by ProPublica

The Pulitzer Board announced Monday that two series published by ProPublica were awarded Pulitzer Prizes. “Lawless,” a ProPublica Local Reporting Network project by the Anchorage Daily News that revealed how indigenous people in Alaska are denied public safety services, was awarded the prize for public service. “Disaster in the Pacific,” an investigation on the staggering leadership failures that led to deadly accidents in the Navy and Marines, won a national reporting prize. The two designations are ProPublica’s 6th Pulitzer win in 12 years and the first Pulitzer awarded to a Local Reporting Network partner.

Led by Daily News reporter Kyle Hopkins, “Lawless” was the first comprehensive investigation to lay bare Alaska’s failing, two-tiered justice system in which Native villages are denied access to first responders. In much of rural Alaska, villages can only be reached by plane, and calling 911 to report an emergency often means waiting hours or days for help to arrive.

The series evolved from a string of stories that Hopkins reported in 2018 for the Daily News, recounting horrific incidents of sexual assault in Alaska — which has the nation’s highest rate of sexual violence — and policing failures that have allowed offenders to continue the abuse with impunity. To fully investigate issues of lawlessness and sexual assault in the most remote communities in the U.S., the Daily News applied to participate in ProPublica’s Local Reporting Network. The program partners with newsrooms across the country, paying the salary and a stipend for benefits for local reporters who spend a year tackling big investigative stories that are crucial to their communities. Participating reporters work with a ProPublica senior editor and receive support, including from ProPublica’s data, research and engagement teams.

The collaboration’s first story, based on more than 750 public records requests and interviews, found that one in three rural Alaska communities has no local law enforcement of any kind. These indigenous communities are also among the country’s most vulnerable, with the highest rates of sexual assault, suicide and domestic violence. The series’ second major installment found that dozens of Alaska communities, desperate for police of any kind, hired officers convicted of felonies, domestic violence, assault and other offenses that would make them ineligible to work in law enforcement or even as security guards anywhere else in the country.

Next, Hopkins revealed how the state’s 40-year-old Village Public Safety Officer Program, designed to recruit villagers to work as life-saving first responders, has failed by every measure. Alaska had quietly denied funding for basic recruitment and equipment costs for these unarmed village officers while publicly claiming to prioritize public safety spending. “Lawless” also exposed how the Alaska State Troopers agency, created to protect Alaska Native villages, instead patrols mostly white suburbs surrounding cities on the road system like Wasilla. The series ended with a list of six practical solutions to Alaska’s law enforcement crisis, based on interviews with experts, village leaders, the Alaska congressional delegation and sexual assault survivors.

The Daily News and ProPublica faced a number of challenges in reporting the series. The first: No one knew which remote Alaska villages had police officers of any kind. So they built the first-ever statewide policing database by drawing on payroll, arrest and hiring records from communities spread across the state. They also contacted every village city government, sovereign tribal administrator and Alaska Native corporation in the state — more than 600 organizations.

The vastness of the state and the fact that 80% of communities aren’t on the road system posed another challenge. Journalists flew hundreds of miles, sleeping on the floors of schoolhouse libraries and riding in sleds and on snowmobiles. To aid the reporting, they also held a community meeting in Kotzebue, Alaska, where a 10-year-old girl had been raped and murdered in 2018, providing residents, advocates, tribal leaders and law enforcement their first chance for a public discussion on sexual violence. Throughout the year the reporters spoke to more than 300 people across the state.

Following publication of the first major story, U.S. Attorney General William Barr visited the state and declared the lack of law enforcement in rural Alaska to be a federal emergency. The declaration led the Department of Justice to promise more than $52 million in federal funding for public safety in Alaska villages. The U.S. Attorney’s Office in Anchorage announced the hiring of additional rural prosecutors, while Gov. Mike Dunleavy said the state will post 15 additional state troopers in rural Alaska. In addition, the Alaska Police Standards Council has proposed changing state regulations that govern the hiring and screening of village police officers, and Alaska legislators proposed legislation that would increase pay for VPSOs and overhaul funding of the program.

The Daily News’ Loren Holmes, Bill Roth, Marc Lester, David Hulen, Anne Raup, Vicky Ho, Alex Demarban, Jeff Parrott, Michelle Theriault Boots, Tess Williams, Tegan Hanlon, Zaz Hollander, Annie Zak, Shady Grove Oliver and Kevin Powell, as well as ProPublica’s Charles Ornstein, Adriana Gallardo, Alex Mierjeski, Beena Raghavendran, Nadia Sussman, Lylla Younes, Agnel Philip, Setareh Baig and David Sleight also contributed to the series.

“The ProPublica Local Reporting Network was started to give local newsrooms across America the resources and support they need to execute investigative journalism that digs deep and holds power to account,” Ornstein, a ProPublica deputy managing editor, said. “This powerful collaboration with the Anchorage Daily News investigation does exactly that, going far beyond reporting on isolated incidents to provide meticulous research and context on how the justice system has failed Alaska’s most remote and vulnerable communities. Most importantly, it has been a force for real change.”

In their “Disaster in the Pacific” series, ProPublica reporters T. Christian Miller, Megan Rose and Robert Faturechi centered on three deadly accidents in the Navy and Marines in 2017 and 2018. They exposed America’s vaunted 7th Fleet as being in crisis with broken ships and planes, poor training for and multiple warnings ignored by its commanders. The costs: 17 dead sailors in crashes involving Navy warships, and six Marines killed in a training accident.

The back-to-back accidents in 2017 and 2018 gained initial attention from Congress and the national media, but they had been told an incomplete, misleading and dangerous story of half-truths and cover-ups. ProPublica’s series provided the first full accounting of culpability, tracing responsibility to the highest uniformed and civilian ranks of the Navy. The reporting team spent 18 months on the investigation, obtaining more than 13,000 pages of confidential Navy records and interviewing hundreds of officials up and down the chain-of-command.

The first article in the series, “Fight the Ship,” reconstructed a 2017 crash involving the USS Fitzgerald, one of the deadliest accidents in the history of the Navy. The story showed that the accident was entirely preventable, and that the Navy’s senior leadership had endangered the warship by sending a shorthanded and undertrained crew to sea with outdated and poorly maintained equipment. To show readers what happened, ProPublica hired designer Xaquín G.V. Working with investigations producer Lucas Waldron, Xaquín used geodata on the ships’ locations, mapped the path of each vessel and created a graphic that simulated the crash, down to the moment the Fitzgerald was sent spinning out of control, rotating 360 degrees. The team also collected radar images, ship blueprints, hand-drawn images made by surviving sailors and video taken inside the ship, which allowed them to portray the disaster from the perspective of the sailors onboard.

A second story, “Years of Warnings, Then Death and Disaster,” detailed how the fatal crash of the USS Fitzgerald, and of the USS McCain weeks later, were the result of a congressional gutting of the Navy and the Navy’s prioritization of building new ships. Top Navy officials gave urgent, repeated warnings to Navy Secretary Ray Mabus about the deadly risks facing its fleet, including being short of sailors, sailors poorly trained and worked to exhaustion, warships physically coming apart, and ships routinely failing tests to see if they were prepared to handle warfighting duties. They were ignored, told to be quiet or even ordered to resign.

Another story captured the Marine Corps multiple failures that were responsible for the deaths of six men in a nighttime training exercise 15,000 feet above the Pacific — an accident that senior leaders had been warned was possible, even likely. ProPublica created an animated short documentary, using a combination of an on-camera interview, 3D animation, 2D illustration and atmospheric footage to bring the excruciating hours of a needless tragedy to light. Through extensive interviews with eyewitnesses, the team reconstructed the moments leading up to the crash, the crash itself and the botched search and rescue effort.

The series also illuminated how the Navy’s reckless management of the 7th Fleet was measured not only in fatalities, but also in the hurt and shame of the rank-and-file sailors whom the Navy blamed and prosecuted for the accidents. The Navy’s prosecution of Navy Cmdr. Bryce Benson for what were clearly systemic shortcomings, traceable all the way to the Pentagon, left many of its own furious and demoralized.

Weeks after the first story’s publication, the House Armed Services Committee convened a panel to challenge senior Navy leaders over their claims that they had been fully truthful about its failings and its efforts at reform. The reporting forced the Navy to admit to Congress that its claims about its rate of progress on reform were misleading. In light of ProPublica’s reporting on the improper role that the Navy’s top commander played in the prosecution of Benson, one of captains on the USS Fitzgerald, the Navy dropped all criminal charges. U.S. and NATO Navy commands throughout the world have ordered sailors and officers to read the ProPublica accounts as part of training and education.

Joseph Sexton, Tracy Weber, Agnes Chang, Katie Campbell, Joe Singer, Kengo Tsutsumi, Ruth Baron, David Sleight, Sisi Wei, Claire Perlman, Joshua Hunt and Nate Schweber also contributed to this series.

“The Navy actively blocked reporting at every step, with communications officers attempting to dissuade officials from conducting interviews with ProPublica and leaking positive stories to competing media outlets in an attempt to front-run our stories,” ProPublica Managing Editor Robin Fields said. “The military even threatened that we could be criminally prosecuted for publishing the material we obtained. This tour de force of investigative journalism is a testament to the unflinching tenacity of the reporters and the innovation of ProPublica’s data, graphics, research and design teams. Their essential work laid bare the avoidance of responsibility by the military’s most senior leaders.”

by Annie Waldman

Last September, over pancakes at a diner in central Massachusetts, Molly Baldwin told her husband, Jonathan, they were going to have a baby. He cried into his coffee mug, elated and a little surprised. They had only been trying for about a week, and they had yearned for a summer baby, ideally in June, which would enable their parents to spend more time with their first grandchild.

“We thought we had the best timing,” she said.

But as the novel coronavirus began to spread through the country this year, Baldwin realized in early March that it was only a matter of time before the virus hit her town, Fitchburg, and the nursing home where she’s a social worker. Her patients would be among the most vulnerable: Some had battled addiction, many had experienced homelessness and most were elderly. Flu seasons were always hard on her patients, and she dreaded the havoc a more lethal disease would wreak.

Baldwin also worried about her baby. She spent hours looking up the prenatal effects of COVID-19, and the lack of evidence-based research concerned her. She called her obstetrician, who cautioned that because of the unknowns, she should consider working from home to limit her exposure to the virus.

So Baldwin made a plan for when COVID-19 arrived at her nursing home: She would swap shifts with a colleague to work fewer hours and request to work from home, as many of her duties are paperwork or computer-based.

She would work from the comfort of her kitchen table. She would avoid catching the virus. She would keep visiting her doctor until it was time to deliver, her belly swelling with a baby girl she knew was healthy and safe.

None of it, not a single thing, would go according to plan.

Baldwin said her supervisor and the human resources representative from the facility verbally agreed in mid-March to let her work from home. (Baldwin spoke with ProPublica on the condition that her workplace not be named; ProPublica contacted her employers with questions for this story.)

Then, on April 16, one of the residents at her facility tested positive for the virus. Baldwin sought testing at a walk-in clinic, and the results came back negative. But when she called her obstetrician’s office, she got a warning: If she continued to work at the facility, potentially exposing herself to the virus, they would not allow her to enter their office for prenatal appointments unless she could prove with a test, before each visit, that she was negative for COVID-19.

She understood their caution; her job was beginning to feel at odds with her pregnancy. It was time for her work-from-home plan to go into action.

She called her employer and asked to start the accommodations she had requested the month before. But they told her that now the plan would not be feasible, she said. Other pregnant employees were continuing to work at the facilities, and she would have to as well, she said she was told.

“The services provided at a nursing home do not typically allow for remote working,” a company spokesperson told ProPublica. “However, we have made changes to accommodate our staff whenever possible, provided there is no impact on patient care.”

After finding out her request to work from home would not be granted, Baldwin panicked. “I’m not even a mom yet,” she said. “This is my first baby, and I already feel like I’m doing everything wrong.”

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Baldwin is one of dozens of pregnant workers who ProPublica has heard from who are navigating the risks of COVID-19 while in the field of health care.

“There are plenty of pregnant women across the country who are trying to figure out what to do to protect themselves, given the uncertainty,” said Emily Martin, vice president for education and workplace justice at the National Women’s Law Center. “If you feel like you can’t do your job because there aren’t certain accommodations and you feel like you’re at risk, it’s difficult to see where to go next.”

About half of the states have laws that allow pregnant women to request reasonable accommodations, including Massachusetts, Martin said.

According to the Massachusetts Pregnant Workers Fairness Act, signed into state law in July 2017, employers must grant reasonable accommodations to their pregnant employees that allow them to continue to do their job, “unless doing so would impose an ’undue hardship’ on the employer.” An employer also “cannot make an employee accept a particular accommodation if another reasonable accommodation would allow the employee to perform the essential functions of the job.”

Both the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists have stated that based on the data available, pregnant women do not face a higher risk of infection or severe morbidity related to COVID-19. That said, both the CDC and ACOG have suggested that health care facilities may want to consider reducing the exposure of pregnant health care workers to patients with confirmed or suspected COVID-19, if staffing permits.

“In the overwhelming majority of pregnancies, the person who is pregnant recovered well with mild illness,” said Dr. Neel Shah, an obstetrician and assistant professor at Harvard Medical School, echoing the current guidance. But, he cautioned, there is a lot we still don’t know about how the virus impacts bodies, let alone those that are pregnant. “We can’t say that it’s completely safe — we don’t know.”

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Baldwin and her husband went through their options.

She couldn’t quit because they needed her paycheck. They had a mortgage, student loans and a new baby on the way. She also loved her job and cared deeply for her patients, whom she wanted to continue to serve. Her employer, trying to manage understaffing, had discouraged employees from taking time off, she said. She didn’t want to take any additional sick days, because she needed to save them for her maternity leave.

They decided that she would have to return to work.

Her employer told her to wear a mask and gloves, use hand sanitizer and remain in her small, boxy office, which has three desks for four people. Though she didn’t have contact with the residents, her office mates still did.

Even though she was scared, she tried to stay optimistic. “I was grateful for what I had because I have friends that are out of work right now,” she said. But she remained perplexed about why her requests had been denied. “I was sitting in my office doing work that would have easily been done from a laptop on my kitchen table.”

The company spokesperson did not respond to a question about whether it had originally given Baldwin verbal approval to work from home. When asked why she couldn’t have done the same work remotely, he said, “Based on your questions, our HR and Risk Management are anticipating action and would prefer to not comment at all.”

The next day, the Massachusetts National Guard delivered testing kits to the nursing home, and every resident was checked for the virus. When the results came back, at least 22 residents and 20 other staff members tested positive.

“We are conducting cleanings and infection control measures multiple times per day, with extra focus on high touch areas,” the company spokesperson said. “We screen and take the temperature of anyone entering our building, and we have increased monitoring of our residents.”

Public data shows the facility has more than 30 cases among residents and staff, the maximum number that the state reports publicly.

“I thought if I just keep working, stay in my office, use hand sanitizer, wear my mask, go home and shower right away, disinfect my clothes, then I will be fine, and I can keep my baby safe, and I can shed all this guilt,” she said.

Then on April 24, two of her office mates texted to tell her they had the virus.

And that morning, she’d felt a tickle in her throat.

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“I know I’m positive,” she thought to herself, as she left work midday and drove to a CVS drugstore testing site an hour away that was offering free rapid tests for front-line and health care workers. Hundreds of cars were already lined up.

She waited alone in her Jeep Wrangler for three hours, wearing her mask as required, which muffled her nagging cough. She shifted around constantly, to keep blood from pooling in her swelling feet. At the front of the line, she received a 6-inch cotton swab, wedged it deep in her nasal cavity, and returned it to the technicians. They directed her into a side parking lot, and 30 minutes later, she got a phone call with her results.

“We’re sorry to tell you that you’re positive,” the voice on the line told her. Baldwin’s mind stalled, engulfed in a wave of anxiety, which gave way to seething frustration.

“This was so preventable,” she said. “Now here I am, 33 weeks pregnant and positive. My most important job is to keep the baby safe, and my actual job wasn’t making that happen.”

When she called her co-workers and supervisor to tell them she tested positive, she said they were “all very caring and compassionate.” They told her to stay home for at least a week, or until her symptoms subsided. The Families First Coronavirus Response Act requires most employers to provide their workers with two weeks of paid leave if the employee is quarantined or experiencing COVID-19 symptoms. Baldwin said she would have to exhaust her sick days first; she’d been saving them for her maternity leave. Her husband, who works as a correctional officer at a county jail, was allowed to take 14 days of paid leave to tend to his wife, without using his own sick days.

She could no longer go to her normal obstetrician for in-person appointments, and instead, she would have to rely on telemedicine. Her doctor connected her with an obstetrician specializing in COVID-19 cases, with whom she planned to meet this week.

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Last Saturday, Baldwin’s mother had planned to throw her daughter a baby shower. She had invited 50 of their closest friends to celebrate at a new restaurant and had ordered dozens of pink favors from Etsy.

Because of the stay-at-home order, her shower morphed into a drive-by celebration, where her friends and family passed by her house, honking their horns and holding celebratory signs, balloons and streamers. They dropped gifts in front of her house, including first aid kits and a handsewn pink mask for an infant.

Her symptoms have, so far, been relatively mild, similar to a normal flu: headaches, a stuffy nose, a sore throat and muscle pains. She’s spent most of the past week resting in bed and taking baths to soothe her body aches. While taking care of Baldwin, her husband has also contracted the virus and is experiencing severe body aches as well.

In addition to her disappointment that the hypnobirthing and breastfeeding classes she had signed up for are canceled, her time in quarantine is now filled with anxious questions about how the disease may impact her baby.

Will the stress of this experience damage her baby neurologically? Will her baby be born early? Will she have to deliver by cesarean section to relieve pressure on her body and lungs, like so many stories she had read? Will she have to be secluded from her baby for days or weeks after birth? And what if her own symptoms worsen?

“This is our first baby, and it was so planned and wanted,” she said. “But had we known this awful thing would happen, would we have tried when we did?”

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by Peter Elkind, ProPublica, and Meg Cramer, WNYC, with Doris Burke, ProPublica

On May 12, after a six-week delay caused by the pandemic, the U.S. Supreme Court will hear arguments in the epic battle by congressional committees and New York prosecutors to pry loose eight years of President Donald Trump’s tax returns.

Much about the case is without precedent. Oral arguments will be publicly broadcast on live audio. The nine justices and opposing lawyers will debate the issues remotely, from their offices and homes. And the central question is extraordinary: Is the president of the United States immune from congressional — and even criminal — investigation?

Next week’s arguments concern whether Trump’s accounting firm, Mazars USA, must hand over his tax returns and other records to a House committee and the Manhattan district attorney, which have separately subpoenaed them. (There will also be arguments on congressional subpoenas to two of Trump’s banks.) Trump, who promised while running for president to make his tax returns public, has sued to block the documents’ release. The questions apply beyond this case. Trump has repeatedly resisted congressional scrutiny, most recently by vowing to ignore oversight requirements included in the trillion-dollar pandemic-bailout legislation. “I’ll be the oversight,” he declared.

