower Illinoisans with disabilities to live in the least restrictive setting of their choosing.”

A spokesperson for the DOJ did not respond to a request for comment.

The latest investigation also promises to be far broader than a previous DOJ inquiry. The new effort will review how the state provides services to all people with intellectual or developmental disabilities, including those who live in the community or at home.

The DOJ had previously investigated Choate in 2007. In a report released two years later, it found the facility had not provided proper transition planning for those wanting to move into the community; and for those living inside the state-run facility, had failed to protect residents from abuse and neglect, and did not meet their health, education and treatment needs, in violation of constitutional and federal statutory rights. The DOJ ended its monitoring in 2013.

In its investigative series a decade later, Capitol News Illinois and ProPublica detailed cases documented in internal reports and police and court records where staff had beaten, choked, whipped, sexually assaulted and humiliated residents. Those cases included the 2014 beating by staff of a man with intellectual disabilities for failing to pull up his pants. They also included the verbal abuse of a resident with developmental disabilities in 2020, including a threat by staff to break one of his fingers, captured on a recorded 911 line, according to court records, police reports and IDHS watchdog findings.

The reporting also documented a culture of covering up abuse and neglect at the facility, findings later echoed by IDHS’ Office of Inspector General — the watchdog arm that investigates abuse and neglect allegations at state-run facilities and provides agency oversight.

In the wake of the reporting, Pritzker called the abuse detailed in the stories “awful” and “deeply concerning.” The agency promised to make systemic changes to keep Choate home to the nearly 230 people with developmental disabilities who lived there at the time.

But as the news organizations continued to report on the abuse and neglect at Choate that was documented in internal and state police reports, Pritzker and his leadership team at IDHS changed course, announcing plans to move at least half of Choate’s residents to community placements or to one of the six other state-operated facilities.

“We are at a point today where all of those things weren’t working to the degree we wanted them to, so today we are making transformational changes,” he told reporters at a news conference.

In December, Equip for Equality, a legal advocacy organization monitoring the transition of Choate residents, found the state falling short of its promises, with many individuals ending up in other institutions instead of community settings, according to a report.It said the state needed to do more to help people find community group homes and prepare them for the transition.

Illinois’ reliance on institutions represents “an antiquated and oppressive model of serving people with developmental disabilities,” said Andrea Rizor, an Equip for Equality attorney, who also said the group hopes the investigation will ultimately help bring more resources to community-based care.

The U.S. Supreme Court found in 1999 that confining people with disabilities in state institutions constituted discrimination, holding that patients with mental disabilities should be placed in community settings if they are medically cleared to do so and expressed a desire to live outside a facility.

Illinois largely failed to do that and ended up under a federal consent decree, which a judge ruled just last year should stay in place until the state made more progress.

Today, accusations of abuse and neglect also have continued to grow, at Choate and across the system. A December 2024 report by the Office of Inspector General said it had received over 15,000 complaints from individuals in institutions and community-based settings, a 24% increase from the previous year and an 80% jump since fiscal year 2020. The office has struggled to keep up, even after growing from 73 to 91 employees in a year. The report said the Office of Inspector General “still lacks enough staff to handle rising caseloads efficiently, estimating it needs at least 120 workers.”

In addition, two years after Pritzker’s announcement that 123 residents with intellectual or developmental disabilities would be moved out of Choate, 81 have been relocated, with most moving to other state-operated developmental centers. Not included in the governor’s initiative are 111 patients with developmental disabilities who are living in specialized units at Choate.

There currently are nearly 1,600 people with developmental disabilities living in state-run facilities in Illinois, with 242 residents stating they want to explore living in the community.

by J. David McSwane, ProPublica, and Mara Silvers, Montana Free Press

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

Since at least April 2021, the Montana medical licensing board has had evidence, including thousands of pages of patient files and medical reviews, that Dr. Thomas C. Weiner, a popular Helena oncologist, had hurt and potentially killed patients, ProPublica and Montana Free Press have learned. Yet in that time, the board renewed his medical license — twice.

Weiner directed the cancer center at St. Peter’s Health for 24 years before he was fired in 2020 and accused of overprescribing narcotics, treating people who didn’t have cancer with chemotherapy and providing substandard care. Weiner, who has denied the allegations, was the subject of a December ProPublica investigation, which revealed a documented trail of patient harm and at least 10 suspicious deaths. Many of the records cited in the story had been in the medical board’s custody for nearly four years, St. Peter’s recently confirmed.

The Board of Medical Examiners renewed Weiner’s medical license in March 2023 and this month, authorizing him to treat patients and prescribe drugs. While lawyers for the state agency that oversees the medical board collected records from the hospital under subpoena, including medical reviews that criticized Weiner’s care, that inquiry languished at the staff level, according to one current and one former board member. It’s unclear why Weiner’s case was not elevated to the governor-appointed board members.

Sam Loveridge, a spokesperson for the Department of Labor and Industry, the board’s umbrella agency, did not answer a list of emailed questions, including whether the records provided by the hospital were reviewed by members of the board.

Kathleen Abke, a lawyer representing St. Peter’s, told ProPublica and Montana Free Press that the hospital initially surrendered to the licensing board 160,000 pages of documents relating to the care of 64 patients; the state received those records in early 2021, just months after Weiner was fired.

As part of the subpoena, St. Peter’s supplied the medical records of Scot Warwick, whom Weiner diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer in 2009. Even though there had not been a lung biopsy to confirm that Warwick had the disease, Weiner proceeded to give him chemotherapy and other treatments for 11 years. After Warwick died in 2020, an autopsy — which St. Peter’s said it gave to the medical board — found no evidence of cancer. Weiner maintained the patient had terminal cancer for 11 years and said a pathologist and post-mortem medical examiner missed the disease.

Lisa Warwick, Scot’s widow, sued St. Peter’s for his wrongful death and settled for an undisclosed amount. Warwick learned from ProPublica and Montana Free Press this month that the state had her husband’s records and other evidence for years. She called the situation “appalling.”

“I would just like to know what information they’re reviewing that sways their determination to renew this man’s license,” she said. “Because if they are truly doing their job and are reviewing these things and looking at all the cases that have been brought forth — the people who have died, the circumstances under which they died — there is no way they can justify renewing this man’s license.”

Anthony Olson, another Weiner patient who inappropriately received chemotherapy for nearly a decade, expressed shock when he learned Montana regulators had information about his case as early as 2021. Three biopsies confirmed that Olson never had cancer, according to court and medical records. That chemo created severe health complications for Olson.

“So they just really don’t care?” Olson asked. “It gives me the shakes. My heart’s racing, and I literally don’t know what to feel right now.”

Weiner blamed other doctors for Olson’s misdiagnosis but acknowledged he received toxic treatments “needlessly.”

In Montana, medical licenses are up for renewal every two years. A few months after the board renewed Weiner’s license in 2023, its staff subpoenaed the hospital for additional records. Abke said St. Peter’s provided the board with thousands more internal documents and medical reviews. Yet, she said, no one from the hospital was called by the board to testify about Weiner’s practices.

St. Peter’s confirmed that the second tranche included the medical records of Nadine Long, a 16-year-old girl who, court and medical records show, died in 2015 shortly after Weiner ordered the injection of a large amount of phenobarbital, a powerful sedative. Weiner has denied wrongdoing in the case. Maintaining that the girl’s condition was terminal, he said he was providing comfort.

St. Peter’s also reported Weiner’s removal to the National Practitioner Data Bank and alerted the federal Drug Enforcement Administration to his alleged narcotics practices, according to records and interviews.

“We provided information to every entity that had the ability to do something about this,” Abke said. “St. Peter’s took these allegations extremely seriously.”

Dr. James Burkholder, a member of the medical licensing board from 2016 to 2023, told ProPublica and Montana Free Press that Weiner’s name “never came up” during board deliberations. Burkholder, a retired family doctor from Helena, said he’s certain the case didn’t reach the board level because he knows Weiner professionally and would have recused himself. He also served on the screening subcommittee that would have first reviewed the state’s investigation into Weiner and passed it up to the full board to be adjudicated.

Dr. Carley Robertson, a current board member, said she’s never heard of Weiner.

It’s unclear how many complaints have been filed against Weiner, as the medical board keeps information about cases that weren’t substantiated secret. ProPublica and Montana Free Press confirmed that at least one licensing complaint against Weiner, filed in 2021, was pending for three years before being dismissed in December.

