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Showing posts with label ESPN. Show all posts

Monday, November 8, 2021

RSN: FOCUS: ESPN | Racism and Misogyny Alleged Against NBA Owner Robert Sarver

 


 

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One current business operations employee told ESPN: 'If the commissioner comes in and investigates to see what the f--- is going on in Phoenix, [he] would be appalled.' (photo: Mark J. Rebilas/USA TODAY)
FOCUS: ESPN | Racism and Misogyny Alleged Against NBA Owner Robert Sarver
Baxter Holmes, ESPN
Holmes writes: "There were warning signs from the beginning."

ON THE EVENING of Oct. 30, 2016, at Talking Stick Resort Arena in downtown Phoenix, Earl Watson, in just his third game as the Suns' head coach, faced a tall task: beat the powerhouse Golden State Warriors.

The young Phoenix Suns team had been toiling at the bottom of the NBA's standings for years, missing the playoffs for six straight seasons while churning through head coaches. Watson was the fourth in as many years. Still, the Suns were playing the eventual NBA champions close, even leading by 13 in the first half. But it didn't last. The Warriors took control in the fourth quarter and cemented a 106-100 win, dropping the Suns to 0-3.

After the loss, Suns majority owner Robert Sarver entered the coaches locker room, Watson told ESPN.

"You know, why does Draymond Green get to run up the court and say [N-word]," Sarver, who is white, allegedly said, repeating the N-word several times in a row.

"You can't say that," Watson, who is Black and Hispanic, told Sarver.

"Why?" Sarver replied. "Draymond Green says [N-word]."

"You can't f---ing say that," Watson said again.

The anecdote offers a glimpse into conduct that, sources told ESPN, Sarver has often exhibited since buying the Suns in 2004. Interviews with more than 70 former and current Suns employees throughout Sarver's 17-year tenure describe a toxic and sometimes hostile workplace under Sarver. Some told ESPN that he has used racially insensitive language repeatedly in the office. Employees recounted conduct they felt was inappropriate and misogynistic, including Sarver once passing around a picture of his wife in a bikini to employees and speaking about times his wife performed oral sex on him. Some said the longtime owner fostered an environment in which employees felt they were his property, even once asking one woman whether he "owned" her to determine whether she worked for the Suns.

"The level of misogyny and racism is beyond the pale," one Suns co-owner said about Sarver. "It's embarrassing as an owner."

Said a former Suns basketball executive: "There's literally nothing you could tell me about him from a misogynistic or race standpoint that would surprise me."

Through his legal team, Sarver denied using racially insensitive language. "I've never called anyone or any group of people the N-word, or referred to anyone or any group of people by the N-word, either verbally or in writing. I don't use that word. It is abhorrent and ugly and denigrating and against everything I believe in."

Sarver did acknowledge using the word once many years ago. "On one occasion a player used the N-word to describe the importance of having each others' back," Sarver said through his attorneys. "I responded by saying, 'I wouldn't say n---a, I would say that we're in the foxhole together.' An assistant coach approached me a short time after and told me that I shouldn't say the word, even if I were quoting someone else. I immediately apologized and haven't said it ever again. The N-word has never been a part of my vocabulary."

In the case of the Oct. 30, 2016, game versus the Warriors, Sarver and his lawyers wrote that Sarver did not have that conversation with Watson but had one with a Suns player who had received a technical foul for what they said was using the N-word during the game. Sarver said he encouraged the player to appeal the technical foul because Green had used the word in the game -- the technical foul was later rescinded by the league.

Sarver denied Watson's characterization of the incident: "This is absolutely untrue. I remember the game and topic clearly. I of course never used the word myself. During this conversation, I said 'N-word' without saying the full word. The word itself never crossed my lips.

"Let me be crystal clear: I never once suggested on that night (or ever) that I should be able to say the N-word because a player or a Black person uses it."

The player, through his agent, told ESPN that he thinks using the N-word might have contributed to the technical foul but does not recall speaking to Sarver that night. Watson told ESPN there was no player in the room when Sarver made the comment.

Multiple current and former employees also told ESPN about conduct by other members of the Suns leadership team that they felt contributed to a toxic and sometimes hostile work environment. While none said Sarver was involved in those incidents, many felt that Sarver's own conduct contributed to a culture that affected how some other managers within the organization treated their employees.

ESPN has asked Sarver on multiple occasions to be interviewed about his tenure in Phoenix. ESPN also sent Sarver and the Suns organization written questions. The outreaches spawned a flurry of activity. Some of it was public: On Oct. 22, Sarver and the Suns sent three statements to ESPN, and tweeted versions of them, denying any improper behavior. Sarver also hired a law firm, which ultimately sent four letters to ESPN's legal department.

In addition to Sarver, ESPN reached out to other Suns employees, including general manager James Jones, who issued a one-sentence statement: "None of what's been said describes the Robert Sarver I know, respect and like -- it just doesn't."

Jason Rowley, president and CEO of the Suns, defended Sarver: "This story is completely outrageous and false. It doesn't represent -- at all -- the Robert Sarver I've worked alongside of for 15 years. He's not a racist and he's not a sexist."

NBA spokesperson Mike Bass said the league has not "received a complaint of misconduct at the Suns organization through any of our processes, including our confidential workplace misconduct hotline or other correspondence."

NBPA executive director Michele Roberts said she was not aware of any reports from players of misconduct by Sarver or the Suns. "Apart from [point guard Chris Paul] and James Jones, we have not had much official contact with the team and none that I can think of with Sarver."

Current and former Suns employees told ESPN that Sarver is known to say he is "brutal to work for," a line he has repeated over the years, even in job interviews. Sarver has told executives they were "paid a lot of money to put up with my s---."

"If the commissioner comes in and investigates to see what the f--- is going on in Phoenix," one current business operations employee told ESPN, "[he] would be appalled."

THERE WERE WARNING signs from the beginning.

The Suns were coming off a 29-53 season in 2004, and an early major decision for Sarver centered on signing the team's top free agent that summer, Steve Nash.

A recruiting pitch was set for the start of free agency. Among Sarver and others, attendees included Nash's agent Bill Duffy and 2003 Rookie of the Year Amar'e Stoudemire, both of whom are Black. Three people in the room told ESPN that, during the meeting, Sarver made a comment they felt was racially insensitive; they could not recall specifics but said they felt he too loosely used the term "Black guy" during the conversation.

Ultimately, the Suns got their target, but "we signed Steve Nash despite Robert," said a basketball executive who was there.

Sarver's lawyers told ESPN the anecdote was too vague and happened too long ago to address specifically, but they did note that nothing racially inappropriate was said and that 73% of NBA players in 2004 were Black. "Thus, those conversations certainly would have referenced Black men." Sarver, they said, was "integral" to signing Nash.

It was one of the first instances in which Sarver's conduct raised questions among employees.

At least a half-dozen Suns staffers recounted to ESPN instances of Sarver hearing a story from a Black player and then using the same language when retelling it, down to the usage of the N-word.

"You're like, 'Whoa! Robert, you can't do that,'" said one former basketball executive. Another former Suns head coach said such instances were commonplace. A Black basketball operations staffer told ESPN he has heard Sarver say the N-word multiple times.

Sarver once used the N-word when trying to explain to a staffer why he preferred hiring Lindsey Hunter over Dan Majerle as head coach in 2013, according to a high-level executive who heard the remark. Hunter was a first-year Suns player development coordinator while Majerle was in his fifth year as a Suns associate head coach.

"These [N-words] need a [N-word]," Sarver told the staffer of his largely Black team, according to the executive.

Sarver again cited race as the reason the team needed to hire Watson as head coach in 2016, a former Suns basketball executive said: A young Black coach could better relate to Black players, Sarver reasoned, and could "speak their language."

Through legal representation, Sarver denied the allegation about Hunter, saying he never used the N-word and "never used words to that effect," and said race was never discussed during Watson's hiring process.

Before the 2017-18 season, a tense front-office situation provided another glimpse into interactions with Sarver employees felt were racially insensitive. Late in the previous season, point guard Eric Bledsoe had been benched in a tanking effort led by Sarver, former basketball operations staffers said. Issues with the benching percolated into the offseason, when Bledsoe was eligible for a contract extension.

Contract talks eventually led Bledsoe's Klutch Sports agent, Rich Paul, to communicate directly with Sarver -- the Suns owner didn't want to extend Bledsoe's contract in part due to concerns about Bledsoe's durability, plus concerns that the team had performed poorly with him as the starting point guard, according to sources at the time. Paul responded to Sarver's remarks by saying that he knew basketball and that they "weren't talking about tennis," Sarver's childhood sport.

Sarver erupted at the dig, according to two people with knowledge of the interaction, telling Paul he was going to fire Watson as the team's head coach if Watson didn't sever ties with Klutch, which had been representing Watson, within 10 days - just after the start of the season.

Watson said that Sarver's ultimatum quickly reached him. He asked Sarver if he was serious.

"Yeah, I will f---ing fire you," Sarver told Watson. "You have 10 days to think about it. Don't wait too long."

Watson said he explained to Sarver the optics of a white owner asking a Black coach to fire an agency led by a Black agent, Paul.

"Yeah, I understand what race you two are," Sarver replied, according to Watson. "So I'm asking you, How bad do you want your job?"

Watson said he told Sarver that he wasn't going to fire Klutch.

"You can do whatever you want," Watson said he told Sarver. "You own this team, but my culture is not for sale. And I'm not for sale."

Through legal representation, Sarver said his issue with Klutch was solely due to a conflict of interest -- that a coach and a player could not be represented by the same agent. Sarver denied that the conversation had anything to do with race.

Watson, when told of Sarver's response, said: "Rich [Paul] was never my agent." Watson was represented by Klutch Sports, which is owned by Paul.

"Guess who did my contract when I got hired to be a head coach [with the Suns]? Klutch," Watson said. "If Klutch did my contract, wouldn't [the Suns] have just told me, 'We can't sign you because it's a conflict of interest?' They did my interim contract, and they did my other contract. They did two contracts for me."

The Suns lost their first three games of the season by a combined 92 points. Watson's final game as head coach was a 130-88 loss to the Clippers; Sarver fired him the next day.

"It's almost like an ownership thing," Watson told ESPN. "He wants people to call him and beg him."

In Watson's first year leading the bench in Phoenix, Sarver asked about the state of the organization and where Watson thought it could improve. Watson told Sarver that it suffered from a lack of diversity.

"I don't like diversity," Sarver replied, according to Watson and a basketball operations staffer with knowledge of the interaction.

Sarver said to Watson that having a diverse staff made it hard for people to agree. A lack of diversity among the organization's highest ranks was an issue that a number of employees voiced to their superiors, including to Sarver, multiple employees said. "Everybody knows that our diversity here is s---," one current business employee said.