The president’s accounting firm has found itself at the center of this high-stakes fight. The American arm of a global firm, Mazars has portrayed itself as an innocent bystander in the war between Trump and his pursuers, dragged into the conflict merely for possessing the trove of subpoenaed records. It’s the firm’s first burst into the media glare apart from an unfortunate moment of tabloid coverage in 2016 after one of its New York partners stabbed his wife to death in the shower of their suburban home. (He pleaded guilty to manslaughter.) Mazars has said it will abide by whatever decision the court makes in the Trump matter.

But Trump’s accountants are far from bystanders in the matters under scrutiny — or in the rise of Trump. Over a span of decades, they have played two critical, but discordant, roles for Trump. One is common for an accounting firm: to help him pay the smallest amount of taxes possible. The second is not common at all: to help him appear to the world to be rich beyond imagining. That sometimes requires creating precisely the opposite impression of what’s in his tax filings.

Time and again, from press interviews in the 1980s to the launch of his 2016 campaign, Trump has trotted out evermore outsized claims of his wealth, frequently brandishing papers prepared by members of his accounting team, who have sometimes been called on to appear in person when they were presented, offering a sort of mute testimony in support of the findings. The accountants’ written disclaimers — that the calculations rely on Trump’s own numbers, rendering them essentially meaningless — are rarely mentioned.

Trump’s accountants have been crucial enablers in his remarkable rise. And like their marquee client, they have a surprisingly colorful and tangled story of their own. It’s dramatically at odds with the image Trump has presented of his accountants as “one of the most highly respected” big firms, solemnly confirming his numbers after months of careful scrutiny. For starters, it’s only technically true to say Trump’s accounting work is handled by a large firm.

In fact, Trump entrusts his taxes and planning to a tiny, secretive team of CPAs who have operated at various times from humble quarters in Queens and two Long Island office parks. That team, which has had two leaders with back-to-back multidecade terms, has been working for the Trumps since Fred Trump began using the firm back in the 1950s. It was eventually subsumed into Mazars USA, the American arm of a large international firm, through a series of mergers over decades.

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One theme has been consistent: partners and sometimes the firm itself have faced accusations of fraud, misconduct and malpractice on multiple occasions, an investigation by ProPublica and WNYC has found.

That pattern dates to the 30 years during which the Trump accounting team was led by Jack Mitnick, whose pugnaciousness was exceeded only by his aversion to his clients paying the IRS. He was the architect of the notorious schemes, revealed by The New York Times, to dodge more than $500 million in gift and inheritance taxes and funnel hundreds of millions from Fred Trump to his children, helping keep Donald Trump afloat through four of his business bankruptcies. Mitnick was known as an accounting star — at least until 1996, when his partners threw him out of the firm amid accusations of fraud and malpractice.

Years of turmoil followed. The firm operated without malpractice insurance for a period and was dogged by feuds — with current and former partners suing each other — and financial problems.

And it ran afoul of regulators. In January of 2004 — one week after “The Apprentice” premiered on NBC — the Securities and Exchange Commission formally censured the firm for willfully aiding and abetting misconduct. The SEC suspended one partner from practicing before it for four years for what the agency called “highly unreasonable” and “improper professional conduct.”

Since Trump’s accountants merged their practice into Mazars in 2010, they have been present for Trump’s scandals, too. Mazars accountants prepared the tax returns for the Donald J. Trump Foundation, forced to shut down and ordered to pay more than $2 million in damages after a New York attorney general’s investigation exposed a history of illegal self-dealing. And the Manhattan DA’s office, which is investigating whether the Trump Organization falsified its business records to cover up hush-money payments to adult film actress Stormy Daniels, subpoenaed not only Trump’s tax returns but also various internal records and assessments prepared by Mazars.

Today, the CEO of Mazars USA is the same partner who was suspended by the SEC for four years for improper conduct. (Mazars defends its CEO, saying he meets all ethical and professional standards, and asserts that the firm has encountered no more sanctions or litigation than other comparable firms.)

The choice of a formerly suspended accountant as CEO surprised former SEC Chief Accountant Lynn Turner, now a senior adviser at the Hemming Morse financial consulting firm. “In my opinion,” said Turner, “that speaks loudly with the respect to the confidence one would have in that firm — better yet, the total lack of confidence one would have in that firm. And it would certainly make me wonder about the culture of that firm and whether or not that firm acts with integrity.”

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Whether by design, or perhaps just coincidence, Trump’s accountants have occasionally displayed the sort of audacity often associated with their client. Consider this example involving New York City taxes back in the 1980s. Mitnick claimed that Trump was exempt from paying tax on profit he made by flipping a Trump Tower condo. He had acquired the unit at cost, $634,648, ostensibly for providing “consulting services” to his development partnership, then sold it 19 days later for $3 million.

At an administrative court hearing, Mitnick defended deductions that he’d claimed offset any profits from Trump’s consulting business, even as he failed to provide any documentation or explanation for those expenses, according to the 15-page court opinion in the case. He went so far as to deny that he’d prepared the federal tax return for Trump that also claimed the deductions, even though his signature was on the document.

The accountant evidently protested vociferously in the New York case, leading the administrative law judge to scoff, “The problem at issue is not one of double taxation, but of no taxation.” The total amount at stake was relatively modest — $87,693.57, including penalties and interest — but Mitnick, on Trump’s behalf, contested it for more than a decade before a city appeals panel finally put an end to the case, ordering Trump to pay up.

Decades after he left the Trump account, Mitnick briefly surfaced in the press in 2016, after the Times reported that Trump’s 1995 tax return reported a $916 million loss. Mitnick, then 80, dismissed Trump’s boast that he was a tax genius for using the loss to avoid paying taxes for as much as a decade. “I did all the tax preparation,” the dour accountant told TV interviewers. “He never saw the product until it was presented to him for signature.” Mitnick added, with apparent pride: “Those returns were entirely created by us.”

When ProPublica first sought to speak with Mitnick late last year, he asked, “What’s in it for me?” and said he’d discuss Trump only if he were paid for his time. (In a longer second call, where he also asked to be paid, he eventually offered brief responses to some questions.)

An accountant and attorney, Mitnick first arrived at Spahr Lacher & Berk, the tiny firm later merged into Mazars, in 1963, at age 27. Mitnick soon took charge of the Trumps’ accounts. He would oversee them for the next 30 years.

In its early years, Spahr was located in Jamaica, Queens, and employed just a handful of CPAs. The firm had been working with the Trump family, whose five-bedroom Tudor home was in tonier Jamaica Estates, at least since 1951, when Fred Trump cemented the relationship by hiring a Spahr partner as controller for his growing real estate business.

Fred Trump was far and away Spahr’s biggest client. His cash-spewing rental apartment empire in Brooklyn and Queens required lots of accounting work, and Fred paid his bills in full and on time. By 1979, Spahr Lacher had moved into a nondescript suburban office park in Lake Success, Long Island, just beyond the Queens border and the reach of New York City taxes.

By then Donald Trump had begun pursuing his big, risky and expensive ambitions: glitzy towers and hotels in Manhattan; three over-the-top Atlantic City casinos; his own airline; a massive yacht and a professional football team. In 1987, as his father had done, Donald hired his company’s controller from the ranks of his accounting firm.

Trump’s accountants played a critical role in Donald’s survival through the 1980s and early ʼ90s, a period when many of his projects crashed and burned, requiring massive infusions of cash from his father. With Mitnick in charge, Spahr hatched the strategies that minimized both gift and estate taxes on the transfer of Fred’s wealth to Donald and his siblings.

A 2018 Times investigation found that Fred Trump had funneled at least $413 million in current dollars to his son and that the Trumps’ tax-avoidance tactics, all told, had slashed their tax bill by about $500 million. The article described some of the tax moves as “outright fraud.” (Trump’s lawyer called that conclusion “100% false” and said the relevant authorities “fully approved all of the tax filings.”)

A lynchpin of the strategy was the 1992 creation of a corporation, All County Building Supply & Maintenance, through which Fred Trump’s children charged their father’s business grossly inflated prices, then split the markup, allowing them to avoid gift taxes even as they reeled in millions from their father.

The strategy was viewed as a major success inside the accounting firm. “I wish I could take credit for it,” Mitchell Zachary, a former Spahr partner who worked on the Trumps’ accounts for more than a decade, told ProPublica and WNYC. “It was brilliant, but it wasn’t mine,” Zachary said. “It was a team of accountants, partners at Spahr.” Zachary defended the firm’s practices for the Trumps as “aggressive” but “within the letter of the law.”

Mitnick was viewed as “a tax god” inside the firm, said Zachary, who worked at Spahr Lacher from 1986 to 2002 and teamed with Mitnick on the Trumps’ accounts. The family “wouldn’t make a move” without checking with Mitnick, he said. Mitnick even made a cameo appearance (albeit with his name misspelled) in the first chapter of Trump’s 1987 book, “The Art of the Deal.”

Mitnick pressed for every advantage on Trump’s behalf, ever urging Zachary to be bolder. A fundamental Mitnick principle: “If you can’t find me where the law says you can’t do it, you can do it.” Said Zachary: “He always took these very aggressive positions and would never back down. Never. He always felt, ‘I’ll just keep appealing.’”

Mitnick’s team developed virtually all the Trumps’ tax-avoidance maneuvers, Zachary said. “I mean, it was all for their benefit in so many ways,” he said. “It’s not like they were going to question it.”

Donald Trump’s accounting work was much more complex than that of his father. His business operated scores of separate entities, each requiring its own tax filings. Just preparing his annual personal return took three to four months.

Diving into Trump’s personal finances, as Zachary did in the late 1980s, proved bewildering. Warned that his work for Trump was sure to face an audit, Zachary said he took special care to trace every asset, expense and receipt. When he finally finished, he was mystified. Zachary couldn’t find evidence that Trump, in fact, possessed any cash beyond a recent payment in a casino deal.

“I went to Jack Mitnick, and I said, ‘Look, I must be missing something: There’s nothing here!’… I thought for sure I screwed up. I thought for sure I missed something big.”

Zachary recalled Mitnick’s reply. “He just laughed and went: ‘Well, you just figured it out!’”

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Spahr took unusual steps to safeguard the confidentiality of Donald Trump’s returns. No work papers or documents could be left on a CPA’s desk overnight; everything had to be carefully locked up.

The secrecy was imposed to hide the chasm between Trump’s public claims and reality, according to Zachary: “He bragged a lot. … More than any other individual that I’ve ever seen, he was very big at promoting that he’s this super-rich billionaire.”

Trump was a difficult client. He demanded discounts on fees and took forever to pay his bills. “Collecting from Trump was awful,” Zachary said. Eventually Spahr agreed to give Trump a 50% discount and allow him 12 months to pay. Zachary said: “Donald always made it clear: ‘You get the privilege of saying you’re Donald Trump’s accountants, so you have to pay the price.’”

Trump’s nearly $1 billion write-off for 1995 represented an aggregation of the enormous losses his business blunders had run up — and Spahr skillfully exploited them on Trump’s behalf. Trump paid no federal income tax in nine of the 11 years from 1984 through 1994, according to tax materials obtained by the Times and publicly released documents.

It is true that the Trumps’ aggressive tactics drew virtually nonstop scrutiny from tax authorities. Indeed, they spent so much time examining the Trumps’ books, Zachary said, that Spahr Lacher had a special room permanently set aside for the IRS’s Trump auditors. (Zachary also cites this scrutiny, and the relatively modest resulting adjustments, as evidence that Spahr’s tactics didn’t cross the line.)

Spahr’s focus on wealth-transfer strategies intensified in the early 1990s, after Fred Trump, a detail-minded workaholic, began suffering from poor health and dementia. One tactic was to divide legal ownership of Fred’s properties into separate family partnerships, so Fred lacked complete control. That helped justify lowball appraisals for tax purposes. “There was an appraiser out there that the IRS hated … because he was so aggressive. And that’s the guy we used,” Zachary said. That appraiser, he said, reduced the claimed values of Fred Trump’s properties by 35% to 40% — and occasionally dramatically more.

By the time Fred Trump died in 1999, Mitnick was gone from the firm. His departure followed a series of troubling lawsuits and other setbacks relating to work for non-Trump clients. In one case brought over Mitnick’s administration of a tax-shelter investment involving coal mine leases, a federal appeals court wrote in 1985: “The record amply demonstrates that he committed fraud.”

In a second case, longtime Spahr clients charged Mitnick and the firm with “a long-term coverup of Mitnick’s malpractice” on their family’s estate and audit work, accusing them of missing filing deadlines and making false statements to the IRS, which they claimed cost the family millions in taxes and penalties. They asserted that Mitnick and his team neglected them and “devoted most of their professional time to other clients, including Donald Trump and his enterprises.” After the trial judge found that Mitnick was “the primary wrongdoer,” the matter was eventually settled for about $500,000, according to Mitnick’s deposition testimony in yet another malpractice suit against both him and the firm.

Mitnick, meanwhile, had his own problems with the IRS. He had filed three federal tax court cases between 1987 and 1990 challenging IRS levies against him and his wife on their personal taxes.

He became an enigma to his Spahr partners. Mitnick often seemed oblivious to important deadlines. One partner recalls finding Mitnick, just hours before a critical tax filing was due, in the firm’s staff room with a hammer and screwdriver, fixing a broken chair.

By the mid-1990s, the litigation had left Spahr Lacher unable to obtain insurance, threatening the firm’s continued existence. Partners, including Zachary, shifted their assets into their spouses’ names. Records show the Mitnicks’ home, located 2 miles from the firm’s office, was held in his wife’s name.

In September 1996, the partners expelled Mitnick. They told clients that Mitnick, then 60, was retiring. Less than a year later, he became a tax counsel with a Long Island law firm, where he remained until 2014.

Asked about these events, Mitnick, now 84, repeatedly declined to comment, saying he couldn’t discuss “confidential communications between myself and the client.” He added, “You’re going back to the dark ages.”

Mitnick eventually fell on hard times. In 2007, after Citibank filed a foreclosure action on an unpaid $500,000 mortgage loan, Mitnick and his wife sold their $1.4 million Long Island home. Three years later the IRS slapped him with a lien for more than $155,000 in unpaid federal tax debts dating back to 2003. Mitnick and his wife relocated to a modest house in Palm Beach County, Florida.

In May 2017 Mitnick and his wife were evicted after failing to pay $11,331 in assessments and penalties to their homeowners association. Their possessions were placed out on the street. Less than two years later, in March 2019, they were ejected again, this time evicted from an apartment for unpaid rent and, according to a court filing, “physically removed from the premises.”

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At the time Mitnick left the firm, partners feared his departure might cost them the Trump business, which Zachary estimates represented about a third of the firm’s total billings. But Trump agreed to stick with Spahr.

Still, the firm’s existence was precarious. Unable to obtain malpractice coverage, Spahr’s eight partners, after being hit by another lawsuit settlement, learned they would have to dig into their own pockets to pay it.

So they happily welcomed an acquirer: M.R. Weiser & Co., a midsize Manhattan accounting firm eager to establish a big presence on Long Island. Spahr’s leaders signed off on the deal only after again seeking Trump’s personal blessing. He gave it, Zachary said, after being assured his fees wouldn’t increase.

As it turned out, Weiser had problems of its own. The firm had engaged in a disastrous buying binge aimed at transforming the firm into a regional powerhouse. The deals instead triggered what partners later described as a “crisis of finances and morale.” Just a year after swallowing Spahr, Weiser’s partners ousted the firm’s chairman, Stanley Nasberg, who then sued, demanding $5 million in damages and sending the dispute to an arbitration panel. (In an interview, Nasberg maintained he was “instrumental” in the rapid growth of the firm and recruitment of major clients. He blamed his ouster on the “greed” of his then-partners.)

The 24-page report from the arbitration panel detailed a litany of “recriminations and factual and legal disputes.” The firm had suffered such “acute cash shortages” that some senior partners had delayed depositing their year-end paychecks in 1999; partner draws had been withheld altogether in early 2000.

For years Weiser was roiled by factional conflicts, cash-flow problems and bitter litigation. “It became just a disjointed mess,” said Jeff Coopersmith, a partner who arrived in 1999 as the result of one merger and was frog-marched out six years later after the firm discovered his plans to start his own firm with two other partners (and take clients with him).

Amid all this turmoil, the Trump group remained a constant. With Mitnick’s departure, the firm handed its leadership to a CPA who seemed even more single-mindedly dedicated to the mogul: Donald Bender.

Bespectacled, bald and bookish, Bender had arrived at Spahr in 1981, shortly after earning his accounting degree at Queens College. He’s been there ever since. (Through a firm spokesman, Bender declined requests for an interview.)

Bender had a monkish devotion to his work, and to Trump, who became his sole client. Bender remained single well into middle age, when he married a woman who’d worked at Weiser. Now 62, he still runs the Trump account and lives with his family in a drab townhouse, six minutes’ drive from his office.

Bender’s dedication won Trump’s respect, said Zachary, who worked closely with Bender until leaving the firm in 2002. “He really devoted his life to Donald Trump,” Zachary said, enough to earn him an invitation to Trump’s wedding to Melania Knauss at Mar-a-Lago in 2005.

Operating from offices at one end of the accounting firm’s floor, Bender and his small Trump team kept to themselves. It had long been standard practice to maintain extraordinary security provisions for all of Trump’s electronic files, including barring anyone from viewing them without a special password.

Bender’s group had a mystique within the firm. In a 2017 essay published on a literary website, a former junior accountant at Weiser, Henry Kogan, recounted meeting Bender — whom he referred to as “the other Donald” — in the firm’s cafeteria. “After I introduced myself and the small talk subsided he said, ‘Everything you say will be repeated.’… In my two years at Weiser LLP, I learned the other Donald didn’t talk much but when he did it was worth listening to.”

Kogan described the knowledge of Trump’s financial world as “passed down from one generation to the next through a single, chosen accountant, orally.” As he put it, “You could sense the weight of this knowledge in the way [Bender] walked, the way he carried himself, carefully and with precision. Sometimes it seemed as if he were moving across a tightrope, invisible across the thickly carpeted office floor.” Bender’s “entire professional existence,” he wrote, “revolved around one client, that client’s organization, and the hundreds of entities represented inside an IRS form.”

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As Trump banked evermore on his image for breathtaking wealth, he enlisted his accountants to back his dubious claims. For example, struggling to avoid personal bankruptcy in 1994, Trump cooperated with a cover story in Vanity Fair promoting his “comeback.”

“Piece by piece, deal by deal, a beautiful story is starting to emerge about me,” Trump declared, after picking up writer Edward Klein in his stretch limo. As they were driven to a black-tie dinner at the Waldorf-Astoria hotel honoring Trump as “Humanitarian of the Year,” Klein wrote, “he handed me a folder containing his personal financial statement, which had been prepared by the accounting firm of Spahr, Lacher & Sperber.” It showed $139,326,000 in cash and equivalents.” That figure seemed unlikely given that four of Trump’s companies had gone bankrupt during the early 1990s.

