Eric Umansky

'Mistakes were made': Inexperienced Trump coder's error put veterans' lives at risk

As the Trump administration prepared to cancel contracts at the Department of Veteran Affairs this year, officials turned to a software engineer with no health care or government experience to guide them.

The engineer, working for the Department of Government Efficiency, quickly built an artificial intelligence tool to identify which services from private companies were not essential. He labeled those contracts “MUNCHABLE.”

The code, using outdated and inexpensive AI models, produced results with glaring mistakes. For instance, it hallucinated the size of contracts, frequently misreading them and inflating their value. It concluded more than a thousand were each worth $34 million, when in fact some were for as little as $35,000.

The DOGE AI tool flagged more than 2,000 contracts for “munching.” It’s unclear how many have been or are on track to be canceled — the Trump administration’s decisions on VA contracts have largely been a black box. The VA uses contractors for many reasons, including to support hospitals, research and other services aimed at caring for ailing veterans.

VA officials have said they’ve killed nearly 600 contracts overall. Congressional Democrats have been pressing VA leaders for specific details of what’s been canceled without success.

We identified at least two dozen on the DOGE list that have been canceled so far. Among the canceled contracts was one to maintain a gene sequencing device used to develop better cancer treatments. Another was for blood sample analysis in support of a VA research project. Another was to provide additional tools to measure and improve the care nurses provide.

ProPublica obtained the code and the contracts it flagged from a source and shared them with a half dozen AI and procurement experts. All said the script was flawed. Many criticized the concept of using AI to guide budgetary cuts at the VA, with one calling it “deeply problematic.”

Cary Coglianese, professor of law and of political science at the University of Pennsylvania who studies the governmental use and regulation of artificial intelligence, said he was troubled by the use of these general-purpose large language models, or LLMs. “I don’t think off-the-shelf LLMs have a great deal of reliability for something as complex and involved as this,” he said.

Sahil Lavingia, the programmer enlisted by DOGE, which was then run by Elon Musk, acknowledged flaws in the code.

“I think that mistakes were made,” said Lavingia, who worked at DOGE for nearly two months. “I’m sure mistakes were made. Mistakes are always made. I would never recommend someone run my code and do what it says. It’s like that ‘Office’ episode where Steve Carell drives into the lake because Google Maps says drive into the lake. Do not drive into the lake.”

Though Lavingia has talked about his time at DOGE previously, this is the first time his work has been examined in detail and the first time he’s publicly explained his process, down to specific lines of code.

Lavingia has nearly 15 years of experience as a software engineer and entrepreneur but no formal training in AI. He briefly worked at Pinterest before starting Gumroad, a small e-commerce company that nearly collapsed in 2015. “I laid off 75% of my company — including many of my best friends. It really sucked,” he said. Lavingia kept the company afloat by “replacing every manual process with an automated one,” according to a post on his personal blog.

Lavingia did not have much time to immerse himself in how the VA handles veterans’ care between starting on March 17 and writing the tool on the following day. Yet his experience with his own company aligned with the direction of the Trump administration, which has embraced the use of AI across government to streamline operations and save money.

Lavingia said the quick timeline of Trump’s February executive order, which gave agencies 30 days to complete a review of contracts and grants, was too short to do the job manually. “That’s not possible — you have 90,000 contracts,” he said. “Unless you write some code. But even then it’s not really possible.”

Under a time crunch, Lavingia said he finished the first version of his contract-munching tool on his second day on the job — using AI to help write the code for him. He told ProPublica he then spent his first week downloading VA contracts to his laptop and analyzing them.

VA press secretary Pete Kasperowicz lauded DOGE’s work on vetting contracts in a statement to ProPublica. “As far as we know, this sort of review has never been done before, but we are happy to set this commonsense precedent,” he said.

The VA is reviewing all of its 76,000 contracts to ensure each of them benefits veterans and is a good use of taxpayer money, he said. Decisions to cancel or reduce the size of contracts are made after multiple reviews by VA employees, including agency contracting experts and senior staff, he wrote.

Kasperowicz said that the VA will not cancel contracts for work that provides services to veterans or that the agency cannot do itself without a contingency plan in place. He added that contracts that are “wasteful, duplicative or involve services VA has the ability to perform itself” will typically be terminated.

Trump officials have said they are working toward a “goal” of cutting around 80,000 people from the VA’s workforce of nearly 500,000. Most employees work in one of the VA’s 170 hospitals and nearly 1,200 clinics.

The VA has said it would avoid cutting contracts that directly impact care out of fear that it would cause harm to veterans. ProPublica recently reported that relatively small cuts at the agency have already been jeopardizing veterans’ care.

The VA has not explained how it plans to simultaneously move services in-house, as Lavingia’s code suggested was the plan, while also slashing staff.

Many inside the VA told ProPublica the process for reviewing contracts was so opaque they couldn’t even see who made the ultimate decisions to kill specific contracts. Once the “munching” script had selected a list of contracts, Lavingia said he would pass it off to others who would decide what to cancel and what to keep. No contracts, he said, were terminated “without human review.”

“I just delivered the [list of contracts] to the VA employees,” he said. “I basically put munchable at the top and then the others below.”

VA staffers told ProPublica that when DOGE identified contracts to be canceled early this year — before Lavingia was brought on — employees sometimes were given little time to justify retaining the service. One recalled being given just a few hours. The staffers asked not to be named because they feared losing their jobs for talking to reporters.

According to one internal email that predated Lavingia’s AI analysis, staff members had to respond in 255 characters or fewer — just shy of the 280 character limit on Musk’s X social media platform.

Once he started on DOGE’s contract analysis, Lavingia said he was confronted with technological limitations. At least some of the errors produced by his code can be traced to using older versions of OpenAI models available through the VA — models not capable of solving complex tasks, according to the experts consulted by ProPublica.

Moreover, the tool’s underlying instructions were deeply flawed. Records show Lavingia programmed the AI system to make intricate judgments based on the first few pages of each contract — about the first 2,500 words — which contain only sparse summary information.

“AI is absolutely the wrong tool for this,” said Waldo Jaquith, a former Obama appointee who oversaw IT contracting at the Treasury Department. “AI gives convincing looking answers that are frequently wrong. There needs to be humans whose job it is to do this work.”

Lavingia’s prompts did not include context about how the VA operates, what contracts are essential or which ones are required by federal law. This led AI to determine a core piece of the agency’s own contract procurement system was “munchable.”

At the core of Lavingia’s prompt is the direction to spare contracts involved in “direct patient care.”

Such an approach, experts said, doesn’t grapple with the reality that the work done by doctors and nurses to care for veterans in hospitals is only possible with significant support around them.

Lavingia’s system also used AI to extract details like the contract number and “total contract value.” This led to avoidable errors, where AI returned the wrong dollar value when multiple were found in a contract. Experts said the correct information was readily available from public databases.

Lavingia acknowledged that errors resulted from this approach but said those errors were later corrected by VA staff.

In late March, Lavingia published a version of the “munchable” script on his GitHub account to invite others to use and improve it, he told ProPublica. “It would have been cool if the entire federal government used this script and anyone in the public could see that this is how the VA is thinking about cutting contracts.”