Through legal representation, the Suns said the organization "has a long history of prioritizing racial diversity since Mr. Sarver purchased an ownership interest in the team." The Suns also said that in 2020 they emphasized increasing diversity among the team's business leadership. The Suns said they have filled executive-level and VP-level positions across the organization with people from under-represented backgrounds, adding that the "Suns and Mercury employ Black people at more than three times the rate of their demographic representation in Maricopa County." They also pointed out that "six of their last 10 head coaches were Black, including the current head coach Monty Williams, and GM James Jones. These men were hired because they were the best applicants to fill their respective positions."

Watson said one of his final interactions with Sarver was explaining how Watson believed the owner's outbursts negatively affected every aspect of the franchise, from the players' performance on the court to the coaches' ability to do their jobs on the bench to the front office's ability to make sound basketball decisions to the way the Suns were officiated.

During Sarver's tenure, the Suns have cycled through nine head coaches -- including seven in an eight-year span -- and eight general managers.

"I said, 'The only common denominator is you,'" Watson recalled. "'This cemetery runs deep of coaches, GMs, players. You're the only common thread. It's you.'"

Watson said he told Sarver that he was toxic and that the Suns were toxic because of him.

Sarver screamed back.

"You're f---ing toxic!"

Through his legal representation, Sarver said: "One of the reasons we parted ways with Mr. Watson was because of the toxic work environment under his leadership during his tenure as head coach. There was an incredible amount of conflict on the team between Mr. Watson and the front office.

"I don't specifically remember using the quote referenced ... but during the conversation I did use colorful language, and did refer to Mr. Watson as toxic."

Said general manager Jones, through Sarver's attorneys: "On multiple occasions, I observed Earl engage in behavior and use language that was extremely unprofessional and offensive. That does not align with who we are."

EARLY IN HIS tenure as owner, Sarver once tried to impress upon employees how big of a Suns fan he was and how excited he was to lead the organization. After all, he had been attending games since he was 8 years old.

In one meeting, to drive home his point, Sarver passed around a picture of his wife in a Suns bikini, multiple former longtime employees told ESPN.

One former executive who was in the meeting said, "We're passing it around like a hot potato. Like, what in the hell are we supposed to do with this? That was just, you know, one early glimpse at the man."

Sarver responded through his legal team: "This is a perfect example of how things get twisted," he said. "In the first year of my ownership, a local apparel retailer had recently been awarded the license to sell official NBA branded swimwear. The retailer sent my wife and me a sample along with a brochure, and I took a picture of her in the sample. I took the brochure and picture of her and gave it to the people at the Suns in charge of overseeing merchandise with the message: 'Here's the catalog, this is what the swimsuit looks like, and if you have any interest in carrying this line in the team shop, then here's the number to call.'"

More than a dozen employees recalled Sarver making lewd comments in all-staff meetings, including discussing times when his wife would perform oral sex on him. Four former employees said that in several all-staff meetings Sarver claimed he needed to wear Magnum or extra-large condoms. Former employees said he asked players about their sex lives and the sexual prowess of their significant others.

"Women have very little value," one female former staffer said she felt. "Women are possessions. And I think we're nowhere close to where he thinks men are."

Through his legal team, Sarver denied talking about his sex life with employees and said he had "absolutely not" talked about condoms.

Before the 2008-09 season, a pregnant Suns employee who was helping coordinate the 2009 NBA All-Star Game in Phoenix was told by Sarver that she wouldn't be able to continue in that role, two employees with knowledge of his remarks said. The two employees said Sarver explained that the woman would be breastfeeding and would need to be home with her newborn.

"It was so out of line and so inappropriate," one of the employees familiar with the remark said.

Some employees believed that such a move would have violated discrimination and employment laws, and the two employees said other members of Suns management quickly rebuked Sarver and told the female employee she would remain in her role.

Sarver, through his legal team, denied ever saying such a thing: "In the context of potential accommodations, I told her, in no uncertain terms, that the Suns were 100% behind her, and that we were prepared to provide support for her, whatever that meant. I remember discussing potential temporary adjustments to her schedule and the best way to tackle the All-Star weekend with these considerations in mind. She worked during the All-Star game."

"If the commissioner comes in and investigates to see what the f--- is going on in Phoenix, [he] would be appalled." One current Suns business operations employee

In March 2011, Sarver berated that same female former employee over a tribute video to honor then-Suns executive Rick Welts, according to two employees with knowledge of the interaction. Sarver's issue was that he wasn't featured more prominently in the video and that, instead, it featured more of former Suns owner Jerry Colangelo, who hired Welts. At one point, the woman broke down in tears, to which Sarver said, "Why do all you women around here cry so much?"

Sarver, through his attorneys, said that the incident did not happen and that he doesn't "remember a single instance that an employee ever cried in front of me." As for the video, he said he "certainly would not have objected to including Mr. Colangelo in a tribute video."

Soon after the incident, multiple female former Suns employees said Sarver asked some of them to have lunch with women who worked at a bank he oversaw as CEO. The perception among some female employees was that he believed some women with the Suns weren't as tough as the women who worked at the bank.

"So humiliating," one female former employee said she felt about the arranged lunch.

Sarver, through his attorneys, said, "Networking relationships between the Suns and the bank have been encouraged for men and women. I think it's really productive for everyone when there's collaboration among stakeholders and the opportunity to share best practices with folks that you wouldn't necessarily talk to in the normal course of business."

A female former marketing employee said Sarver would frequently use language such as, "Do I own you? Are you one of mine?"

"He makes you feel like you belong to him," the employee said.

Several employees recalled separate instances in which Sarver referred to staffers and players as "inventory."

Sarver, through his legal team, denied using such language.

Said one former executive, "[His mentality is], 'If you don't like it, there's the door, you can get the f--- out of here."

DURING THE 2009-10 season, Sarver entered the Suns' training room and saw reserve forward Taylor Griffin, older brother of NBA forward Blake Griffin, lifting weights. He noticed that the 6-foot-7, nearly 240-pound Griffin, who had been a serious weightlifter dating back to high school, didn't have hair on his legs.

Sarver, according to two people who witnessed the interaction, asked Griffin whether he shaved his legs. Griffin said he did. Sarver then asked, "Do you shave your balls, too?" One basketball operations staffer said Sarver separately asked the question of others in the organization several years later.

Sarver, through his legal team, said: "I don't remember using those exact words, but I did make a joking reference to men's grooming habits with Taylor Griffin once in the locker room. I remember that Taylor laughed at my comment."

When reached for comment, Griffin told ESPN, "At the time, I took it as a joke. Looking back on it in the context of today, for a leader of a company or the owner of a team to say such a thing is inappropriate."

Multiple employees told ESPN about demeaning sexual comments and conduct by Sarver that made them feel uncomfortable, even as attempted humor.

During the 2012-13 season, two former longtime staffers said, Sarver addressed players before they headed to Los Angeles for a game. The team had performed poorly there, and there were rumblings that players were enjoying the nightlife to the point that it was hindering their play. Sarver, addressing the players, offered to fly women to Los Angeles -- the implication was clearly sexual -- if players promised to be in bed at a reasonable hour before the next day's game. The gesture wasn't taken seriously, a former staffer who was in attendance said, but standing within earshot was a female staffer who was mortified.

"He was goofing around," one staffer who was present said. "But little did he know, standing out in the hallway is one of our women staff members who cares for the family [of players and coaches]."

When the Suns were recruiting free agent LaMarcus Aldridge in the summer of 2015, the team knew that Aldridge had young children in Texas and that playing near them was appealing. During the recruitment, Sarver remarked to two basketball operations staffers that the Suns needed to have local strippers impregnated by NBA players so those players would have children in the Phoenix area and feel obliged to be closer to them, giving the Suns a potential edge in free agency, the now-former staffers said.

"A lot of the stuff he says is to get a big reaction. And who's going to tell him that he can't?" said one of the former staffers. "He speaks in threats. He likes that awkwardness. He likes people to know that he's in charge. He wants control. He wants control of every situation and every person."

Sarver, in a letter from his legal team, denied making either remark.

"The answer is a categorical, no. I never said anything like that. Period. Aldridge was debating whether to play for us or San Antonio. I learned that part of his decision to go to San Antonio was because he had family connections there. We were sorry to miss the opportunity to sign LaMarcus, and I lamented that fact."

Former Suns account executive David Bodzin said that in August 2014, Sarver pantsed him in front of more than 60 employees at the team's ALS Ice Bucket Challenge. A former senior basketball staffer and a former senior marketing employee confirmed this account to ESPN. In the aftermath, Bodzin said, an HR representative smirked and said, "Please don't sue us for sexual harassment."

"I had no idea what to say to that," Bodzin told ESPN. "What does a 25-year-old say in that situation? They say, 'OK.'

"I was shellshocked. And as I've thought about it more, every year that it has gone by that I've thought about it, makes me angrier that I didn't come forward about it. ... My power was minimal in that had I said something as just an account executive, I felt that I would have been blacklisted from the industry."

Through his attorneys, Sarver said: "I would like to apologize directly to David Bodzin. I remember this incident from seven years ago. I never meant to cause any harm or offense -- and I certainly did not mean to embarrass Mr. Bodzin. At the time, I thought this was taken as a joke by everyone in the room. I understood, a short time later, that this was inappropriate. This was purely on me, and it was a misguided attempt at humor."

AFTER A GAME in the 2018-19 season, Sarver fumed that rookie center Deandre Ayton -- the 2018 No. 1 pick -- had failed to record a block or a foul. Sarver slammed a stat sheet on the table in front of assistant coach Corliss Williamson, who had been working with Ayton. "In all my years, that's the first time I've ever seen an owner come in there and act like that with the coaching staff," Williamson said.

Williamson was a 6-foot-7, 245-pound former NBA champion with the Detroit Pistons whose NBA nickname was "The Big Nasty." Williamson, who grew up in Arkansas, said an older, white male owner aggressively confronting him -- a Black man from the South -- carried racial connotations for him.

"That's exactly where my mind went," Williamson told ESPN.

He sought out Sarver in the subsequent days, including visiting his office. Eventually, the two spoke briefly, and the tension subsided.

"I really wanted to make sure he didn't do something like that to someone else who didn't have a cooler head," Williamson said. "That's why I went looking for him."

It was far from the first time members of the coaching staff felt like Sarver had marginalized them. Watson remembers Sarver drawing up plays that didn't exist in the locker room. "He was asking [players] to set up a pick-and-roll in the middle of the paint. How is that even possible with three seconds and no spacing?"

On March 30, 2019, the Suns were home against a short-handed Memphis Grizzlies team. Center Richaun Holmes was out due to a migraine and Ayton had rolled his ankle late in the third quarter. In their absence, Grizzlies center Jonas Valanciunas dominated, scoring 14 of his 34 points in a decisive fourth quarter for a 120-115 Memphis win. The loss dropped the Suns to 17-60.

Immediately after the game, according to staffers, Sarver marched into the coaches locker room and unloaded, berating head coach Igor Kokoskov and his assistants, demanding answers as to why they didn't "make any adjustments" to stop the burly Grizzlies center.

Veteran assistant Joe Prunty, who did not respond to a request for comment, spoke up, saying the short-handed Suns had made several in-game adjustments -- fronting Valanciunas, doubling him on the catch, explaining other basketball minutiae.