Similar documents surfaced in 2006, after Trump was stung by a book written by Tim O’Brien that ridiculed his boasts of being worth as much as $6 billion. The book, “TrumpNation: The Art of Being the Donald,” cited three confidential sources “with direct knowledge of Donald’s finances” who said the number was actually between $150 million and $250 million.

Looking to rehabilitate the image of his net worth — on Forbes’ annual list of billionaires — Trump enlisted his accountants. He summoned two Forbes reporters, according to one of them, Stephane Fitch. They arrived at his Trump Tower conference room to find a table piled with leather-bound volumes and stacks of manila folders, supposedly documenting how much Trump was worth. Also present, to help make the case: Bender and his Weiser partner Gerald Rosenblum. The two accountants sat silently as Trump and his deputies touted his wealth. Forbes ultimately pegged it at $2.9 billion — about half of what Trump claimed — but far higher than O’Brien’s assessment.

Trump sued O’Brien for defamation, and in the litigation, too, the accountants and their work played a supporting role. A 25-page document, on Weiser letterhead, titled “Accountants Compilation Report” was produced during discovery. (“I do keep one actually on my desk, hidden,” Trump testified during the case.) A two-page disclaimer explained that the report (which claimed a net worth of $3.5 billion) was based entirely on “the representation of the individual whose financial statements are presented.” In other words, all the numbers came from Trump.

Trump made clear just how unreliable that was, at one point testifying during his deposition: “My net worth fluctuates, and it goes up and down with markets and with attitudes and with feelings, even my own feelings.” Asked if he’d ever exaggerated in statements about his properties, Trump replied: “I think everyone does.”

The disclaimer on the “compilation” noted that Weiser had done nothing to confirm the unaudited numbers, which included wholesale departures from generally accepted accounting principles (GAAP). In particular, the statement acknowledged counting future income streams that were in doubt; excluding much of Trump’s debt; failing to reflect whether Trump actually owned only a portion of the assets he listed; and ignoring both repayment obligations and whatever taxes he owed.

Weiser did sometimes prepare GAAP-compliant audited financial statements for Trump, when required by some lenders and regulators. These statements revealed a lower net worth. So Trump shared the “compilation” documents with reporters instead.

O’Brien’s lawyers deposed the two Weiser partners who worked on the Trump document. Asked to explain a memo he’d written calling Trump’s valuations on properties “subjective,” Bender demurred: “I don’t have the professional expertise to discuss valuations.” Rosenblum, who said he had been preparing such statements for Trump since the early 1980s, was more direct. “In the compilation process, it is not the role of the accountant to assess the values,” he testified. “The role is to accept those values and move them forward.” He acknowledged he made no attempt to corroborate any of the figures. (A judge granted O’Brien a summary judgment, later upheld by an appeals court, in Trump’s libel suit.)

Trump continued to offer selective financial statements. If anything, the list of recipients seemed to grow, to include banks and insurance companies, according to congressional testimony last year by former Trump lawyer Michael Cohen, shortly before he went to prison. Cohen released copies of Trump’s financial statements for 2011, 2012 and 2013 and testified: “It was my experience that Mr. Trump inflated his total assets when it served his purposes, such as trying to be listed among the wealthiest people in Forbes, and deflated his assets to reduce his real estate taxes.”

By this point, Mazars had become his accountants of record (the Weiser merger occurred in 2010) and the disclaimers in the financial statements had grown to exclude anything involving the finances of Trump’s large hotels in Las Vegas and Chicago. The 2011 and 2012 statements placed Trump’s net worth at $4,261,590,000 and $4,558,680,000, respectively.

They included multiple false claims. As The Washington Post reported last year, the 2011 statement claimed Trump Tower was 68 stories tall (it’s 58); exaggerated the size of Trump’s Virginia vineyard (it’s 1,200 acres, not 2,000); inflated the number of lots approved for sale at his golf course in southern California (it was 31, not 55); and claimed a 212-acre Westchester County estate he’d bought in 1996 for $7.5 million was already “zoned for 9 luxurious homes” and thus worth $291 million. Local officials said the property was really worth about $20 million, and the project, which faced years of opposition from area residents, was never built. Trump took a tax write-off on the property instead. These false statements alone appear to have inflated Trump’s claimed wealth by hundreds of millions.

Once again, when Trump announced his campaign for the presidency in gala fashion in 2015, he waved a financial statement that he said his accountants had prepared. This time the tally was $8,737,540,000.

“To pay an auditor to say ‘we have not checked the numbers, and the numbers don’t follow any rules’ — you just don’t see that,” said George Washington University assistant accountancy professor Kyle Welch. “This is not a real financial statement. This is a promotional document.” Welch said the sweeping disclaimer protects the accountants from legal liability or industry sanctions.

He doubts a larger firm would have been willing to affix its name to such statements. “I don’t think any of the Big Four would put their name on those financial statements,” Welch said. “I don’t think they could have been paid enough to get it done.”

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Not long after it acquired Trump’s accounting firm, Weiser came under investigation by the SEC. The matter was resolved in 2004, with an agreed settlement order: Two Weiser CPAs were suspended from practicing before the commission for “highly unreasonable” and “improper professional conduct.” The SEC also censured Weiser, ordering it to disgorge $39,679 and hire an outside consultant to review its policies and compliance procedures.

According to the SEC, Weiser had failed to properly monitor its client, a financial advisory firm called Sagam Capital Management, that was already operating under a cease-and-desist order for securities fraud and thus, as Weiser knew, warranted “heightened scrutiny.” These failures, the SEC found, had “willfully aided and abetted” more misconduct. (Sagam’s CEO later went to prison for stealing millions from his customers.)

Victor Wahba, the Weiser partner in charge of the assignment, was barred from SEC practice for a minimum of four years. (He didn’t admit or deny wrongdoing.) But Wahba remained at the firm, and was promoted, just one year later, to run its New York office. In 2012, 15 months after being reinstated by the SEC, Wahba was named co-CEO of Mazars. He became chairman and CEO of Mazars USA in 2015.

Wahba declined requests for an interview, but Mazars provided a statement that read, in part: “Under Victor Wahba’s leadership, Mazars USA has become a national leader in tax, accounting and consulting. He is well recognized as a thoughtful and charitable CEO.” It noted that Wahba now “remains in good standing” with various industry and government regulators, including the SEC.

Trump’s accounting firm faced other issues. In 2009, a partner received a three-year SEC suspension for secretly negotiating for a high-level job with a client he was then auditing. The SEC called the partner’s conduct “at a minimum, reckless.” He eventually left the firm.

In separate, more recent cases, the U.S. attorney’s office in Manhattan prosecuted two other CPAs who worked at the firm for their involvement in illegal tax shelters.

Ronald Katz, a partner at Weiser for five years starting in 2004, received a nine-month prison sentence in 2017 after pleading guilty to conspiring with a New York tax attorney in what federal prosecutors described as a “corrupt multi-year tax evasion scheme.” Katz had been indicted, among other offenses, on charges of failing to pay taxes on $1.2 million in fee income while at the firm. Internal firm financial documents show that for 2004, Katz billed $6.6 million in fees, far more than any other partner in the firm. Katz declined to comment.

In August 2019, New York federal prosecutors settled a civil complaint against former Mazars senior manager Michael Schwartz. In legal filings, prosecutors said he had arranged for more than 100 taxpayers to claim “large phony tax losses,” cheating the government out of hundreds of millions of dollars in taxes. (The shelters dated back to 2002, but were already under court challenge by the government when Mazars hired Schwartz in 2008.) In 2010, a federal appeals court found that one of Schwartz’s transactions, which allowed a tech executive to shelter $60 million in stock gains with an investment of less than $1 million, was “specifically designed to create a massive tax loss devoid of economic reality.”

Despite this, Schwartz remained at the accounting firm until 2015, just weeks before the IRS assessed him for $35.4 million for promoting unregistered fraudulent tax shelters. After filing for bankruptcy, Schwartz settled the IRS claim by agreeing to pay $650,000. (“This had nothing to do with WeiserMazar,” Schwartz said. “This was all activities done way before I joined the firm. They knew about it. But they hired me for my international tax expertise.”)

In its statement, Mazars dismissed the notion that it had a troubling record. “Any suggestion that Mazars USA is an industry outlier with regard to its business practices or litigation history is false and misleading. Even a cursory review of the history of any large accounting firm or business will reveal the inevitability of litigation. Our history is no different than any other similarly situated firm.”

Mazars declined to respond to a long list of questions regarding its work for the Trumps, citing the need to protect client confidentiality. Its statement noted, “Mazars USA prides itself on providing professional accounting, audit and consulting services in accordance with all professional and ethical standards, rules, and regulations.”

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Because it handles virtually all the tax and accounting needs for Donald Trump, Mazars has inevitably found itself immersed in more recent controversies surrounding its famous client.

This extends to the Donald J. Trump Foundation, whose annual tax returns Bender has regularly prepared and signed. For 2016 and 2017, before the foundation’s dissolution, Mazars also audited its financial statements, filed with the New York attorney general’s office. Among these documents, there is no indication the firm did anything to spotlight or curtail the financial abuses that eventually forced the charity’s shutdown.

The Mazars accountants were complicit in the foundation’s illegal practices, according to Marcus Owens, an attorney and expert in nonprofit law who ran the IRS’ exempt-organizations division for a decade. “I cannot fathom how they would not know,” he said. Owens called the firm’s role in the foundation’s misconduct “extraordinary. ... I’ve been practicing charity law for 45 years, including 25 at the IRS, and I’ve never seen anything like it.” Added Owens: “This is aiding and abetting someone doing something that is in clear violation of federal tax law. It really calls into question what’s going on with every other tax return that firm prepared.”

Mazars’ role, if any, in the Stormy Daniels hush money scandal remains unclear. As ProPublica has reported, the Manhattan DA’s office is investigating whether the Trump Organization’s payments, falsely reimbursed to Michael Cohen as a “legal retainer,” represented an illegal falsification of the company’s books and records. It is not evident what Mazars, in preparing its tax filings and auditing its books, knew — or should have known — about this.

But it is clear that the investigation by Manhattan DA Cyrus Vance extends far beyond the scope of that 2016 episode. Vance’s grand jury subpoena seeks tax returns, work papers, financial statements and communications dating back to 2011. If the Supreme Court affirms two federal lower court rulings that he should get them, Vance’s investigators will be free to look for evidence of other potential crimes.

For all the anticipation about the documents being sought by both the criminal prosecutors and Congress, it is possible that the public may never see them even if the Supreme Court orders Mazars to turn over the records.

In Vance’s investigation, requirements for grand jury secrecy will prevail unless the documents lead to criminal prosecutions. It’s also not clear whether the congressional committees would make public any Trump records.

The greatest revelations also may not be contained in the tax returns themselves, which will lack detail about Trump and his businesses, but in the thousands of pages of other materials that Congress and the DA have also subpoenaed. These include the hundreds of corporate returns, also prepared by Mazars, detailing Trump’s investments, his debts, his sources of income and his partners. Equally important, the accountants’ work papers and communications with the Trump Organization could reveal unguarded internal assessments and exchanges about his finances.

The Supreme Court fight may end with a whimper. On April 27, the court hinted that it may be looking for a way to punt at least part of the three cases involving Trump’s tax records: It asked the parties to submit supplemental briefs to answer effectively whether the court should even be trying to resolve the two cases in which Congress has subpoenaed the records. (This would not affect the third case, involving the Manhattan DA). The question, as Scotusblog characterized it, is “whether courts should stay out of the fight over the subpoenas because it is fundamentally a political dispute between the branches of government. If the justices were to conclude that the doctrine applies, they could dismiss the cases without ruling on the merits of the dispute — which might be a particularly appealing outcome for some justices in the lead-up to the presidential election.”

Such a decision would clear the way for Mazars and Trump’s banks to comply with the congressional subpoenas if they chose to do so — but would provide no judicial means of enforcement, according to University of Texas law professor Stephen Vladeck, a Supreme Court expert. (Asked about such a Supreme Court outcome, a Mazars spokesman said the firm stands by its previous statement that it will “respect the legal process and fully comply with its legal obligations.”) That would provide for a much less stirring conclusion than, say, a unanimous high-court opinion declaring that the president is not above the law.

But the court could still affirm the third case, in which federal courts ordered Mazars to turn over the returns to the Manhattan DA. If Mazars then complies with that subpoena, that will leave the firm in good graces with the court — but likely facing the wrath of its client of many decades, the president of the United States.

by Justin Elliott, Paul Kiel and Lydia DePillis

Through programs like the Small Business Administration’s Paycheck Protection Program and the Federal Reserve’s Main Street Lending Program, the federal government is deploying hundreds of billions of dollars in grants, loans and bond purchases to help businesses amid the coronavirus-sparked economic crisis. Each program comes with different strings, but their basic purpose is to keep workers on the payroll.

We want to know what this means for your workplace. How has your company treated its workers during the crisis? Have you or your colleagues been laid off, furloughed or otherwise affected? Have you seen money used in surprising ways? What do you think we should be reporting on?

We are the only ones reading what you submit. If you would prefer to use an encrypted app, here is what we suggest. Send questions to bailout@propublica.org.

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by J. David McSwane

The Transportation Security Administration ignored guidance from the Department of Homeland Security and internal pushback from two agency officials when it stockpiled more than 1.3 million N95 respirator masks instead of donating them to hospitals, internal records and interviews show.

Internal concerns were raised in early April, when COVID-19 cases were growing by the thousands and hospitals in some parts of the country were overrun and desperate for supplies. The agency held on to the cache of life-saving masks even as the number of people coming through U.S. airports dropped by 95% and the TSA instructed many employees to stay home to avoid being infected. Meanwhile, other federal agencies, including the Department of Veterans Affairs’ vast network of hospitals, scrounged for the personal protective equipment that doctors and nurses are dying without.

“We don’t need them. People who are in an infectious environment need them. Nobody is flying,” Charles Kielkopf, a TSA attorney based in Columbus, Ohio, told ProPublica. “You don’t take things for yourself. It’s the wrong thing to do.”

Kielkopf shared a copy of an official whistleblower complaint he filed Monday. In it, he alleges the agency had engaged in gross mismanagement that represented a “substantial and specific danger to public health.”

TSA has not required its screeners to wear N95s, which require fitting and training to use properly, and internal memos show most are using surgical masks, which are more widely available but are less effective and lack the same filtering ability.

Kielkopf raised a red flag last month about the TSA’s plan to store N95 respirators it had been given by Customs and Border Protection, which found more than a million old but usable masks in an Indiana warehouse. Both agencies are overseen by DHS. That shipment added to 116,000 N95s the TSA had left over from the swine flu pandemic of 2009, a TSA memo shows. While both stockpiles were older than the manufacturer’s recommended shelf life, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention said that expired masks remain effective against spreading the virus.

Kielkopf and another TSA official in Minnesota suggested that the agency send its N95 masks to hospitals in early April, records show. Instead, TSA quietly stored many of them in its warehouse near the Dallas-Fort Worth airport and dispersed the rest to empty airports across the nation.

“We need to reserve medical masks for health care workers,” Kielkopf said, “not TSA workers who are behind an X-ray machine.”

The Number of Travelers Passing TSA Checkpoints Has Dropped to Historic Lows

The TSA didn’t provide answers to several detailed questions sent by ProPublica, but spokesman Mark Howell said in an email that the agency’s “highest priority is to ensure the health, safety and security of our workforce and the American people.”

“With the support of CBP and DHS, in April, TSA was able to ensure a sufficient supply of N95 masks would be available for any officer who chose to wear one and completed the requisite training,” the statement read.

“We are continuing to acquire additional personal protective equipment for our employees to ensure both their and the traveling public’s health and safety based on our current staffing needs, and as supplies become available,” TSA said.

A review of federal contracting data shows the agency has mostly made modest purchases such as a $231,000 purchase for gallons of disinfectant, but has not reported any new purchases of N95s.

An internal TSA memo last month said the surplus of N95s was expected to last the agency about 30 days, but the same memo noted that estimate did not account for the drastic decline in security officers working at airports. ProPublica asked how long the masks were actually going to last, accounting for the decreased staffing levels.

“While we cannot provide details on staffing, passenger throughput and corresponding operations have certainly decreased,” the TSA statement said.

The trade journal Government Executive reported this week that internal TSA records showed most employee schedules have been “sharply abbreviated,” while an additional 8,000 security screeners are on paid leave over concerns that they could be exposed to the virus.

More than 500 TSA employees have tested positive for COVID-19, the agency reported, and five have died.

The CDC has not recommended the use of N95s by TSA staff, records show, but that doesn’t mean workers who have or want to wear them can’t.

In one April 7 email, DHS Deputy Under Secretary for Management Randolph D. Alles sent guidance to TSA officials, urging them to wear homemade cloth face coverings and maintain social distancing. But the N95s, which block 95% of particles that can transmit the virus, were in notoriously short supply and should be “reserved” for health care workers.

“The CDC has given us very good information about how to make masks that are suitable, so that we can continue to reserve medical masks and PPE for healthcare workers battling the COVID-19 pandemic,” Alles wrote.

But two days later, on April 9, Cliff Van Leuven, TSA’s federal security director in Minnesota, followed up and asked why he had been sent thousands of masks despite that guidance.

“I just received 9,000 N-95 masks that I have very little to no need for,” he said in the email, which was first reported by Government Executive. “We’ve made N95s available to our staff and, of the officers who wear masks, they overwhelmingly prefer the surgical masks we just received after a couple months on back order.”

Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz had publicly asked that anyone who had PPE donate their surplus to the state’s Department of Health, Van Leuven said in the email to senior TSA staff.

“I’d like to donate the bulk of our current stock of N-95s in support of that need and keep a small supply on hand,” he wrote, adding the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport had screened fewer than 1,500 people the previous day, about a third of which were airport staff.

Van Leuven declined to comment, referring questions to a TSA spokesperson.

Later that day, Kielkopf forwarded the concerns to TSA attorneys in other field offices, trying to get some attention to the stockpile he felt would be better used at hospitals.

“I am sharing with you some issues we are having with n95 masks in Minnesota,” he wrote. “And the tension between our increasing supply of n95 masks at our TSA airport locations and the dire need for them in the medical community.”

Weeks went by, and finally, on May 1, Kielkopf wrote: “I have been very disappointed in our position to keep tens of thousands of n95 masks while healthcare workers who have a medical requirement for the masks — because of their contact with infected people — still go without.”

DHS did not respond to ProPublica’s questions about why it transferred N95 masks to TSA despite a top official saying they should be reserved for healthcare workers.

“So now the TSA position is that we desperately need these masks for the protection of our people,” Kielkopf said. “At the same time, most of our people aren’t even working. It’s a complete 180 that doesn’t make any sense.”