Marilyn Ketchum’s husband died while under Weiner’s care. After reviewing her husband’s medical records, she took her concerns about Weiner to the medical licensing board. (Melyssa St. Michael for ProPublica)

A few months after reading local news reports about Weiner being fired by St. Peter’s, Marilyn Ketchum decided to act on concerns about her husband, Shawn Ketchum, who died back in 2016 while under Weiner’s care. After reviewing his medical records, she told the board that Weiner altered her husband’s code status without permission. If his heart stopped, he wanted to be a full code, she said, meaning he wanted to be resuscitated. Instead, when he was rushed to the hospital, Weiner maintained that Ketchum was a DNR/DNI — do not resuscitate and do not intubate — his medical records show. Ketchum died without intervention soon after, according to the records.

In its internal reviews of Weiner’s care, St. Peter’s alleged that unilaterally changing patients’ code status was a “standard practice” of his, which it called “a serious violation of the standard of care and medical ethics.” Weiner did not respond to questions about Ketchum’s case and has denied that he ever changed a patient’s status without permission.

Ketchum, who now lives in Arkansas, said a state employee did not interview her until two years after she made a complaint against Weiner’s license. “I was on their ass to do something about it,” Ketchum said, emailing or calling someone from the labor department “every couple of weeks.”

In a letter sent in late 2024, the board provided no explanation for why it had dismissed her complaint.

Weiner has said he’s not currently treating patients because he can’t get malpractice insurance.

Following the ProPublica investigation published in December, the Montana Department of Justice launched a criminal inquiry into Weiner, according to three people with direct knowledge of the case. Weiner has not been charged with a crime. In separate cases last year, the U.S. Department of Justice sued Weiner and the hospital, alleging they defrauded federal health care programs. The hospital settled for $10.8 million. Weiner has denied the allegations through an attorney and petitioned the court to dismiss the case.

Last month, Weiner lost an appeal of a yearslong court battle over his firing. The Montana Supreme Court ruled that the hospital’s actions were “reasonable and warranted due to the quantity and severity of Weiner’s inappropriate patient care.”

Still, since Weiner’s firing, many Helena residents continue to defend him, including by funding billboards that proclaim “WE STAND WITH DR. WEINER.” Weiner’s supporters, often citing his renewed medical license, have accused the hospital of orchestrating a smear campaign against a dedicated oncologist. Since the winter of 2020, they’ve held protests outside of the hospital.

Abke said many St. Peter’s employees are exhausted by the blowback from Weiner’s supporters and are working to regain trust in Helena. Asked about concerns that the hospital unfairly targeted Weiner, Abke said, “No hospital would want to take the financial, the PR, the personal hit for no reason.”

by Hannah Allam

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

On a frigid winter morning in 2022, a stranger knocked on the door of a synagogue in Colleyville, Texas, during Shabbat service.

Soon after he was invited in for tea, the visitor pulled out a pistol and demanded the release of an al-Qaida-linked detainee from a nearby federal prison, seizing as hostages a rabbi and three worshipers. The standoff lasted 10 hours until the rabbi, drawing on extensive security training, hurled a chair at the assailant. The hostages escaped.

“We are alive today because of that education,” Rabbi Charlie Cytron-Walker said after the attack.

The averted tragedy at Congregation Beth Israel is cited as a success story for the largely unseen prevention work federal authorities have relied on for years in the fight to stop terrorist attacks and mass shootings. The government weaves together partnerships with academic researchers and community groups across the country as part of a strategy for addressing violent extremism as a public health concern.

A specialized intervention team at Boston Children’s Hospital treats young patients — some referred by the FBI — who show signs of disturbing, violent behavior. Eradicate Hate, a national prevention umbrella group, says one of its trainees helped thwart a school shooting in California last year by reporting a gun in a fellow student’s backpack. In other programs, counselors guide neo-Nazis out of the white-power movement or help families of Islamist extremists undo the effects of violent propaganda.

The throughline for this work is federal funding — a reliance on grants that are rapidly disappearing as the Trump administration guts billions in spending.

Tens of millions of dollars slated for violence prevention have been cut or are frozen pending review as President Donald Trump’s Department of Government Efficiency steamrolls the national security sector. Barring action from Congress or the courts, counterterrorism professionals say, the White House appears poised to end the government’s backing of prevention work on urgent threats.

“This is the government getting out of the terrorism business,” said one federal grant recipient who was ordered this week to cease work on projects including a database used by law enforcement agencies to assess threats.

This account is drawn from interviews with nearly two dozen current and former national security personnel, federally funded researchers and nonprofit grant recipients. Except in a few cases, they spoke on condition of anonymity for fear of retaliation from the Trump administration.

Dozens of academic and nonprofit programs that rely on grants from the Department of Homeland Security, the Justice Department and other agencies are in crisis mode, mirroring the uncertainty of other parts of the government amid Trump’s seismic reorganization.

“We’re on a precipice,” said the leader of a large nonprofit that has received multiple federal grants and worked with Democratic and Republican administrations on prevention campaigns.

The Department of Justice has collected information about FBI employees who worked on cases related to the Capitol riot as part of a purge of FBI personnel, which is also forcing out officials with terrorism expertise. (Stefani Reynolds/Bloomberg via Getty Images)

Program leaders describe a chilling new operating environment. Scholars of white supremacist violence — which the FBI for years has described as a main driver of domestic terrorism — wonder how they’ll be able to continue tracking the threat without running afoul of the administration’s ban on terms related to race and racism.

The training the rabbi credits with saving his Texas synagogue in 2022 came from a broader community initiative whose federal funding is in limbo. One imperiled effort, FEMA’s Nonprofit Security Grant Program, has helped Jewish institutions across the country install security cameras, train staff and add protective barriers, according to the nonprofit Secure Community Network, which gives security advice and monitors threats to Jewish communities nationwide.

In July 2023, access-control doors acquired through the grant program prevented a gunman from entering Margolin Hebrew Academy in Memphis. In 2021, when gunfire struck the Jewish Family Service offices in Denver, grant-funded protective window film stopped bullets from penetrating the building.

“These are not hypothetical scenarios, they are real examples of how NSGP funds prevent injuries and deaths,” Michael Masters, director of the Secure Community Network, wrote this month in an op-ed in The Jerusalem Post calling for continued funding of the program.

Now the security grants program has been shelved as authorities and Jewish groups warn of rising antisemitism. The generous reading, one Jewish program leader said, is that the funds were inadvertently swept up in DOGE cuts. Trump has been a vocal supporter of Jewish groups and, as one of his first acts in office, signed an executive order promising to tackle antisemitism.

Still, the freeze on grants for synagogue protections has revived talk of finding new, more independent funding streams.

Throughout Jewish history, the program director said, “we’ve learned you need a Plan B.”

The White House did not respond to requests for comment.

“Tsunami” of Cuts

For more than two decades, the federal government has invested tens of millions of dollars in prevention work and academic research with the goal of intervening in the crucial window known as “left of boom” — before an attack occurs.

The projects are diffuse, spread across several agencies, but the government’s central clearinghouse is at Homeland Security in the Center for Prevention Programs and Partnerships, often called CP3. The office houses a grant program that since 2020 has awarded nearly $90 million to community groups and law enforcement agencies working at the local level to prevent terrorism and targeted violence such as mass shootings.

These days, CP3 is imploding. Nearly 20% of its workforce was cut through the dismissal of probationary employees March 3. CP3 Director Bill Braniff, an Army veteran who had fiercely defended the office’s achievements in LinkedIn posts in recent weeks, resigned the same night.

“It is a small act of quiet protest, and an act of immense respect I have for them and for our team,” Braniff wrote in a departing message to staff that was obtained by ProPublica. In the note, he called the employees “wrongfully terminated.”

Some of this year’s CP3 grant recipients say they have no idea whether their funding will continue. One awardee said the team is looking at nightmare scenarios of laying off staff and paring operations to the bone.

“Everybody’s trying to survive,” the grantee said. “It feels like this is a tsunami and you don’t know how it’s going to hit you.”

Current and former DHS officials say they don’t expect the prevention mission to continue in any meaningful way, signaling the end to an effort that had endured through early missteps and criticism from the left and right.

The prevention mission evolved from the post-9/11 growth of a field known as countering violent extremism, or CVE. In early CVE efforts, serious scholars of militant movements jostled for funding alongside pseudo-scientists claiming to have discovered predictors of radicalization. CVE results typically weren’t measurable, allowing for inflated promises of success — “snake oil,” as one researcher put it.

Worse, some CVE programs billed as community partnerships to prevent extremism backfired and led to mistrust that persists today. Muslim advocacy groups were incensed by the government’s targeting of their communities for deradicalization programs, blaming CVE for stigmatizing law-abiding families and contributing to anti-Muslim hostility. Among the most influential Muslim advocacy groups, it is still taboo to accept funding from Homeland Security.