"Joe starts throwing all the s--- at him, [and] the guy has no idea what any of that means," said one former coach, details that others in the room confirmed. Sarver, livid, marched toward the door and screamed "No adjustments!" on his way out.

The next month, Kokoskov, who declined to comment, and his assistants, less than a year into their tenure in Phoenix, were fired.

One former longtime staffer said similar outbursts happened so often that he lost count. "He was constantly meddling and trying to coach himself or go into the coaches' office and start drawing X's and O's on the board at halftime and tell them they need to do this, they need to do that."

Sarver's habit of second-guessing coaches included working with then-rookie Ayton on shooting 3-pointers, an element of Ayton's game the coaches didn't believe should be his focus, then-members of the coaching staff said.

In another instance that season, Sarver went into the training room to talk X's and O's with rookie guard Elie Okobo. Veteran guard Jamal Crawford left the room.

"He actually got up off the table and walked out of the room and said, 'I can't f---ing listen to this s---. I gotta get out of here,'" a second former staffer said. The former longtime staffer in the room confirmed the scene to ESPN. Crawford declined to comment.

One former Suns basketball operations staffer who interacted with Sarver regularly said he still deals with stress and anxiety from Sarver's verbal abuse and late-night phone calls -- to the point that the panic he felt still strikes anytime the phone rings late in the evenings. "I never felt comfortable there," the staffer said. "And I was there for a long time. ... I didn't even get fired. If that gives you any context -- I left on my own. There's no reason to be miserable every day anymore."

Sarver instituted unusual and frequent demands, former coaches and basketball operations staffers said, and during part of that 2018-19 season he told Kokoskov's staff that they shouldn't hold pens, papers, notebooks or anything in their hands on the sideline. They had to stand and cheer.

ESPN asked Sarver about his interactions with the team; the questions went unaddressed.

"It was a clown show," said one former basketball operations staffer. "Guys are jumping up and down looking ridiculous, and I'm getting texts from coaches around the league, like, 'What are you guys doing?'" Said another former basketball operations staffer, "It becomes more of a circus and, 'Let's stand up and clap and appease Robert as opposed to doing what our job actually is, which is trying to coach the basketball game.'" One clip of the coaching staff failing to fist-bump properly went viral.

MULTIPLE CURRENT AND former employees told ESPN that members of the Suns' executive team contributed to the workplace toxicity of the organization.

In 2017 two former employees said that a white male executive repeatedly called a Black co-worker "Carlton," in reference to the character from the '90s TV show "Fresh Prince of Bel-Air." In at least one instance, he jokingly told the co-worker to "do the Carlton" for him. The employees said the Black co-worker on multiple occasions told the white executive to stop calling him by that name and that he was not going to dance for him. "Super racist," one former employee said.

The executive, when reached by ESPN, denied telling the employee to dance and said he was never asked to stop calling the employee "Carlton," describing their relationship as "jovial" and "one of friendship and respect."

One female former employee said that after being physically assaulted by a male co-worker outside of the office, a female co-worker went to HR out of concern for the employee's safety. The two told ESPN that HR spoke with the alleged victim, ultimately deciding that simply moving her desk would resolve the issue. At that time, the alleged victim said there were two rows of desks -- with partitions separating each one -- and that hers was right next to the male co-worker's. They moved her to the second row. "I couldn't escape," she said, adding that if she stood up, he was right there, probably less than 10 feet away. "It was a joke. An absolute joke."

As far as the employee is aware, there was no investigation. The Suns told ESPN they could "take no action because both employees declined to speak with HR and because neither employee expressed an interest in having the Suns intervene concerning the dispute." The Suns denied ever instructing "either employee to 'move [their] desk' to resolve the domestic issue they were having."

In all, three people told ESPN the employee's desk location had indeed been moved.

A number of employees, especially women, described to ESPN being subjected to or witnessing verbal barrages from male executives.

"I think as women, when we come into sports, unfortunately, we're resigned to the fact that we'll be sexually harassed at some point," the female former marketing employee said. "But the part that was the worst for me is the verbal abuse and feeling like I wasn't human."

These public examples of mistreatment and disregard were a consistent source of concern for many women throughout the organization; female employees reported inappropriate comments by managers, according to multiple former employees.

One female former sales employee said a former Suns vice president, who appeared intoxicated, asked her how many members of her department she had slept with and about a specific coworker's penis.

"It was terrible because I had not had sexual interactions with anybody on [the staff], so that was very weird," she told ESPN. "And [it] also made me uncomfortable because my VP is asking me about my sexual history with other co-workers? That kind of thing was almost normal."

When contacted for comment, the executive said such questions were never raised with any employee.

One female former marketing employee describes sitting in meetings with senior leaders and hearing sexist remarks made about women, including the need to have women at certain events in low-cut tops. "And then I would say, 'This isn't a productive meeting for me. And I'm uncomfortable,'" the former employee said. "They would say, 'It's just a joke; get over it.'"

Current and former employees said women often did not feel valued and were ignored when they said so, a sentiment that led to frequent departures.

"Especially with the younger girls, I felt like I was abandoning them," said one female former employee. "I felt bad for leaving. It was hard. And so I was happy when [I learned] all of them are out of there."

"It breaks you," said another female former employee. "I'm hard to break, and it broke me."

"It wrecked my life," said a third female former employee. "I was contemplating suicide."

A current executive is among nearly a dozen who acknowledges seeking professional help to cope with anxiety, sleep loss and overall declining well-being working for the Suns.

"When I went to the psychologist, I cried a bucket of tears," the executive said. "And it's like that with a lot of us. It's just sad."

Even with the team's recent success, one current staffer said the team's culture has continued to decay.

"Now when employees should be having fun and should be enjoying the success," the staffer said, "the culture is lower than it's ever been."

EVEN THE SIMPLEST, most corporate tasks were met with widespread suspicion.

Former employees told ESPN that, in some cases, employees lied on team-administered surveys about working for the team because they feared retaliation or felt the exercise was pointless: "There was no way in hell I was going to answer that thing honestly," said one former human resources representative.

A second former HR rep said employees were told not to file complaints and that they shouldn't come to the HR office, that they should instead meet outside the office: "I would say, 'Let's go take a walk. Because if they see you being here, they're gonna come after you.'" Several employees said they were taking antidepressants and going on medical leave because of the issues they were having with superiors, according to the former rep.

Added the first former HR rep: "Unfortunately, HR is a place that most people come to, to get refuge from things that go on. You should be able to go there and get some help. [But] it's sort of a culture of complicity. Which I was a part of. And I hate saying that."

On multiple occasions some years ago, according to people with direct knowledge of the interactions, employees reported alleged issues to HR -- including a complaint against Sarver for alleged comments to a female employee about how she looked in a dress and alleged racial discrimination raised by a Black employee regarding promotions for white colleagues -- and were told soon after that they no longer fit in the organization.

"It wrecked my life. I was contemplating suicide." Female former Suns employee

Multiple staffers said they would not go to HR with complaints because they feared retaliation. "That is standard in our company," said a current business employee: "If something happens, don't go to HR."

Said another current staffer: "God no, that's the last place you go. Yeah, definitely don't go to HR with anything." The first former Suns HR rep confirms that this sentiment was common throughout the organization.

"You want to do right by the employee and make sure that they're not getting infringed upon," the first former HR rep said. "But ultimately, you're getting paid by the owner. So you're the police. And there were some times where I told people, 'You know, I'm not gonna tell you this on the record, and we need to go out to the parking lot or someplace, but I think you should sue.'"

When aggrieved workers said they had been considering legal action after being told that the organization would be parting ways with them, two former business operations employees said those people were often offered severance packages in exchange for signing nondisclosure agreements.

The second former HR rep said this approach was common: The organization would settle when an employee brought any sort of legal action, threatened to sue or raised issues that could lead to legal action. "They didn't want the press," the former rep said. "There were people that were wrongly terminated. And then the people who had the know-how to threaten to sue would get paid. But the ones who just couldn't maneuver that landscape would just go away."

The rep continued, "I would hope they would sue, because I knew they would get money. So whenever we [would] see the claims come in, I would just be like, 'Well, at least that person's going to get some money.'"

Although a few explored legal action, there were more who did not. Half a dozen former employees said they didn't pursue a lawsuit because they didn't have the financial resources for a legal battle to do so, or felt so worn down from their experience that they just wanted to move on.

"Ultimately, I was too afraid and exhausted to pursue it," a female former marketing employee said. "I even had my attorney offer to do the whole pro bono thing, but I was broken down so badly by then. I wasn't sleeping or eating or functioning well, so I felt it was easier to move on and take the offer. I regret not pursuing it."

GO TO THE Phoenix Suns' official career opportunities page and you'll see it: what the team calls its mission for prospective employees.

It reads: Our mission is to "Provide the Finest in Sports, Entertainment and Community Leadership," and our goals are to "Win Championships and Create Sustained Success." By uniting around the following ...

On the right side of the page, alongside a big, purple box, the team lists its values: Forward Thinking. Accountable. Mutual Respect. Integrity. Leadership. You Have Passion For Our Purpose.

The first letter of each bullet point spells out an acrostic: "FAMILY."

"That's our motto, right? That's what they shove down our throats," said one longtime staffer who recently left the team.

"If it involves revenue, OK, we're 'family values,'" said a current Suns executive. "But let me tell you, that is the biggest piece of s--- document they've got in that place."

Among the demands of ESPN by Sarver's legal representation was that ESPN contact 10 specific individuals about Sarver and the organization. Of those 10, ESPN had previously requested comment from three. Of the remaining seven, five responded and gave accounts of Sarver, using words like "demanding," "hard driving" and "relentless." They each said that in their own personal experiences they had not witnessed or heard of racist and misogynistic conduct by Sarver.

Suns chief financial officer and general manager of the Phoenix Mercury Jim Pitman said, "[Sarver] has been consistently on the side of women and the WNBA." Executive director for Phoenix Suns charities and vice president of social responsibility Sarah Krahenbuhl said, "[Sarver's] not easy by any stretch of the imagination, but how he pushes us is for the greater good."

Lon Babby, Suns president of basketball operations from 2010 to 2015, said: "Robert is surely a demanding and, at times, difficult manager to work for. But I can tell you as assuredly that he is not in any way shape or form a racist or guilty of any kind of sexual harassment or mistreatment of women."

Golden State coach Steve Kerr helped introduce Sarver to former NBA commissioner David Stern before Sarver bought the Suns in 2004. After serving as a consultant, Kerr was named the team's general manager in 2007, a position he left in 2010. He hasn't worked with the Suns in any capacity since that time. Kerr was a minority owner of the team from 2004 to 2014 when he divested a less-than-1% stake to coach the Warriors.

Of their time together from 2004 to 2010, Kerr told ESPN: "I never saw anything that suggested racism or misogyny, and I was very surprised to hear those allegations because that's not the person that I know."