Do you have access to information about federal contracts that should be public? Email david.mcswane@propublica.org. Here’s how to send tips and documents to ProPublica securely.

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by Charles Ornstein and Lena V. Groeger

Nursing home residents have been among those hardest hit by the new coronavirus. In some states, more than half of the recorded deaths have been long-term care residents. Some of the homes have been cited for putting residents at “immediate jeopardy” of harm or death, our analysis showed.

And many of the affected homes have been previously written up for violating federal standards. That’s true in California, New Jersey and New York.

We’re updating Nursing Home Inspect to include more information about nursing homes across the country, including past problems with infection control practices, and which ones have had cases of COVID-19 among residents or staff.

We introduced this resource in 2012 as a way to search through tens of thousands of nursing home inspection reports to find problems and trends.

You can easily compare the nursing homes in your state based on how many times they have been cited for violating infection control protocols in the past three inspection cycles (roughly three years). We’ve also added data from The Washington Post on homes with COVID-19 cases. Nursing Home Inspect also allows you to sort by the number of health deficiencies cited by regulators; the number of serious deficiencies per home (that is, deficiencies in which patients were put in immediate jeopardy of harm); the amount of fines imposed; and how often the government has suspended payments to the home for new patients, another type of penalty.

Our data is from the U.S. Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services (CMS), which has its own website called Nursing Home Compare. We’ve taken the information and organized it into an easy-to-use resource for families and residents, as well as researchers and other journalists.

Our site includes:

• State pages: Every state has its own section that allows you to compare all of the homes in a state on a variety of indicators.

• Individual nursing home pages: Every home has a section listing all of the health deficiencies identified within the past three survey cycles (roughly three years). The full text of these deficiency reports, if available, can be accessed via links from this page to CMS. Each home’s page also has ownership status — whether for-profit, government-run or nonprofit — and whether the home has been labeled by the government as a Special Focus Facility, meaning that it has many more problems than other homes. We’ve also labeled Special Focus Facility candidates, which meet the criteria to be a special focus facility but haven’t yet been designated as one. (We only include health deficiencies, not fire and safety violations, in this database.)

• State-by-state maps: The main page of the app shows how states compare in terms of the percentage of homes with at least one serious deficiency, the average fine paid by homes in the state, and the percentage of homes in each state with at least one infection-related deficiency.

• Top 20 Lists: We’ve listed the homes that have paid the most in fines in the nation and those with the highest number of serious deficiencies.

If homes violate federal standards, CMS may impose fines or suspend Medicare/Medicaid payments to the nursing home for new residents until the facility corrects the deficiency.

If problems persist or are not fixed, CMS can end its agreement with the nursing home. Additional details about CMS’ approach to enforcement can be found here.

Nursing Home Inspect continues to allow you to search through nearly 80,000 inspection reports by keywords, such as “choke” or “maggots,” to look for issues you care about. These search results can be sorted by date, city, state or severity of the deficiency.

Nursing homes are inspected on both a regular schedule and when there is a complaint. Inspectors typically work for state agencies paid by Medicare. If they find problems, known as deficiencies, they rank them on a scale of A to L, the most severe. The vast majority are either labeled D or E.

What you won’t find on these pages are self-reported quality measures for each home. Those can be found on Nursing Home Compare. We also don’t list the state sanctions imposed against homes because those are not centrally collected. For information on penalties within a given state, you should consult the state agency that regulates nursing homes. The federal government has a list of contacts available here.

When reading through inspection reports, it is a good idea to keep in mind the caveats we’ve outlined previously.

How We Combined Data Sources

To compile our app, we used different datasets: a listing of all Medicare-certified nursing homes, inspection violations and penalties, and deficiency report narratives.

We merged spreadsheets containing findings from routine inspections and those identified during complaint visits and kept only health violations, not fire safety violations.

We used each home’s unique identification code to match penalties imposed to the dates of their corresponding inspections so we could display that data together for each home. (We also noted some cases in which a penalty date did not have a corresponding inspection in the database.)

You can find the data we used on these sites:

• For a list of nursing homes: https://data.medicare.gov/Nursing-Home-Compare/Provider-Info/4pq5-n9py

• For penalties: https://data.medicare.gov/Nursing-Home-Compare/Penalties/g6vv-u9sr

• For health deficiency information: https://data.medicare.gov/Nursing-Home-Compare/Health-Deficiencies/r5ix-sfxw

• For deficiency report narratives (updated in April 2020): http://downloads.cms.gov/files/Full-Statement-of-Deficiencies-April-2020.zip

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by Robert Faturechi and Derek Willis

Sen. Richard Burr was not the only member of his family to sell off a significant portion of his stock holdings in February, ahead of the market crash spurred by coronavirus fears. On the same day Burr sold, his brother-in-law also dumped tens of thousands of dollars worth of shares. The market fell by more than 30% in the subsequent month.

Burr’s brother-in-law, Gerald Fauth, who has a post on the National Mediation Board, sold between $97,000 and $280,000 worth of shares in six companies — including several that have been hit particularly hard in the market swoon and economic downturn.

A person who picked up Fauth’s phone on Wednesday hung up when asked if Fauth and Burr had discussed the sales in advance.

In 2017, President Donald Trump appointed Fauth to the three-person board of the National Mediation Board, a federal agency that facilitates labor-management relations within the nation’s railroad and airline industries. He was previously a lobbyist and president of his own transportation economic consulting firm, G.W. Fauth & Associates.

Burr came under scrutiny after ProPublica reported that he sold off a significant percentage of his stocks shortly before the market tanked, unloading between $628,000 and $1.72 million of his holdings on Feb. 13 in 33 separate transactions. As chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee and a member of the health committee, Burr had access to the government’s most highly classified information about threats to America’s security and public health concerns.

Before his sell-off, Burr had assured the public that the federal government was well-prepared to handle the virus. In a Feb. 7 op-ed that he co-authored with another senator, he said “the United States today is better prepared than ever before to face emerging public health threats, like the coronavirus.”

That month however, according to a recording obtained by NPR, Burr had given a VIP group at an exclusive social club a much more dire preview of the economic impact of the the coronavirus, warning it could curtail business travel, cause schools to be closed and result in the military mobilizing to compensate for overwhelmed hospitals.

The timing of Burr’s stock sales drew widespread outrage, allegations of insider trading, calls for his resignation and an FBI investigation.

Burr defended his actions, saying he relied solely on public information, including CNBC reports, to inform his trades and did not rely on information he obtained as a senator.

Fauth avoided between $37,000 and $118,000 in losses by selling off when he did, considering how steeply the companies’ shares fell in recent weeks, according to an analysis by Luke Brindle-Khym, a partner and general counsel of Manhattan-based investigative firm QRI. Brindle-Khym obtained Fauth’s financial disclosure from the Office of Government Ethics and shared it with ProPublica. Government forms only require that the value of stock trades be disclosed in ranges. After the February sales, the total value of Fauth’s individual stock holdings appears to be between $680,000 and $2 million.

Alice Fisher, Burr’s attorney, told ProPublica that “Sen. Burr participated in the stock market based on public information and he did not coordinate his decision to trade on Feb. 13 with Mr. Fauth.”

She did not respond to a question about whether Burr discussed anything he learned as a senator with Fauth or any other relatives.

A review of Fauth’s financial disclosure forms since 2017 show that he is not a frequent stock trader, but that he also had a major day of sales in August 2019.

On Feb. 13, Fauth or his spouse sold between $15,001 and $50,000 of Altria, the tobacco company; between $50,001 and $100,000 of snack food maker Mondelez International; and between $1,001 and $15,000 of home furnishings retailer Williams-Sonoma. He also sold stakes in several oil companies, which have been hit particularly hard, including between $15,001 and $50,000 of Chevron; between $1,001 and $15,000 of BP and between $15,001 and $50,000 of Royal Dutch Shell.

The finances of the Burrs and Fauths have intersected before. Federal Election Commission records show that Burr’s leadership PAC, Next Century Fund, has paid $120,348 since 2002 to his sister-in-law, Mary Fauth, Gerald’s wife, who serves as treasurer. The PAC has also paid $104,850 in rent and utilities over the same period to 116 S. Royal St. Partners, in which Gerald Fauth is a partner.

Do you have access to information about stock trading by Trump administration officials or members of Congress that should be public? Email robert.faturechi@propublica.org or reach him on Signal/WhatsApp at 213-271-7217. Here’s how to send tips and documents to ProPublica securely.

Update, May 6, 2020: This story was updated with new comment from Sen. Richard Burr’s attorney.

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by Abrahm Lustgarten

The scientists who study how diseases emerge in a changing environment knew this moment was coming. Climate change is making outbreaks of disease more common and more dangerous.

Over the past few decades, the number of emerging infectious diseases that spread to people — especially coronaviruses and other respiratory illnesses believed to have come from bats and birds — has skyrocketed. A new emerging disease surfaces five times a year. One study estimates that more than 3,200 strains of coronaviruses already exist among bats, awaiting an opportunity to jump to people.

The diseases may have always been there, buried deep in wild and remote places out of reach of people. But until now, the planet’s natural defense systems were better at fighting them off.

Today, climate warming is demolishing those defense systems, driving a catastrophic loss in biodiversity that, when coupled with reckless deforestation and aggressive conversion of wildland for economic development, pushes farms and people closer to the wild and opens the gates for the spread of disease.

Aaron Bernstein, the interim director for the C-Change Center for Climate, Health and the Global Environment at Harvard University’s T.H. Chan School of Public Health, said that ignoring how climate and rapid land development were putting disease-carrying animals in a squeeze was akin to playing Russian roulette.

“Nature is trying to tell us something,” Bernstein said.

Scientists have not suggested that climate played any direct role in causing the current COVID-19 outbreak. Though the virus is believed to have originated with the horseshoe bat, part of a genus that’s been roaming the forests of the planet for 40 million years and thrives in the remote jungles of south China, even that remains uncertain.

Scientists have, however, been studying the coronaviruses of southern China for years and warning that swift climate and environmental change there — in both loss of biodiversity and encroachment by civilization — was going to help new viruses jump to people.

There are three ways climate influences emerging diseases. Roughly 60% of new pathogens come from animals — including those pressured by diversity loss — and roughly one-third of those can be directly attributed to changes in human land use, meaning deforestation, the introduction of farming, development or resource extraction in otherwise natural settings. Vector-borne diseases — those carried by insects like mosquitoes and ticks and transferred in the blood of infected people — are also on the rise as warming weather and erratic precipitation vastly expand the geographic regions vulnerable to contagion. Climate is even bringing old viruses back from the dead, thawing zombie contagions like the anthrax released from a frozen reindeer in 2016, which can come down from the arctic and haunt us from the past.

Thus the COVID-19 pandemic, even as it unfolds in the form of an urgent crisis, is offering a larger lesson. It is demonstrating in real time the enormous and undeniable power that nature has over civilization and even over its politics. That alone may make the pandemic prologue for more far-reaching and disruptive changes to come. But it also makes clear that climate policy today is indivisible from efforts to prevent new infectious outbreaks, or, as Bernstein put it, the notion that climate and health and environmental policy might not be related is “a ​dangerous delusion.”

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The warming of the climate is one of the principal drivers of the greatest — and fastest — loss of species diversity in the history of the planet, as shifting climate patterns force species to change habitats, push them into new regions or threaten their food and water supplies. What’s known as biodiversity is critical because the natural variety of plants and animals lends each species greater resiliency against threat and together offers a delicately balanced safety net for natural systems. As diversity wanes, the balance is upset, and remaining species are both more vulnerable to human influences and, according to a landmark 2010 study in the journal Nature, more likely to pass along powerful pathogens.

The casualties are amplified by civilization’s relentless push into forests and wild areas on the hunt for timber, cropland and other natural resources. Epidemiologists tracking the root of disease in South Asia have learned that even incremental and seemingly manageable injuries to local environments — say, the construction of a livestock farm adjacent to stressed natural forest — can add up to outsized consequences.

Around the world, according to the World Resources Institute, only 15% of the planet’s forests remain intact. The rest have been cut down, degraded or fragmented to the point that they disrupt the natural ecosystems that depend on them. As the forests die, and grasslands and wetlands are also destroyed, biodiversity sharply decreases further. The United Nations warns that the number of species on the planet has already dropped by 20% and that more than a million animal and plant species now face extinction.

Losing species has, in certain cases, translated directly to a rise in infectious disease.

Americans have been experiencing this phenomenon directly in recent years as migratory birds have become less diverse and the threat posed by West Nile encephalitis has spread. It turns out that the birds that host the disease happen to also be the tough ones that prevail amid a thinned population. Those survivors have supported higher infection rates in mosquitoes and more spread to people.

Similarly, a study published last month in the journal Proceedings of the Royal Society B found that as larger mammals suffer declines at the hands of hunters or loggers or shifting climate patterns, smaller species, including bats, rats and other rodents, are thriving, either because they are more resilient to the degraded environment or they are able to live better among people.

It is these small animals, the ones that manage to find food in garbage cans or build nests in the eaves of buildings, that are proving most adaptable to human interference and also happen to spread disease. Rodents alone accounted for more than 60% of all the diseases transmitted from animals to people, the researchers found.

Warmer temperatures and higher rainfall associated with climate change — coupled with the loss of predators — are bound to make the rodent problem worse, with calamitous implications. In 1999, for example, parts of Panama saw three times as much rainfall as usual. The rat population exploded, researchers found. And so did the viruses rats carry, along with the chances those viruses would jump to people. That same year, a fatal lung disease transmitted through the saliva, feces and urine of rats and mice called hantavirus pulmonary syndrome emerged in Panama for the first time, according to a report in the journal Emerging Infectious Diseases.

As much as weather changes can drive changes in species, so does altering the landscape for new farms and new cities. In fact, researchers attribute a full 30% of emerging contagion to what they call “land use change.” Nothing drives land use shifts more than conversion for farmland and feedstock — a result of the push to feed the planet’s 7.8 billion people. As the global population surges to 10 billion over the next 35 years, and the capacity to farm food is stressed further again by the warming climate, the demand for land will only get more intense. Already, more than one-third of the planet’s land surface, and three-quarters of all of its fresh water, go toward the cultivation of crops and raising of livestock. These are the places where infectious diseases spread most often.

Take, for example, the 1999 Nipah outbreak in Malaysia — the true-life subject matter adapted for the film “Contagion.” Rapid clearcutting of the forests there to make way for palm plantations drove fruit bats to the edge of the trees. (Separate research also suggests that climate changes are shifting fruit bats’ food supply.) They found places to roost, as it happens, alongside a hog farm. As the bats gorged themselves on fruit, they dropped pieces of food from the branches, along with their urine, into the pigsties, where at least one pig is believed to have eaten some. When the pig was slaughtered and brought to market, an outbreak is believed to have been spread by the man who handled the meat. More than 100 people died.

The U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention says that fully three-quarters of all new viruses have emerged from animals. Even the 2014 Ebola outbreak in West Africa is believed to have begun when a boy dug into a tree stump that happened to be the roost of bats carrying the virus.

As Christine Johnson, the associate director of the One Health Institute, an interdisciplinary epidemiological program at the University of California, Davis, puts it, global health policymakers have a responsibility to understand how climate, habitat and land use changes lead to disease. Almost every major epidemic we know of over the past couple of decades — SARS, COVID-19, Ebola and Nipah virus — jumped to people from wildlife enduring extreme climate and habitat strain, and still, “we’re naive to them,” she said. “That puts us in a dangerous place.”

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Once new diseases are let loose in our environment, changing temperatures and precipitation are also changing how those diseases spread — and not for the better. Warming climates increase the range within which a disease can find a home, especially those transmitted by “vectors,” mosquitoes and ticks that carry a pathogen from its primary host to its new victim.

A 2008 study in the journal Nature found nearly one-third of emerging infectious diseases over the past 10 years were vector-borne, and that the jumps matched unusual changes in the climate. Especially in cases where insects like infection-bearing mosquitoes are chasing warmer temperatures, the study said, “climate change may drive the emergence of diseases.”

Ticks and mosquitoes now thrive in places they’d never ventured before. As tropical species move northward, they are bringing dangerous pathogens with them. The Zika virus or Chikungunya, a mosquito-spread virus that manifests in intense joint pain, were once unseen in the United States, but both were transmitted locally, not brought home by travelers, in southern Texas and Florida in recent years.

Soon, they’ll be spreading further northward. According to a 2019 study in the journal PLOS Neglected Tropical Diseases, by 2050, disease-carrying mosquitoes will ultimately reach 500 million more people than they do today, including some 55 million more Americans. In 2013, dengue fever — an affliction affecting nearly 400 million people a year, but normally associated with the poorest regions of Africa — was transmitted locally in New York for the first time.

“The long-term risk from dengue may be much higher than COVID,” said Scott Weaver, the director of the Institute for Human Infections and Immunity at the University of Texas Medical Branch in Galveston. “It’s a disease of poor countries, so it doesn’t get the attention it deserves.”

The chain of events that ultimately leads to a pandemic can be long and subtle, steered by shifts in the ecosystem. The 1999 West Nile outbreak in the U.S., for example, came after climate-driven droughts dried up streams and rivers, leaving pools of stagnant water where mosquitoes bred unhindered. It turns out the loss of water also killed off their predators — dragonflies and frogs that depend on large watering holes were gone.

Coronaviruses like COVID-19 aren’t likely to be carried by insects — they don’t leave enough infected virus cells in the blood. But one in five other viruses transmitted from animals to people are vector-borne, said U.C. Davis’ Johnson, meaning it’s only a matter of time before other exotic animal-driven pathogens are driven from the forests of the global tropics to the United States or Canada or Europe because of the warming climate. “Climate is going to shift vulnerability to that,” Johnson said, “and I think some of these regions are not prepared.”

The changing climate won’t just affect how the diseases move about the planet, it will also shape how easily we get sick. According to a 2013 study in the journal PLOS Currents Influenza, warm winters were predictors of the most severe flu seasons in the following year. The brief respite in year one, it turns out, relaxed people’s natural defenses and reduced “herd immunity,” setting conditions for the virus to rage back with a vengeance.

Even harsh swings from hot to cold, or sudden storms — exactly the kinds of climate-induced patterns we’re already seeing — make people more likely to get sick. A study in the journal Environmental Research Letters linked the brutal 2017-18 flu season — which killed 79,000 people — to erratic temperature swings and extreme weather that winter, the same period in which a spate of floods and hurricanes devastated much of the country. If the climate crisis continues on its current trajectory, the authors wrote, respiratory infections like the flu will sharply increase. The chance of a flu epidemic in America’s most populated cities will increase by as much as 50% this century, and flu-related deaths in Europe could also jump by 50%.

“We’re on a very dangerous path right now,” said the University of Texas’ Weaver. Slow action on climate has made dramatic warming and large-scale environmental changes inevitable, he said, “and I think that increases in disease are going to come along with it.”