Defenders of CP3, which launched in 2021 from an earlier incarnation, insist that the old tactics based on profiling are gone. They also say there are now more stringent metrics to gauge effectiveness. CP3’s 2024 report to Congress listed more than 1,000 interventions since 2020, cases where prevention workers stepped in with services to dissuade individuals from violence.

The probationary employees who were dismissed this month represented the future of CP3’s public health approach to curbing violence, say current and former DHS officials. They were terminated by email in boilerplate language about poor performance, a detail that infuriated colleagues who viewed them as accomplished social workers and public health professionals.

There were no consultations with administration officials or DOGE — just the ax, said one DHS source with knowledge of the CP3 cuts. Promised exemptions for national security personnel apparently didn’t apply as Trump’s Homeland Security agenda shrinks to a single issue.

“The vibe is: How to use DHS to go after migrants, immigrants. That is the vibe, that is the only vibe, there is no other vibe,” the source said. “It’s wild — it’s as if the rest of the department doesn’t exist.”

This week, with scant warning, Homeland Security cut around $20 million for more than two dozen programs from another wing of DHS, including efforts aimed at stopping terrorist attacks and school shooters.

A Homeland Security spokesperson confirmed “sweeping cuts and reforms” aimed at eliminating waste but did not address questions about specific programs. DHS “remains focused on supporting law enforcement and public safety through funding, training, increased public awareness, and partnerships,” the statement said.

One grant recipient said they were told by a Homeland Security liaison that targeted programs were located in places named on a Fox News list of “sanctuary states” that have resisted or refused cooperation with the government’s deportation campaign. The grantee’s project was given less than an hour to submit outstanding expenses before the shutdown.

The orders were so sudden that even some officials within the government had trouble coming up with language to justify the termination notices. They said they were given no explanation for how the targeted programs were in violation of the president’s executive orders.

“I just don’t believe this is in any way legal,” said one official with knowledge of the cuts.

Members of the far-right group the Proud Boys rally outside the U.S. Capitol in 2025. In one of the first acts of his second term, President Donald Trump pardoned nearly 1,600 people convicted of crimes related to the 2021 attack on the Capitol and commuted the sentences of a handful of others, including former Proud Boys leader Enrique Tarrio, left. (Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images) Threat Research in Limbo

Cuts are reshaping government across the board, but perhaps nowhere more jarringly than in the counterterrorism apparatus. The administration started dismantling it when the president granted clemency to nearly 1,600 defendants charged in connection with the storming of the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021.

The pardons overturned what the Justice Department had celebrated as a watershed victory in the fight against domestic terrorism.

Senior FBI officials with terrorism expertise have left or are being forced out in the purge of personnel involved in the Jan. 6 investigation. In other cases, agents working terrorism cases have been moved to Homeland Security to help with Trump’s mass deportation effort, a resource shift that runs counter to the government’s own threat assessments showing homegrown militants as the more urgent priority. The Justice Department did not respond to a request for comment.

Without research backing up the enforcement arm of counterterrorism, analysts and officials say, the government lacks the capacity to evaluate rapidly evolving homegrown threats.

Researchers are getting whiplash as grant dollars are frozen and unfrozen. Even if they win temporary relief, the prospect of getting new federal funding in the next four years is minimal. They described pressure to self-censor or tailor research narrowly to MAGA interests in far-left extremism and Islamist militants.

“What happens when you’re self-silencing? What happens if people just stop thinking they should propose something because it’s ‘too risky?’” said one extremism scholar who has advised senior officials and received federal funding. “A lot of ideas that could be used to prevent all kinds of social harms, including terrorism, could get tossed.”

Among the projects at risk is a national compilation of threats to public officials, including assassination attempts against Trump; research on the violent misogyny that floods social media platforms; a long-term study of far-right extremists who are attempting to disengage from hate movements. The studies are underway at research centers and university labs that, in some cases, are funded almost entirely by Homeland Security. A stop-work order could disrupt sensitive projects midstream or remove findings from public view.

“There are both national security and public safety implications for not continuing to study these very complicated problems,” said Pete Simi, a criminologist at Chapman University in California who has federally funded projects that could be cut.

One project never got off the ground before work was suspended.

Six months ago, the National Institute of Justice, the research arm of the Justice Department, announced the Domestic Radicalization and Violent Extremism Research Center of Excellence as a new hub for “understanding the phenomenon” of extremist violence.

Work was scheduled to start in January. The website has since disappeared and the future of the center is in limbo.

Other prevention initiatives in jeopardy at the Justice Department include grant programs related to hate crimes training, which has been in demand with recent unrest on college campuses. In the first weeks of the Trump administration, grant recipients heard a freeze was coming and rushed to withdraw remaining funds. Grant officers suggested work should cease, too, until directives come from the new leadership.

Anne Speckhard, a researcher who has interviewed dozens of militants and works closely with federal counterterrorism agencies, pushed back. She had around 200 people signed up for a training that was scheduled for days after the first funding freeze. Slides for the presentation had been approved, but Speckhard said she wasn’t getting clear answers from the grant office about how to proceed. She decided to go for it.

“I think the expected response was, ‘You’ll just stop working, and you’ll wait and see,’ and that’s not me,” said Speckhard, whose International Center for the Study of Violent Extremism receives U.S. funding along with backing from Qatar and private donations.

As the virtual training began, Speckhard and her team addressed the murkiness of the Justice Department’s support in a moment that drew laughter from the crowd of law enforcement officers and university administrators.

“We said, ‘We think this is a DOJ-sponsored training, and we want to thank them for their sponsorship,’” Speckhard said. “‘But we’re not sure.’”

by ProPublica

ProPublica announced on Thursday that Wendi C. Thomas, the founder of the award-winning nonprofit newsroom MLK50: Justice Through Journalism, will be rejoining ProPublica’s Distinguished Fellows program. Thomas will pursue investigative projects, in partnership with ProPublica, through April 2027.

“I am beyond excited to welcome Wendi back to the Local Reporting Network,” said Charles Ornstein, ProPublica’s managing editor for local. “Wendi knows Memphis, knows the South and has been an important voice for those who are often ignored, righting wrongs and forcing those in power to confront uncomfortable truths.”

Thomas was a ProPublica Local Reporting Network partner from 2019 to 2021, during which time her series, “Profiting From the Poor,” exposed the predatory debt collection practices of the largest health care system in Memphis and led the hospital to backtrack and eliminate patients’ debts. The series won a Selden Ring Award for Investigative Reporting, a Gerald Loeb Award for local reporting, an Association of Health Care Journalists award for business reporting and tied for first place for the Investigative Reporters & Editors Award in the print/online category.

MLK50: Justice Through Journalism was founded in 2017 after Thomas conceived of the idea during a fellowship at Harvard’s Nieman Foundation for Journalism the year prior. Launched with $3,000, MLK50 has grown to an organization with an annual budget of more than $2 million, making a measurable difference for the most vulnerable Memphians. Thomas previously held the roles of metro columnist and assistant managing editor at The Commercial Appeal in Memphis, and she worked for The Charlotte Observer, The Tennessean and The Indianapolis Star. She is a graduate of Butler University and a proud product of Memphis City Schools.

In addition to the recognition she received for her work as a Local Reporting Network partner, Thomas is the 2023 winner of the I.F. Stone Medal for Journalistic Independence and the 2022 recipient of the Freedom of the Press Local Champion Award from the Reporters Committee for Freedom of the Press. In recognition of her work to create MLK50: Justice Through Journalism, she received the 2019 National Association of Black Journalists’ Best Practices award and the 2018 Journalist of the Year by Journalism and Women Symposium.

“ProPublica enabled me to do some of the best work of my career and learn from some of the smartest minds in the business,” Thomas said. “I’m delighted to be returning to create more ‘good trouble’ on behalf of the city’s most vulnerable residents.”

The Local Reporting Network, which began in 2018, has now worked on more than 100 different projects with over 80 newsrooms. As part of ProPublica’s 50 State Initiative, announced last year, we will work with news organizations in every state on accountability stories over the next several years.

by Nadia Sussman, Liz Moughon, Duaa Eldeib, Margaret Cheatham Williams and Lisa Riordan Seville

THE FILM

Intimate, infuriating and ultimately hopeful, “Before a Breath” braids together the stories of three mothers determined to make pregnancy safer after losing children to stillbirth.