Within the first decade of Sarver's tenure, a few members of the approximately 20-person ownership group explored having Sarver removed, according to people with knowledge of the inquiry. The operating agreement that sealed Sarver's position as the team's "governor" was quietly reviewed by outside legal counsel. But outside counsel soon relayed that Sarver's contract effectively prevented him from being removed absent serious criminal behavior or similarly egregious conduct.

One high-level former executive recalled being told that the language in the agreement was "bulletproof" and granted Sarver enough power that it would be very difficult to unseat him.

NBA spokesperson Mike Bass said the league office is not aware of any such activity by Suns minority owners.

Said one former Suns executive: "All of [the owners] in a different form or fashion would say Robert is a lucky charm in real estate. He's really good at what he does businesswise. ... So his discipline away from the game of basketball is what always pissed me off. Because he wasn't a f---ing dummy. Now, he's a misogynist and a racist, but he wasn't dumb. And he acted like a dummy around the game of basketball. And that was the thing that pissed me off so much because he was smart enough to know better."

"He's not clueless," said another member of the ownership group of Sarver's behavior. "He's doing it because of power."

Seventeen years in, after posting the NBA's second-best record last season at 51-21 and making the NBA Finals for the first time since 1993, Suns employees said Robert Sarver's behavior remains the same.

"It's bittersweet," a co-owner said of the team's resurgent success. "It just doesn't feel good to be involved with him."

The current executive discourages people from working at the Suns and knows others who do the same.

Said another current employee, "If I knew -- and I wish I knew what I was coming into -- I would have never taken the job here. Never."


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Friday, July 9, 2021

RSN: Robert Reich | Trump to the Barricades

 

 

Reader Supported News
09 July 21

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IT’S NOT ENOUGH TO "LOVE" RSN. RESPECT IT TOO: "I love what you do, but …” It’s what follows the “but” that kills us. People provide a vast array of reasons not to accept even minimal financial responsibility for this thing they say they love. Absurd and self defeating.
Marc Ash • Founder, Reader Supported News

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Robert Reich. (photo: Getty)
Robert Reich | Trump to the Barricades
Robert Reich, Robert Reich's Blog
Reich writes: "Donald Trump is suing Facebook, Twitter, and Google for violating his 1st Amendment rights by keeping him off their platforms."

he former guy is suing Facebook, Twitter, and Google for violating his 1st Amendment rights by keeping him off their platforms.

Perhaps someone should remind him that they’re private companies to which the 1st Amendment doesn’t apply.

Presumably Trump or his lawyers know this. The purpose of the lawsuit isn’t really to win it. It’s to give him more ammo for his incessant grifting – raising more money from followers who are eager to show their support for him, now by “sticking it” to Facebook, Twitter, and Google.

The irony here is that in many respects Facebook, Twitter, and Google are mini-governments. They’re monopolies with extraordinary power over both the economy and our personal lives. They should be brought under control – but by antitrust laws and government action, not by a failed president who has used them to sow lies and inspire sedition.

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NBA Basketball players LeBron James and Kawhi Leonard and Los Angeles Clippers owner Steve Ballmer. (Getty)
NBA Basketball players LeBron James and Kawhi Leonard and Los Angeles Clippers owner Steve Ballmer. (Getty)

Robert Faturechi, Justin Elliott and Ellis Simani | The Secret IRS Files
Robert Faturechi, Justin Elliott and Ellis Simani, ProPublica
Excerpt: "Owners like Steve Ballmer can take the kinds of deductions on team assets - everything from media deals to player contracts - that industrialists take on factory equipment. That helps them pay lower tax rates than players and even stadium workers."

t a concession stand at Staples Center in Los Angeles, Adelaide Avila was pingponging between pouring beers, wiping down counters and taking out the trash. Her Los Angeles Lakers were playing their hometown rival, the Clippers, but Avila was working too hard to follow the March 2019 game.

When she filed taxes for her previous year’s labors at the arena and her second job driving for Uber, the 50-year-old Avila reported making $44,810. The federal government took a 14.1% cut.

On the court that night, the players were also hard at work. None more so than LeBron James. The Lakers star was suffering through a painful strained groin injury, but he still put up more points and played more minutes than any other player.

In his tax return, James reported making $124 million in 2018. He paid a federal income tax rate of 35.9%. Not surprisingly, it was more than double the rate paid by Avila.

The wealthiest person in the building that night, in all likelihood, was Steve Ballmer, owner of the Clippers. The evening was decidedly less arduous for the billionaire former CEO of Microsoft. He sat courtside, in a pink dress shirt and slacks, surrounded by friends. His legs were outstretched, his shoes almost touching the sideline.

Ballmer had reason to smile: His Clippers won. But even if they hadn’t, his ownership of the team was reaping him massive tax benefits.

For the prior year, Ballmer reported making $656 million. The dollar figure he paid in taxes was large, $78 million; but as a percentage of what he made, it was tiny. Records reviewed by ProPublica show his federal income tax rate was just 12%.

That’s a third of the rate James paid, even though Ballmer made five times as much as the superstar player. Ballmer’s rate was also lower than Avila’s — even though Ballmer’s income was almost 15,000 times greater than the concession worker’s.

Ballmer pays such a low rate, in part, because of a provision of the U.S. tax code. When someone buys a business, they’re often able to deduct almost the entire sale price against their income during the ensuing years. That allows them to pay less in taxes. The underlying logic is that the purchase price was composed of assets — buildings, equipment, patents and more — that degrade over time and should be counted as expenses.

But in few industries is that tax treatment more detached from economic reality than in professional sports. Teams’ most valuable assets, such as TV deals and player contracts, are virtually guaranteed to regenerate because sports franchises are essentially monopolies. There’s little risk that players will stop playing for Ballmer’s Clippers or that TV stations will stop airing their games. But Ballmer still gets to deduct the value of those assets over time, almost $2 billion in all, from his taxable income.

This allows Ballmer to perform a kind of financial magic trick. If he profits from the Clippers, he can — legally — inform the IRS that he is losing money, thus saving vast sums on his taxes. If the Clippers are unprofitable in a given year, he can tell the IRS he’s losing vastly more.

Glimpses of the Clippers’ real-world financial results show the business has often been profitable. Those include audited financials disclosed in a Bank of America report just before Ballmer bought the team, as well as NBA records that were leaked after he became owner.

But IRS records obtained by ProPublica show the Clippers have reported $700 million in losses for tax purposes in recent years. Not only does Ballmer not have to pay tax on any real-world Clippers profits, he can use the tax write-off to offset his other income.

Ballmer isn’t alone. ProPublica reviewed tax information for dozens of team owners across the four largest American pro sports leagues. Owners frequently report incomes for their teams that are millions below their real-world earnings, according to the tax records, previously leaked team financial records and interviews with experts.

They include Shahid Khan, an automotive tycoon who made use of at least $79 million in losses from a stake in the Jacksonville Jaguars even as his football team has consistently been projected to bring in millions a year. And Leonard Wilf, a New Jersey real estate developer who owns the Minnesota Vikings with family members, has taken $66 million in losses from his minority stake in the team.

In a statement, Khan responded: “We’re a nation of laws. U.S. Congress passes them. In the case of tax laws, the IRS applies and enforces the regulations, which are absolute. We simply and fully comply with those very IRS regulations.” Wilf didn’t respond to questions.

Ballmer’s spokesperson declined to answer specific questions, but said “Steve has always paid the taxes he owes, and has publicly noted that he would personally be fine with paying more.”

These revelations are part of what ProPublica has unearthed in a trove of tax information for the wealthiest Americans. ProPublica has already revealed that billionaires are paying shockingly little to the government by avoiding the types of income that can be taxed.

The records also show how some of the richest people on the planet use their membership in the exclusive club of pro sports team owners to further lower their tax bills.

The records upend conventional wisdom about how taxation works in America. Billionaire owners are consistently paying lower tax rates than their millionaire players — and often lower even than the rates paid by the workers who staff their stadiums. The massive reductions on personal tax bills that owners glean from their teams come on top of the much-criticized subsidies the teams get from local governments for new stadiums and further deplete federal coffers that fund everything from the military to medical research to food stamps and other safety net programs.

The history of team ownership as a way to avoid taxes goes back almost a century. Bill Veeck, owner of the Cleveland Indians in the 1940s and later the Chicago White Sox, stated it plainly in his memoir: “Look, we play the Star Spangled Banner before every game. You want us to pay income taxes too?”

Veeck is credited with convincing the IRS to accept a tax maneuver even he described as a “gimmick.” Player salaries were already treated as a deductible business expense for a team. That was not controversial in the slightest.

But Veeck dreamed up an innovation, a way to get a second tax deduction for the same players: depreciation. The way he accomplished this was by separately buying the contracts before the old company was liquidated, instead of transferring them to the new company as had been done before. That meant that the contracts were treated as a separate asset. The value a new owner assigned to that asset when he bought the team could be used to offset taxes on team profits, as well as any other income he might have. (Defenders of the practice contend that it’s not double-dipping since the deductions are taken against two separate pools of money: the money used to purchase the team and the day-to-day operating budget.)

Team owners, Veeck wrote in his memoir, had won “a tax write-off that could have been figured out by a Texas oilman. It wasn’t figured out by a Texas oilman. It was figured out by a Chicago hustler. Me.”

Once the IRS accepted this premise, the natural next step — owners assigning as large a portion of the total team purchase price as possible to player contracts — was elevated into a sport of its own. Decades ago, Paul Beeston, who was president of the Toronto Blue Jays and president of Major League Baseball at various times, famously described the result: “Under generally accepted accounting principles, I could turn a $4 million profit into a $2 million loss and I could get every national accounting firm to agree with me.”

The depreciation of tangible assets, and their decay over time, is often intuitive. A machine in a factory and a fleet of cars have more obvious fair market values and life spans before business owners will have to pay to replace them. Take, for example, a newspaper business with a printing press that cost $10 million and will last for, say, 20 years. The idea of depreciation is that the newspaper owner could deduct a piece of that $10 million every year for the 20-year lifespan of the press.

But amortization, the term for depreciating nonphysical assets, was less straightforward. Sports teams are often mainly composed of these assets. Valuing and assigning a life span to a player contract or a TV deal was more subjective and thus vulnerable to aggressive tax maneuvers by team owners.

Several NBA teams claimed that more than 90% — in one case, 100% — of their value consisted of player contracts that could be written off on the owner’s taxes, according to league financials that emerged in an early 1970s congressional investigation.

By that time the IRS had begun a series of challenges of valuation methods by team owners, part of a larger fight across industries about how business owners should be allowed to write off so-called intangible assets. The tax agency insisted that companies should only be able to write off assets with a limited useful life.

In an effort to stop the endless litigation, Congress inaugurated the modern era of amortization by simplifying the rules in 1993: Under the new regime, the purchaser of a business would be allowed, over the span of 15 years, to write off more types of intangible assets. This might have been welcome news for the sports business. But Congress explicitly excluded the industry from the law.