According to a post on his blog, this was done with the approval of Musk before he left DOGE. “When he asked the room about improving DOGE’s public perception, I asked if I could open-source the code I’d been writing,” Lavingia said. “He said yes — it aligned with DOGE’s goal of maximum transparency.”

That openness may have eventually led to Lavingia’s dismissal. Lavingia confirmed he was terminated from DOGE after giving an interview to Fast Company magazine about his work with the department. A VA spokesperson declined to comment on Lavingia’s dismissal.

VA officials have declined to say whether they will continue to use the “munchable” tool moving forward. But the administration may deploy AI to help the agency replace employees. Documents previously obtained by ProPublica show DOGE officials proposed in March consolidating the benefits claims department by relying more on AI.

And the government’s contractors are paying attention. After Lavingia posted his code, he said he heard from people trying to understand how to keep the money flowing.

“I got a couple DMs from VA contractors who had questions when they saw this code,” he said. “They were trying to make sure that their contracts don’t get cut. Or learn why they got cut.

“At the end of the day, humans are the ones terminating the contracts, but it is helpful for them to see how DOGE or Trump or the agency heads are thinking about what contracts they are going to munch. Transparency is a good thing.”

If you have any information about the misuse or abuse of AI within government agencies, Brandon Roberts is an investigative journalist on the news applications team and has a wealth of experience using and dissecting artificial intelligence. He can be reached on Signal @brandonrobertz.01 or by email brandon.roberts@propublica.org.

If you have information about the VA that we should know about, contact reporter Vernal Coleman on Signal, vcoleman91.99, or via email, vernal.coleman@propublica.org, and Eric Umansky on Signal, Ericumansky.04, or via email, eric.umansky@propublica.org.

'Don’t know if anyone has died': Dems blast Trump admin's 'dangerous impacts' on veterans

Democratic House members on Thursday blasted the Trump administration’s moves to shrink the Department of Veterans Affairs and demanded more transparency from its leaders after a ProPublica investigation revealed widespread disruptions across the agency’s health care system.

ProPublica is a Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative newsroom. Sign up for The Big Story newsletter to receive stories like this one in your inbox.

“There are real-life dangerous impacts for veterans,” said Rep. Chris Deluzio of Pennsylvania, citing the news organization’s work.

This week, ProPublica reported on dozens of emails sent from staff at VA hospitals and clinics across the country to headquarters warning how cuts could, and in some cases are, degrading the agency’s ability to provide for the roughly 9 million veterans who rely on it.

Hiring freezes and other edicts from the White House have left medical providers scrambling and short-staffed amid an ever-shifting series of policy moves, including the cancellation of contracts with companies that maintain cancer registries, the emails said. Staffers at VA centers in Pennsylvania warned the cuts were causing “severe and immediate impacts,” including to “life-saving cancer trials.”

“Enrollment in clinical trials is stopping,” one wrote, “meaning veterans lose access to therapies.” Staffers at the hospital warned more than 1,000 veterans would lose access to treatment for diseases ranging from metastatic head and neck cancers, to kidney disease, to traumatic brain injuries.

On Thursday, the House members, several of whom are veterans, demanded VA leadership provide more details on how cuts are affecting such work, in which service members often receive treatment they would not otherwise have access to.

“We all want to cut waste, fraud and abuse, but what we see today is when you cancel a contract, it means the end of a clinical trial that’s going to save someone’s life,” Rep. Maggie Goodlander of New Hampshire said.

Notably, Deluzio, an Iraq War veteran whose Pittsburgh-area district includes a VA facility, and other lawmakers said they had learned about the impact for the first time from ProPublica’s reporting. On Thursday, they accused agency Secretary Doug Collins of stonewalling their efforts to find out what positions have been laid off, what contracts have been canceled and what future cuts will look like.

“We want the country to understand that this administration is hiding what they are doing, not just from us and the Congress, but from veterans and the American people,” Deluzio said.

“And the worst part is, we don’t know if anyone has died,” he added.

President Donald Trump has long said his administration will prioritize veterans and not compromise their care.

The disruptions at the VA have come even as the department has laid off just a few thousand staffers — a small fraction of the employees it said it ultimately plans to remove. Collins has said the agency is developing plans with Elon Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency to cut at least 70,000 employees — a number that he has underscored is a “goal.” “Could be more, could be less,” he told lawmakers this week.

On Thursday, in a post on X, Collins pushed back on criticism, calling ProPublica’s reporting “misleading” and saying it was based on “some outdated reports from the internal system VA uses to quickly identify and fix issues across the department.”

In a statement, VA press secretary Pete Kasperowicz said that Collins was working to fix a “broken bureaucracy” that has long had problems with patient safety and access to care, among other issues. “Unfortunately, many in the media, government union bosses and some in Congress are fighting to keep in place the broken status quo,” he said. “Our message to Veterans is simple: Despite major opposition from those who don’t want to change a thing at VA, we will reform the department to make it work better for Veterans, families, caregivers and survivors.”

Kasperowicz previously told the news organization that the issues in Pennsylvania have been resolved, though locals there with knowledge of the issues said that’s not the case and that the impact is ongoing. Kasperowicz also said in regard to the contracts to maintain the cancer registries that there had been “no effect on patients.” He added that the VA is moving to create a national contract to administer them.

According to some providers, even the temporary disruptions have hurt the care of veterans. One clinical trial to treat veterans for opioid addiction was hobbled by temporary layoffs. “We couldn’t give veterans a tool that could save their lives,” said Ellie Gordon, the CEO of the startup Behavior, which is testing biosensors to alert veterans to the risk of relapse.

Collins touted the cuts in a sometimes-contentious hearing on Tuesday before the U.S Senate Committee on Veterans’ Affairs.

“We’re going to maintain VA’s mission-essential jobs like doctors, nurses and claims processors, while phasing out non-mission essential roles like interior designers and DEI officers,” he said in an opening statement. The funds saved will be rerouted into direct health care and benefits for veterans, he added.

Some Republicans at the hearing defended the administration’s proposed cuts. “The VA has become a bloated bureaucracy,” said Sen. Tommy Tuberville, who represents Alabama. “I think most of us will agree with that.”

But Sen. Richard Blumenthal, D-Conn., pushed back on Collins’ statements, saying that laying off such a large portion of the staff will inevitably involve letting go of health care workers, like nurses and doctors. “You cannot slash and trash the VA without eliminating those essential positions which provide access and availability of health care,” he said. “It simply cannot be done.”

Others at the hearing took Collins to task for a lack of transparency. Sen. Angus King, I-Maine, admonished the secretary for refusing to provide a list of the 538 canceled contracts since his appointment. Collins said he would provide the information, but only after it’s finalized.

“We’re looking at every step we can, but also, I’m not going to play it out in a public arena,” he said.

'Already losing people': Internal emails reveal Trump cuts are jeopardizing veterans' care

Earlier this year, doctors at Veterans Affairs hospitals in Pennsylvania sounded an alarm. Sweeping cuts imposed by the Trump administration, they told higher-ups in an email, were causing “severe and immediate impacts,” including to “life-saving cancer trials.”

The email said more than 1,000 veterans would lose access to treatment for diseases ranging from metastatic head and neck cancers, to kidney disease, to traumatic brain injuries.

“Enrollment in clinical trials is stopping,” the email warned, “meaning veterans lose access to therapies.”