After the loss of her daughter Autumn, Debbie Haine Vijayvergiya discovers that more than 20,000 stillbirths occur every year in the U.S. — and at least 1 in 4 is likely preventable. She goes to Washington, battling political inertia as she fights to make stillbirth research and prevention a federal priority. Kanika Harris, a maternal health advocate and doula, tells the story of her twins, Kodjo and Zindzi, as she trains a new generation of Black birth workers. And Stephanie Lee, a nurse leader at a Manhattan hospital, seeks answers about what might have led to her daughter Elodie’s stillbirth as she takes a leap of faith and becomes pregnant again.

Inspired by ProPublica’s groundbreaking reporting on the stillbirth crisis, which was a finalist for a 2023 Pulitzer Prize, the film is a powerful story of grief, healing and three mothers demanding that the U.S. do better by expecting parents.

Watch “Before a Breath” on YouTube

FEATURING Debbie Haine Vijayvergiya is a stillbirth parent advocate and the mother behind the SHINE for Autumn Act, named in honor of her daughter, Autumn, who was stillborn in 2011.

Watch video ➜

Kanika Harris is a birth justice advocate and doula. She holds a doctorate in health behavior and health education and is the executive director of the National Association to Advance Black Birth.

Watch video ➜

Stephanie Lee is an associate director of nursing in critical care at a New York City hospital. She was also a patient at the Rainbow Clinic at Mount Sinai.

Watch video ➜

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

“Before a Breath” is free to stream on YouTube. If you’d like to host a screening or conversation in your community, please sign up here and use these guides to help you get started.

Download the guide for a community screening

Download the guide for health professionals

WATCH MORE

You can find our trailer, sneak peek scenes and additional videos on the “Before a Breath” playlist on YouTube.

LEARN MORE

Read ProPublica’s reporting and participate in our stillbirth memorial.

• You can read ProPublica’s guide, “What You Need to Know About Stillbirths,” and our whole stillbirths series.
• Hear the stories of other families by visiting our stillbirth memorial and create your own.

Get more information about stillbirths and care for parents of loss.

• The Rainbow Clinic at Mount Sinai is one of several clinics opening around the country that care for pregnant patients with a history of perinatal loss.
• The University of Utah recently opened a Stillbirth Center of Excellence, a hub of efforts to end preventable stillbirths in the U.S.
• The International Stillbirth Alliance promotes collaboration for the prevention of stillbirth and newborn death worldwide.
• Bereavement support groups for families of loss are available around the country and online. Your local hospitals and birth centers may suggest some.

STAY IN TOUCH

• Have you hosted a screening? Tell us about it!

FILM TEAM

• Nadia Sussman, Director and Producer
• Liz Moughon, Director of Photography and Producer
• Duaa Eldeib, Reporter and Producer
• Lisa Riordan Seville, Producer
• Margaret Cheatham Williams, Editor
• Mahdokht Mahmoudabadi, Additional Editor
• Mandy Hoffman, Composer
• Almudena Toral, Executive Producer

by Stephen Engelberg

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. This story was originally published in our Dispatches newsletter; sign up to receive notes from our journalists.

In late October, ProPublica published one of its most prophetic stories in our history. You can be forgiven if you missed it at the time. There was a lot going on in the days before the election, and the headlines were dominated by seemingly consequential issues like the racist humor of a comedian who addressed Donald Trump’s rally at Madison Square Garden.

But if you weren’t among the several hundred thousand people who read our story, “‘Put Them in Trauma’: Inside a Key MAGA Leader’s Plans for a New Trump Agenda,” in real time, you may have seen it referenced since Trump took office in January.

The story drew on private recordings of a series of speeches given in 2023 and 2024 by Russell Vought obtained by our colleagues at Documented, a news site with a remarkable knack for uncovering information powerful interests would prefer remained secret.

Vought, a self-described Christian nationalist who served as the director of the Office of Management and Budget in Trump’s first term, was known for his provocative public pronouncements. But he went even further in private, envisaging a Trump presidency in which regulatory agencies would be shut down and career civil servants would be too depressed to get out of bed.

“We want the bureaucrats to be traumatically affected,” Vought said in one recording. “When they wake up in the morning, we want them to not want to go to work because they are increasingly viewed as the villains. We want their funding to be shut down so that the EPA can't do all of the rules against our energy industry because they have no bandwidth financially to do so.

“We want to put them in trauma.”

Vought spoke openly about the ongoing planning to defund independent federal agencies and demonize government scientists. “We have detailed agency plans,” he said. “We are writing the actual executive orders. We are writing the actual regulations now, and we are sorting out the legal authorities for all of what President Trump is running on.”

Vought argued that the radical steps were necessary because Trump’s opponents were themselves attempting to end democracy. “The stark reality in America is that we are in the late stages of a complete Marxist takeover of the country,” he said in one speech. “Our adversaries already hold the weapons of the government apparatus, and they have aimed it at us. And they are going to continue to aim it until they no longer have to win elections.”

It’s hard to imagine a more prescient piece of journalism. The story captured, as few did, the breadth and ferocity of the coming attack on the federal government. Vought has returned to his post as the budget office’s director, and his plans for eviscerating entire agencies and decimating the morale of federal workers have turned into reality. Trump 47 looks very different from Trump 45, just as Vought told his audiences that it would.

So why didn’t this story drive more of a national conversation when it appeared?

As a news organization that tries to spur change by bringing new facts to light, we think about this question a lot. Our job at ProPublica is to both get the story and get it into the heads of a critical mass of citizens and elected officials.

I’ve been an investigative reporter and editor for nearly three decades, and I still struggle to predict which of our stories will catalyze national conversations. Our 2018 story about the recording of a young girl in a immigration detention center prompted the Trump administration to end its policy of family separation at the border. Many other powerful stories fail to break through.

Part of the problem, of course, is the proliferation of media. Every day, dozens of important-sounding stories vie for readers’ attention along with the flood of posts on social media and texts from friends and colleagues. And that’s not to mention all the podcasts and multipart dramas on Netflix and HBO.

This was an issue long before Trump and his allies adopted a “flood the zone” strategy with multiple norm-challenging actions, but it seems even more acute right now.

It is often said of journalists that we write the rough draft of history. But our work differs from historians in a crucial aspect: Scholars typically are chronicling events after the outcome is clear. As journalists, we face a tougher challenge as we try to find the stories in the cacophony of daily events that tell us something about where we’re going.

A lot of what we do as reporters is akin to squinting through opaque windows at events unfolding in a very dimly lit room. We can see who is inside and how they’re moving, but our lack of context often prevents us from understanding what’s really happening. We default to assuming that the future will be roughly like the past, guessing that, say, Trump 47 will be roughly like Trump 45 with fewer guardrails.

Vought could not have been clearer that this was not the case, and he had the credentials that should have made what he was saying entirely credible. After all, Vought was the author of the plan in Trump’s first term to make it easier to fire large numbers of civil servants. He was a key member of Project 2025, the Heritage Foundation project that described in copious detail how a second Trump administration might unfold.

Still, there was at least one data point that perhaps prevented readers from viewing his speeches as predictive as they turned out to be. As our story made clear, Vought despises the Federalist Society for Law and Public Policy Studies, a core Republican ally in bringing conservative voices into the judiciary and federal law enforcement. We quoted him as asserting that “the vaunted so-called Federalist Society and originalist judges” were serving as a “Praetorian Guard” for the Democrats.

That view would seem to make him something of a fringe thinker in MAGA world, which relied on the Federalist Society to pick the judges who make up the conservative supermajority on the high court.

Things look different today. Seen against the backdrop of recent events, Vought’s disdain for the rule-of-law scruples of Federalist Society legal thinkers seems entirely in line with Trump’s recent post suggesting a federal judge shouldn’t have authority over his administration.

Just a few weeks ago, Danielle Sassoon, one of the Federalist Society’s bright lights, a Yale Law graduate who had clerked for conservative icon Antonin Scalia, resigned as acting U.S. attorney in the Southern District of New York rather than carry out orders from the Trump Justice Department. In refusing to drop the corruption case against New York Mayor Eric Adams, Sassoon wrote that she understood her duty as a prosecutor to mean “enforcing the law impartially, and that includes prosecuting a validly returned indictment regardless of whether its dismissal would be politically advantageous, to the defendant or those that appointed me.”

Many years ago, a New York Times investigative reporter and I were discussing a story we had worked on that had been sharply and justifiably criticized as new facts emerged. “I can be fair and accurate,” he said. “But fair, accurate and prescient is beyond me.”

It seems appropriate to give Vought the last word since the worldview he described has proven so accurate. What sounded grandiose in the preelection days seems today like a reasonable summary of the path Trump and his allies have chosen.