Following lobbying by Major League Baseball, in 2004, sports teams were granted the right to use this deduction as part of a tax bill signed by President George W. Bush, himself a former part owner of the Texas Rangers. Now, team owners could write off the price they paid not just for player contracts, but also a range of other items such as TV and radio contracts and even goodwill, an amorphous accounting concept that represents the value of a business’ reputation. Altogether, those assets typically amount to 90% or more of the price paid for a team.

That means when billionaires buy teams, the law allows them to treat almost all of what they bought, including assets that don’t lose value, as deteriorating over time. A team’s franchise rights, which never expire, automatically get treated like a pharmaceutical company’s patent on a blockbuster drug, which has a finite life span. In reality, the right to operate a franchise in one of the major leagues has in the last few decades been a license to print money: In the past two decades, the average value of basketball, football, baseball and hockey teams has grown by more than 500%.

ProPublica uncovered the tax breaks used by team owners by dissecting reports sent to the IRS that capture the profit or loss of a business. Still, untangling the precise benefits can be difficult. For example, some owners hold their team stakes in companies that also had unrelated assets — a corporate nesting doll that makes it impossible to determine the losses a team produced. The examples mentioned in this article are instances in which it appears the owners did not intermingle assets and the team’s ownership structure is clear based on ProPublica’s analysis of the tax records, court documents, corporate registration data and news reports.

Amortization allows sports team owners to take nearly all of the team purchase price as a tax deduction. Here’s how it works.

Let’s say, for example, that you purchase a sports team for $2 billion.

Typically about 90% of that purchase price, or $1.8 billion, is amortizable, which means it’s treated like an asset that loses value over time — and can be expensed.

This means that under the tax code, over the next 15 years you can claim a $120 million expense for your sports team business each year.

Let’s say your sports team makes $50 million per year and you have other sources of income that add $150 million on top of that.

Normally, you’d pay almost 40% of your income in taxes.

However, with amortization, you can remove $120 million from your income, which means you don’t have to pay taxes on it.

Then, you only pay taxes on the rest. You save about $45 million in taxes each year — or $650 million over 15 years.

In some cases, owners can write off even more than 90% of the purchase price.

When Steve Ballmer offered to buy the Clippers in 2014 for a record sum, the team’s longtime owner, Donald Sterling, was taken aback.

“I’m curious about one thing,” Sterling said at a meeting later recounted by his lawyer.

“Of course, what is the question?” Ballmer responded.

Sterling proceeded: “You really have $2 billion?”

The size of the offer was impressive considering the context. In 1981, Sterling had paid $12.5 million for the club. In the three decades that followed, Sterling had become notorious for neglecting and mistreating the team. He didn’t provide a training facility for years, forcing the team to practice at the gym of a local junior college. He heckled his own players during games. After games, Sterling was said to parade friends through the locker room so they could gawk at the players’ bodies.

But even Sterling’s mismanagement couldn’t stop the Clippers’ rise in value. Players kept signing with the Clippers — drafted rookies because they typically have no other option if they want to play in the NBA and veterans because there are a finite number of teams to choose from.

TV deals also grew in value. The Clippers had little fan support, and they oscillated between being league bottom-dwellers and a middling franchise. But before Sterling sold the team, the Clippers were expected to sign a new local media deal worth two to three times more than their previous deal.

The beginning of the end of Sterling’s tenure came when he was recorded by his mistress telling her not to bring Black people to Clippers games. The NBA moved to force Sterling out. Ballmer swooped in, outbidding Oprah Winfrey and others. (ProPublica couldn’t reach Sterling for comment. His wife, Shelly, who co-owned the Clippers with him, defended their tenure in emails to ProPublica, saying they weren’t the only owners whose team didn’t own a practice facility and suggesting her husband did not heckle players. “I GUESS WHEN THERE IS NOTHING TO WRITE ABOUT WHY NOT TRY TO WRITE SOME SCUM,” she wrote.)

Ballmer, one of the richest people in the world, wasn’t just motivated by his love for basketball. He expected the team to be profitable. “It’s not a cheap price, but when you’re used to looking at tech companies with huge risk, no earnings and huge multiples, this doesn’t look like the craziest thing I’ve ever acquired,” he said at the time. “There’s much less risk. There’s real earnings in this business.”

Two years later, as the league negotiated a new contract with the players union, Ballmer portrayed the team’s finances in a much different light. “I’m a new owner and I’ve heard this is the golden age of basketball economics. You should tell our finance people that,” he told a reporter in 2016. “We’re sitting there looking at red ink, and it’s real red ink. I know, it shows up on my tax returns.”

But losses on a tax return don’t necessarily mean losses, as large or at all, in the real world.

Ballmer was acquiring a team that had skyrocketed in value over the previous decade. And there was the benefit for his taxes: He was allowed to start treating the Clippers — including those player contracts and TV deals — as if they were losing value.

From 2014 to 2018, records show Ballmer reported a total of $700 million in losses from his ownership of the Clippers, almost certainly composed mainly of paper losses from amortization.

The evidence examined by ProPublica showed the Clippers have often been profitable, though many of the glimpses into the team’s finances are from before Ballmer took over. Leaked NBA records during Ballmer’s tenure showed the Clippers in the black as recently as 2017. Audited financials disclosed in the Bank of America report just before the sale showed the team netting $14 million and $18 million in the two years before Ballmer took over, with projected growth in the future. Tax records for the pre-Ballmer era examined by ProPublica showed the team consistently making millions in profits. Forbes has also estimated the team generates millions in annual profits.

Nevertheless, Ballmer reported staggering losses from the Clippers to the IRS. Those losses allowed him to reduce the taxes he owed on the billions he has reaped from Microsoft stock sales and dividends. Owning the Clippers cut his tax bill by about $140 million in just five years, according to a ProPublica analysis.

Unlike billionaire team owners, millionaire players are virtually guaranteed to pay a large share of their income in taxes.

The law favors people who are rich because they own things over people who are rich because they make a high income from their work. Wages — the main source of income for most people, including athletes — are taxed at the highest rates of all, topping out at a marginal rate of 37% plus an extra 3.8% for Medicare. The government takes a smaller share of money made from, say, selling a stock. That’s not to mention the benefits available to people who own businesses, such as the paper losses created by buying a sports team.

So while Ballmer’s tax rate for 2018 was 12% on his $656 million of income, Lakers star Anthony Davis paid 40% that year on $35 million of income. Golfer Tiger Woods made $22 million and paid 34%. Boxer Floyd Mayweather paid more than 37% on his $53 million income. Star Houston Astros pitcher Justin Verlander made $30 million and paid a 39% cut.

(In each instance in which ProPublica refers to “income” in this article, we are referring to adjusted gross income, which the IRS defines as earnings minus certain items like alimony or student loan interest payments. We calculated tax rates the way government agencies and many economists do, by including not just the Medicare and Social Security taxes automatically taken out of workers’ paychecks, but also the share employers are required to pay for those programs on behalf of their employees. The rationale for including the employer’s share as part of the employee’s tax burden is that employers pay less in wages because of these costs. These levies make up most of the tax burden for the typical worker, a low but still significant percentage for millionaire players, but a negligible share or nothing for billionaires like Ballmer who typically don’t take salaries and other forms of income these taxes apply to.)

In a few cases, star players have bought pieces of pro sports teams. But that doesn’t automatically get them the low rates enjoyed by the typical billionaire owner. Basketball great Michael Jordan, for instance, owns the NBA’s Charlotte Hornets and a tiny stake in the Miami Marlins baseball team. His share of the Hornets produced $3.6 million in tax losses in 2015, even though the team was estimated to be in the black that year. He still makes a large portion of his money from Nike though, which is taxed at a high rate. That year, for example, he paid 38% in federal taxes on $114 million in income. Jordan’s spokeswoman declined to answer specific questions.

Ballmer’s tax advantages reduce the revenue flowing to the federal government. At the same time, he has publicly bemoaned the perils of having a government that spends more than it takes in. He has founded a nonprofit, USA Facts, that provides data on government spending. “Nobody wants to sacrifice anything in the short term so that we don’t leave these huge debt and deficits to our children,” he told Fox Business three years ago. “That drives me crazy.”

Perhaps the savviest tax play for billionaires interested in pro sports is buying a football team. Financial analysts believe it’s exceedingly difficult to lose money running an NFL franchise. “I think the NFL is the only sport where each team is profitable and viable,” said mining tycoon Alan Kestenbaum, now a part owner of the Atlanta Falcons, in an interview with Bloomberg.

The NFL’s TV ratings dominance, easily surpassing the NBA and other major leagues, is at the center of the sport’s money machine. Each of the 32 teams — from the small-market Buffalo Bills to the behemoth Dallas Cowboys — takes an equal share of national revenue, mostly derived from broadcasting deals. In 2019 alone those deals generated $9.5 billion, divided into $296 million slices for each team. The league recently re-upped its contracts with the networks and added Amazon’s Prime Video streaming service in an 11-year, $105 billion deal. On the expense side of the ledger, the biggest line item, player salaries, is limited since the league enforces what’s known as a hard salary cap.

Those two sources of profitability drove the record $2.3 billion price of the last NFL team to change hands, the Carolina Panthers. But the sale triggered a dramatic swing in how the team’s finances were reported to the IRS, records show. The Panthers suddenly went from producing large profits to suffering major losses.

The Panthers were built into a thriving business by Jerry Richardson, a onetime NFL player turned fast food restaurant magnate, who was awarded the expansion franchise in the early 1990s. In addition to its share of the league’s national TV deals, the team quickly built up another major revenue source, selling out virtually every game to an enthusiastic local fan base in Charlotte. Success followed on the field. By 2016, led by MVP quarterback Cam Newton, the Panthers won the NFC Championship and made the Super Bowl.

With the amortization benefit from the early years of the team used up, the Panthers produced millions of profits every year, with margins growing annually in the five years through 2017, tax records of Richardson and several previous minority owners show. ProPublica estimated the team’s annual income based on the tax information of a complex web of team entities, as well as leaked financial statements published by Deadspin.

That year, after Richardson was at the center of a lurid racism and sexual harassment scandal, he announced he was putting the team on the auction block. Several billionaires put in bids.

The winning bidder was David Tepper, founder of the hedge fund Appaloosa Management. Tepper, who made his fortune trading distressed debt and once hired Ashlee Simpson to play his daughter’s bat mitzvah, is now the league’s richest owner.

The $2.3 billion Tepper paid would produce amortization expenses of around $140 million per year, according to the IRS’ general guidelines. That annual expense would wipe out any Panthers profits for tax purposes.

The team swung from a large taxable profit before its sale to a tax loss of about $115 million, according to a ProPublica analysis of IRS records, after Tepper’s purchase in 2018. There’s no evidence anything significant about the Panthers’ real-world revenue and expenses changed between 2017 and 2018. The only major difference is the team changed hands, and Tepper now gets a tax benefit through his new entity, Tepper Sports Holdings.

Tepper’s hedge fund is a massive producer of capital gains income — in the past decade, he has often reported more than $1 billion in annual income — so the tax losses produced by the Panthers are extremely valuable to him. A spokesman for Tepper didn’t respond to questions.