The administration reversed some of its decisions, allowing some trials to continue for now. Still, other research, including the trials for treating head and neck cancer, has been stalled.

President Donald Trump has long promised to prioritize veterans.

We love our veterans,” he said in February. “We are going to take good care of them.”

After the Department of Veterans Affairs began shedding employees and contracts, Trump’s pick to run the agency, Secretary Doug Collins, pledged, “Veterans are going to notice a change for the better.”

But dozens of internal emails obtained by ProPublica reveal a far different reality. Doctors and others at VA hospitals and clinics across the country have been sending often desperate messages to headquarters detailing how cuts will harm veterans’ care. The VA provides health care to roughly 9 million veterans.

In March, VA officials across the country warned that a critical resource — databases for tracking cancer — would no longer be kept up to date. As officials in the Pacific Northwest explained, the Department of Government Efficiency was moving to kill its contract with the outside company that maintained and ran its cancer registry, where information on the treatment of patients is collected and analyzed. DOGE had marked it for “immediate termination.”

The VA in Detroit raised a similar alarm in an email, warning of the “inability to track oncology treatment and recurrences.” The emails obtained by ProPublica detail a wide variety of disruptions. In Colorado, for instance, layoffs to social workers were causing homeless veterans waiting for temporary housing to go without help.

The warnings, sent as part of a longstanding system at the VA to alert higher-ups of problems, paint a portrait of chaotic retrenchment at an agency that just three years ago was mandated by Congress through the PACT Act to expand care and benefits for veterans facing cancer and other issues after exposure to Agent Orange, burn pits or other toxins.

Doctors and other health care providers across the VA have been left scrambling and short-staffed amid an ever-shifting series of cuts, hiring freezes and other edicts from the White House.

The upheaval laid bare in the emails is particularly striking because the cuts so far would be dwarfed by the dramatic downsizing in staff and shift in priorities the administration has said is coming.

The VA has cut just a few thousand staffers this year. But the administration has said it plans to eliminate at least 70,000 through layoffs and voluntary buyouts within the coming months. The agency, which is the largest integrated health care system in the U.S., currentlyhas nearly 500,000 employees, most of whom work in one of the VA’s 170 hospitals and nearly 1,200 clinics.

Despite an expanded role mandated by Congress through the PACT Act, administration officials have said their goal is to trim the agency to the size it was before the legislation passed.

“The Biden Administration understood what it meant to pay for the cost of war; it seems the Trump Administration does not,” said Rep. Mark Takano, a California Democrat and chief author of the PACT Act.

Documents obtained by ProPublica show DOGE officials working at the VA in March prepared an outline to “transform” the agency that focused on ways to consolidate operations and introduce artificial intelligence tools to handle benefits claims. One DOGE document proposed closing 17 hospitals — and perhaps a dozen more.

VA press secretary Pete Kasperowicz told ProPublica that there would be no hospital closures. “Just because a VA employee wrote something down, doesn’t make it VA policy,” he said in a written statement. But he did say that use of AI will be a big part of what he called VA’s “reform” efforts.

Kasperowicz dismissed the idea that the emails obtained by ProPublica show chaos.

“The only thing these reports show is that VA has a robust and well-functioning system to flag potential issues and quickly fix them so we can provide the best possible care to Veterans,” he wrote.

DOGE did not respond to requests for comment.

The White House released a budget proposal last week that calls for a 4% increase in the VA’s budget. That total includes more money for medical care, though a portion of that would be used to pay for veterans to seek care outside the VA medical system.

More answers to the VA’s larger plans may come today, when Collins is scheduled to testify before the Senate Veterans Committee, his first hearing on Capitol Hill since coming into office.

David Shulkin, who headed the VA in Trump’s first term, said the administration is too focused on cuts rather than communicating a strategy for improving care for vets.

“I think it’s very, very hard to be successful with the approach that they’re taking,” Shulkin told ProPublica.

One way local VA officials have tried to limit the damage has been by sending warnings — formally known as an issue brief — to higher-ups. And sometimes it works.

After officials in Los Angeles warned that “all chemotherapy” would stop unless Washington backed off killing a service contract, the VA reversed its decision.

And, amid growing scrutiny, the administration also made some researchers in Pennsylvania and elsewhere exempt from cuts. The laid-off social workers who helped homeless vets in Colorado were also brought back after about a month away from their jobs. Kasperowicz said that four social workers were affected but “their caseload was temporarily redistributed to other members of the homeless team.”

The warnings from officials across the country underscore how the comparatively modest cuts so far are already affecting the work of the VA’s medical system, with the study and treatment of cancer cited in multiple warnings to agency leadership.

“We have absolutely felt the impact of the chaos all around us. We’re already losing people,“ said one senior researcher, who spoke to ProPublica anonymously for fear of retaliation.

Referring to studies, he added: “We’re going to be losing things that can’t restart.”

And while Kasperowicz told ProPublica that the issues in Pennsylvania have been resolved, locals there said that’s not the case and that the impact is ongoing.

In Pittsburgh, two trials to treat veterans with advanced head and neck cancer, which officials in March had warned were at risk because of hiring freezes, have still not started, according to Alanna Caffas, who heads a Pittsburgh nonprofit, the Veterans Health Foundation, that partners with the VA on research.

“It’s insane,” Caffas said. “These veterans should be able to get access to research treatments, but they can’t.”

A third trial there, to help veterans with opioid addiction, wasn’t halted. Instead, it was hobbled by layoffs of key team members, according to Caffas and another person involved in the research.

Regarding the issues with cancer registries, Kasperowicz said there had been “no effect on patients.” He added that the VA is moving to create a national contract to administer those registries.

Rosie Torres, founder of Burn Pits 360, the veterans advocacy group that also pushed hard for the legislation, called the emails showing impeded cancer treatment a “crisis in the making” and “gutwrenching.”

That the decisions are being made without input from the communities of vets they affect is worse, she added.

“If they are killing contracts that may affect the delivery of care, then we have a right to know,” she said.

Last week, as the second Trump administration marked its first 100 days in office, Collins celebrated what he described as its achievements.

In a recorded address, he said that under his stewardship the VA processed record numbers of benefit claims, ended “divisive” spending on diversity initiatives and redirected millions of agency dollars from “non-mission-critical” programs back toward services to benefit veterans.

“We will not stop working to put veterans first,” he wrote in an accompanying op-ed.

Others say Collins has done no such thing. Instead of focusing on veterans, said one VA oncologist, “we’re spending an enormous amount of time preparing for a staffing catastrophe.”

“Veterans’ lives are on the line,” the doctor said. “Let us go back to work and take care of them.”

Alex Mierjeski contributed research, and Joel Jacobs contributed reporting.

Here's why rapid COVID tests are so expensive and hard to find

This was first published by ProPublica, a Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative newsroom. Sign up for The Big Story newsletter to receive stories like this one in your inbox.

A few weeks ago, a ProPublica reporter decided to test his kids for COVID-19. They had the sniffles, and with a grandparent set to visit he wanted to minimize the risk that they were infectious.

This was the problem that quick, cheap COVID-19 tests were supposed to help fix. No need to go to a clinic or wait days for results. Just pick up a pack of tests at a local pharmacy whenever you want, swab your nose and learn within 15 minutes if you're likely to pass the virus along.