“We are here in the year of 2024, a year that very well [could] — and I believe it will — rival 1776 and 1860 for the complexity and the uncertainty of the forces arrayed against us,” Vought said, citing the years when the colonies declared independence from Britain and the first state seceded over President Abraham Lincoln’s election.

“God put us here for such a time as this.”

I’m not sure about the role of the almighty in ProPublica’s work in the coming years. But we feel equally strongly that we’re here for a “time such as this.”

by Patricia Callahan

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

The Food and Drug Administration has found problems at an Indian factory that makes generic drugs for American patients, including one medication that was manufactured there and has been linked to at least eight deaths, federal records show.

The agency inspected the factory after a ProPublica investigation in December found that the plant, operated by Glenmark Pharmaceuticals, was responsible for an outsized share of recalls for pills that didn’t dissolve properly and could harm people. Among the string of recalls, the FDA had determined last year that more than 50 million potassium chloride extended-release capsules had the potential to kill U.S. patients.

Still, ProPublica found, the FDA had not sent inspectors to the factory in Madhya Pradesh, India, since before the COVID-19 pandemic.

When FDA inspectors went to the Glenmark plant last month — five years after the agency’s prior inspection — they discovered problems with cleaning and testing that they said could affect medicines that were shipped to American consumers.

In a report detailing their findings, the inspectors wrote that Glenmark failed to resolve why some medicines weren’t dissolving properly, and they raised concerns about the factory’s manufacturing processes.

“Equipment and utensils are not cleaned at appropriate intervals to prevent contamination that would alter the safety, identity, strength, quality or purity of the drug product,” the inspectors wrote.

The FDA redacted large swaths of the inspection report, making it impossible to tell whether inspectors uncovered the reason for the pills not dissolving correctly or which Glenmark drugs sitting in American medicine cabinets were potentially at risk of contamination.

ProPublica obtained the report through the Freedom of Information Act. To justify censoring the document, an FDA attorney cited trade secrets “and/or commercial or financial information that was obtained from a person outside the government and that is privileged or confidential.”

Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr., who was sworn in the day before this inspection wrapped up, has vowed to bring “radical transparency” to his agency, which oversees the FDA. ProPublica asked the HHS media team whether Kennedy thinks the heavily redacted inspection record is in line with his transparency promise and whether he believes the names of drugs that inspectors raised safety concerns about are trade secrets. The media team did not respond.

An FDA spokesperson would not say why the agency waited so long to inspect this factory or what, if anything, federal regulators will require Glenmark do to fix the problems. “The FDA generally cannot discuss potential or ongoing compliance matters except with the company involved,” she wrote.

The FDA’s review of the Glenmark plant, she noted, “was a for-cause inspection, which can be triggered when the agency has reason to believe that a facility has quality problems, to follow up on complaints or other reasons.”

Drugs that fail to dissolve properly can cause perilous swings in dosing. Since Glenmark’s potassium chloride recall in May, the company has told federal regulators it received reports of eight deaths in the U.S. of people who took the recalled capsules, FDA records show. Companies are required to file reports of adverse events they receive from patients or their doctors so the agency can monitor drug safety. The FDA shares few details, though; as a result, ProPublica was unable to independently verify what happened in each of these cases. In general, the FDA says these reports reflect the opinions of the people who reported the harm and don’t prove that it was caused by the drug.

The family of a 91-year-old Maine woman sued Glenmark in federal court in Newark, New Jersey, last year, alleging the company’s recalled potassium chloride was responsible for her death in June. In court filings, the company has denied responsibility.

A spokesperson for Glenmark, which is based in Mumbai, declined to answer detailed questions about the inspection, citing the ongoing litigation. “Glenmark remains committed to working diligently with the FDA to ensure compliance with manufacturing operations and quality systems,” the spokesperson wrote.

Glenmark’s managing director told investors and analysts on an earnings call last month that 25% to 30% of its U.S. revenue comes from drugs made at its Madhya Pradesh factory.

Inspectors visited the factory between Feb. 3 and Feb. 14. Like all such reports, this one notes that the inspectors’ observations “do not represent a final Agency determination” about the company’s compliance with the FDA’s drug manufacturing rules.

Glenmark lacked proper cleaning procedures that prevent residues of one medicine from winding up in batches of the next pills produced with the same machinery, the inspectors found. While Glenmark rejected three batches when tests found cross-contamination, the inspectors said that the same equipment was used to make other drugs that were shipped to the U.S. Their report went on to list the “impacted batches,” but it is unclear what those drugs are because the next three pages are censored.

The FDA heavily redacted the first four pages of a report on its visit to a plant operated by Glenmark Pharmaceuticals. (Obtained by ProPublica)

ProPublica asked the FDA if the agency was testing any of these medicines for contamination. The spokesperson wouldn’t say and instead referred a reporter to an FDA website that shows past test results but does not include any for Glenmark products since the recalls.

Major production equipment is not decontaminated before the company uses it to make some drug products, a Glenmark vice president in charge of quality told the inspectors. It’s unclear what those drugs are because the FDA censored that part of the report.

The inspectors noted that Glenmark received two consumer complaints about adverse reactions to one of its drugs. When Glenmark investigated the complaints, the company failed to assess the potential problems that can occur when pharmaceutical products are manufactured using shared facilities and equipment, the report said. But the name of the drug and the type of potential contamination that inspectors worried about were not clear due to the FDA’s redactions.

Glenmark also didn’t get to the bottom of why some medicines made at the factory weren’t dissolving properly, the FDA inspectors found. The company’s investigations of some batches of faulty medicine didn’t identify specific root causes, and those that did pinpoint a reason weren’t adequately supported with evidence or didn’t explain all the data, the inspectors wrote.

The inspectors also raised concerns that some drugs made at the factory and the key ingredients that go into them “are routinely released by testing with analytical test methods that have not been adequately validated or verified.” The inspectors listed the ones that are currently on the U.S. market, but the FDA redacted the names of the drugs.

When Glenmark analysts’ tests found problems with a medicine, the company at times declared those results invalid and “retested with new samples to obtain passing results,” the FDA report said. “The batches were ultimately released to the US market.”

Glenmark has been the subject of FDA scrutiny for years. Since 2019, the agency’s inspectors have found major deficiencies at three of the company’s four other factories that have made drugs for American patients. The problems at one plant were so bad that in 2022 the agency barred medicines made there from entering the U.S.

The concerning string of recalls stemming from products made at the Madhya Pradesh factory in central India began in October 2023. Over the next 12 months, that single plant accounted for more than 30% of all FDA recalls for pills that didn’t dissolve correctly and could harm patients, a ProPublica analysis found.

The federal government often doesn’t make it easy for consumers to know where their medicines are manufactured. To identify this pattern, ProPublica had to match drug-labeling records from the U.S. National Library of Medicine with details in two FDA databases.

The majority of the factories making drugs for American patients are in foreign countries, but the investigative arm of Congress has repeatedly found that the FDA has too few inspectors to adequately oversee them.

by McKenzie Funk

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

The for-profit prison company GEO Group has surged in value under President Donald Trump. Investors are betting big on immigration detention. Its stock price doubled after Election Day.

But despite its soaring fortunes, the $4 billion company continues to resist having to pay detainees more than $1 a day for cleaning facilities where the government has forced them to live.

At the 1,575-bed detention center GEO runs for Immigration and Customs Enforcement in Tacoma, Washington, detainees once prepared meals, washed laundry and scrubbed toilets, doing jobs that would otherwise require 85 full-time employees, the company estimated. The state’s minimum wage at the time was $11 an hour. (It’s now $16.66.) In 2017, Washington sued GEO to enforce it, and in October 2021 a federal jury ruled unanimously in the state’s favor.

This year, GEO and Washington are back in court — for a third time — as the company tries to reverse the earlier decision that sided with the state. GEO has brought in contract cleaners at the Tacoma facility while the case plays out, keeping detainees there from paid work and from having a way to earn commissary money.

The legal battle has national repercussions as the number of ICE detainees around the country rises to its highest level in five years. The vast majority are held in private facilities run by GEO or corporate competitors like CoreCivic. If following state minimum wages becomes the norm, Trump’s immigration crackdown could cost the country even more than it otherwise would — unless private detention centers absorb the cost themselves or decide to cut back on cleaning, which Tacoma detainees have already accused GEO of doing.

GEO frames the lawsuit as a fight over the federal government’s authority to make the laws of the nation. Multiple courts have decided that the Fair Labor Standards Act, which sets the federal minimum wage, does not apply to detained migrants. At issue in the Tacoma case is the state minimum wage.