The same year Tepper bought the Panthers, the NHL’s newest hockey team, the Las Vegas Golden Knights, accomplished what only one expansion team had done before by making it to the league finals in its inaugural season. Since then, the Golden Knights have continued to win. Off the ice, they’ve been among the best in the NHL at motivating fans to spend money on team apparel, and the Golden Knights have consistently sold out their home games.

The team’s owner, William Foley, the chairman of insurance giant Fidelity National Financial, made it clear he wasn’t in the business of losing money. “We developed a conservative business plan,” Foley told a reporter in 2017, the first year the team played. “I didn’t want to write $20 million checks every year.” He likely didn’t have to. Forbes estimated millions in profit for the team from 2017 to 2019.

But for tax purposes, records show, the team produced losses of more than $57 million during those years. That was thanks in part to the team’s ability to write off the $500 million expansion fee that Foley paid to the NHL in 2016.

In a statement to ProPublica, Golden Knights Chief Legal Officer Peter Sadowski did not respond to questions about amortization. He did respond to a question about one of the team’s income streams, noting that the money from season ticket deposits was “used to pay rent, to employ hundreds of people, provide outstanding entertainment and create a source of pride for our community.”

The Golden Knights’ tax losses helped offset the money Foley made from his other ventures, saving him more than $12 million in taxes over two years, according to a ProPublica analysis.

The value of sports franchises, as noted, tends to rise inexorably — but teams sometimes lose money along the way. Internal NBA records obtained by ESPN in 2017 showed that the league’s clubs were averaging almost $18 million in net income that season. But nine of the 30 clubs were in the red.

Even when a team spends more than it takes in, an owner can still end up on top. The amortization benefit can turn a loss into an even larger loss, which can then be used to offset other income and save money on taxes.

For example, Dan Gilbert, founder of Quicken Loans, was able to lower his taxable income by about $443 million from 2005 to 2018 because of his stake in the Cleveland Cavaliers, tax records show. In that same period, the team reached the pinnacle, winning its first-ever NBA championship in 2016.

In emails to ProPublica, Gilbert’s lawyer wrote that the team consistently loses money. “During the entire time after Mr. Gilbert’s purchase of the team, the Cavaliers has operated with an actual loss (negative cash flow/negative income) unrelated to any depreciation or amortization and there have been no funds to distribute to Mr. Gilbert or any other owner,” he wrote.

The tax write-off for amortization, Gilbert’s lawyer argued, is essential to all businesses, from restaurants to factories to sports franchises. Without it, he wrote, “there would be no capital investments made by owners and businesses would be taxed on revenue without properly taking into account all costs necessary to generate that revenue. That would be antithetical to capitalism and fatal to the United States’ economy.”

Gilbert’s lawyer added that the Cavaliers owner has paid “enormous” taxes for many years. He also wrote: “Your e-mail makes reference to other wage earners such as the players and their salaries. The facts are this: Mr. Gilbert is the only party referenced in your e-mail who has undertaken any risk. Mr. Gilbert has risked the purchase price paid for the Cavaliers, his subsequent capital contributions, the debt he has personally guaranteed and the players’ salaries which are guaranteed. ... To compare the guaranteed salaries of the Cavaliers’ players as an applicable measure of Mr. Gilbert’s tax rate is absurd.”

Advocates for team owners point out that when owners sell their teams, they have to pay back the taxes they avoided by using amortization. But even if owners ultimately repay the taxes they skipped, deferring payment of those taxes for years, sometimes decades, essentially amounts to an interest-free loan from taxpayers. An owner could reap huge gains by investing that money.

If owners die while holding their stake, as many do, the tax savings may never be repaid. And their heirs can generally restart the amortization cycle anew.

Bob Piccinini was a minority member of the group that purchased the Golden State Warriors in 2010. He made his fortune turning Modesto-based Save Mart Supermarkets into the largest family-owned grocery chain in California. Already a part owner of multiple baseball teams, he entered the basketball world not because he had a particularly keen interest in the sport, but to make money. “Sports franchises continue to go up in value,” Piccinini said at the time.

His tax information shows he bought more than 7% of the Warriors. From 2011 to 2014, he reported total losses of $16 million. Nearly a decade’s worth of tax data from other Warriors owners, also reviewed by ProPublica, showed many millions in losses — all of it during a period when the team rose to become historically dominant. Meanwhile, leaked financials obtained by ESPN from 2017 show the Warriors to be an extremely profitable business, netting $92 million in one season alone. Forbes estimates also put the team well in the black during that period. A Warriors spokesperson declined to answer a series of specific questions, instead providing a one-sentence statement: “Over the course of the last decade, we have invested hundreds of millions of dollars into our team on the court, our overall operation and, of course, the construction and opening of a new, 100 percent privately financed arena in San Francisco.”

Piccinini died in 2015. The court records about the inheritance he left his children don’t specifically mention his stake in the team or whether his estate paid taxes following his death. But the tax code likely would have allowed his children never to repay the government for the paper losses their father enjoyed. It would also have permitted Piccinni’s heirs to begin claiming paper losses of their own.

In the years since, Piccinini’s son, Dominic, has been a courtside regular at Warriors games. An occasional actor in his 20s, Dominic has an Instagram profile that shows him high-fiving Stephen Curry and other players midgame and posing for photos with rappers including Drake and E-40. In 2019, he and a friend went viral when ESPN panned to them drinking from golden chalices.

In an interview, Dominic told ProPublica that he allowed his family’s lawyers to handle the tax details of his inheritance, which granted him and his siblings equal shares of their father’s stake in the Warriors.

“It’s just the darndest thing,” he said in a phone call from a vacation in Mexico. “I’m a lucky son of a bitch, there’s no way around it.”

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Matthew Zadok Williams, in a selfie taken with his mother, Chris Ann, in 2005. (photo: Hahnah Williams)
Matthew Zadok Williams, in a selfie taken with his mother, Chris Ann, in 2005. (photo: Hahnah Williams)

Charles Bethea | Why Did the Police Shoot Matthew Zadok Williams?
Charles Bethea, The New Yorker
Bethea writes: "Outside Atlanta, a mother and five sisters look for answers."


n the afternoon of April 13th, around two o’clock, Hahnah Williams, a lawyer in Atlanta, received a call from her twelve-year-old niece, who told her to come to her mother’s house right away. Hahnah could hear her mom, Chris Ann Lewis, crying in the background. The phone rang again a few minutes later, as Hahnah was putting on her shoes; it was an agent with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. He said that Hahnah’s younger brother, Matthew Zadok Williams, a self-taught investor in his thirties who lived alone and went by his middle name, had died the day before in “an officer-involved shooting.” “I thought, How?” Hahnah recalled later. “He doesn’t leave the house!” Zadok preferred solitude and rarely went anywhere. When she arrived at her mother’s house, the agent was there. Hahnah asked him where the shooting happened, and he gave her the address. “He lives there!” she exclaimed. “Did they just come and hunt him?” she recalls thinking.

The DeKalb County Police Department had issued a statement about the shooting that morning, though it did not mention Zadok by name. The statement reported that a man “aggressively wielding a knife” had “lunged at officers with the knife causing one of them to discharge their firearm” and then had “fled into a vacant residence.” He had, according to the statement, come back out and lunged at officers with the knife, again “causing an officer to discharge his firearm,” and then gone “back into the residence.”

Hahnah did not stay long at her mother’s place. She and her mom got in the car and headed to Zadok’s house, a townhome-style duplex in a wooded subdivision near a highway, about fifteen minutes from Chris Ann’s house. On the way, Hahnah got another call, from an investigator with the DeKalb County medical examiner’s office. She put him on speakerphone, and he summarized the version of events he’d been given. The officers were responding to a 911 call, he told them. At one point, he said that “there wasn’t anything spectacular that happened” to Zadok.

“Sir, wait a minute, don’t be disrespectful,” Hahnah said. “Something spectacular did happen. My brother got killed.” She added, “He owns that apartment. He was in his own home when they killed him.”

“O.K.,” he said. “I apologize.”

Hahnah pressed him for details, but he couldn’t answer her questions, and he gave her the number for the homicide unit. Before the call ended, Chris Ann said, “I want you to know my son was a good person. Never been in trouble. He owned his home outright. Rehabbed it. The house next to him is abandoned. They probably went to the wrong door.” She went on, “My son is saved. I got a good son. He’s never been in trouble. Ever. He helped his sisters get through law school, medical school. He helped me—I was an R.N.—he helped me to retire.” She repeated, “He was a good son.”

The idea that Zadok would pull a knife on anyone made no sense to his family. He was the youngest child, and the only boy, in a family of six children. Zadok is an Old Testament name meaning righteous; his family also called him Pure of Heart, because he always seemed to assume the best in people. Hahnah couldn’t recall a single heated argument with him and told me that he’d never been in a fight, as far as she knew. Once, at Six Flags, when Zadok was a teen-ager, a security guard pulled him out of a line and frisked him as white boys his age filed past, she said. “We were so mad,” Hahnah told me. “But he said, ‘They do this randomly.’ He tried to convince us that it had nothing to do with race.”

Hahnah’s sisters include a nurse, a general contractor, a doctor, and a specialist in risk management, but Hahnah believed that Zadok was the smartest of all of them. He’d started a computer-repair business at thirteen. He drifted out of high school, eventually earning a G.E.D. at his mother’s insistence. He rarely bothered storing numbers in his phone, Hahnah said; he preferred to memorize them. He bought his house, in a complex called the Terraces, in a working-class corner of DeKalb County, for less than fifteen thousand dollars, after the 2008 financial collapse. The complex was not well maintained, but Zadok was proud of his place, which is where he spent basically all of his time—day-trading, listening to gospel music, reading about finance. “He was almost out of touch with reality, he was so focussed on the cyberworld,” Farah Bryant, his longtime girlfriend, told me. She and Zadok spoke four or five times a week for years, she said, even after breaking up, and she still imagined marrying him someday. He did well enough to buy another home, where one of his sisters has lived since being diagnosed with cancer a decade ago. For years, his sisters and mother would check in on him and bring him groceries when he asked. In 2018, he told his family that a gun was put to his head at a nearby convenience store; he stopped going to convenience stores. “His house was his sanctuary,” Hahnah told me. “His safe place. There was nothing we could do to make him leave. He was quarantined before we were all under quarantine.”

After the pandemic began, he spent even more time alone. But, on calls and in texts, he seemed like himself to his sisters and his mom. He talked about wanting to have kids one day, and about the most humane ways to deal with household pests. “Rodents and all beings should be treated equally,” he texted them in March. Later that month, Zadok invited Hahnah inside on one of her visits, which was unusual. He gave her advice on how to improve her law firm’s ranking in Internet searches, and asked her to recommend a plumber. She was careful not to wear out her welcome, she told me, hoping that he’d invite her in again on the next visit. On April 11th, she brought groceries, including some surprise fried chicken. “He smelled it and gave me the biggest smile,” she said. “And, for the first time in a long time, he hugged me.” She was vaccinated, but he was not; worried about infecting him, she pulled away. Later, she recalled that Zadok had been talking “a little slow” that morning. “I thought, Maybe he just woke up. Maybe I caught him off-guard.”