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Twelve months before the first COVID-19 case was diagnosed, a group of epidemiologists working with a U.S. Agency for International Development project called PREDICT, or Pandemic Influenza and other Emerging Threats, was deep in the remote leafy jungle of southern China’s Yunnan province hunting for what it believed to be one of the greatest dangers to civilization: a wellspring of emerging viruses.

A decade of study there had identified a pattern of obscure illnesses affecting remote villagers who used bat guano as fertilizer and sometimes for medicine. Scientists traced dozens of unnamed, emerging viruses to caves inhabited by horseshoe bats. Any one of them might have triggered a global pandemic killing a million people. But luck — and mostly luck alone — had so far kept the viruses from leaping out of those remote communities and into the mainstream population.

The luck is likely to run out, as Yunnan is undergoing enormous change. Quaint subsistence farm plots were overtaken by hastily erected apartment towers and high-speed rail lines, as the province endured dizzying development fueled by decades of Chinese economic expansion. Cities’ footprints swelled, pushing back the forests. More people moved into rural places and the wildlife trade, common to such frontier regions, thrived. With every new person and every felled tree, the bats’ habitat shrank, putting the viruses they carried on a collision course with humanity. By late 2018, epidemiologists there were bracing for what they call “spillover,” or the failure to keep a virus locally contained as it jumped from the bats and villages of Yunnan into the wider world.

In late 2018, the Trump administration, as part of a sweeping effort to bring U.S. programs in China to a halt, abruptly shut down the research — and its efforts to intercept the spread of a new novel coronavirus along with it. “We got a cease and desist,” said Dennis Carroll, who founded the PREDICT program and has been instrumental in global work to address the risks from emerging viruses. By late 2019, USAID had cut the program’s global funding.

USAID did not respond to a detailed list of questions from ProPublica.

The loss is immense. The researchers believed they were on the cusp of a breakthrough, racing to sequence the genes of the coronaviruses they’d extracted from the horseshoe bat and to begin work on vaccines. They’d campaigned for years for policymakers to fully consider what they’d learned about how land development and climate changes were driving the spread of disease, and they thought their research could literally provide governments a map to the hot spots most likely to spawn the next pandemic. They also hoped the genetic material they’d collected could lead to a vaccine not just for one lethal variation of COVID, but perhaps — like a missile defense shield for the biosphere — to address a whole family of viruses at once. (In fact, the gene work they were able to complete was used to test the efficacy of remdesivir, an experimental drug that early clinical trial data shows can help COVID-19 patients.)

Carroll said knowledge of the virus genomes had the potential “to totally transform how we think about future biomedical interventions before there’s an emergence.” His goal was to not just react to a pandemic, but to change the very definition of preparedness.

If PREDICT’s efforts in China had the remote potential to fend off the current COVID pandemic, though, it also offered an opportunity to study how climate and land development were driving disease.

But there has been little appetite for that inquiry among policymakers. PREDICT’s staff and advisers have pushed the U.S. government to consider how welding public health policy with environmental and climate science could help stem the spread of contagions. Climate change was featured in presentations that PREDICT staff made to Congress, according to U.C. Davis’ Johnson, who is now also the director of PREDICT, which received a temporary funding extension this spring. And until 2016, leadership of New York-based EcoHealth Alliance, the research group working under PREDICT funding in Yunnan, was invited several times to the White House to advise on global health policy.

Since Donald Trump was elected, the group hasn’t been invited back.

“It’s falling on deaf ears,” said Peter Daszak, EcoHealth Alliance’s president.

A White House spokesperson did not respond to an emailed request for comment.

What Daszak really wants — in addition to restored funding to continue his work — is the public and leaders to understand that it’s human behavior driving the rise in disease, just as it drives the climate crisis. In China’s forests, he looks past the destruction of trees and asks why they are being cut in the first place, and who is paying the cost. Metals for iPhones and palm oil for processed foods are among the products that come straight out of South Asian and African emerging disease hot spots.

“We turn a blind eye to the fact that our behavior is driving this,” he said. “We get cheap goods through Walmart, and then we pay for it forever through the rise in pandemics. It’s upside down.”

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by Michael Grabell

On Tuesday, March 31, an emergency room doctor at the main hospital in Grand Island, Nebraska, sent an urgent email to the regional health department: “Numerous patients” from the JBS beef packing plant had tested positive for COVID-19. The plant, he feared, was becoming a coronavirus “hot spot.”

The town’s medical clinics were also reporting a rapid increase in cases among JBS workers. The next day, Dr. Rebecca Steinke, a family medicine doctor at one of the clinics, wrote to the department’s director: “Our message is really that JBS should shut down for 2 weeks and have a solid screening plan before re-opening.”

Teresa Anderson, the regional health director, immediately drafted a letter to the governor.

But during a conference call that Sunday, Gov. Pete Ricketts made it clear that the plant, which produces nearly 1 billion pounds of beef a year and is the town’s largest employer, would not be shut down.

Since then, Nebraska has become one of the fastest-growing hot spots for the novel coronavirus in the United States, and Grand Island has led the way. Cases in the city of 50,000 people have skyrocketed from a few dozen when local health officials first reported their concerns to more than 1,200 this week as the virus spread to workers, their families and the community.

The dismissed warnings in Grand Island, documented in emails that ProPublica obtained under the state’s public records law, show how quickly the virus can spread when politicians overrule local health officials. But on a broader scale, the events unfolding in Nebraska provide an alarming case study of what may come now that President Donald Trump has used the Defense Production Act to try to ensure meat processing plants remain open, severely weakening public health officials’ leverage to stop the spread of the virus in their communities.

Ricketts spokesman Taylor Gage said the governor explained on the call with local officials that the plant would stay open because it was declared an essential industry by the federal government. Two and a half weeks later, as cases were rising among the state’s meatpacking workers, Ricketts, a Republican businessman whose father founded the brokerage TD Ameritrade, held a news conference and said he couldn’t foresee a scenario where he would tell the meatpacking plants to close because of their importance to the nation’s food supply.

“Can you imagine what would happen if people could not go to the store and get food?” he asked. “Think about how mad people were when they couldn’t get paper products.”

“Trust me,” he added, “this would cause civil unrest.”

In the last two weeks, small meatpacking towns across Nebraska have experienced outbreaks, including at a Tyson Foods beef plant in Dakota City, a Costco chicken plant in Fremont and a Smithfield Foods pork plant in Crete. With the governor vowing to keep plants open, the companies have only in recent days decided to close for deep cleanings as cases have grown to staggering levels.

In Grand Island, two hours west of Omaha, the consequences of the governor’s decision came quickly. The CHI Health St. Francis hospital, which has 16 intensive care beds, was soon overwhelmed. At one point in April, it had so many critical patients that it had to call in three different helicopter companies to airlift patients to larger hospitals in Lincoln and Omaha, said Beth Bartlett, the hospital’s vice president for patient care.

JBS workers felt the strain, too. Under pressure to keep the food supply chain flowing, some of the plant’s 3,500 workers, many hailing from Latin America, Somalia and Sudan, said they were told to report for work regardless. In a letter to the governor last week, Nebraska Appleseed, a nonprofit advocacy group, said a JBS worker had been told by his supervisor that if he tested positive, he should come to work anyway and “keep it on the DL” or he’d be fired. Some workers who’d been told to quarantine after being exposed told ProPublica this week that they were called back to work before the 14-day window recommended by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention — even if they felt sick. One worker in the offal, or entrails, section recently fainted in the plant, they said, but was told he couldn’t go home.

Cameron Bruett, head of corporate affairs for JBS, said the company has worked in partnership with local officials to prevent the spread of the coronavirus and did not influence the governor’s decision to keep the plant open. He pointed to comments made recently by University of Nebraska Medical Center officials who toured the plant, who said JBS has put in place some “best practices,” including installing barriers on the meat cutting line, communicating new precautions in multiple languages and ensuring the proper use of masks.

Bruett said no one is forced to come to work or punished for calling in sick. “Such actions, if true, would be grotesque and a clear violation of our culture,” he said.

The emails obtained by ProPublica show that local health officials have traced 260 cases to the JBS plant. But that was nearly two weeks ago and almost certainly underestimates the total. Anderson, who directs the Central District Health Department, said she hasn’t had enough tests to do targeted testing of JBS employees and is only testing people when they’re symptomatic. In Grand Island and its surrounding county, 32 people have died from the virus. According to workers, at least one of those was a JBS employee.

Across the country, more than 10,000 COVID-19 cases have been linked to meatpacking plants, and at least three dozen workers are known to have died, a ProPublica review of news reports and government health data shows.

While cases in the worst hit urban areas like New York appear to have plateaued, the nation’s meatpacking towns have continued to see spikes. A few large outbreaks have dominated public attention, but COVID-19 cases have popped up in well over 100 plants in mostly rural communities. There the virus’s impact is magnified by the workers’ sometimes cramped living conditions, with multiple generations of immigrant and refugee families often residing together in apartments, houses and trailers.

Before Trump’s order, more than 30 plants had shut down at least briefly to increase cleaning and control the spread among their workforces. The various closures have cut beef and pork production by more than a third compared with last year, causing supply chain disruptions for some supermarkets and fast-food chains.

Some of those closures show the role public health officials have had in the actions of large meatpacking companies like JBS, which has beef, pork and poultry plants in 27 states.

In Colorado, Dr. Mark Wallace of the Weld County Department of Public Health and Environment and state health director Jill Hunsaker Ryan grew worried that that if the coronavirus spread at JBS’ Greeley plant, it would have a “devastating” effect on the community that “would quickly overwhelm the medical resources available in the hospitals.”

Unlike Nebraska, Colorado’s health officials eventually ordered the JBS plant to close. But documents obtained by ProPublica show the protracted debate that came before that decision, with JBS invoking the governor to question the formal closure order. By the time the order was issued, some public officials felt the virus had been given too big a head start.

Like Grand Island, Greeley officials were already hearing by the end of March that hospital emergency rooms were seeing a “high number of JBS employees,” according to an email Wallace sent April 1 to the plant’s occupational health director.

“Their concern, and mine, is far too many employees must be working when sick and spreading infection to others,” Wallace wrote, urging the plant to take additional safety measures.

Three days later, Wallace wrote a more detailed letter to JBS’ human resources director, Chris Gaddis, documenting the virus’s spread and threatening to shut the plant down if it didn’t screen employees and ensure they could work 6 feet apart.

But as days passed, the situation in Greeley didn’t improve.

“Want you to know my colleagues are not reassured by what I’m sharing about measures being implemented,” Wallace wrote to Gaddis. “‘The cat’s out of the bag’ is what all health care providers are saying — too many sick people already, too much spread already, etc.”

After nine days of back-and-forth, JBS agreed to close the plant and Hunsaker Ryan and Wallace issued a formal shutdown order. But negotiations seemed to stretch until the last minute, emails show.

After Hunsaker Ryan sent JBS the order on the afternoon of April 10, Gaddis appeared confused. “It is our understanding from the telephone conversation that the governor did not want this letter sent,” Gaddis wrote. “Please confirm it was properly sent.”

Bruett said the company’s impression was that the governor didn’t feel a formal order “was necessary given our voluntary decision to shut down.” But Conor Cahill, a spokesman for Gov. Jared Polis, said: “Of course the governor wanted the health order sent. The governor has been clear that JBS needs to be more transparent with their staff and the public about the situation at their plant.”

Notified of the shutdown by his staff, Greeley Mayor John Gates wrote in an email, “In my opinion, that should have happened a week ago for the health and safety of their employees.”

On Wednesday, the state announced the latest numbers on the JBS outbreak: 280 employees had tested positive for COVID-19, and seven of them had died.

The Grand Island beef plant opened in 1965 in a sugar beet farming area. In recent decades, the plant has drawn immigrants from Mexico and Central America, and more recently refugees from Somalia and Sudan. In a sign of the area’s shifting workforce, Somali residents have opened a mosque in the old El Diamante nightclub and a community center in the former Lucky 7 Saloon next to a Salvadoran restaurant named El Tazumal.

Members of those communities became among the first to hit the area’s medical clinics as the virus began to spread. By the last week in March, the Family Practice of Grand Island, where Steinke works, had opened a special respiratory clinic to handle COVID-19 patients. That week, six of the patients had come from JBS. But over three days from March 30 to April 1, the clinic saw 25 patients that carried JBS insurance, indicating they were either employees or their dependents.

Danny Lemos’ father was one of the first JBS workers to get sick from the virus in late March. The 62-year-old, who’d worked at the plant for a year, had developed a fever and a cough.

“One day, he was laying in the living room on a chair, wrapped up in a blanket, shivering,” Lemos said. “My mom takes his temperature, and he had a temperature of 105 and he was really having trouble breathing.”

His father was rushed to the hospital and put on a ventilator.

Within days, Lemos said he also started having trouble breathing and joined his father in the ICU. Lemos, 39, was put in a medically induced coma and given a 20% chance of living, he said.

Surprisingly, he said, he eventually recovered and was released from the hospital in late April. His father, Danny Lemos Sr., has been in the hospital for more than a month, most of the time on a ventilator, and is only now starting to recover.

Lemos said JBS should have taken better precautions.

“Shutting down right away, I think, probably would have helped a ton,” he said. “Do I think it would have kept everybody from getting sick? No, because those same people are still going to be out and about in the community. But just being so many people in one building, it was like a ticking time bomb.”

In an interview this week, Steinke said that it was hard to get the message across to JBS that more needed to be done.

“Even if they did not stop or shut down, if they would have put in better protections right from the start,” she said, “we would not have seen such a rapid rise in cases.”

At one point before the governor’s decision, the emails ProPublica obtained show, officials found language on the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s website that said local authorities could close a plant and the USDA would follow those decisions, potentially giving the health district some leverage.

“I guess I will send it to … HR there and maybe he will take us more seriously,” Anderson, the local health director, wrote in an email to the city administrator.

Under Trump’s executive order, that guidance has been reversed: The USDA could try to overrule local decisions if federal officials disagree.

That could pose a risk to the USDA’s own workforce of federal food inspectors, who work inside the plants to ensure the meat is safe to eat. According to the emails, some inspectors at the JBS plant also tested positive. Because inspectors sometimes monitor multiple sites, one inspector noted that she had recently worked in two other plants that have also had outbreaks, potentially spreading the virus within other plants.

“From my perspective,” temporarily closing the JBS plant “would have reduced the transmission,” Anderson said in an interview this week. “But if you shut down a plant and your 3,700 employees have nowhere to go, where are they going to go and how far is the spread going to be outside the plant vs. inside the plant? And if you end up going a month, what happens to their ability to feed their families?”

Anderson said that the “general feeling” she got from the call with the governor was that they needed to do more testing. So after the governor blocked the effort to close the plant, she continued to try to work collaboratively with JBS to encourage more testing of their employees.

In the emails, JBS officials said they were open to testing but repeatedly expressed concern about public disclosure of the results. “We want to make sure that testing is conducted in a way that does not foment fear or panic among our employees or the community,” JBS chief ethics and compliance officer Nicholas White wrote in an email to Anderson on April 15.

A week later, after the number of JBS cases was released by Anderson, Tim Schellpeper, president of the company’s U.S. beef processing operations, emailed her that he was worried about the amount of national attention it was attracting. “Have you given more thought to adding clarity/correction around this in your comments today?” he asked.

As JBS officials fretted about the optics of testing their employees, tensions within the families of the workers mounted. As the number of sick workers grew, the daughter of one worker, Miriam, said she was panicking about what would happen to her mother, who worked on the plant’s kill floor. At the end of every shift, she said, she called her mother to make sure she was okay.

“It was dreadful,” said Miriam, who asked that her last name not be used to protect her mother from retaliation. “It was just kind of living in fear waiting for the day she would have a fever. We knew it was going to happen because she’s a JBS employee. We didn’t think it was preventable anymore.”

Then, one day, she got a call from her mother, telling her that she had developed a fever and was being sent home.

“As she was changing in the locker room, she calls me and you can just hear the fear in her voice,” Miriam said.

Shortly after, her father tested positive for the virus too. Thankfully, she said, both her parents had only mild symptoms and have since recovered. But JBS and the governor should have done more, Miriam said.

“It just seemed like they were kind of careless,” she said. “I think it would have been a smart idea if not to close down the plant, to take more action to help the employees. They’re essential, but they need protection. They need to be kept safe.”

In the meantime, Ricketts has said that his approach of keeping the state “open for business” worked. And at a news conference Friday, he underscored the importance of the meatpacking industry to the state’s economy, proclaiming May as “Beef Month” in Nebraska.

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by Joaquin Sapien

New York Attorney General Letitia James is looking into allegations that a Queens adult care facility has failed to protect residents from the deadly coronavirus and misled families about its spread, according to two lawmakers who asked for the inquiry and a relative of a resident who spoke to an investigator with the attorney general’s office.

In a separate action Tuesday, three residents of the Queens Adult Care Center sued the facility in federal court over similar allegations.

Both developments were prompted largely by ProPublica’s recent coverage of the facility, which houses both frail elderly residents and those with mental health issues. On April 2, we reported that workers and residents at the home were becoming ill with the coronavirus as residents wandered in and out of the home without any personal protective equipment. Family members later told ProPublica the management said no residents were sick with the virus at the time.

On April 25, ProPublica published a story and a short film with the PBS series Frontline about the harrowing experience of Natasha Roland, who rescued her father in the middle of the night as he suffered coronavirus symptoms so severe he could barely breathe. Roland, in heart-wrenching detail, described how the management of the Queens Adult Care Center repeatedly assured her that her 82-year-old father, Willie Roland, was safe, even as the virus swept through the facility. She said workers were too scared to care for him, forcing his girlfriend, Annetta King-Simpson, to do so. King-Simpson later fell ill herself. Roland and King-Simpson are now suing the facility in federal court.

In an interview, Assemblywoman Catalina Cruz, whose district covers Corona, Elmhurst and Jackson Heights, said she was troubled by what ProPublica reported. She said she hoped the attorney general can determine whether the Queens Adult Care Center had broken any laws.

“It didn’t sit right with me. I thought something was off here. So I said let’s have the experts look at whether there was a crime or a civil violation,” she said. “Folks who live in this adult home deserve the same dignity as everyone else, and if their rights have been violated, someone needs to pay for that.”

Cruz said she had been suspicious of the facility for several years and had come across a community Facebook page where people posted complaints about treatment of residents at the center. When she saw the ProPublica stories, she said she decided to take action, along with City Council member Daniel Dromm, who had already written to the New York State Department of Health and the office of Gov. Andrew Cuomo about the spread of the coronavirus in the facility on several occasions.

“The plight of those living in adult care centers during this crisis was highlighted in a recent article published by ProPublica, which focused on the perils faced by the residents at the Queens Adult Day Care Center,” the lawmakers wrote in their April 27 letter to the attorney general and the governor’s office. “Failure to inform families about the health of loved ones, to lying and covering up deaths have become regular concerns we have received. We are aware that adult care centers are struggling to keep COVID-19 from affecting their residents and we also know that minorities have been disproportionately affected by the virus. It seems to us that management at this particular center have struggled to implement procedures and policies to protect the lives of its residents.”