“Simply put, we believe the State of Washington has unconstitutionally violated the Supremacy Clause of the United States Constitution,” GEO wrote in a news release.

The company did not respond to a request for comment from ProPublica. ICE and CoreCivic declined to comment.

GEO’s latest legal salvo came last month.

A three-judge panel at the 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals had recently affirmed lower courts’ rulings. GEO had to pay state minimum wage at the Tacoma facility. The company was also ordered to hand over $17 million in back wages, plus $6 million for “unjust enrichment.” The combined penalties amounted to less than 1 percent of GEO’s total revenues in 2024.

Rather than pay up, GEO petitioned on Feb. 6 for a rehearing by the full 9th Circuit. In the news release, it vowed to “vigorously pursue all available appeals.”

It isn’t that GEO lacks the ability to pay, the company has made clear in legal filings. Its gross profit from its Tacoma facility, today called the Northwest ICE Processing Center, was about $20 million a year when Washington filed its lawsuit. The company told a judge in 2021 it could “pay the Judgments twenty times over.”

The real issue is the precedent the Tacoma case could set. GEO, which manages 16 ICE detention facilities across the country, faces similar lawsuits in California and Colorado. The California case, also before the 9th Circuit, is on hold pending the outcome of Washington’s. Colorado’s is winding its way through a lower court.

GEO is expected to fight the case all the way to the Supreme Court, if needed.

If eventually forced to pay state minimum wages across the country, the company could decide to pay detainees more or else hire outside employees at all its locations – either of which would potentially eat into its profits, stock price and dividends.

The company also could try to renegotiate its long-term contracts with ICE for a higher rate of reimbursement, Lauren-Brooke Eisen, an expert in incarceration, noted in an article for the Brennan Center for Justice.

Or GEO could respond to higher labor costs another way. After the jury decision against it in 2021, the company paused Tacoma’s Voluntary Work Program, as it is known, rather than pay detainees there minimum wage. Some could no longer afford phone calls to family members. (For such detainees, the program had never been entirely voluntary. “I need the money desperately,” one testified. “I have no choice.”)

The facility also “got really gross” after the sudden stoppage, a Mexican detainee told the Associated Press at the time. “Nobody cleaned anything.”

GEO brought in contract cleaners eventually.

Mike Faulk, a spokesperson for the Washington state attorney general’s office, said testimony in the minimum-wage issue highlights the problem with housing detainees in private prisons: profit motive. Not only did GEO pay $1 a day for cleaning in Tacoma, it budgeted less than $1 per meal that each detainee ate, one kitchen worker testified. “So the grade of food is abysmal,” Faulk said of the detainee’s testimony. “He routinely picked out grasshoppers/insects from the food.”

For its part, GEO argues that Washington wants to unfairly — and hypocritically — hold the Tacoma facility to a standard that even state facilities don’t have to meet. The company has noted that a carveout in Washington law exempts state prisons from minimum-wage requirements, allowing the state to pay prisoners no more than $40 a week. The federal government, taking GEO’s side, has made the same point in “friend of the court” briefs under both the first Trump administration and the Biden administration. So did a dissenting judge in the recent 9th Circuit decision.

But to liken state prisons to a privately run immigration facility is an “apples and oranges” comparison, the 9th Circuit decided. Washington doesn’t let private companies run its state prisons. And the migrants in Tacoma are detained under civil charges, not as convicted criminals.

As judges have noted, GEO’s contract with ICE states that the prison company must follow “all applicable federal, state, and local laws and standards,” including “labor laws and codes.” It also holds that GEO must pay detainees at least $1 a day for the Voluntary Work Program. The federal government “made a deliberate choice to dictate to GEO the minimum rate,” the 9th Circuit wrote in its most recent decision, but “it also made a deliberate choice not to dictate to GEO a maximum rate.”

Conditions in Tacoma are worsening as the number of detainees rises, according to Maru Mora Villalpando, founder of the activist group La Resistencia. The group is in regular contact with people inside the detention center.

Meal service, Mora Villalpando said, is faltering: “Dinner used to be at 5. Then 6. Now it’s 9.”

Cleaning is faltering, too, she said. Without detainee labor, the outside cleaners have to do it all.

“But these people,” Mora Villalpando said, “can’t keep up.”

by Jeremy Schwartz, ProPublica and The Texas Tribune, and Dan Keemahill, The Texas Tribune, photography by Shelby Tauber for ProPublica and The Texas Tribune

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In 2019, the Keller Independent School District in North Texas looked a lot like its counterpart just 30 miles to the east in the Dallas suburb of Richardson. Each served about 35,000 children and had experienced sharp increases in the racial diversity of students in recent decades. Each was run by a school board that was almost entirely white.

In the five years since, the districts have followed strikingly divergent paths as culture war battles over how to teach race and gender exploded across the state.

In Keller, candidates backed by groups seeking to limit the teaching of race and gender took control of the school board and immediately passed sweeping policies that gave outsized power to any individual who wanted to prevent the purchase of books they believed to be unsuitable for children.

Though more than half of Keller’s students are from racially diverse backgrounds, the district in 2023 nixed a plan to buy copies of a biography of Black poet Amanda Gorman after a teacher at a religious private school who had no children in the district complained about this passage: “Amanda realized that all the books she had read before were written by white men. Discovering a book written by people who look like her helped Amanda find her own voice.” The passage, the woman wrote, “makes it sound like it’s okay to judge a book by the authors skin color rather than the content of the book.”

Board members at the Richardson school district went in the opposite direction, even as they contended with similar pressure from groups aiming to rid the district of any materials that they claimed pushed critical race theory, an advanced academic concept that discusses systemic racism. The school board did not ban library books but instead allowed parents to limit their own children’s access to them, keeping them available for other students.

One major difference contributed to the districts’ divergence: the makeup of their school boards.

The way communities elect school board members plays a key, if often overlooked, role in whether racially diverse districts like Keller and Richardson experience takeovers by ideologically driven conservatives seeking to exert greater influence over what children learn in public schools, ProPublica and The Texas Tribune found. Since the pandemic, such groups have successfully leveraged the state’s long-standing and predominantly at-large method of electing candidates to flip school boards in their direction.

Most of Texas’ 1,000 school districts use an at-large method, where voters can cast ballots for all candidates. Supporters say that allows for broader representation for students, but voting rights advocates argue that such systems dilute the power of voters of color. If board members are elected districtwide, there tends to be less diversity, according to research, which also shows that if they are elected by smaller geographic zones, candidates of color often have more success.

Tabitha Branum, the Richardson superintendent, at a meeting on Jan. 16. After a lawsuit in 2019, the district converted primarily to a system in which candidates needed to live within specific boundaries and receive a majority of votes from residents who also lived within those boundaries to be elected.

“What you’re seeing happening in Texas is how at-large districts make it easy for somebody to come in, usually from the outside, and hijack the process and essentially buy a board,” said Michael Li, senior counsel for the Democracy Program at the Brennan Center for Justice, a nonprofit public policy institute that champions small-donor campaign financing. “Because of this conflux of factors — at-large elections and large amounts of outside money — it just sort of defeats the idea of representative democracy.”

ProPublica and the Tribune examined 14 rapidly diversifying suburban school districts where children from diverse backgrounds now make up more than half of the student population. In the six districts that used at-large voting systems, well-funded and culture-war-driven movements successfully helped elect school board members who have moved aggressively to ban or remove educational materials that teach children about diversity, even in districts where a majority of children are not white. Nearly 70% of board members in such districts live in areas that are whiter than their district’s population.

Eight nearby school systems with similar demographics employ single-member voting systems to elect school board candidates. Under the single-member system, voters within certain boundaries elect a board member who specifically represents their area. Candidates in those districts received less campaign support from ideologically driven political action committees, and none of the districts experienced school board takeovers fueled by culture war issues.

About 150 Texas school districts have transitioned to a single-member system since the Voting Rights Act of 1965, which is intended to prevent voter discrimination and has brought greater racial representation to local governments. Richardson joined that list in 2019 after a former Black board member sued the district.

Such legal challenges, however, could soon become more difficult. In one of his first acts in office, President Donald Trump froze civil rights litigation against school districts accused of discriminating against minority groups, and many legal experts believe that under his administration, federal prosecutors will refuse to bring challenges against at-large systems. DOJ officials did not respond to questions from the news organizations.

Trump, a staunch critic of diversity and inclusion programs, has threatened to cut federal funding to schools that he says are pushing “inappropriate racial, sexual or political content onto the shoulders of our children.”