So the ProPublican went to his neighborhood CVS, hoping to buy the required pack of two for $23.99. They were out of stock. Then he went to Rite Aid. They didn't have the tests either. Then Walgreens, then another CVS. All out of stock. The only supplier with a few tests to offer was his sister, who happened to have a few tucked away.

It's a familiar experience for many Americans. But not for people in Britain, who get free rapid tests delivered to their homes on demand. Or France, Germany or Belgium, where at-home tests are ubiquitous and as cheap as a decent cappuccino.

So why are at-home tests still so pricey and hard to find in the United States?

The answer appears to be a confounding combination of overzealous regulation and anemic government support — issues that have characterized America's testing response from the beginning of the pandemic.

Companies trying to get the Food and Drug Administration's approval for rapid COVID-19 tests describe an arbitrary, opaque process that meanders on, sometimes long after their products have been approved in other countries that prioritize accessibility and affordability over perfect accuracy.

After the FDA put out a call for more rapid tests in the summer of 2020, Los Angeles-based biotech company WHPM, Inc. began working on one. They did a peer-reviewed trial following the agency's directions, then submitted the results this past March.

In late May, WHPM head of international sales Chris Patterson said, the company got a confusing email from its FDA reviewer asking for information that had in fact already been provided. WHPM responded within two days. Months passed. In September, after a bit more back and forth, the FDA wrote to say it had identified other deficiencies, and wouldn't review the rest of the application. Even if WHPM fixed the issues, the application would be “deprioritized," or moved to the back of the line.

“We spent our own million dollars developing this thing, at their encouragement, and then they just treat you like a criminal," said Patterson. Meanwhile, the WHPM rapid test has been approved in Mexico and the European Union, where the company has received large orders.

An FDA scientist who vetted COVID-19 test applications told ProPublica he became so frustrated by delays that he quit the agency earlier this year. “They're neither denying the bad ones or approving the good ones," he said, asking to remain anonymous because his current work requires dealing with the agency.

FDA officials said they simply want to ensure that rapid tests detect even low levels of the virus, since false negative test results could cause people to unwittingly spread the disease. They blame the test shortages on an absence of the kind of sustained public funding that European governments have provided. Without it, manufacturers have lacked confidence that going through the FDA's process would be financially worth the trouble.

“Where we have seen tests truly coming to the marketplace, the big difference has been government investment," said Dr. Jeff Shuren, head of the FDA's Center for Devices and Radiological Health, which authorizes tests. “Folks will come and do larger volumes because you're supporting production, which can also help drive down prices."

Both the Trump and Biden administrations banked on vaccines putting a swift end to the pandemic, holding off on large-scale purchases of COVID-19 tests that Americans could keep in their medicine cabinets.

As a result, one of the few companies that has successfully gotten tests authorized and onto shelves — Abbott Laboratories — has dominated the market. Its BinaxNOW tests account for around 75% of U.S. retail sales, according to data from NielsenIQ, even though they're sold here for several times the price of the same Abbott tests in Europe.

In the past two months, the Biden administration has takensteps to make home tests more widely available. As more tests are authorized and more purchase orders are signed, pharmacy shelves are starting to fill up.

But that still may not be enough, as manufacturers scramble to build supply chains capable of delivering the tens of millions of tests per week that public health experts estimate will be necessary to keep schools and workplaces open and safe. Employers charged with testing their entire workforces have found themselves in bidding wars in order to secure adequate supply.

As with the slow ramp-up of lab testing at the beginning of the pandemic, the delays have come with a cost.

“It feels like in one place we're in a rocket ship and in another place we're on training wheels," said Rep. Kim Schrier, D-Wash., contrasting vaccines and testing. Schrier, a former pediatrician who has been pushing the agency to authorize more rapid tests, said, “You can't count on the free market during a pandemic."

The U.S. testing response has been troubled from the beginning of the pandemic, seesawing between caution and overcorrection.

In February 2020, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention took weeks to develop its own test, which later turned out to have falsely flagged other viruses, allowing the one that causes COVID-19 to gain a foothold in the U.S.

Then the FDA became more permissive, allowing privately developed tests that detected antibodies from previous infections to enter the market after only cursory review. When dozens of the tests turned out to be inaccurate, the FDA prohibited their use.

Meanwhile, the FDA grappled with thousands of applications for “emergency use authorizations," or EUAs. The process for EUAs is less involved than for full approval but still requires extensive clinical and real-world evaluation. Most EUAs issued have been for PCR tests, which are highly sensitive — meaning they can detect even low levels of the virus — but typically take days to return results.

Another form of diagnostics, antigen tests, can return results quickly and cheaply, similar to a pregnancy test. They're less sensitive, but usually good enough to determine whether someone is infectious.

Recognizing the potential market for antigen tests, companies began submitting more EUA applications in late 2020. But the FDA was wary about this type of test, mostly warning of the danger of false negatives in the earliest stages of infection.

FDA officials were particularly concerned about allowing tests to be administered outside the purview of a trained health care provider. “To mitigate the impact of false results, all Covid-19 tests authorized to date have been made available only by prescription, so that clinicians can interpret results for patients," wrote Shuren and his deputy Dr. Tim Stenzel in an October 2020 column in The New England Journal of Medicine.

That cautious approach persisted all through the winter and early spring, despite rising agitation from the White House and Congress around the availability of tests.

“I actually have been saying that for months and months and months, we should be literally flooding the system with easily accessible, cheap, not needing a prescription, point of care, highly sensitive and highly specific" tests, White House chief medical advisor Dr. Anthony Fauci said under questioning from Schrier in a hearing on March 17.

Stenzel, a microbiology Ph.D. who in 2018 became director of the office that authorizes diagnostic tests, holds the most day-to-day power over whether a test gets approved. He worked at biotech companies for most of his career before coming to the FDA, leading some to wonder if those prior relationships played a role in determining which testmakers became the most important players in the market.

Among Stenzel's former employers were Abbott and the San Diego-based Quidel Corporation, the first two companies to sell self-administered, prescription-free COVID tests in large volumes.

Quidel CEO Doug Bryant said in a promotional video that in early 2020, the company wasn't planning on designing a COVID-19 test until he got a call from a trusted contact at the FDA. That contact was Stenzel, the agency confirmed.

Quidel and Abbott had their at-home tests approved about a year later. On an earnings call, Quidel's Bryant said it was “the most significant inflection point for our company." In the third quarter of 2021, Quidel made $406 million from its various COVID-19 tests, blowing past Wall Street's expectations. “There is no denying Quidel has put itself in position to win big in COVID-19 testing," wrote an analyst with the firm William Blair. Abbott made $1.9 billion globally on its COVID-19 tests.

Ethics disclosures show that Stenzel holds no Abbott or Quidel stock, and it's been several years since he worked at either company. But Stenzel's ties to the two major test manufacturers and the slow pace of authorizations for other companies' at-home tests drew a letter from an anti-monopoly think tank, the American Economic Liberties Project, calling for an investigation.

Stenzel denied any improper conduct, and pointed out that his office issued recalls to both Abbott and Quidel for problems with other COVID-19 tests. He also noted that the office designed relatively easy-to-follow templates for new types of COVID-19 tests to help companies that hadn't dealt with the FDA before.

“We understood that there were a bunch of companies that were new to the FDA, and we provided them an immense amount of support, saying, 'This is how you do it,'" Stenzel said.