Cruz said she received an update from the attorney general’s office on May 5, saying it was looking into the matter but would not provide specific details.

Days after the lawmakers sent the letter, Natasha Roland, 35, said she received a phone call from an investigator with the attorney general’s office. Roland said she recapped what she had previously told ProPublica: She began to worry about her father’s safety when nearby Elmhurst Hospital became a viral hot spot, but the management repeatedly told her there were no coronavirus cases in the facility. She said she only found out the truth weeks later when a worker she was friendly with advised her to come and pick up her father because the virus was raging through the facility and aides were becoming too scared to check on residents. In a subsequent interview, that worker denied telling Roland to pick up her dad.

A spokesperson for the attorney general would not confirm or deny a specific, active investigation into the Queens Adult Care Center, but said James has received hundreds of complaints related to COVID-19 inside nursing homes and adult care facilities across the state and is investigating many of them.

For its part, the Queens Adult Care Center has denied any wrongdoing and repeated its belief that Roland’s allegations are “baseless.”

“Sadly, select elected officials and ProPublica have been intentionally misled with baseless assertions and utter fabrications crafted by the daughter of one of our long-term residents,” said Hank Sheinkopf, a crisis communications spokesperson hired by the facility. “We have strong reason to believe that this individual is seeking to use her father and other select residents as pawns in an attempt to extort the facility. We are considering our legal options.”

He said the facility has “worked tirelessly” to protect its residents and is unaware of a “potential investigation,” but understood that “the AG’s office has contacted many nursing homes, adult care, and assisted living facilities seeking information. We are glad to be a resource to the AG’s office and have nothing to hide.”

Bruce Schoengood’s 61-year-old brother, Bryan, lives in the facility and shared a room with one of the first residents to become infected with COVID-19 and subsequently die of the disease. Bruce told ProPublica he only learned that his brother’s roommate had died by happenstance during a casual conversation with his brother, and that he has complained for more than a month about a lack of communication from the facility. He said he had not yet heard from anyone with the attorney general’s office but would welcome such a conversation.

In the meantime, Bryan Schoengood, Willie Roland and King-Simpson are suing the facility under the Americans with Disabilities Act. In a 59-page complaint, the group has asked a federal judge to appoint a special master to oversee the facility at the home’s expense to ensure that residents there are safe.

The lawsuit argues that residents have experienced a “gross failure to provide the most basic level of care to safeguard their health and safety in the context of a global health pandemic. People with disabilities are exposed to high risks of contracting the virus with no or few preventative measures in place. Residents who fall sick are left to languish in their room without proper access to medical care.”

The lawsuit claims that because the facility has failed to follow state and federal guidelines, “COVID-19 is rampant in the facility among residents and staff alike.”

Alan Fuchsberg is the Manhattan-based personal injury and civil rights attorney representing the three Queens Adult Care Center residents.

In an interview, he said that the facility may not have the resources to properly follow the guidelines, which is why a special master should be assigned to work with a team of outside experts to make sure it can.

“Right now the residents are in a tinderbox,” he said. “And if you drop a match in there, all hell breaks loose. It should be run right. We don’t need dozens of people dying in all our nursing homes and adult care facilities. Some are running better than others and QACC sounds like a place that is not run up to standards.”

He and Bruce Schoengood pointed out that they are not currently suing for damages, but rather to persuade a court to immediately intervene and offer support to the facility’s roughly 350 residents.

Schoengood said the goals of the lawsuit are twofold.

“I think it is both short term and long term,” he said. “Immediate intervention to put proper protocols in place to treat the sick and stop the spread of coronavirus and to communicate with family members. And in the long term I would like to see this facility much better prepared to handle another pandemic or a second wave.”

Responding to the charges in the lawsuit, Sheinkopf again said that “the allegations are baseless and utter fabrications. Queens Adult Care Center (QACC) continues to meet all state issued guidelines.”

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by Joshua Kaplan and Benjamin Hardy

On April 17 in Toledo, Ohio, a 19-year-old black man was arrested for violating the state stay-at-home order. In court filings, police say he took a bus from Detroit to Toledo “without a valid reason.” Six young black men were arrested in Toledo last Saturday while hanging out on a front lawn; police allege they were “seen standing within 6 feet of each other.” In Cincinnati, a black man was charged with violating stay-at-home orders after he was shot in the ankle on April 7; according to a police affidavit, he was talking to a friend in the street when he was shot and was “clearly not engaged in essential activities.”

Ohio’s health director, Dr. Amy Acton, issued the state’s stay-at-home order on March 22, prohibiting people from leaving their home except for essential activities and requiring them to maintain social distancing “at all times.” A violation of the order is a misdemeanor, punishable by up to 90 days in jail and a $750 fine. Since the order, hundreds of people have been charged with violations across Ohio.

The state has also seen some of the most prominent protests against state stay-at-home orders, as large crowds gather on the statehouse steps to flout the directives. But the protesters, most of them white, have not faced arrest. Rather, in three large Ohio jurisdictions ProPublica examined, charges of violating the order appear to have fallen disproportionately on black people.

ProPublica analyzed court records for the city of Toledo and for the counties that include Columbus and Cincinnati, three of the most populous jurisdictions in Ohio. In all of them, ProPublica found, black people were at least four times as likely to be charged with violating the stay-at-home order as white people.

As states across the country attempt to curb the spread of COVID-19, stay-at-home orders have proven instrumental in the fight against the novel coronavirus; experts credit aggressive restrictions with flattening the curve in the nation’s hotbeds. Many states’ orders carry criminal penalties for violations of the stay-at-home mandates. But as the weather warms up and people spend more time outside, defense lawyers and criminal justice reform advocates fear that black communities long subjected to overly aggressive policing will face similarly aggressive enforcement of stay-at-home mandates.

In Ohio, ProPublica found, the disparities are already pronounced.

As of Thursday night in Hamilton County, which is 27% black and home to Cincinnati, there were 107 charges for violating the order; 61% of defendants are black. The majority of arrests came from towns surrounding Cincinnati, which is 43% black. Of the 29 people charged by the city’s Police Department, 79% were black, according to data provided to ProPublica by the Hamilton County Public Defender.

In Toledo, where black people make up 27% of the population, 18 of the 23 people charged thus far were black.

Lt. Kellie Lenhardt, a spokeswoman for the Toledo Police Department, said that in enforcing the stay-at-home order, the department’s goal is not to arrest people and that officers are primarily responding to calls from people complaining about violations of the order. She told ProPublica that if the police arrested someone, the officers believed they had probable cause, and that while biased policing would be “wrong,” it would also be wrong to arrest more white people simply “to balance the numbers.”

In Franklin County, which is 23.5% black, 129 people were arrested between the beginning of the stay-at-home order and May 4; 57% of the people arrested were black.

In Cleveland, which is 50% black and is the state’s second-largest city, the Municipal Court’s public records do not include race data. The court and the Cleveland Police Department were unable to readily provide demographic information about arrests to ProPublica, though on Friday, the police said they have issued eight charges so far.

In the three jurisdictions, about half of those charged with violating the order were also charged with other offenses, such as drug possession and disorderly conduct. The rest were charged only with violating the order; among that group, the percentage of defendants who were black was even higher.

Franklin Country is home to Columbus, where enforcement of the stay-at-home order has made national headlines for a very different reason. Columbus is the state capital and Ohio’s largest city with a population of almost 900,000. In recent weeks, groups of mostly white protesters have campaigned against the stay-at-home order on the Statehouse steps and outside the health director’s home. Some protesters have come armed, and images have circulated of crowds of demonstrators huddled close, chanting, many without masks.

No protesters have been arrested for violating the stay-at-home order, a spokesperson for the Columbus mayor’s office told ProPublica. Thomas Hach, an organizer of a group called Free Ohio Now, said in an email that he was not aware of any arrests associated with protests in the entire state. The Columbus Division of Police did not respond to ProPublica’s request for comment.

Ohio legislators are contemplating reducing the criminal penalties for violating the order. On Wednesday, the state House passed legislation that would eliminate the possibility of jail time for stay-at-home violators. A first offense would result in a warning, and further violations would result in a small fine. The bill is pending in the state Senate.

Penalties for violating stay-at-home orders vary across the country. In many states, including California, Florida, Michigan and Washington, violations can land someone behind bars. In New York state, violations can only result in fines. In Baltimore, police told local media they had only charged two people with violations; police have reportedly relied on a recording played over the loudspeakers of squad cars: “Even if you aren’t showing symptoms, you could still have coronavirus and accidentally spread it to a relative or neighbor. Being home is being safe. We are all in this together.”

Enforcement has often resulted in controversy. In New York City, a viral video showed police pull out a Taser and punch a black man after they approached a group of people who weren’t wearing masks. Police say the man who was punched took a “fighting stance” when ordered to disperse. In Orlando, police arrested a homeless man walking a bicycle because he was not obeying curfew. In Hawaii, charges against a man accused of stealing a car battery, normally a misdemeanor punishable by up to 30 days in jail, were enhanced to a felony, which can result in 10 years in prison, because police and prosecutors said he was in violation of the state order.

The orders are generally broad, and decisions about which violations to treat as acceptable and which ones to penalize have largely been left to local police departments’ discretion.

Kristen Clarke, president of the Lawyers’ Committee for Civil Rights Under Law, a legal organization focused on racial justice, said such discretion has opened the door to police abuse, and she said the U.S. Department of Justice or state governments should issue detailed guidelines about when to make arrests. That discretion “is what’s given rise to these rogue practices,” she told ProPublica, “that are putting black communities and communities of color with a target on their backs.”

In jails and prisons around the country, inmates have fallen ill or died from COVID-19 as the virus spreads rapidly through the facilities. Many local governments have released some inmates from jail and ordered police to reduce arrests for minor crimes. But in Hamilton County, some people charged with failing to maintain social distancing have been kept in jail for at least one night, even without any other charges. Recently, two sheriff’s deputies who work in the jail tested positive for COVID-19. “The cops put their hands on them, they cram them in the car, they take them to the [jail], which has 800 to 1400 people, depending on the night,” said Sean Vicente, director of the Hamilton County Public Defender’s misdemeanor division. “It’s often so crowded everyone’s just sitting on the floor.”

Clarke said the enforcement push is sometimes undercutting the public health effort: “Protecting people’s health is in direct conflict with putting people in overcrowded jails and prisons that have been hotbeds for the virus.”

Court records show that the Cincinnati Police Department has adopted some surprising applications of the law.

Six people were charged with violations of the order after they were shot. Only one was charged with another crime as well, but police affidavits state that when they were shot, they were or likely were in violation of the order. One man was shot in the ankle while talking to a friend, according to court filings, and “was clearly not engaged in essential activities.” Another was arrested with the same explanation; police wrote that he had gone to the hospital with a gunshot wound. The Cincinnati Police Department did not respond to ProPublica’s requests for comment.

In Springfield Township, a small, mostly white Cincinnati suburb, nine people have been arrested for violating the order thus far. All of them are black.

Springfield Township Police Chief Robert Browder told ProPublica in an email that the department is “an internationally accredited law enforcement organization” and has “strict policies ... to ensure that our zero tolerance policy prohibiting bias-based profiling is adhered to.”

Browder said race had not played a role in his department’s enforcement of the order and that he was “appalled if that is the insinuation.”

Several of the black people arrested in Springfield Township were working for a company that sells books and magazine subscriptions door to door. One of the workers, Carl Brown, 50, said he and five colleagues were working in Springfield Township when two members of the team were arrested while going door to door. Police called the other sales people, and when they arrived at the scene, they too were arrested. Five of them, including Brown, were charged only with violating the stay-at-home order; the sixth sales person had an arrest warrant in another state, according to Browder, and police also charged her for giving them false identification.

Brown said one of the officers had left the group with a warning: They should never come back, and if they do, it’s “going to be worse.”

Browder denied that the officers made such a threat, and he said the police had received calls from residents about the sales people and their tactics and that the sales people had failed to register with the Police Department, as required for door-to-door solicitation.

Other violations in Hamilton County have been more egregious, but even in some of those cases, the law enforcement response has stirred controversy. On April 4, a man who had streamed a party on Facebook Live, saying, “We don’t give a fuck about this coronavirus,” was arrested in Cincinnati’s Over-the-Rhine neighborhood, the setting of a 2001 riot after police fatally shot an unarmed black man.

The man who streamed the party, Rashaan Davis, was charged with violating the stay-at-home order and inciting violence, and his bond was set at $350,000.

After Judge Alan Triggs said he would release Davis from jail pretrial because the offense charged was nonviolent, local media reported, prosecutors dropped the misdemeanor and said they would focus on the charge of inciting violence, a felony.

The Hamilton County prosecutor’s office declined to comment on Davis’ case.

In Toledo, there’s been public controversy around perceived differences in the application of the law. On April 21, debate at the Toledo City Council meeting centered around a food truck. Local politicians discussed recent arrests of young black people at house parties, some contrasting them with a large, white crowd standing close together in line outside a BBQ stand, undisturbed by police. Councilmember Gary Johnson told ProPublica he’s asked the police chief to investigate why no one was arrested at a party he’d heard about, where white people were congregating on docks. “I don’t know the circumstances of the arrests,” he said. But “if you feel you need to go into poor neighborhoods and African American neighborhoods, you better be going into white neighborhoods too. … You have to say we’re going to be heavy-handed with the stay-at-home order or we’re going to be light with it. It has to be one or the other.”

Toledo police enforcement has not been confined to partygoers. Armani Thomas, 20, is one of the six young men arrested for not social distancing on a lawn. He told ProPublica he was sitting there with nine friends “doing nothing” when the police pulled up. Two kids ran off, and the police made the rest stay, eventually arresting “all the dudes” and letting the girls go. He was taken to the county jail, where several inmates have tested positive, for booking and released after several hours. The men’s cases are pending.

“When police see black people gathered in public, I think there’s this looming belief that they must be doing something illegal,” RaShya Ghee, a criminal defense attorney and lecturer at the University of Toledo, told ProPublica. “They’re hanging out in a yard — something illegal must have happened. Or, something illegal is about to happen.”

Lenhardt, the police lieutenant, said the six men were arrested after police received 911 calls reporting “a group gathering and flashing guns.” None of the six men were arrested on gun charges. As for the 19-year-old charged for taking the bus without reason, she said police asked him on consecutive days to not loiter at a bus station.

With more than 70,000 Americans dead from the coronavirus, government officials have not figured out how to balance the threat of COVID-19 with the harms of over policing, Clarke said. “On the one hand, we want to beat back the pandemic. That’s critical. That’s the end goal,” she told ProPublica. “On the other hand, we’re seeing social distancing being used as a pretext to arrest the very communities that have been hit hardest by the virus.”

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by Marshall Allen

The links to the viral video “Plandemic” started showing up in my Facebook feed Wednesday. “Very interesting,” one of my friends wrote about it. I saw several subsequent posts about it, and then my brother texted me, “Got a sec?”

My brother is a pastor in Colorado and had someone he respects urge him to watch “Plandemic,” a 26-minute video that promises to reveal the “hidden agenda” behind the COVID-19 pandemic. I called him and he shared his concern: People seem to be taking the conspiracy theories presented in “Plandemic” seriously. He wondered if I could write something up that he could pass along to them, to help people distinguish between sound reporting and conspiracy thinking or propaganda.

So I watched “Plandemic.” I did not find it credible, as I will explain below. YouTube, Facebook and Vimeo have since removed it from their platforms for violating their guidelines. Now it’s available on its own site.

Sensational videos, memes, rants and more about COVID-19 are likely to keep coming. With society polarized and deep distrust of the media, the government and other institutions, such content is a way for bad actors to sow discord, mostly via social media. We saw it with Russia in the 2016 election and we should expect it to continue.

But what surprised me is how easily “Plandemic” sank its hooks into some of my friends. My brother also felt alarmed that his own church members and leaders in other churches might be tempted to buy into it.

The purpose of this column is not to skewer “Plandemic.” My goal is to offer some criteria for sifting through all the content we see every day, so we can tell the difference between fair reporting and something so biased it should not be taken seriously.

Here’s a checklist, some of which I shared with my friends on Facebook, to help interrogate any content — and that includes what we publish at ProPublica.

Is the Presentation One-Sided?

There’s never just one side to a story. I mentioned this point in 2018 when I wrote about my faith and the biblical basis for investigative reporting. One of my favorite Proverbs says, “The first to state his case seems right until another comes and cross-examines him.” So a fair presentation should at least acknowledge opposing points of view.

I didn’t see this in “Plandemic,” so I called the filmmaker, Mikki Willis, who is also the film’s narrator, to ask him whether I had somehow missed the other side of the argument. I had not. “The other side of the argument plays 24/7 on every screen in every airport and on every phone and in every home,” Willis said. “The people are only seeing one side of the story all the time. This is the other side of the story. This is not a piece that’s intended to be perfectly balanced.”

I asked Willis if it was fair to call his film “propaganda,” which the Oxford dictionary defines as “information, especially of a biased or misleading nature, used to promote or publicize a particular political cause or point of view.”

He said he doesn’t feel there’s anything misleading in his film, but otherwise the definition fits. And based on that definition he feels 100% of news reporting is propaganda. “What isn’t propaganda these days?” he asked. “In that sense, what we’re doing is fighting fire with fire.”

Is There an Independent Pursuit of the Truth?

The star of “Plandemic,” medical researcher Judy Mikovits, is controversial. The magazine Science reports that it published and then retracted one of her papers in 2011. A search warrant provided to ProPublica by one of her former attorneys shows she was fired from her position at Whittemore Peterson Institute, a research center in Nevada, in September 2011. Then she allegedly stole notebooks and a laptop computer from the Institute, the search warrant said, leading to an arrest warrant for alleged possession of stolen property and unlawful taking of computer data. She was arrested on Nov. 18, 2011, but denied wrongdoing. The charges were dropped.

But “Plandemic” ignores or brushes past these facts and portrays her as an embattled whistleblower. “So you made a discovery that conflicted with the agreed-upon narrative?” Willis says to Mikovits, introducing her as a victim. “And for that, they did everything in their powers to destroy your life.”

A typical viewer is not going to know the details about Mikovits’ background. But as the primary source of controversial information being presented as fact, it’s worth an online search. The fact-checking site PolitiFact details her arrest and criminal charges. Clearly, there’s more to her story than what’s presented in “Plandemic.” That should give us pause when we assess its credibility.

Is There a Careful Adherence to the Facts?

In “Plandemic,” Willis asks Mikovits about her arrest: “What did they charge you with?”

“Nothing,” she replies. “I was held in jail, with no charges.”

Being charged with a crime is one of those concrete facts that we can check out. Science magazine reported Mikovits’ arrest and felony charge. I also found a civil lawsuit she filed against the Whittemore Peterson Institute in 2014 in the U.S. District Court for the Southern District of California. “Mikovits was arrested on criminal charges…” her complaint says in the case, which was eventually dismissed.