Districts whose boards oppose sweeping efforts to restrict curriculum and books related to race and racism face even more headwinds in Texas. In January, Gov. Greg Abbott vowed to ban diversity, equity and inclusion initiatives in public schools, a move that would expand the state’s existing ban on college campuses. And Texas lawmakers continue to target the books students can access. One bill, authored by North Texas state Sen. Angela Paxton, the wife of Attorney General Ken Paxton, would require every district in the state to follow a version of Keller’s library book purchase policy.

The president of the Keller board, Charles Randklev, did not respond to multiple requests for comment, and the district did not answer written questions. District officials have previously said that the board represents all students, not just those in a specific neighborhood or area.

But Laney Hawes, the parent of four students in the district and an outspoken critic of the school board, said the policy on library purchases spawned a backdoor channel to banning materials about race. That, she said, has deprived her children of reading books about Americans like Gorman that provide points of view they might not find otherwise.

“They have created a system that allows anyone in the community to complain about any book for any reason, and now that book is not on library shelves,” said Hawes, who is white. She added that the book does not contain any sexually explicit material and was strictly targeted because it dealt with race.

“They just hate the racial undertones.”

Laney Hawes, a parent of four children in the Keller district, feels the school board’s actions have limited her children’s ability to access learning materials. “Up Against a Machine”

School districts across Texas have drawn considerable attention for removing books from their shelves, but board members in Keller went further when they passed a policy in August 2022 that, in practice, allowed community members to block proposed purchases.

Students spoke out against the district’s removal policies during a board meeting months later, pleading for access to books about race. One biracial student, who has since graduated, told the board that books about characters from different racial backgrounds helped her feel more accepted.

“All kids deserve to see themselves in literature,” the student said. “Racial minorities being written into a story does not instantly equate the book to being propaganda. Having books that mirror the experience of race is not pushing an agenda. It's simply documenting the hardships that consistently happen to most students of color that they’re able to relate to. Concealing ideas just because they tell an uncomfortable truth is not protecting your children.”

The students’ pleas didn’t sway the board, and by July 2023, challenges to such books began pouring in.

One person opposed the purchase of “Jim Crow: Segregation and the Legacy of Slavery.” The person, who did not provide their name, pointed to a photo of a young girl participating in a Black Lives Matter protest with the caption: “Just as in the past, people continue fighting for change.” They also took issue with this quote: “You can’t ‘get over’ something that is still happening. Which is why black Americans can’t ‘get over’ slavery or Jim Crow.”

The photo and the quotes, the book challenger said, were “potentially CRT,” showed the Black Lives Matter Movement in “a positive light” and claimed “oppression is still happening.”

A complaint that kept the Keller district from purchasing the book “Our Skin” said: “This book starts out beautifully, but unfortunately tenets of CRT, social justice, and anti-white activism are portrayed. Texas passed a law banning critical race theory in schools. Please remove this book for consideration.” (Obtained by ProPublica and The Texas Tribune)

Another person challenged the planned purchase of “Our Skin: A First Conversation About Race,” saying that the book started “beautifully,” but that “unfortunately tenets of CRT, social justice, and anti-white activism are portrayed.” The person, who used a pseudonym, did not offer specifics.

Administrators removed those books, the Gorman biography and 26 others from the purchase list after receiving the complaints, according to district officials. Librarians can reinstate books on future lists, but 75% of those flagged for further review never made it to the shelves, an online search of district libraries shows. That includes the three books about race.

Hawes, who heads two PTA groups at her children’s schools, said book challenges and complaints have come from allies of school board members. In 2022, Patriot Mobile Action, a North Texas Christian nationalist PAC funded by a cellphone company, spent more than $115,000 supporting three ideologically driven conservatives running for control of the school board.

Leigh Wambsganss, Patriot Mobile’s spokesperson and executive director of the PAC, declined to comment but said in a 2022 podcast that the PAC chose candidates based on their Christian conservative views and sought out those who “absolutely would stand against critical race theory.” Patriot Mobile supported eight candidates in three other North Texas districts that used at-large voting during the same election cycle. All of them won their races.

“We weren’t prepared for what was coming,” Hawes said. “We were literally up against a machine.”

Another PAC, KISD Family Alliance, spent $50,000 to help elect the same Keller school board candidates. Its donors included conservative activist Monty Bennett, who previously told the Tribune that he believes schools have been taken over by ideologues “pushing their outlandish agendas.” Neither Bennett nor the PAC’s treasurer responded to requests for comment.

The slate of Keller candidates, whose combined campaign war chests dwarfed that of their opponents’ by a more than 4 to 1 margin, focused their agendas squarely on culture war issues related to library books and curriculum.

“While I have many priorities I want to focus on, if concerns over child safety, and sexualization and politicization of children make me a one-issue candidate, so be it. I will be a one-issue candidate all day long,” Joni Shaw Smith wrote on her campaign website. Smith, who is now a board member, declined to comment.

Her election contributed to what would become a sweep of the seven seats on the board. Five of those seats are held by board members who live in the city of Keller, where three-quarters of residents are white and the median household income of more than $160,000 is among the highest in the state.

Most of the Keller district’s 42 schools, however, are located in the more diverse neighborhoods of Fort Worth.

David Tyson Jr. was the first Black school board member in Richardson. He would later settle a lawsuit against the district over its at-large voting system. A Different Approach

Thirty miles away, the makeup of Richardson’s school board changed dramatically after the district settled a lawsuit filed in 2018 by David Tyson Jr. He argued that the continued use of at-large voting to select candidates was a “relic of the district’s segregated past.”

Tyson became the district’s first Black board member when he was elected in 2004. After he retired in 2010, he watched with growing consternation as no candidates from diverse backgrounds followed in his footsteps, even though students of color accounted for nearly 70% of the district’s population.

Frustrated, Tyson sued Richardson, challenging its system for electing candidates under the Voting Rights Act of 1965. He and Richardson officials settled the lawsuit in 2019, and the district converted primarily to a system in which candidates needed to live within specific boundaries and receive a majority of votes from residents who also lived within those boundaries to be elected.

Richardson Board Members Now Represent More Parts of the District

In 2019, the district switched from at-large voting to a single-member system that required board members to live in the areas they represent. Now, board members come from more diverse backgrounds and are spread across the district.

Note: Boundaries shown are single-member districts, which were adopted following the 2019 settlement of a Voting Rights Act lawsuit. Demographics are based on the 2020 census, which was used by the district to draw the boundaries. (Source: Richardson ISD. Credit: Dan Keemahill/ProPublica and The Texas Tribune.)

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As ideologically driven candidates swept Keller school board elections, similar efforts played out differently in Richardson. In 2022, two candidates supported by groups seeking to limit instruction and library books that deal with race and gender ran against two candidates of color with differing views. A local PAC that accused the district of teaching “CRT nonsense” in a mailer hired the same Republican campaign consulting firm that was working in support of the Keller candidates.

Despite being outspent 2-to-1, the candidates of color won their elections. Their wins gave Richardson four board members of diverse backgrounds, a remarkable evolution from an all-white board just three years earlier. And, as nearby districts began mass removals of library books dealing with race and gender, the Richardson school board embraced an “opt-out” process to give concerned parents control over their children’s reading “without impacting the choices of other families who may have different values, wishes or expectations.” Opponents say opt-out systems do not go far enough in protecting students from materials they deem objectionable.

“Single-member districts benefited us in making sure our school board maintains the diversity, and diversity of thought, we have, and not just fall into those culture wars,” said Vanessa Pacheco, one of the board members who won.

Pacheco said not being consumed by such fights allowed the board to focus on “real stuff” like dual-language classes for elementary students, expanding pre-K opportunities and scheduling school events for parents in the evenings and on weekends to account for working families.

So striking was the district’s atmosphere following the 2022 election that a Dallas Morning News commentary dubbed Richardson a “no-drama district” in a sea of school boards consumed by fights over race and gender.

Tyson, whose lawsuit set the stage for the Richardson school board’s dramatic transformation, said that the shift in voting methods has accomplished what he had hoped for.

“The goal was to get representation,” he said. “We’re a majority-minority school district, and so we need to have a majority-minority representation on the school board.”

“Single-member districts benefited us in making sure our school board maintains the diversity, and diversity of thought, we have, and not just fall into those culture wars,” Richardson school board member Vanessa Pacheco said. “Now or Never”

Hawes watched as voters down the road in Richardson rejected candidates seeking to limit what the district’s diverse student body could read and learn. She watched as the board itself grew increasingly diverse. And she watched with a touch of envy as the district embraced the idea that parents and community members who opposed certain books should not make decisions for every child in the district.