The FDA has said it “engaged with more than 100 test developers" about making diagnostics. The agency declined to provide the names, citing confidentiality concerns.

Quidel acknowledged the administration had reached out, but didn't comment on its discussions with Stenzel, while Abbott said it had spoken to “many people across multiple areas of government" early in the pandemic.

Most companies don't have the same familiarity with the people adjudicating their applications.

Nanōmix, a diagnostics designer based in Emeryville, California, developed a rapid test with the help of a federal grant and submitted it to the FDA in February. In early June, an FDA reviewer sent back a list of questions, giving Nanōmix a deadline of 48 hours to respond. The company couldn't provide answers that quickly, so it was sent to the back of the line.

“We start development on a set of guidance," said Nanōmix CEO David Ludvigson. “Then they change the guidance after we're done, and expect us to have conformed to their revised guidance."

The FDA has been particularly circumspect with more novel approaches to testing, such as an olfactory test that detects the common COVID-19 symptom of loss of smell. The agency's reviewers deprioritized an application for the scratch-and-sniff card even though it had been proven to stem transmission, said inventor Derek Toomre, a professor at the Yale School of Medicine.

Other companies, big and small, have been tripped up by FDA demands that seem minor in view of the urgency of the situation.

For example, the biopharmaceutical giant Roche told ProPublica that it submitted a home test in early 2021, but it was rejected by the FDA because the trials had been done partly in Europe. The test had comparedfavorably with Abbott's rapid test, and received European Union approval in June. The company plans to resubmit an application by the end of the year.

A smaller company, which didn't want to be named because it has other contracts with the U.S. government, withdrew its pre-application for a rapid antigen test with integrated smartphone-based reporting because it heard its trial data from India — collected as the delta variant was surging there — wouldn't be accepted. Doing the trials in the U.S. would have cost millions.

The FDA reviewer who quit this May described what the delays looked like from the inside. With a background in virology, he could evaluate the hundreds of pages in an application within a few days. But then, something strange happened: The applications would go nowhere for months as higher-up officials seemed paralyzed by indecision.

“I could easily process dozens of them, but I ended up with one or two in my queue constantly. They would stay there forever," he said. “I had a lot of free time."

His experience is reflected in an outside review of the EUA process conducted by the consulting firm Booz Allen Hamilton, which found that the median number of days it took the FDA to issue a decision on original applications rose to 99 in November 2020 from 29 the previous April, with denials taking substantially longer than authorizations. The assessment also found “limited understanding in the test developer community on how to appropriately validate a diagnostic test."

Stenzel said that any delays were a consequence of careful review, and that the office received many applications that were incomplete or had shoddy data.

“If we have questions or concerns about a test, they will not be prioritized the same way a test will be that we have fewer questions about," Stenzel said. “Those will be cycled to the front, and it makes good public health sense to move forward those tests that are most likely to pass muster and get authorized. ... There are always good reasons for why something is delayed."

European countries generally maintain similar guidelines for the accuracy of tests, but are less particular about how trials must be conducted. For example, test developers are allowed to limit their samples to subjects with high viral loads, for whom antigen tests perform better.

The FDA, however, remains concerned that the typical method for measuring viral load isn't consistent, leading to the risk of overestimating the accuracy of the test. Advocates of the European approach point out that being able to identify an infection in its earliest stages won't help much if a PCR result doesn't come back for days, so even a less sensitive at-home antigen test is valuable — especially since people are much more likely to be able to access them in the first place than PCR tests.

Europe's differing approach has resulted in 39 rapid self-administered antigen tests being authorized by the European Union, according to a database maintained by Arizona State University. The U.S. has authorized 12, nine of which are available without a prescription.

A consultant who works with smaller companies trying to get products through the FDA — and who asked for anonymity in order to protect his clients who have business before the agency — said he understands the argument that more robust applications from companies with larger manufacturing capacity should go first.

The problem with this logic, he said, is that it's now fall and the pandemic is ongoing, with the possibility of new variants still unknown. “And it's not like you can flip a switch with the Defense Production Act and you're going to get magically much more capacity," he said. “We needed a 'thousand flowers bloom' approach. We needed everyone and their brother pitching in with these tests."

The federal government could also have buttressed the supply of rapid COVID-19 tests by purchasing large quantities from companies able to manufacture them in bulk, and then providing them to consumers at low or no cost.

Shuren and Stenzel recommended as much a year ago in their New England Journal of Medicine column. They wrote that the U.S. government should have authorized a handful of tests and had the CDC contract with those manufacturers, rather than trying to vet thousands of diagnostics, which they called “an inefficient use of resources."

European countries essentially did both, authorizing dozens of rapid antigen tests to be sold while contracting with a few companies to provide millions of them free of charge to individuals. The U.K., for example, allocated $50 billion over two years to set up a national test and trace program that delivers rapid tests to anyone upon request. It hasn't worked perfectly or averted lockdowns, but advocates argue it's better than the U.S. alternative of rapid tests being nearly impossible to find.

For Germany's free testing program, which ran from March through October, the government initially bought 800 million rapid tests and 200 million home tests from a shorter list of manufacturers that had undergone additional vetting. The country also required the unvaccinated to present fresh test results for most activities that involve congregating with other people.

Although the U.S. government has spent billions of dollars on testing — estimates of the total vary, given the number of funding streams — self-administered tests are usually not covered by insurance, and there is no centralized system for distributing them.

In the late winter and early spring of 2020-21, the federal government spent hundreds of millions of dollars to buy point-of-care tests, but they were mostly reserved for use in facilities like nursing homes and military bases. The economic stimulus bill that passed in March allocated $10 billion for screening in schools, which don't usually rely on home tests. Then, the focus shifted to vaccines.

In May, the CDC leaned hard into the message that vaccines were almost completely protective, mitigating the need for frequent testing. Manufacturers took that as a bad sign for testing volume. Abbott ramped down manufacturing of its popular home test.

At that time, Stenzel seemed satisfied with the availability of tests. “We believe we're doing a great job at meeting the public health need at this point," he said in June on his weekly town hall call with test developers.

With no long-term government purchasing programs in place, companies had less interest in getting new tests through the pipeline, making it difficult for even promising concepts to get commercial pickup. With the help of a federal grant meant to accelerate COVID-related technologies, Iowa State University professor Nigel Reuel developed a mailable paper test in April, but he said he's not sure it'll be worth it to take the step of clinical trials.

It's really hard, Reuel said, for a company to “say we're going to invest tons in this when we don't know what the long-term market for it is."

All this meant that when the delta variant hit in July, not only were PCR appointments suddenly hard to get, but home tests became vanishingly rare and reliant on a single manufacturer: Abbott, whose BinaxNOW test peaked during late summer at 90% of the market in retail over-the-counter sales. That dipped somewhat in September, when a few additional companies were able to get on shelves.

On an earnings call in October, Abbott CEO Robert Ford said the company anticipated dropping its price to maintain its market share, but wouldn't if competition didn't make it necessary.

Asked why its rapid tests are abundant and cheap in Europe and scarce in the U.S., Abbott spokesperson John Koval chalked it up to Europe's public support, both in its regulatory system and through government funding.