I asked Willis about the apparent discrepancy, where she said in his film that she wasn’t charged, when court documents show that she was charged. After my inquiry, he said he spoke to Mikovits and now feels it is clear that she meant that the charges were dropped.

I tracked down Mikovits and she said what she meant in the film is that there were no charges of any type of wrongdoing that would have led to her being charged with being a fugitive from justice. She admitted that all the controversy has been hard for her to sort out. “I’ve been confused for a decade,” she told me. She said she would try to be more clear in the future when she talks about the criminal charge: “I’ll try to learn to say it differently,” she said.

This underscores the importance of careful verification, and it distinguishes the craft of journalism from other forms of information sharing. People often speak imprecisely when they’re telling their stories. It’s our duty to nail down precisely what they do and do not mean, and verify it independently. If we don’t, we risk undermining their credibility and ours. That’s in part why we at ProPublica and many other journalists often link directly to our underlying source documents, so you can verify the information yourself.

Are Those Accused Allowed to Respond?

Dr. Anthony Fauci, director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, is one of the nation’s leaders in the response to the coronavirus. In “Plandemic,” Mikovits accuses Fauci of a cover-up and of paying off people who perpetrate fraud, among other things. PolitiFact found no evidence to support the allegations against Fauci.

Every time I write a story that accuses someone of wrongdoing I call them and urge them to explain the situation from their perspective. This is standard in mainstream journalism. Sometimes I’ve gone to extreme lengths to get comments from someone who will be portrayed unfavorably in my story — traveling to another state and showing up at their office and their home and leaving a note if they are not there to meet me. “Plandemic” doesn’t indicate whether the filmmakers reached out to Fauci for his version of the story. So I asked Willis about it. “We did not,” he told me.

Are All Sources Named and Cited, and if Not, Is the Reason Explained?

All sources should be identified, with their credentials, so viewers can verify their expertise or possible biases. If they can’t be for some reason, then that should be explained. “Plandemic” features unnamed people in medical scrubs, presented as doctors, saying they’re being wrongly pressured to add COVID-19 on people’s death certificates or are not being allowed to use the drug hydroxychloroquine to treat patients. But the speakers are not named, so we can’t really tell who they are, or even if they are doctors at all. That makes it impossible to tell if they are credible.

I asked Willis why he didn’t name those people. He told me he was in a hurry to release the 26-minute version of “Plandemic,” but the doctors will be named in the final version. “We should have done that,” he said.

Does the Work Claim Some Secret Knowledge?

“Plandemic” calls itself a documentary that reveals “the hidden agenda behind COVID-19.” We are in the midst of a global pandemic where few people in the world can figure out what is happening or the right way to respond, let alone agendas. We have almost every journalist in the country writing about this. And if the truth about a conspiracy is out there, many people have an incentive to share it. But “Plandemic” would like us to think it’s presenting some exclusive bit of secret knowledge that is going to get at the real story. That’s not likely.

Plus, to be honest, there were so many conspiratorial details stacked on top of each other in the film I couldn’t keep them straight. When I spoke to Willis I told him I was having a hard time understanding his point. Then I took a stab at what I thought was the main thrust of his argument. “Are you saying that powerful people planned the pandemic and made it happen so they could get rich by making everyone get vaccines?” I asked.

It turns out Willis isn’t sure either. “We’re in the exploratory phase,” he told me. “I don’t know, to be clear, if it’s an intentional or naturally occurring situation. I have no idea.”

Then he went on to say that the pandemic is being politicized and used to take away our civil liberties and leverage other political policies. “Certain forces” have latched onto the situation, he said. “It’s too fishy.”

He had me at, “I have no idea.” That sums it up. This is a vast pandemic and massive catastrophe. Our country wasn’t prepared for it, and the response by our top leaders has been disjointed. We’re restricted to our homes. Many people have lost their jobs and some are afraid or sick or dying. That makes us vulnerable to exploitation by people who will present inaccurate or intellectually dishonest information that promises to tell us the truth.

Perhaps “Plandemic” is guilty of sloppy storytelling, or maybe people really do believe the things they’re saying in the video. Or perhaps they’re being intentionally dishonest, or it’s a biased connecting of the dots rooted in personal and professional grievances. I don’t know because I can’t get inside their heads to judge their motives.

Ultimately, we’re all going to need to be more savvy consumers when it comes to information, no matter how slickly it’s presented. This may be but a signal of what’s to come in the run-up to the 2020 presidential election, when memes and ads of unknown origin come across our social media feeds. There are standards for judging the credibility of the media we take in every day, so let’s apply them.

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by Duaa Eldeib, Adriana Gallardo, Akilah Johnson, Annie Waldman, Nina Martin, Talia Buford and Tony Briscoe

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

Larry Arnold lived less than a mile from a hospital but, stepping out of his South Side apartment with a 103-degree fever, he told the Uber driver to take him to another 30 minutes away.

Charles Miles’ breathing was so labored when a friend called to check on him that the friend called an ambulance. Still, Miles, a retired respiratory therapist, was reluctant to leave his home.

Close family support had helped Rosa Lynn Franklin recover from a stroke several years ago, but when she was admitted to the hospital in late March, her daughter could do little more than pat her on the back and say goodbye.

All three were among the first people to die of COVID-19 in Chicago, and all three were African American. Their deaths reflect the stunning racial disparity in the initial toll of the virus. Of the city’s first 100 recorded victims, 70 were black.

As the pandemic has spread, that gap has narrowed, and Latinos now make up the largest portion of any reported demographic of confirmed cases across Illinois, state data shows. But the disparity in black deaths persists. As of early May, African Americans, who make up just 30% of Chicago’s population, are about half of its more than 1,000 coronavirus deaths.

It has been well established that African Americans are dying of COVID-19 at a disproportionate rate in cities across America. ProPublica sought to explore the problem by examining the first 100 recorded deaths in Chicago, a city with a rich and often troubled history on issues of race.

Using a database obtained from the Cook County Medical Examiner’s Office that listed the names, health and location information of all COVID-19-related deaths, reporters reached out to the families and friends of each person who died. Reporters ultimately spoke with those who knew 22 of the victims; gleaned details about the lives of many others from obituaries and social media posts; and interviewed experts, medical professionals and government officials to understand how and why those first 100 died.

The racial disparities in coronavirus deaths have largely been attributed to endemic and entrenched inequalities in Chicago — decades of disinvestment in the predominantly black neighborhoods on the South and West sides that have left residents with fewer jobs, poorer health and diminished opportunities. Those forces often are portrayed as intractable and, during a pandemic, nearly impossible to fix.

Chicago Mayor Lori Lightfoot acknowledged the challenge when she spoke publicly about the disparities last month and announced a plan to address them.

“We’re not going to reverse this in a moment, overnight, but we have to say it for what it is and move forward decisively as a city, and that’s what we will do,” she said. “This is about health care accessibility, life expectancy, joblessness and hunger.”

While all this is true, ProPublica’s reporting also revealed other patterns, factors that could — and should — have been addressed and which almost certainly exist in other communities experiencing similar disparities. Even though many of these victims had medical conditions that made them particularly susceptible to the virus, they didn’t always get clear or appropriate guidance about seeking treatment. They lived near hospitals that they didn’t trust and that weren’t adequately prepared to treat COVID-19 cases. And perhaps most poignantly, the social connections that gave their lives richness and meaning — and that played a vital role in helping them to navigate this segregated city that can at times feel hostile to black residents — made them more likely to be exposed to the virus before its deadly power became apparent.

Many of the first 100 recorded Chicago COVID-19 victims led lives threaded through with community and civic involvement, powerfully connected to their city, to friends and family. Some had led careers of service, like Patricia Frieson, a retired nurse, and Rhoda Hatch, a former teacher, and Carl Redd, a U.S. Army veteran. Their small businesses helped shape their corners of the city; Hardwell Smith, 85, arrived in Chicago as part of the Great Migration from the Jim Crow South and established gas stations and auto repair shops on the South Side. They were church deacons and musicians; doting uncles like 32-year-old Carl White and nurturing mothers like Juliet Davis, who, despite her limited means, fed the homeless who lived under a neighborhood viaduct.

Most of the first 100 lived in majority-black neighborhoods, according to an analysis of medical examiner data; hardest hit were South Shore, Auburn Gresham and Austin, where the median income for 40% or more of the residents in each community is less than $25,000.

Many were already sick, with underlying health conditions. Seventy-eight of them had hypertension and 53 had diabetes. Just 12 had one health condition, and only five people had no comorbidities. James Brooks, a 27-year-old black man, was the youngest to die.

“I’m not surprised because every natural disaster will peel back the day-to-day covers over society and reveal the social fault lines that decide in some ways who gets to live and who gets to die,” said Dr. David Ansell, senior vice president for community health equity at Rush University Medical Center. “And in the United States, those vulnerabilities are often at the intersection of race and health.”

Ansell, who wrote “The Death Gap: How Inequality Kills,” has spent decades documenting the life expectancy gap between black and white Chicagoans, which is the largest in the country. Structural racism, concentrated poverty, economic exploitation and chronic stress cause what’s known as biological weathering, Ansell said, where the body ages prematurely and results in earlier death.

Who dies first is different for each pandemic, said Dr. Howard Markel, director of the Center for the History of Medicine at the University of Michigan. The coronavirus’s earliest victims, he said, were the most vulnerable.

“They’re not quite forgotten, but we don’t pay close enough attention to the health and well-being of this segment of the population,” he said. “Then a microscopic organism comes and topples them over.”

They were vulnerable, but their deaths cannot be dismissed as inevitable.

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One-Size-Fits-All Guidance

Phillip Thomas, 48, started to feel sick while working a day shift at the Walmart in Evergreen Park. A diabetic, he was cautious about his health, and he reached out to a doctor, who told him to stay home and self-quarantine in case he had the coronavirus.

About a week into his bedrest, Thomas told his sister Angela McMiller that he was having a hard time standing up and was vomiting, no longer able to keep anything down. She encouraged him to go to the emergency room, but he didn’t immediately go, citing the doctor’s advice to stay home.

Within a couple of days, he called an ambulance, which took him to Jackson Park Hospital, where he was intubated. Two days later, on March 29, he died, in the hospital where he was born.

When McMiller next saw her brother, it was at his funeral, which only 10 people could attend because of social distancing requirements. “It was devastating,” said McMiller. “My mother fell down, my brothers cried.”

McMiller is upset that her brother was told to stay home when he was sick, particularly considering the additional risks posed by his health history.

“It shocked me,” she said. “He was diabetic.”

Since the earliest days of the pandemic, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s guidelines have emphasized staying home when symptoms are mild. “Most people with COVID-19 have mild illness and can recover at home without medical care,” the CDC says on its website. It recommends people call a doctor before going to get care in person, unless experiencing emergency signs like trouble breathing, blue lips or chest pain.

But experts told ProPublica that this one-size-fits-all advice does not account for the fact that African Americans are not only more likely to have preexisting conditions that increase their chances of bad outcomes, but also have a long-standing wariness of the health care system.

“There is this distrust between black communities and health care systems based on this fraught history of how health care systems have exploited and abused black people,” said Dr. Uché Blackstock, an emergency medicine physician in Brooklyn and the founder and CEO of Advancing Health Equity. “What happens as a result of that is that patients don’t want to interface with the health care system.”

In addition, doctors said patients may delay seeking care out of a fear of the medical bills, lack of insurance or transportation barriers — all of which underscores the need for targeted guidance. So instead of encouraging staying at home, these doctors want guidance to encourage African American patients to proactively seek care before symptoms get out of hand.

Dr. Mira Iliescu-Levine, a pulmonary critical care doctor at The Loretto Hospital on Chicago’s West Side, is concerned that African American and Latino patients are waiting to come to the hospital after their symptoms become too severe.

“You end up with an overwhelming clinical picture, almost like a tornado, that’s very hard to stop,” she said.

She said she wants patients, especially her African American patients with diabetes, obesity and other comorbidities, to seek care when they have “innocent symptoms” like a cough, runny nose, itchy eyes or low-grade fever.

Earlier treatment does not guarantee a better outcome, she said, but it can give the patient a fighting chance.

“Reach out,” she said. “Don’t wait.”

Asked whether the CDC would consider tailoring its recommendations to reflect the underlying health conditions and barriers to care in African American communities, a spokesperson said the “CDC is collecting data to monitor and track disparities among racial and ethnic groups … to help inform decisions on how to effectively address observed disparities. … We will continue to update our recommendations as we learn more.”

The CDC spokesperson said the agency has increased “engagement with organizations and other partners representing and serving racial and ethnic minority groups to identify gaps in the current response efforts,” and that people should “never avoid emergency rooms or wait to see a doctor if you feel your symptoms are serious.”

On the first day, Willie Flake, a 72-year-old mechanic, lost his ability to taste. Then, he lost his appetite. With each new coronavirus symptom he experienced, his sister Betty and her daughter Yolanda pushed him to go to the hospital.

But Flake, who had diabetes, stayed home because he thought his symptoms were not severe enough to go to the emergency room. He soon developed a fever. By the fourth day, he had trouble breathing.

Flake took an ambulance to Rush University Medical Center on March 27, where his condition appeared to stabilize before worsening again.

“They say, ‘Don’t come in until your fever is high and you can’t breathe,’” Yolanda Flake said. “That’s the part where I feel like they failed him. He waited until he couldn’t breathe and it was too late.”

In the early hours of April 1, his sister and niece put on masks and gloves and looked through the glass window of his hospital room. He had been like a father to Yolanda, attended every graduation, from kindergarten through college, and had recently accompanied her to buy a car for her daughter, his 23-year-old grandniece, LaSeanda.

Yolanda said she wished she could have been with him inside the room, regardless of the risks.

“I wanted to touch him,” she said. “I wanted to talk to him before he took his last breath. I couldn’t say it through the glass door.”

And then, his heart stopped.

“He waited at home,” Yolanda said, “and he was dying already.”

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Struggling Hospitals

Larry Arnold also waited, not because he was instructed to, but because he didn’t trust his neighborhood hospitals.

Two — Jackson Park Hospital and South Shore Hospital — sit within five minutes of his home. Both are century-old nonprofit facilities that serve majority low-income and uninsured patients on the South Side. When Arnold started to feel sick in mid-March, he worried that if he called an ambulance, it would take him to one or the other. He didn’t want to go to either.

“What upsets me is that we don’t have adequate medical facilities where we can go to and feel like we’ll be cared for,” his niece Angelyn Vanderbilt said. “I’m sure they’re very good people … but the consensus in the community is that those hospitals are inadequate and they have been for years.”

After his fever didn’t subside for a few days, Arnold, who was 70 and had chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, or COPD, knew he couldn’t wait any longer, his family said. He got into an Uber with a temperature of 103 and told the driver to take him to Advocate Christ Medical Center in Oak Lawn, some 30 minutes away.

On March 31, 16 days after he was admitted, the nurse put the phone to Arnold’s ear one last time.

“We told him to be strong and to continue to fight,” Vanderbilt said.

He died about an hour later.

People who live on Chicago’s South and West sides are often at a geographic disadvantage during medical crises because the hospitals that are closest to them frequently are those with fewer resources.

Illinois Gov. J.B. Pritzker acknowledged the hardships at a press briefing last month. “The safety-net hospitals are challenged in our state, and the availability of health care in communities of color has been at a lower quality or lower availability than in other communities,” he said.

The city’s safety-net hospitals, facilities that serve a large portion of low-income and uninsured patients regardless of their ability to pay, don’t have the private-insurance patient base or the cash reserves to fall back on during a pandemic that many larger hospitals have, said Larry Singer, associate professor at the Beazley Institute for Health Law and Policy at Loyola University Chicago School of Law. Some are millions of dollars in the red and housed in aging buildings. And while their mission is a valiant one, he said, they have not been able to respond to the coronavirus as quickly or with the same equipment and staffing.

“They’re trying to fight the same fight as everybody else with one arm tied behind their back,” Singer said. “They deserve the resources to do an even better job. I’m truly impressed by what they are trying to achieve during a time of crisis.”

Tim Caveney, president and CEO of South Shore Hospital, said that limited resources is one reason safety-net hospitals have struggled to earn the trust of the communities they serve. “Safety net [hospitals] have gotten a bad beat because we don’t have much money. It’s a funding issue,” he said, adding that the pandemic has aggravated South Shore’s financial issues. Not only have lucrative elective surgeries been postponed, but COVID-19 patients often require complex and lengthy care, which can be expensive.

Dr. Khalilah Gates, an African American pulmonary and critical care specialist at Northwestern Memorial Hospital who has family on the South Side, said she is painfully aware that some black patients may prefer to “wait it out” or travel to distant hospitals.

“Both of those are very common phenomenons,” she said. “Not all community hospitals, but many of the community hospitals in those communities lack the resources that offer security to the residents in those areas.”

ProPublica spoke with several families who said their loved ones either delayed care because they didn’t want to go to neighborhood hospitals or ultimately wound up in those hospitals as a last resort.

Miles, the retired respiratory therapist, had worked for about 40 years at Northwestern Memorial Hospital providing breathing treatments for patients there. When he started feeling sick in mid-March, he knew what resources he might need.

A friend called him on March 22 and heard his labored breathing. He told Miles that he was calling an ambulance, but Miles resisted, in part, because he didn’t want to be taken to Jackson Park, the nearest hospital.

“He should’ve been in there a week before that,” said his sister Roselle Jones. “But he was insistent on not going.”

The paramedics said that they had to take him to Jackson Park because it was the closest hospital. Miles’ family asked that he be transferred to another hospital, but once he tested positive for the coronavirus, a doctor told the family that Miles couldn’t be moved, Jones said.

By the end of the week, Miles had been sedated and placed on a ventilator. He died on April 3.

“We wanted him out of there. We wanted him somewhere he could get some good care,” Jones said. “The doors should be closed, and the building torn down.”

Philman Williams’ family also said they tried in vain to get him transferred out of Jackson Park after an ambulance took him there. Williams, 70, worked as a doorman at a luxury high-rise where residents dubbed him the “Mayor of Michigan Avenue” for his charm and good humor. Not only was his doctor at another hospital, but the family worried about the quality of care he would receive.

A day after he was admitted, their concerns were amplified by a news story detailing reports from employees that the hospital did not have enough personal protective equipment, prompting nurses to avoid entering patient rooms.

Nurses who were sick and those afraid to come to work because they had elderly relatives at home have led to staffing shortages, said Kindra Perkins, a representative with National Nurses United, the union that represents nurses at Jackson Park. One day, an ambulance couldn’t drop off a patient because there were only two nurses working in the emergency room, she said.

“The nurses deserve to have the resources that they need to provide the quality care in that community, and the people in that community are just as important as the folks on the North Side of Chicago,” Perkins said.

Margo Brooks-Pugh, a vice president of development at Jackson Park Hospital, did not answer specific questions, but she wrote in an email that the hospital takes patient and staff safety seriously.