Late on the afternoon of April 13th, Hahnah and her mother joined other members of the family at the Terraces. Inside Zadok’s home, they saw blood on the floor and walls. They also noticed what looked like marks from a knife on the door handle. The condo attached to Zadok’s was being renovated by its owner, Jeffrey Dotson, who usually rented it out—it was unoccupied, and the family suspected that this was the vacant residence the police had mentioned in their initial statement, which informed early news reports of the incident. Dotson told me that, in early March, Zadok had called him to let him know about a leak in his place that could be damaging Dotson’s side, and offered to pay for any damages. “He was very proactive,” Dotson said. “A good neighbor.”

The family walked around the complex, asking neighbors what they had heard and seen. Among the people they spoke to was Jason Neal, who later told Channel 2 News in Atlanta what he’d told the Williams family, that he’d seen “a young man running from the police” who had “jumped on the rooftop, kicked in a window” and then jumped through it. Other neighbors told the Williams family that they’d seen a man with a bucket, but no knife. Zadok’s sisters had seen him with his bucket before, dealing with some kind of plumbing issue in the crawl space beneath the house. Neighbors also said that a long time passed before anyone helped Zadok. “When we interviewed witnesses,” Hahnah said, “they told us that E.M.S. did not enter the house until over an hour after the shooting.”

That evening, one of Zadok’s sisters posted a video on Instagram. The family was huddled around Chris Ann as she spoke. “My son was murdered last night by DeKalb County police,” she begins. She says that she has talked to witnesses, and calls it a case of mistaken identity. “My son happened to turn the corner with a bucket in his hand and the police started shooting at him and he ran,” she says. A state legislator named Renitta Shannon, who represents part of DeKalb County, reached out to Hahnah and offered to help.

The family also sent e-mails and made phone calls to news outlets, asking them to correct the narrative of Zadok’s story and to demand that DeKalb County release body-camera footage taken by the police who shot him. The next day, the Atlanta Journal-Constitution ran its second story about the incident, this time including comments from Hahnah and from the family’s attorney, Mawuli Davis. Channel 2 sent an open-records request for the body-camera footage that evening, and the following day, the station received approximately three and a half hours of footage from cameras worn by the first two responding officers. The department was not obligated to release the footage, per the Georgia Open Records Act—a spokesperson told me that the department had done so in part to counter “inaccurate, incomplete, and misleading eyewitness accounts” of the incident, specifically citing the family’s Instagram video and the second Journal-Constitution story.

The Williams family went to watch the footage at department headquarters about an hour after the footage was released to Channel 2, which then aired it on the news that evening. The person who called 911, a young Black woman, had told dispatchers about “a very suspicious man who’s been lurking around the woods around my house” and then had called back, twenty minutes later, saying that the man had a knife. The knife was visible in the footage: it had a long blue blade and a short handle. Zadok didn’t appear to respond verbally when the officer addressed him on his porch or as he descended his stairs, at the officer’s insistence, which seemed strange to his family. He’d then run, briefly, with the knife in his hand, in the direction of the retreating officer, who tripped and fell and then circled back toward the house—along with Zadok, who fell toward him. Zadok had clearly spooked the officer, but the family wasn’t convinced that he had meant to attack him. Zadok quickly retreated under his house, and spent the vast majority of the encounter on the defensive, behind a door, pleading with officers who did not believe that he was inside his own home.

Davis said that the family was grateful to the police for releasing the video, and that it “changes the narrative” they had pieced together about what had happened. “They acknowledge that what they saw was their brother, their loved one, having a mental-health crisis that they had never seen before,” he said. Channel 2 aired similar comments in a follow-up story. Davis told the station that he believed the officers “acted in self-preservation mode” when they encountered Zadok outside his home, but that they should have called in standoff negotiators once he had gone inside. In its segment, Channel 2 twice played a clip of the moment when Zadok appeared to run toward the officer, and included audio of one officer saying, “Please, sir. I’m begging you. You’re a Black man. I’m a Black man. You don’t have to die today. I don’t want you to die today.” The story ended with Hahnah thanking the department for releasing the footage.

The story did not address one of the family’s lingering questions: Why had the officers left Zadok inside after firing their weapons, without rendering aid, for nearly two hours, until medical personnel were allowed in? Davis had hired a pathologist named Jackson Gates, who had examined the victims of other police shootings, to make a preliminary determination about the cause of death. Later that week, the family organized a press conference so that Gates could share his findings, and the family and Renitta Shannon could call for justice and transparency. At the event, on April 20th, Gates said that he believed that prompt medical aid would likely have saved Zadok’s life. Zadok appeared to have died from “a slow hemorrhage,” he said, caused by a gunshot wound to his shoulder. The shot seemed to have been fired down on Zadok, as he knelt on the floor behind an ottoman.

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Marc Morial, center, President and Chief Executive Officer of the National Urban League, talks with reporters outside the West Wing of the White House in Washington, Thursday, July 8, 2021. (photo: Susan Walsh/AP)
Marc Morial, center, President and Chief Executive Officer of the National Urban League, talks with reporters outside the West Wing of the White House in Washington, Thursday, July 8, 2021. (photo: Susan Walsh/AP)


Civil Rights Leaders Dial Up Pressure on White House to Protect Voting Rights Amid GOP Efforts to Change Laws
Matt Viser, The Washington Post
Viser writes: "Several top civil rights leaders, in what was described as a 'a very candid, no-holds-barred meeting' that stretched nearly two hours, urged President Biden on Thursday to take more assertive action to combat Republican efforts to change voting laws around the country."


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Fort Bliss in Texas, which holds temporary housing for migrants, in June 2018. (photo: Joe Raedle/Getty)
Fort Bliss in Texas, which holds temporary housing for migrants, in June 2018. (photo: Joe Raedle/Getty)

Whistleblowers Allege Poor Care for Migrant Kids by Contractor Specializing in Disaster Cleanup
Julia Ainsley, NBC News
Ainsley writes: "The contractor taking care of thousands of migrant children had no experience in child care, said the federal workers."

The contractor taking care of thousands of migrant children had no experience in child care, said the federal workers.

hildren housed in one of the Biden administration's largest shelters for unaccompanied migrant minors were being watched over by contractors with no Spanish-language skills or experience in child care who usually stood idly at the edge of crowded tents, according to two federal workers who have come forward to file a whistleblower complaint to Congress.

The contractor for the Department of Health and Human Services, Servpro, specializes in cleanup after water, fire and storm disasters. It shows no record of having handled a contract related to child welfare before it took on the care of nearly 5,000 children who were housed at the facility at Fort Bliss, Texas, in May.

By late June, Fort Bliss held fewer than 800 children, according to Health and Human Services Secretary Xavier Becerra. It had been the subject of repeated allegations of inadequate care for children.

A spokeswoman for Servpro Industries said that the contract was entered into by a franchise holder without the company's knowledge and that therefore Servpro did not have a comment on the specific allegations. Servpro has more than 1,700 franchisees.

"When we became aware of this issue, we immediately advised the franchise operator that these are not approved Servpro service offerings," said Kim Brooks, a spokeswoman for Servpro. "We have been informed by the franchise operator that it is no longer providing these services through the Servpro franchise."

Servpro Industries did not provide the name of the franchise when contacted, and the whistleblowers were not aware of which franchise held the contract, only that the contractor's workers wore Servpro uniforms with the motto "Like it never even happened."

Two federal workers detailed to Fort Bliss, Laurie Elkin and Justin Mulaire, filed the whistleblower complaint Wednesday to publicly share their experiences at the facility under Servpro's leadership from May to early June. Elkin and Mulaire are lawyers for the federal Equal Employment Opportunity Commission in Chicago who were temporarily employed at Fort Bliss when the Biden administration called for volunteers across the federal government to help deal with the influx of unaccompanied children crossing the southern border.

"Contractor staff told Ms. Elkin and Mr. Mulaire that they had received no training prior to beginning work and had little guidance about what their role was," Elkin and Mulaire said in their whistleblower complaint, which was sent Wednesday to committees in the House and the Senate, as well as the inspector general for Health and Human Services.

Elkin and Mulaire are represented by the Government Accountability Project, which filed the complaint on their behalf. The whistleblowers' attorneys said that "the conditions they witnessed caused physical, mental and emotional harm affecting dozens of children" and that management at Fort Bliss ignored their concerns. The complaint does not allege illegal behavior, but rather gross mismanagement and a threat to public health and safety.

The Servpro supervisors were responsible for overseeing large tents, at the time filled with 1,000 to 1,500 children, according to Elkin and Mulaire, where "they did not initiate interaction with the children and generally simply stood quietly, passively watching the children."

They said many of the contractors from Servpro viewed the job "more as crowd control than youth care" and documented that they used loud music and, at one point, a bullhorn to wake children in the morning. Mulaire said the ratio of federal detailees to Servpro employees in the boys' tent he supervised was about 1 to 6 by the time he left in June.

The Servpro contractors are alleged to have told Elkin and Mulaire that none of the tent supervisors were to interact with the children "unless a child specifically approached them." But Elkin and Mulaire said that children in acute mental or medical distress were less likely to seek help and that, when they did, contractors questioned why the children needed the attention.

Elkin and Mulaire said that children's days were largely unstructured and that they passed the time "either sitting or lying in their beds or milling around with relatively few activities available to them."

Some of the federal detailees bought board games and balls with money from their own pockets to entertain the children, they said.

Immigration advocates have called for the Biden administration to end the use of emergency intake shelters like Fort Bliss and to use only facilities that operate under state licensing requirements for children, especially as the number of unaccompanied migrant children in the care of Health and Human Services has declined from over 20,000 to fewer than 15,000. So far, HHS, which has closed some emergency intake facilities, has not announced plans to close Fort Bliss.

Elkin and Mulaire said that it was impossible to supervise all children and that they grew particularly worried about children who might be in distress on bottom bunks that could not be seen.

Elkin said that she found three girls in bottom bunks who needed urgent medical or mental health care but that she was met with resistance when she tried to get them help. One girl was sleeping continuously and, when approached, told Elkin that she had a sore throat. According to Elkin, a contractor said the medical staff would not be able to do anything for her, but Elkin took the girl anyway.

Elkin said that another had a panic attack after learning her sister was in a coma and that Elkin was told to walk the girl around outside to calm her down. Elkin said that in the third case, she discovered a girl in a bottom bunk who was ghostly pale and revealed that she was having profuse vaginal bleeding. Elkin said that her supervisor questioned her decision to take the girl to see a doctor but that Elkin insisted and the girl was ultimately given medical treatment.

Mulaire and Elkin also alleged that clean bedding and clothes were not regularly provided.

Because of the dry, hot air in Fort Bliss, the tents were often filled with sand and dust, but even children who were kept there for more than two months were never given clean sheets, according to Mulaire and Elkin.