“It has taken more than a year for the American public, scientific experts and academia to accept the important role of rapid testing in the U.S.," Koval said. “Overseas, that was not the case, because the value of rapid testing was better understood prior to the pandemic."

Sentiment in Washington has been changing. In late October, Sen. Dick Durbinsent a letter urging “appropriate flexibility in regulatory standards" for at-home tests. And over the past month, the White House has thrown more weight behind rapid testing, announcing $1 billion in purchase commitments for home tests. Recognizing the difficulty of quickly securing the necessary volume of raw materials for tests, the Department of Health and Human Services awarded another $560 million to 13 companies for test components like swabs, pipette tips, packaging and other production capabilities.

Still, some of the government's efforts haven't added up to much.

In September, the White House announced that Walmart, Amazon and Kroger would sell COVID-19 tests at cost for the following three months. But no subsidy was involved, and for most of the first two months, the retailers were often out of stock. Tests available online are often sold by third-party distributors, and Amazon and Walmart said they don't control those prices, so they remain high.

At CVS, which didn't participate in the agreement with the White House, a Quidel kit — which costs $12 wholesale — still sells for $23.99.

Same with Rite Aid, but when one of us visited a store in Brooklyn this Wednesday, employees said they hadn't received a shipment of BinaxNOW kits in a month, until they got seven the day before. “They immediately sold out. And that was limiting it to one per person," said Roxanne, a pharmacy technician who declined to give her last name.

Meanwhile, the U.S. is moving to take on more responsibility over the validation of tests. Last week, the National Institutes of Health announced a new program to do much of the work for test developers, mitigating the back and forth around what's good enough. That resembles the process run by some European governments, although Shuren said the U.S. will still maintain tougher standards.

All of those steps would have been more helpful when experts began calling for them a year ago.

“We need to have a rethinking, during and after this pandemic, to talk about the role of testing," said Mara Aspinall, who co-founded the Biomedical Diagnostics program at Arizona State University's College of Health Solutions. “It's a fundamental piece of our fight. And that was realized too late."

Do you have information about COVID-19 testing that we should know? Email lydia.depillis@propublica.org or message her on Signal at 202-913-3717. Email eric.umansky@propublica.org or message him on Signal at 917-687-8406.

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News At Any Cost

At a glance, the office of Tijuana's weekly newspaper, Zeta, gives just a hint of the kind of publication that is produced inside. It sits on a residential street in a middle-class neighborhood, and only a small plaque seems to distinguish it from the rest of the block's modest family homes. Look closer and a theme emerges: the building is set back from the street, with much of it obscured by a concrete wall; no first-floor windows are visible; and the front door has heavy grating.

Watching the paper's editor and publisher, J. Jesús Blancornelas, arrive for work dispels any doubts. A caravan of three vehicles pulls up, two Suburbans and a blacked-out Chevrolet Caprice. Out pile fourteen serious-looking men -- soldiers in the Mexican Army -- bristling with M-16 assault rifles, shotguns, copious clips of ammunition, and body armor. That level of protection would be surprising for a journalist in Baghdad, let alone for one in a quiet neighborhood thirty minutes from downtown San Diego.

The precautions are for good reason, though. According to the Drug Enforcement Administration, a significant majority of illegal drugs destined for the U.S. -- marijuana, cocaine, and heroin -- transit through Mexico. Tijuana, host to one of the world's most heavily traveled border crossings, is a strategic chokepoint. In the first four months of this year, there were 163 homicides in Tijuana, many drug-related.

Local journalists know how dangerous it is to shine a spotlight on the trade and the corruption it fuels among Mexican officials. Nine reporters have been killed in northern Mexico in the past decade, with the perpetrators enjoying what the Committee to Protect Journalists calls a "nearly perfect record of impunity." In such an environment, Zeta stands out, both for the work it has produced and the costs it has incurred.

Since Blancornelas started Zeta twenty-five years ago, it has been challenging the nexus between drug lords, local officials, and business leaders. As a result, Blancornelas has been wounded in an assassination attempt, and two top Zeta editors have been killed, the most recent one in June of last year.

The deaths have had a curious effect on Blancornelas. He evinces a determination to continue, but a regret for ever having started. It's a mix of emotions that can't be made any simpler by the fact that many journalists in Tijuana see Blancornelas not as a hero, but as obsessed and vainglorious. Meanwhile, the man Blancornelas believes is behind at least the first murder at Zeta is not only still free, he's Tijuana's new mayor.

"If my colleagues hadn't been killed," says Blancornelas, "I would have retired a long time ago. But I can't now. I need to fight and to clarify what's happened. That's my purpose."

We are in Zeta's conference room, where the windows look out onto a wall inches away. Blancornelas is primly dressed in a blue blazer and pants, trailed by a whiff of cologne. He speaks in precise, measured tones and, at least with strangers, smiles little.

Blancornelas did not start out as a muckraker, or dream of being one. "I was a sportswriter," he says. "But when I arrived at the paper that had hired me in Tijuana they said they only had an opening for politics. Thirty-five years later here I am."

It has been a circuitous path. With his assignment to cover politics, Blancornelas quickly gravitated toward covering the corruption endemic in the system. As Mexico's press slowly retreated in recent decades from its traditions of self-censorship and domination by the state, Blancornelas was alternately promoted and forced out of a series of papers. In 1977, frustrated after an owner had quashed one of his columns, Blancornelas and a colleague, Héctor Félix Miranda, co-founded the independent newspaper ABC. Blancornelas quickly found himself facing questionable charges of fraud, and he fled to the U.S. In 1980, he and Félix started Zeta. Though the paper was based in Tijuana, Blancornelas worked in exile in the San Diego area. Two years later, after Mexico inaugurated a new president, the charges were dropped and Blancornelas returned to Tijuana.

In the early 1980s, Tijuana was breaking free of its traditional role as a party town for American sailors and teenagers. At the center of the change was a drug cartel known as the Arellano Brothers. They were stunningly violent -- victims were often not just killed, but tortured and dismembered -- and for years effectively controlled Tijuana, living openly and opulently. Unlike many local papers, Zeta did not shy away from the Arellanos. One cover story in 1985 announced, THE MAFIA INVADES BAJA CALIFORNIA. In it, the paper peeled away some of the mystery surrounding the gang, explaining how it arrived in Tijuana, the local officials on the take, and even their addresses. In response, Blancornelas says, the government bought every copy of Zeta on the street. Zeta responded by printing another batch, this time with CENSORED! splashed across the top.

The paper was harassed from the start -- shots fired at the office, a break-in where nothing was stolen but the papers' files were rifled through. Then, eight years after its founding, Zeta suffered its first casualty.

Zeta's cofounder, Félix, chronicled life in Tijuana in an irreverent column, which he signed "Félix the Cat." It was a sort of Page Six for the drug-running and high-society crowd, and loaded with innuendo.

One of Félix's favorite targets was Jorge Hank Rhon, a local businessman who was elected mayor in August 2004. Hank Rhon was the son of one of Mexico's most prominent politicians, and came to Tijuana to run the city's storied race track, Agua Caliente, which the DEA has long suspected of money laundering. He was also an eccentric, owner of a private zoo with an estimated 20,000 animals, and the host of lavish parties.

Hank and Félix were initially friends, and Félix was invited to Hank's parties, presumably so he would provide favorable coverage. But the two had an unexplained falling out, after which Félix persistently needled Hank in his column, dubbing him (in a reference to Hank's alleged appetite for cocaine) the "Abominable Snowman."