“Jackson Park Hospital follows all guidelines and standards as related to patient care and safety,” she wrote.

Austin, on the West Side, is one of the city’s largest and most chronically underserved areas. It has become a hot spot for COVID-19 cases. The Loretto Hospital, a small nonprofit that has been an anchor in the community for more than 90 years, is the primary provider in the area. Like many of the safety-net hospitals in Chicago, it has struggled financially for years.

When Asberry Stoudemire Jr., a 54-year-old diabetic, got a runny nose, then felt his blood sugar levels begin to fall, his family knew he needed to get care quickly. He also had a history of congestive heart failure, which had forced the avid stepper and musician to retire early from his job as a certified nursing assistant. The Loretto Hospital wasn’t their first choice — or their second. But it was the closest. Within hours of arriving at Loretto, his condition deteriorated so rapidly that he was sedated and intubated.

His daughter Miranda Stoudemire said she had trouble getting a clear sense of what was going on in the 10 days her father spent in the hospital’s recently reopened 15-bed ICU. Loretto couldn’t afford to keep the unit up and running before the pandemic, a fate hospital administrators said they fear could be repeated without an infusion of cash as the pandemic continues.

“He was saying, ‘I know one thing, I’m not going to Loretto,’” she said. But he did, and she is resolute in her belief that her father would have lived longer had he been at a better resourced hospital. His family tried having him transferred but said they were told he was too critical to be moved.

“I feel like he didn’t even have a chance to fight,” she said.

He died March 29.

Mark A. Walker, spokesman for The Loretto Hospital, said that the hospital has the capacity to care for its patients and is doing its best to communicate with families.

“This hospital has gone through hard times,” he said. “We’re doing everything we can. We’re learning along with everybody else. But better resourced communities don’t have to fight for the same divvy of health care resources that we do.”

Although L.B. Perry was 78 and suffered from hypertension and diabetes, nothing usually kept him in bed. So when he didn’t wake at 6:30 for his morning oatmeal and coffee, his family began to worry.

As he grew weaker and needed help walking to the bathroom, his family urged him to go to the hospital. After a few days, he relented and went to Holy Cross Hospital in Chicago Lawn on the South Side, but he was sent home, his daughter Vernice Perry said.

“That’s why I’m so upset,” she said. “He was in the age bracket, and he has all these health conditions, and he had some of the symptoms.”

His condition worsened at home, and his daughter said she begged him to let her drive him to another hospital. Four days later, his wife called an ambulance in the early morning of March 30, and he returned to Holy Cross Hospital. He died on April 2.

Dan Regan, a spokesperson for Sinai Health System, did not answer questions about specific patients, citing privacy restrictions. He said that its hospitals, including Holy Cross, are “thoroughly prepared for handling the COVID-19 pandemic,” having created dedicated COVID-19 teams, using mobile triage trailers outside facilities to handle sick patients, and isolating COVID-19 patients in specialized rooms.

“It is worth noting though that the challenging nature of COVID-19 is that patients can look fine at one point and be discharged home with monitoring and follow-up, only to deteriorate and have to return to the hospital,” said Regan. “This has been seen in many cases nationwide.”

At least 110 patients from community hospitals, including Holy Cross, have been transferred to Rush University Medical Center, a large, well-equipped facility that has been touted as having been “built for a pandemic.”

“They’re really patients that otherwise, in all likelihood, would not survive at those hospitals,” said Dr. Paul Casey, Rush’s acting chief medical officer. “The resources just aren’t the same. Nor is the ability within critical care to provide a lot of the life-saving therapies.”

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The City’s Response

On April 6, when Mayor Lightfoot publicly announced that the coronavirus was disproportionately affecting the city’s black residents, the virus had been in Chicago at least since January, and more than 100 people were dead. The majority were black.

“When we talk about equity and inclusion, they’re not just nice notions,” Lightfoot said at the time. “They are an imperative that we must embrace as a city. And we see this even more urgently when we look at these numbers and this disparity. It’s unacceptable. No one should think that this is OK.”

That day, the city announced the Racial Equity Rapid Response Team in partnership with West Side United, with a goal to “bring a hyper local public health strategy to targeted communities.” In the weeks since, the team has held tele-town halls, delivered thousands of door hangers and postcards with targeted information, and distributed 60,000 masks for residents in the predominantly black communities of Austin, Auburn Gresham and South Shore.

Dr. Allison Arwady, the city’s public health commissioner said in an interview that officials had worked behind the scenes to combat rumors that black people couldn’t contract the coronavirus, reaching out to community and faith leaders on the South and West sides in February and March to let them know the city was seeing cases across all races.

Arwady said the department at first hoped to contain the spread. It had tracked the cases for weeks as the virus crept through the city, and then exploded. By the end of March, more than 40 Chicagoans had died from the virus, according to the county medical examiner data, though the city said its tally of deaths was less than half of that.

For the most part, Lightfoot has received plaudits for her handling of the pandemic. Illinois was one of the first states in the country to release statistics on COVID-19 deaths by race. Lightfoot herself has even become something of a national political star, with viral videos and memes of her urging residents to stay home. She also gave several high-profile interviews discussing the disproportionate impact of COVID-19 on black communities and emphasizing the importance of tracking demographic data.

The city also encountered some challenges. Early on, it found that up to 30% of the testing data it collected didn’t list race. At the April 6 press conference, which came one day after a WBEZ news report detailed the death disparities, the city released a detailed race analysis. The city also issued a public health order mandating demographic data of COVID-19 cases be reported in hopes of being better able to track and assist individuals and communities falling victim to the coronavirus.

Still, to some in the community, the city appeared a step behind. Niketa Brar, co-founder and executive director at Chicago United for Equity, which advocates for racial equity in the city, said officials didn’t do enough to engage the communities they knew would be hardest hit. As soon as the virus entered Chicago, she said, the city should have used racial, health and economic data to predict where it would take hold and then begin working with residents in those communities on how best to protect and support them. The Racial Equity Rapid Response Team was dispatched much later, she said.

“We’ve seen enough maps to know what the next map is going to look like,” Brar said. “And yet we consistently fail to engage those who are closest to the harm time and time again.”

Lightfoot said in an interview Friday she believes the city responded robustly to the virus from the start.

“I feel pretty good about where we are,” she said. “Has it been perfect? Has any of this been perfect? No, because you’re not going to be able to undo literally 100-plus years of racial disparities across black and brown Chicago. But I’m going to be a champion for people in my city, and particularly people who look like me and who grew up in circumstances like mine.”

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The Perils of Connection

It made sense that they were out on Election Day — Revall Burke, a 60-year-old city worker, who served as an election judge for the March 17 primary, and John J. Hill Jr., 53, who was campaigning for a friend outside of City Hall, handing out masks and shaking hands.

Their community connections had shaped their lives. Both grew up in public housing. Burke went on to help form a building committee to give back to the neighborhood, including organizing picnics where he would give away school supplies. Hill, who built a successful business and counted among his proudest moments catering a campaign event for Barack Obama, met his wife at the iconic Rock ‘N’ Roll McDonald’s where she worked as a teenager. He came in to buy ice cream nearly every day; when she was sick, he got her a “get well soon” card signed “the ice cream man,” sparking a 40-year romance and two sons.

For black residents in a city as segregated as Chicago, connections to family, church and community can be a vital resource. During the 1995 Chicago heat wave, connectedness sometimes meant the difference between life and death: Sociologists found that compared with more affluent neighborhoods, Auburn Gresham had fewer deaths, in part because residents knew their neighbors and checked on one another during the extreme temperatures, just as they did every day.

Yet those deep connections put black Chicagoans in harm’s way as the novel coronavirus spread largely undetected, said Jaime Slaughter-Acey, a social epidemiologist at the University of Minnesota who did her doctoral work in Chicago. “What we’re seeing in the time of COVID is that this virus has taken this really important, health-promoting resource [of social connectivity] that we’ve created and used it against communities of color.”

Both men died on April 1, two weeks after the election.

The Chicago Department of Public Health and the CDC mapped one cluster of 16 known or suspected infections — and three deaths — dramatically illustrating the path the virus tore through families and friends who attended an intimate dinner, a funeral, a birthday celebration or a church service. Jennifer Layden, the department’s deputy commissioner, said the case study shows how insidious the virus could be in social settings — even a gathering of just three loved ones could be deadly.

Eboney Harrell was aware of the risk and barred all visitors from stopping by after her daughter SaDariah brought home her newborn baby. A single mother, Harrell was an anchor for SaDariah, rarely leaving her side after she learned her daughter became pregnant. Harrell went to the doctors’ appointments and hosted a circus-themed baby shower with custom T-shirts; hers read “Grandma.” After her grandson was born at the University of Chicago Medical Center on March 19, she took every opportunity to hold him.

Her friends believe she may have gotten the virus at the hospital.

When it came time for Harrell to be the patient, nobody was allowed to be by her side. She died on April 4, alone.

A bedside advocate is important for anyone in the medical system but especially the seriously ill. Sociologists say that, though critical, barring visitors during the pandemic to contain the virus may inadvertently magnify its deadly impact.

Human connections had fueled Rosa Lynn Franklin’s recovery after she suffered a stroke several years ago. Though Franklin had to retire from her longtime career as a social worker in her native Alabama, she filled her days with family, friendships and prayer. She moved to Chicago last year to be near her only child, finding a new community in extended family and a church down the street.

As COVID-19 encroached, Franklin, 64, became homebound, worried about how the virus might affect her fragile health. Despite all her precautions, she got sick, and by March 24, she was having such difficulty breathing that her daughter took her to the emergency room at University of Illinois Hospital.

“Because of social distancing, you can’t really do a lot of touching,” her daughter Jimeria Williams said, “so I just kind of patted her on the back and said, ‘I love you, I’ll see you.’”

Franklin was intubated the day after she was admitted, and while Williams was able to talk with the doctors, she could not communicate with her mother, not even by phone. It was the opposite of what had happened after the stroke, when Williams was a constant presence at her mother’s bedside.

“I couldn’t be there to hold her hand. I know she knew that, even though she was unconscious,” she said. “I think that had a metaphysical impact on her health.”

In the early evening of April 3, the hospital was able to connect Williams with her mother through FaceTime. A few minutes after hearing her daughter’s voice, Franklin died.

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Apr 8, 2020

Rebecca Henderson, the John and Natty McArthur University Professor at Harvard University, shared her perspectives on how large organizations are changing in response to the coronavirus pandemic and climate change in the newest episode of “Environmental Insights: Discussions on Policy and Practice from the Harvard Environmental Economics Program.”

Apr 13, 2020

The coronavirus pandemic has provided an opening for Donald Trump to attack transparency, voting rights, and accountability.

Apr 16, 2020

Life right now feels very odd. And it will feel odd for months—and even years—to come.

Apr 16, 2020

Joseph Nye advises skepticism toward claims that the pandemic changes everything. China won't benefit, and the United States will remain preeminent.

Apr 17, 2020

This episode of Horns of a Dilemma touches on whether the failure to properly anticipate and warn about the novel coronavirus constitutes an intelligence failure, what changes might be required in the intelligence community in the wake of the pandemic, and what type of investigation or inquiry might be appropriate in order to learn lessons and incorporate changes for both the intelligence community and the whole of government moving forward.

Apr 20, 2020

Is Zoom secure? What about your home computer? Cyber expert Bruce Schneier says that we all need to be aware of the things cyber criminals thrive on during the confusion caused by coronavirus.

Apr 20, 2020

The authors have identified nearly 100 distinct methods of nonviolent action that include physical, virtual and hybrid actions.

Apr 21, 2020

Stephen Walt argues that as democracies falter, it's worth considering whether the United States made the right call in attempting to create a liberal world order.

Apr 21, 2020

With decision-makers relying on a growing torrent of forecasts regarding COVID-19 and other important issues, it is more important than ever that they ask questions about how the projections were made. To use predictive tools more effectively, policymakers should ask four questions in particular.

Apr 21, 2020

The Arctic Initiative is pairing policy and science scholars with local experts to find practical climate solutions.

Apr 24, 2020

Nathaniel L. Moir recounts the events of 1968: The war in Vietnam and extensive civil unrest in the United States — and yet another big problem that made life harder. In 1968, the H3N2 pandemic killed more individuals in the United States than the combined total number of American fatalities during both the Vietnam and Korean Wars.

Apr 26, 2020

Joseph Nye suggests that a new U.S. administration might take a leaf from the success of the post-1945 American presidents that are described in Do Morals Matter? Presidents and Foreign Policy from FDR to Trump. The United States could launch a massive COVID-19 aid program like the Marshall Plan.

Apr 27, 2020

The authors conducted a study which highlights how the U.S. public as a whole and various demographic groups view President Donald Trump's positions on nuclear weapons.

Apr 28, 2020

Stephen Walt writes that even though Bernie Sanders is out of the presidential race, the time has come for many of the policies that he promoted: Universal Healthcare; Democratic Socialism; Income Redistribution; and Foreign Policy.

Apr 29, 2020

Americans are not going to wait for sufficient testing. So what happens then? Juliette Kayyem describes "opening up" as a high-stakes version of a coloring book. States can use more and more crayons, but the goal is to avoid going over the edges.

Apr 29, 2020

Joel Clement appeared on CNN's Erin Burnett OutFront on April 23, 2020.  In this blog post for the Union of Concerned Scientists, he elaborates on what he wishes he had said during that interview.

May 1, 2020

Joel Clement describes how the Arctic is transforming into a warmer, wetter, and less predictable climate state, what the consequences are for the Arctic's indigenous inhabitants, and what measures can be taken to build resilience.

May 7, 2020

Official figures exclude thousands who have died during the pandemic. To draw the right lessons, the United States needs an accurate tally of the victims.

May 7, 2020

During times of crisis, the most effective leaders are those who can build solidarity by educating the public about its own interests. Sadly, in the case of COVID-19, the leaders of the world's two largest economies have gone in the opposite direction, all but ensuring that the crisis will deepen.

May 8, 2020

Sue Biniaz, former lead climate negotiator for the United States, shared her thoughts on the postponement of COP-26, and on the possible re-engagement of the U.S. in the international effort to address climate change in the newest episode of “Environmental Insights: Discussions on Policy and Practice from the Harvard Environmental Economics Program,” a podcast produced by the Harvard Environmental Economics Program.

Mar 24, 2020

The 2018 National Defense Strategy (NDS) is predicated on a single organizing principle: America’s military pre-eminence is rapidly eroding. This is not a new concept. For years, experts have warned that the economic and technological advancements of U.S. adversaries, coupled with the 2008 financial crisis and America’s focus on peripheral conflicts, have caused a decline in America’s military dominance. 

In this context, the advances of near-peer competitors such as China and Russia have created plausible “theories of victory” in potential conflicts across Eastern Europe and East Asia. Competitors’ unaddressed improvements in strategic innovation, economic investment, and dual-use technology increases the risk of conflict and strains the U.S. alliance system. It is urgent that the United States reestablish and maintain credible deterrents against these near-peer competitors. After decades of focusing on post-Cold War ‘shaping’ operations, the American military needs to reinvigorate for full spectrum great power competition.

This report is intended as a blueprint on how to begin that process from graduate students at the Belfer Center for Science and International Affairs at Harvard University. Contained inside are 12 memorandums. Each provides a high-level overview and specific recommendations on a key issue of American defense policy. 

Mar 25, 2020

Joseph S. Nye: U.S. and China Need a More Cooperative Security Stance

Mar 26, 2020

If nothing else, the long-running Huawei situation shows the importance of considering the supply chain when it comes to cybersecurity. Huawei being the Chinese telecommunications equipment maker basically banned by the federal government. Bruce Schneier joins Host Tom Temin on Federal Drive.

Mar 26, 2020

Joseph Nye writes that while trade wars have set back economic globalization,  the environmental globalization represented by pandemics and climate change is unstoppable. Borders are becoming more porous to everything from drugs to infectious diseases to cyber terrorism, and the United States must use its soft power of attraction to develop networks and institutions that address these new threats.

Apr 1, 2020

Bruce Schneier discusses current security technology concerns with The Politic's Eric Wallach.

Apr 3, 2020

Calder Walton describes four ways how intelligence services are certain to contribute to defeating COVID-19 and why pandemic intelligence will become a central part of future U.S. national security.

Apr 16, 2020

Joseph Nye advises skepticism toward claims that the pandemic changes everything. China won't benefit, and the United States will remain preeminent.

Apr 17, 2020

This episode of Horns of a Dilemma touches on whether the failure to properly anticipate and warn about the novel coronavirus constitutes an intelligence failure, what changes might be required in the intelligence community in the wake of the pandemic, and what type of investigation or inquiry might be appropriate in order to learn lessons and incorporate changes for both the intelligence community and the whole of government moving forward.

Apr 21, 2020

Stephen Walt argues that as democracies falter, it's worth considering whether the United States made the right call in attempting to create a liberal world order.

Apr 24, 2020

In his new book, Do Morals Matter? Presidents and Foreign Policy from FDR to Trump, Joseph S. Nye developed a scorecard to determine how U.S. presidents since 1945 factored questions of ethics and morality into their foreign policy. In an interview, Henry Farrell asked him a few questions to get to the heart of his findings.

Apr 24, 2020

Nathaniel L. Moir recounts the events of 1968: The war in Vietnam and extensive civil unrest in the United States — and yet another big problem that made life harder. In 1968, the H3N2 pandemic killed more individuals in the United States than the combined total number of American fatalities during both the Vietnam and Korean Wars.

Apr 26, 2020

The secretary of state is preparing an argument that the U.S. remains a participant in the Obama-era nuclear deal, with the goal of extending an arms embargo or destroying the accord.

Apr 27, 2020

The authors conducted a study which highlights how the U.S. public as a whole and various demographic groups view President Donald Trump's positions on nuclear weapons.

Apr 28, 2020

 Gen. Mark. A. Milley’s job is to provide sound military advice to the president. But at a deeper level, his responsibility is to safeguard the independence and integrity of the armed forces. The last thing the country needs is a military leadership that’s trying to curry favor with any commander in chief, particularly one who’s hungry for affirmation.

Apr 28, 2020

Stephen Walt writes that even though Bernie Sanders is out of the presidential race, the time has come for many of the policies that he promoted: Universal Healthcare; Democratic Socialism; Income Redistribution; and Foreign Policy.

Apr 29, 2020

The world is on the cusp of a geopolitical reset. The global pandemic could well undermine international institutions, reinforce nationalism and spur de-globalization. But far-sighted leadership could also rekindle cooperation, glimmers of which appeared in the G-20’s offer of debt relief for some of the world’s poorest countries, a joint plea from more than 200 former national leaders for a more coordinated pandemic response and an unprecedented multinational pact to arrest the crash in oil markets.  

May 3, 2020

Rachel Esplin Odell argues for a wiser and more conservative strategy that resists the temptation to exaggerate the challenge posed by China.