With Richardson as their north star, Hawes and a growing number of concerned parents began discussing ways to force the Keller school district to adopt what they believed was a more representative voting system. It wasn’t just a question of race for Hawes. It was also about geographic diversity. Board members who live in the city of Keller hold a majority, even though less than a third of students in the district attend schools there.

Most Keller Board Members Live in the District’s Least Diverse Area

Meanwhile, no board member lives in the area with the largest share of students of color.

Note: Demographic numbers were calculated by aggregating students from all schools in each high school’s attendance zone for the 2023-24 school year. (Source: Texas Education Agency. Credit: Dan Keemahill/ProPublica and The Texas Tribune.)

So last year, Hawes and other concerned parents met with law firms and the NAACP and began planning a petition drive that would require the board to hold an election to do away with at-large voting. Members planned to meet in January to finalize a strategy.

Then, in mid-January, the Keller school board shocked many in the community by proposing to split the district in two, separating the whiter, more affluent city of Keller to the east from the neighborhoods of northern Fort Worth, which are home to the majority of the district’s students, including many who are low income. Like many districts in the state, Keller faces a massive budget shortfall.

Randklev, the board president, defended the split as financially beneficial for both districts in a Facebook post last month. He also wrote that “neighboring school districts have been forced into single-member districts, and that’s a no-win situation regardless of where you live.” He did not explain his position but said the proposed split “could provide programming opportunities that best reflect local community goals and values and foster greater parent and community involvement.”

Dixie Davis, a Keller district parent who lost her race for a school board seat, believes that the proposed district split would disenfranchise students of color.

But many parents, including Dixie Davis, who previously ran unsuccessfully for the board, said the proposed change would leave the vast majority of the district’s low-income student population, and most of its students of color, with uncertain access to facilities like an advanced learning center and the district’s swimming complex.

On Friday, board members abandoned plans to divide the school district in two, citing the cost of restructuring the district’s debt. But their push to split the district has further energized efforts by some parents to do away with at-large voting. Brewer Storefront, the same law firm that fought to change the voting system in Richardson, has filed a similar legal challenge in federal court against Keller and concerned parents have launched a petition drive to force the district to vote on its at-large system. The district has not yet filed a response to the lawsuit and did not respond to multiple requests for comment.

“With the momentum and uproar around this proposed district split, it's now or never to get this done,” Davis said. “It'll be a huge uphill battle, but this is our best shot.”

Lexi Churchill, ProPublica and The Texas Tribune, and Jessica Priest, The Texas Tribune, contributed research.

by Andy Kroll

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

On Feb. 20, nearly 7,000 probationary employees at the Internal Revenue Service began receiving an unsigned letter telling them that they had been fired for poor performance.

Trump administration lawyers insist that the IRS and other federal agencies have acted within their authority when they ordered waves of mass terminations since Trump took office. But according to previously unreported emails obtained by ProPublica, a top lawyer at the IRS warned administration officials that the performance-related language in his agency’s termination letter was “a false statement” that amounted to “fraud” if the agency kept the language in the letter.

The emails reveal that in the hours before the IRS sent out its Feb. 20 termination letter, a fierce dispute played out at the agency’s highest levels.

Joseph Rillotta, a senior IRS lawyer, wrote that “no one” at the IRS had taken into account the performance of the probationary workers set to be fired. Rillotta urged that the language be struck from the draft termination letter.

If the falsehood wasn’t removed, Rillotta said he would file a report with the inspector general for the IRS.

Excerpt of an email written by IRS lawyer Joseph Rillotta (Obtained by ProPublica)

No one appeared to respond to Rillotta’s first email. In a follow-up email, he said he was “pleading with you to remove the clause,” adding: “It is not an immaterial false statement, because it is designed to improve the government’s posture in litigation (to the detriment of the employees that we are terminating today).”

Because it was not true, he wrote, “That renders it, as I see it, an anticipatory fraud on tribunals of jurisdiction over these employment actions.”

Rillotta was again ignored. The IRS sent out the Feb. 20 termination notice with the disputed language in it, according to copies received by fired workers who shared them with ProPublica. The notice said the decision to fire the workers had taken “into account your performance” as well as administration guidance and “current mission needs.”

Excerpt of a termination notice sent to probationary employees at the IRS (Obtained by ProPublica)

In fact, many of the employees had received laudatory reviews with no hint of any concerns.

Soon afterward, the inspector general for the IRS took preliminary steps to look into the matter, according to a person familiar with the effort who wasn’t authorized to speak with reporters. This person said they told the investigator that they agreed with Rillotta that the performance rationale was false.

Michelle Bercovici, a lawyer who represents federal workers, told ProPublica that Rillotta’s ignored warnings should make it easier for plaintiffs to show that the mass firings were “arbitrary and capricious,” the legal standard needed to invalidate a federal agency’s action. She added that the emails could also help plaintiffs recover attorneys’ fees from the government.

“When an agency acts based on false information, not only does it set the action up for being overturned,” she said. “It also means the agency is not going to have many defenses to its actions and could be liable for fees.”

Spokespeople for the Treasury Department and IRS did not respond to requests for comment. An Office of Personnel Management spokesperson referred ProPublica to a revised memorandum stating that OPM “is not directing agencies to take any specific performance-based actions regarding probationary employees.”

The terminations at the tax agency were among the deep cuts to federal agencies by the Trump administration and its Department of Government Efficiency, led by the billionaire Trump adviser Elon Musk.

Multiple federal lawsuits are now challenging the Trump administration’s mass firings. Last week, two federal judges temporarily blocked the IRS and other firings, but the lawsuits continue.

The issue of whether the performance rationale was legitimate has been central to the suits. One suit, brought by a group of labor unions, advocacy groups and other parties in California federal court, alleges that OPM directed the probationary firings and so “perpetrated one of the most massive employment frauds in the history of this country, telling tens of thousands of workers that they are being fired for performance reasons, when they most certainly were not.”

In response, administration lawyers denied that OPM directed agencies to fire probationary workers based on performance or misconduct. Instead, the filing says, “OPM reminded agencies of the importance of the probationary period in evaluating applicants’ continued employment and directed agencies to identify all employees on probationary periods and promptly determine whether those employees should be retained at the agency.”

The plaintiffs later expanded that suit to include the Treasury Department, which oversees the IRS, as one of the defendants. In mid-March, Judge William Alsup issued a preliminary injunction in the case, saying the administration’s probationary firings were based on “a lie.” Alsup ordered several federal agencies, including the Treasury, to reinstate thousands of fired employees. The Trump administration has appealed Alsup’s ruling.

Another suit, filed in Maryland federal court by nearly two dozen Democratic state attorneys general, also claims that the IRS mass firings were unlawful and should be reversed. (In that case, administration lawyers asserted that the mass firings were lawful.)

Court filings in both cases have partially revealed how the administration chose to make the legally questionable decision to fire probationary workers en masse on performance grounds..

At the IRS, the plan to fire probationary employees began in early February, according to an affidavit filed in the Maryland case.

A high-ranking Treasury Department official instructed a senior IRS personnel employee named Traci DiMartini to identify all probationary IRS employees and fire them “based on performance,” according to an affidavit DiMartini later filed in court.

DiMartini had “never heard of mass probationary employee firings,” she stated in her affidavit.

Excerpt of an affidavit filed in federal court by IRS human capital employee Traci DiMartini

When DiMartini asked the Treasury Department official why they were firing so many probationary employees, she was told that the order came from OPM, which was staffed by Trump appointees and members of DOGE.

In her affidavit, DiMartini confirmed what Rillotta wrote in his emails — that it was false to say probationary employees were fired for performance. DiMartini’s office “did not review or consider” any probationary employees’ job performance or conduct. Nor did the Treasury Department. “I know this because this fact was discussed openly in meetings,” DiMartini stated in her affidavit.

Excerpt of an affidavit DiMartini filed in federal court

According to DiMartini’s affidavit, OPM drafted the IRS mass-termination letter. While Treasury officials made several changes to it, the IRS’s personnel office where DiMartini worked “was not permitted to make any changes to the letter,” DiMartini’s affidavit said.

DiMartini refused to sign the mass-termination letter, according to her affidavit. The then-acting commissioner of the IRS, Douglas O’Donnell, also refused to sign the letter.

When thousands of affected IRS employees finally received the letter, it arrived from a generic email account. No agency official’s name appeared anywhere in the document.

Do you have any information we should know about the IRS, DOGE or the Trump administration’s mass firings? Andy Kroll can be reached by email at andy.kroll@propublica.org and by Signal or WhatsApp at 202-215-6203.