"The children also reported having insufficient clean underwear and socks, which in turn made them reluctant to exercise or to bathe because they knew they lacked clean clothes to change into," they said in the complaint. Elkin said some girls would plead for clean underwear.

Elkin and Mulaire said they had few places to raise the alarm over what they were seeing. They said they were told at orientation by U.S. Public Health Service workers not to make complaints about anything they witnessed for the first 10 days of their employment and only then to send complaints to a "suggestions" email address.

“We take our humanitarian mission and the well-being of children in our care seriously,” said an HHS spokesperson in a statement. “HHS has taken action to improve the conditions at Fort Bliss and at all Emergency Intake Sites. Children are receiving nutritionally appropriate meals and there are now 60 mental health professionals on site at Fort Bliss and counselors at all other emergency intake sites.”

The spokesperson did not comment on how a Servpro franchisee got the contract for Fort Bliss.

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People pressure police on Thursday to hand over men who were arrested and the bodies of two men who were brought in by police after they were killed by police in the assassination of Haitian president Jovenel Moïse in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. (photo: Joseph Odelyn/AP)
People pressure police on Thursday to hand over men who were arrested and the bodies of two men who were brought in by police after they were killed by police in the assassination of Haitian president Jovenel Moïse in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. (photo: Joseph Odelyn/AP)

2 Americans Are Among Those Arrested in the Assassination of Haiti's President
Associated Press
Excerpt: "Seventeen suspects have been detained so far in the stunning assassination of Haiti's president, and Haitian authorities say two are believed to hold dual U.S.-Haitian citizenship and Colombia's government says at least six are former members of its army."

eventeen suspects have been detained so far in the stunning assassination of Haiti's president, and Haitian authorities say two are believed to hold dual U.S.-Haitian citizenship and Colombia's government says at least six are former members of its army.

Léon Charles, chief of Haiti's National Police, said Thursday night that 15 of the detainees were from Colombia.

The police chief said eight more suspects were being sought and three others had been killed by police. Charles had earlier said seven were killed.

"We are going to bring them to justice," the police chief said, the 17 handcuffed suspects sitting on the floor during a news conference on developments following the brazen killing of President Jovenel Moïse at his home before dawn Wednesday.

Colombia's government said it had been asked about six of the suspects in Haiti, including two of those killed, and had determined they were retired members of its army. It didn't release their identities.

The head of the Colombian national police, Gen. Jorge Luis Vargas Valencia, said President Iván Duque had ordered the high command of Colombia's army and police to cooperate in the investigation.

"A team was formed with the best investigators ... they are going to send dates, flight times, financial information that is already being collected to be sent to Port-au-Prince," Vargas said.

Who are the two Americans in custody?

The U.S. State Department said it was aware of reports that Haitian Americans were in custody but could not confirm or comment.

The Haitian Americans were identified by Haitian officials as James Solages and Joseph Vincent. Solages, at age 35, is the youngest of the suspects and the oldest is 55, according to a document shared by Haiti's minister of elections, Mathias Pierre. He would not provide further information on those in custody.

Solages described himself as a "certified diplomatic agent," an advocate for children and budding politician on a website for a charity he started in 2019 in south Florida to assist people in the Haitian coastal town of Jacmel. On his bio page for the charity, Solages said he previously worked as a bodyguard at the Canadian Embassy in Haiti.

Canada's foreign relation department released a statement that did not refer to Solages by name but said one of the men detained for his alleged role in the killing had been "briefly employed as a reserve bodyguard" at its embassy by a private contractor. He gave no other details.

Calls to the charity and Solages' associates at the charity either did not go through or weren't answered.

Meanwhile, Taiwan's foreign ministry said Haitian police had arrested 11 armed suspects who tried to break into the Taiwanese embassy early Thursday. It gave no details of the suspects' identities or a reason for the break-in.

"As for whether the suspects were involved in the assassination of the President of Haiti, that will need to be investigated by the Haitian police," Foreign Affairs spokesperson Joanne Ou told The Associated Press in Taipei.

Police were alerted by embassy security guards while Taiwanese diplomats were working from home. The ministry said some doors and windows were broken but there was no other damage to the embassy.

Haiti is one of a handful of countries worldwide that maintain diplomatic relations with Taiwan instead of the rival mainland Chinese government in Beijing.

In Port-au-Prince, witnesses said a crowd discovered two suspects hiding in bushes, and some people grabbed the men by their shirts and pants, pushed them and occasionally slapped them. An Associated Press journalist saw officers put the pair in the back of a pickup and drive away as the crowd ran after them to a police station.

"They killed the president! Give them to us! We're going to burn them," people chanted outside Thursday.

The crowd later set fire to several abandoned cars riddled with bullet holes that they believed belonged to the suspects. The cars didn't have license plates, and inside one was an empty box of bullets and some water.

Later, Charles urged people to stay calm and let his officers do their work. He cautioned that authorities needed evidence that was being destroyed, including the burned cars.

Doubts arise about the government's version of events

Officials have given out little information on the killing, other than to say the attack was carried out by "a highly trained and heavily armed group."

Not everyone was buying the government's description of the attack. When Haitian journalist Robenson Geffrard, who writes for a local newspaper and has a radio show, tweeted a report on comments by the police chief, he drew a flood of responses expressing skepticism. Many wondered how the sophisticated attackers described by police could penetrate Moïse's home, security detail and panic room and escape unharmed but then be caught without planning a successful getaway.

A Haitian judge involved in the investigation said Moïse was shot a dozen times and his office and bedroom were ransacked, according to the Haitian newspaper Le Nouvelliste. It quoted Judge Carl Henry Destin as saying investigators found 5.56 and 7.62 mm cartridges between the gatehouse and inside the house.

Moïse's daughter, Jomarlie Jovenel, hid in her brother's bedroom during the attack, and a maid and another worker were tied up by the attackers, the judge said.

Interim Prime Minister Claude Joseph, who assumed leadership of Haiti with the backing of police and the military, asked people to reopen businesses and go back to work as he ordered the reopening of the international airport.

Joseph decreed a two-week state of siege after the assassination, which stunned a nation already in crisis from some of the Western Hemisphere's worst poverty, widespread violence and political instability.

Haiti had grown increasingly unstable under Moïse, who had been ruling by decree for more than a year and faced violent protests as critics accused him of trying to amass more power while the opposition demanded he step down.

"Every one at home is sleeping with one eye open and one eye closed"

The U.N. Security Council met privately Thursday to discuss the situation in Haiti, and U.N. special envoy Helen La Lime said afterward that Haitian officials had asked for additional security assistance.

Public transportation and street vendors remained scarce Thursday, an unusual sight for the normally bustling streets of Port-au-Prince.

Marco Destin was walking to see his family since no buses, known as tap-taps, were available. He was carrying a loaf of bread for them because they had not left their house since the president's killing out of fear for their lives.

"Every one at home is sleeping with one eye open and one eye closed," he said. "If the head of state is not protected, I don't have any protection whatsoever."

Gunfire rang out intermittently across the city hours after the killing, a grim reminder of the growing power of gangs that displaced more than 14,700 people last month alone as they torched and ransacked homes in a fight over territory.

Robert Fatton, a Haitian politics expert at the University of Virginia, said gangs were a force to contend with and it isn't certain Haiti's security forces can enforce a state of siege.

"It's a really explosive situation," he said.

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Dead mussels at the waterline in British Columbia. (photo: Christopher Harley)
Dead mussels at the waterline in British Columbia. (photo: Christopher Harley)

'Heat Dome' Probably Killed 1 Billion Marine Animals on Canada Coast, Experts Say
Leyland Cecco, Guardian UK
Cecco writes: "More than 1 billion marine animals along Canada's Pacific coast are likely to have died from last week's record heatwave, experts warn, highlighting the vulnerability of ecosystems unaccustomed to extreme temperatures."

British Columbia scientist says heat essentially cooked mussels: ‘The shore doesn’t usually crunch when you walk’

ore than 1 billion marine animals along Canada’s Pacific coast are likely to have died from last week’s record heatwave, experts warn, highlighting the vulnerability of ecosystems unaccustomed to extreme temperatures.

The “heat dome” that settled over western Canada and the north-western US for five days pushed temperatures in communities along the coast to 40C (104F) – shattering longstanding records and offering little respite for days.

The intense and unrelenting heat is believed to have killed as many as 500 people in the province of British Columbia and contributed to the hundreds of wildfires currently burning across the province.

But experts fear it also had a devastating impact on marine life.

Christopher Harley, a marine biologist at the University of British Columbia, has calculated that more than a billion marine animals may have been killed by the unusual heat.

A walk along a Vancouver-area beach highlighted the magnitude of devastation brought on by the heatwave, he said.

“The shore doesn’t usually crunch when you walk on it. But there were so many empty mussel shells lying everywhere that you just couldn’t avoid stepping on dead animals while walking around,” he said.

Harley was struck by the smell of rotting mussels, many of which were in effect cooked by the abnormally warm water. Snails, sea stars and clams were decaying in the shallow water. “It was an overpowering, visceral experience,” he said.

While the air around Vancouver hovered around the high 30s (about 100F), Harley and a student used infrared cameras to record temperatures above 50C (122F) along the rocky shore.

“It was so hot when I was out with a student that we collected data for a little bit and then retreated to the shade and ate frozen grapes,” said Harley. “But of course, the mussels, sea stars and clams don’t have that option.”

Mussels are hardy shellfish, tolerating temperatures into the high 30s. Barnacles are even sturdier, surviving the mid-40s (about 113F) for at least a few hours.

“But when the temperatures get above that, those are just unsurvivable conditions,” he said.

The mass death of shellfish would temporarily affect water quality because mussels and clams help filter the sea, Harley said, keeping it clear enough that sunlight reaches the eelgrass beds while also creating habitats for other species.

“A square meter of mussel bed could be home to several dozen or even one hundred species,” he said. The tightly bunched way mussels live also informed Harley’s calculation of the scope of the loss.

“You can fit thousands on to an area the size of a stove top. And there are hundreds of kilometres of rocky beach that are hospitable to mussels. Each time you scale up, the numbers just keep getting bigger and bigger. And that’s just mussels. A lot of sea life would have died.”

While mussels can regenerate over a period of two years, a number of starfish and clams live for decades, and they reproduce more slowly, so their recovery is probably going to take longer.

Harley has also received reports from colleagues of dead sea anemones, rock fish and oysters.

Experts have cautioned that the province needs to adapt to the reality that sudden and sustained heatwaves are likely to become more common as a result of climate change.

Another heatwave is expected to strike the western United States and south-western Canada in the coming week, highlighting the relentlessness of the dry summer heat.

“The nerdy ecologist part of me is excited to see what will happen in the coming years,” said Harley. “But most of the rest of me is kind of depressed by it. A lot of species are not going to be able to keep up with the pace of change. Ecosystems are going to change in ways that are really difficult to predict. We don’t know where the tipping points are.”

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