In April 1988, not long after their friendship disintegrated, Félix was murdered. Two assailants were caught and convicted a few months later. Both worked in security at Hank's race track, and one was Hank's chief bodyguard. They acknowledged that they had hid at the track after the murder, and according to coverage in Zeta, cashed a $10,000 ticket while there. Hank, who has consistently denied any involvement, reportedly paid for his chief bodyguard's defense.

Blancornelas recalls the investigation, or lack of one. "They arrested two people," he says, "but never the intellectual author." Every week since the killing, Zeta has run an ad: "Jorge Hank Rhon, Why did your bodyguard kill me? -- Héctor 'Gato' Félix Miranda."

The attack, and Zeta's response to it, would become part of a pattern. Blancornelas launched his own investigation, often scooping the police. At times, though, it became unclear which was more important, the journalism or the investigation itself. Soon after the killing, one Zeta cover announced, THERE WERE FOUR. Blancornelas says that at the time he knew of only three suspects but decided to publish the wrong number in the hope that other papers, driven by competitive zeal and a desire to prove Zeta wrong, would get the police to divulge more information.

In the years following the assassination, Zeta's coverage continued to center on Félix's murder, Hank, and, particularly the Arellano gang. In 1997, Blancornelas wrote a piece connecting one Arellano henchman to the murder of two Mexican soldiers. Four days later, two cars cut Blancornelas off as he was on the way to work and fired roughly 200 bullets into his car. Blancornelas was hit four times but survived because his driver, who died, shielded him.

Since the attack, Blancornelas travels only between home and work, and is never without his platoon of bodyguards. "I don't go to the movies. I don't go to restaurants," he says. "I go back to my house Friday afternoon and stay until Monday morning. I don't leave for anything."

His reporting and sacrifices have made Blancornelas something of a cause célèbre. He's been profiled in the Los Angeles Times and elsewhere, and has won a raft of U.S.-based awards. The general picture painted is of a lone vigilante in a sea of corruption.

It's an image that irks many in the local press corps. "Blancornelas wants to think he's the only honest journalist in Tijuana, and it's just not that way," says Dora Elena Cortes, an award-winning journalist who has received her share of threats for reporting on narco-trafficking. "He's an excellent reporter. But he's also a magnificent PR man."

The distaste seems to go both ways. When I name a handful of journalists I plan on contacting, Blancornelas says that most aren't worth my time. One local reporter, who preferred not to be named, talks of respecting him but is irked by what the reporter perceives as Blancornelas's mix of haughtiness and paranoia. "The closer you get to Blancornelas, the more you see him as a human being," says the journalist. "He's arrogant and not generous with other reporters. But he's also brave and has given his life to a cause. Both perspectives are true."

Other papers report on the cartels, but rarely do they dig as deep as Zeta. Last year, for instance, the paper published a piece on the murder of a former state attorney, alleging complicity between the Arellanos and the local police. Francisco Ortiz Franco, the reporter who wrote the article, was so concerned about the fallout that Blancornelas agreed to put his byline on it instead.

Blancornelas is sixty-eight. He had been talking about finally stepping back and handing Zeta to the paper's younger journalists, which includes his son. Then last June, Ortiz, the forty-eight-year-old writer and editor whom Blancornelas tried to protect, was shot to death in his car, with his two children in the back seat unhurt. Ortiz had just begun writing about drugs. Weeks before he was killed, he had published a piece naming Arellano men who, with the apparent aid of somebody in the attorney general's office, had procured police IDs. Ortiz had also recently been hired by a Latin American press association to take another look at the Félix case.

The murder brought international attention -- and a federal-level investigation from Mexico City, a first. But other trends continued. Despite the scrutiny the case has brought, the investigation has languished; there have been no arrests. Suspicions abound. Blancornelas says the state attorney called about the killing about ten minutes after it happened. But the police, whose headquarters were just two blocks away from where Ortiz was shot, did not arrive for half an hour.

And again, Zeta seems to have spearheaded the investigation. It named several Arellano gunmen it said were responsible, as well as a number of police officers it said worked as lookouts. "We know who killed Ortiz; we've published it," says Blancornelas. "But the police haven't done anything, not even investigated to dismiss our reporting."

Such a lack of accountability is typical in Tijuana, and fuels a culture of rumor and innuendo. When drug traffickers assassinate a local official, the presumption usually isn't that he was a good guy who paid the price, but that he was in the pocket of rival traffickers. (Some local observers who have complained about Blancornelas implied just that about him, but provided no evidence.)

Still, Blancornelas takes a somewhat flexible view of what constitutes journalism. One of the first issues of Zeta after Ortiz was killed was headlined, THE SUSPECTS. Among the three named in the article was Jorge Hank Rhon, who at the time was in the middle of his mayoral campaign. Neither the police nor the investigators from the Committee to Protect Journalists have uncovered evidence linking Hank to Ortiz's murder. Asked about it, Blancornelas acknowledges he has no evidence pointing to the mayor. "We only said 'suspects,'" he says. "It was up to the police to go from there."

In a city where the truth is almost impossible to ferret out and the risks of trying are high, it's no surprise that the man who stubbornly seeks answers to the mysteries is a bit of a zealot.

Giving a tour of Zeta's newsroom one Monday morning, Blancornelas pokes his head into an empty office. He points, a bit defensively, to a poster on the wall: "It's better to lose your story than your credibility." In the office next door is a bank of computers, and Blancornelas steps up to one. "This was Ortiz's computer," he says. "We don't let anybody use it now."

Blancornelas insists that he's not on a crusade. Few in Tijuana believe it, and his habits undercut his case. "Seven years after I was left for dead, I often feel good," he says. "I have my grandchildren. But other people have died. I can't sit. I work Friday, Saturday, Sunday. All the time." Has it been worth it?

"No. I wish I had just continued to write about sports."

The Devil and Erin Brockovich

Erin Brockovich-Ellis, the environmental crusader whose story graced movie screens a few years ago, launched her latest campaign last spring. Along with Edward Masry, the lawyer she still works for, Brockovich-Ellis (who changed her name after remarrying) made a stunning allegation: Oil wells on the campus of Beverly Hills High School were spewing a carcinogen -- benzene -- and causing cancer among students, staff, and alumni.

After meeting a young graduate who has had two types of cancer, and hearing about the wells on campus, Brockovich-Ellis headed out to test the air around the school in November 2002. "I was just sitting in the bleachers," she told parents gathered for a meeting last March at the Beverly Hills Hotel, "and we got benzene readings that were at very alarming levels -- at least five times higher than on the 405," a freeway. The result of this contamination, she continued, was Hodgkin's disease at sixteen times the expected levels among alumni.

Brockovich-Ellis didn't offer the school district or city officials her test results, nor did she invite officials to the meeting. Instead, she went to the media. In February 2003, a month before the meeting with parents, she gave an exclusive interview on the test results to CBS's Los Angeles affiliate, KCBS. Titled "Toxic School?" the segment began, "If your child goes to Beverly Hills High School, you should pay specific attention to this story, because there is growing evidence that going to school, sitting in classrooms, and especially exercising on the play fields could have your child breathing toxic fumes." Brockovich-Ellis told KCBS that after she first detected high benzene levels, six subsequent tests produced the same results.

The case had the perfect mix of ingredients -- wealth, celebrities, and the whiff of scandal. (Beverly, as the school is known, has graduates ranging from the actor Nicolas Cage to Monica Lewinsky, and has been earning royalties from the oil wells for decades.) A mini media frenzy ensued, with coverage from Good Morning America to The New York Times to newspapers in New Zealand. "Beverly Hills is not all Botox, faux-Spanish mansions and imported sports cars," wrote the august Economist magazine. "It also has cancer clusters, and these have become Erin Brockovich's latest crusade."

Journalists noted that there were two sides of the story: Brockovich-Ellis said there was a problem, while the city and the wells' owner, a company named Venoco, said there wasn't. The New York Times's coverage was typical, offering dueling quotes while leaning toward Brockovich-Ellis's position: a celebrity school's students say oil wells are making them sick, announced a June 17 story.

But was there, in fact, a problem?

One reporter -- a former stand-up comedian working for one of the lowest-profile publications in Los Angeles -- decided to find out. In the process she helped uncover what appears to be a Hollywood heroine's campaign of deception.

Norma Zager, editor-in-chief of the Beverly Hills Courier, a free weekly, doesn't fit the image of a muckraker. Zager, who is fifty-seven, often wears a suede cowboy jacket with tassels, is (endlessly) cheery, and looks, well, like the contented Jewish mother that she is. (She has two grown children.) "I'm usually the biggest pussycat reporter around," says Zager. "I get my feelings hurt if somebody calls up to complain about one of my stories."

Zager, who briefly worked as a reporter in Detroit after college, spent about fourteen years doing stand-up comedy routines in Los Angeles and Las Vegas before deciding in 1999 to return to journalism. She found work as a reporter for the Courier, and about a year ago was promoted to the top spot. (It wasn't a huge jump; the Courier has two full-time editorial employees.) The paper typically covers A-list charity balls and small-town happenings. bh park rangers share experiences, it announced recently. Zager's duties range from editing and reporting, to writing a column on celebrity homes.

The Courier's newsroom isn't impressive. The day I visit the low-slung, nondescript building, Zager is simultaneously writing a story, digging out court files for me to peruse on the Brockovich-Ellis case, and chatting on the phone with what seems to be a suitor who invites her to a party hosted by Lee Iacocca (she declines).

Soon after KCBS's report about toxins at Beverly, Masry and Brockovich-Ellis called their March meeting for parents and other potential claimants. Zager attended and quickly grew skeptical. Government regulators had tested the air around Beverly and found no significant amounts of benzene. When parents asked about the discrepancy, Zager recalls, "Masry and Brockovich started blustering and telling people to shut up. So I said to myself, �Okay, we've got a scam on our hands. Now what do I do?'"

Zager says she decided to learn everything she could about oil wells, benzene, and cancer clusters. Meanwhile, independent and government experts looked into the case. Toxicologists, epidemiologists, and oil regulators all dismissed Brockovich-Ellis's and Masry's assertions as quackery: the wells weren't leaking, the air was relatively clean, and rates of Hodgkin's disease around the school were normal. Indeed, despite reporters' "balanced" coverage, no independent scientist backed up the allegations as credible. (Regulators did cite Venoco for two potential violations -- an antipollution unit had insufficient filters and the wells had, on occasion, vented natural gas, a process for which the company insists it had permission. Neither potential violation significantly affected benzene levels and both were settled in October.) In any case, several studies have shown no link between oil wells and Hodgkin's. Los Angeles has thousands of wells and none has been linked to any cancer. "Is there any evidence that benzene at the levels found at Beverly causes cancer? No," says Thomas Mack, chief of the epidemiology division at the University of Southern California's medical school. "You're just as likely to get cancer from your car stereo."

A few news outlets did emphasize that officials didn't buy the claims. USA Today, for instance, headlined: Lawyers: beverly hills high school's a hazard; although officials doubt campus' oil wells pose cancer risk, parents are close to panic. But Zager's digging went beyond that and uncovered something more surprising: Brockovich-Ellis's own data didn't support her contentions. Despite requests from parents and school district officials, Brockovich-Ellis and Masry refused to release their data until the city subpoenaed them and a judge ordered them to comply -- a fact only Zager noted in her stories.

When the data sets were finally handed over, they showed that despite Brockovich-Ellis's claim that she repeatedly found alarming levels of benzene, nearly all the readings were normal. As Zager reported -- again, nearly alone among reporters covering the story -- the highest benzene reading was still below state regulations and was contradicted by another sample Brockovich-Ellis took at the same time that showed no measurable benzene. Michael Tuday, head of research at the lab Masry used to compile the data, was quoted in the Courier as saying, "When you're doing sampling, you don't want to base health-risk decisions on a single sample result; that would be irresponsible." (Zager says that after she got that quote, Masry told Tuday to stop taking calls from her.)

As the Masry and Brockovich-Ellis evidence crumbled, their cancer-cluster claims continued to be cited in the press. "When I have three hundred cancers staring me in the face and an oil-production facility underneath the school, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that the two fit together," Brockovich-Ellis told People magazine in May 2003. Masry told The Associated Press that the school's cancer rate was twenty to thirty times the national average.

Once again, the two refused to document their claims until a judge ordered them to comply. Zager sat in on the court hearings and heard a lawyer for Masry's firm admit that, in fact, his side did not do an epidemiological study and has no data on rates at all. Zager's headline the next week: Masry's attorney admits in court no study done by them to establish cancer rates at bhhs.

Zager acknowledges that her writing isn't always the most graceful or easy to follow. She also has an obvious advantage over other reporters in that her paper is focused on Beverly Hills. But her reporting has gone beyond just being there.

Curious about how Brockovich-Ellis arrived at her cancer numbers, Zager got copies of the injury claim forms Masry and Brockovich-Ellis filed with the city. She found that at the same time the two were publicly referring to 300 cases of cancer, they had filed only 216 damage claims, of which only ninety-four were actually for cancer. The other injuries consisted of everything from insomnia to "tingling sensations."

Remember the KCBS report that first raised concerns about toxins in the air? It relied almost exclusively on the Brockovich-Ellis and Masry allegations. As Zager first reported, the producer for that story, Claudia Bill-de la Pena, serves on the Thousand Oaks city council with Masry. Along with his wife, Masry donated money to Bill-de la Pena's election campaign. "If you are looking at a connection between the City Council and my producing, it is not the right route to go from a journalistic standpoint," Bill-de la Pena told the Courier.

"Norma works really hard, and she's honest," says USC's Mack, who is less impressed with other journalists' efforts on the Beverly story. "Reporters tend to rely on balance because they're unsure of themselves or not knowledgeable enough to put something in context. So they make it a �he said, she said' rather than going to a third or fourth source to resolve or try to understand the apparent conflicting information."

"There's nothing murky about what I print," says Zager. "There's no innuendo. I just print facts. I print the test results." That habit has landed Zager "number one on Brockovich's and Masry's enemies list," she says with glee. "I met some new lawyers for Masry one day and decided to introduce myself. So I went up to them and said, �Hi, I'm Norma Zager. Better known as the Devil.'"

Eric Umansky writes the "Today's Papers" column for Slate.com.

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