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3 days ago
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The U.S. government sold off aging ships — leaving states in the Pacific Northwest to pay the price
The Pacific Producer, a large abandoned vessel, docked in a waterway off Commencement Bay in Tacoma, Wash., as seen July 15, 2025. (Dan DeLong/InvestigateWest) This story was originally published by InvestigateWest, a nonprofit newsroom dedicated to change-making investigative journalism. Sign up for their Watchdog Weekly newsletter to receive stories like this one in your inbox. Three years ago on a sunny day in August, a nearly 80-year-old steel, navy blue ship with patched holes and streaks of rust drifted down an inlet connecting downtown Tacoma to Commencement Bay. The 169-foot vessel was an unusual sight for local boaters who use the narrow channel to dock their small recreational watercraft. As it passed the Eleventh Street Bridge, the antennae of Pacific Producer got caught, causing its captain to lose control and frantically throw out an anchor to prevent a collision with other docked boats, according to eyewitness reports. The captain maneuvered it over to the closed Martinac shipbuilding facility and left it there for over a year, floating above an Environmental Protection Agency Superfund site, an acres-long underwater protective barrier blanketing contamination of historical pollution from the rest of the Thea Foss waterway. Noticing the derelict vessel on patrol, the Tacoma Fire Department conducted an inspection. Upon entering a lower deck, the department's crew noted a smell of ammonia so strong 'it was felt in our eyes and nose.' That sounded the alarm for a myriad of federal, state and local agencies to respond. When Washington Department of Ecology officials arrived, they noticed water in the bottom of the ship that grew heavier each day. Now, the concern was that the Pacific Producer was sinking. Once response operations were completed, 25,000 gallons of oily water, 5,000 gallons of diesel, 3,500 pounds of ammonia, and 14,000 gallons of miscellaneous and oily waste had been removed, said Courtney Serad, lead spill responder with the Department of Ecology. The Coast Guard and the Department of Ecology spent nearly a million dollars removing the ammonia, oil and other hazardous waste — including human feces — aboard the ship. Once the vessel is demolished, Washington's Department of Natural Resources expects to have spent nearly $4 million on its demolition and also on moorage fees, on-site security due to trespassers, pest control and the remediation of hazardous materials. Abandoned and derelict vessels are quietly piling up in Washington and Oregon waterways, posing a threat to fragile marine ecosystems. At least 37 of these vessels in the Pacific Northwest, including the Pacific Producer, were formerly property of the Navy, Coast Guard or another federal agency, then bought by someone who later abandoned it. Together, these former government vessels have cost Washington state and Oregon over $21 million to remove and destroy. Vessel removal programs in Washington and Oregon are calling on the federal government to destroy its own decrepit vessels and to prevent them from getting into the public's hands. 'There's a lot of stories around these bigger vessels, and usually it starts out with the government selling it to somebody who doesn't have the capacity to really operate it,' said Doug Helton, retired regional operations supervisor at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration who assisted Washington and states across the country in recovering large abandoned watercraft. 'We have a disposal process for a lot of things in our economy, but vessels — there isn't really a standard way of disposing of these.' These vessels become available to the public through various government agencies — most notably, the General Services Administration, a federal agency that manages and disposes of government property, according to ownership records. Often the ships leak oil, ammonia and other hazardous materials that state agencies and the U.S. Coast Guard are left to clean. All take up swaths of the states' budgets to remediate, remove and destroy. Of the 37 vessels owned or seized by the federal government to be flagged in the Pacific Northwest, at least 11 served in World War II. One of those was a minesweeper once used to detect and remove enemy mines from the ocean's depths. At least eight ships sank and haven't been recovered. The largest was a 384-foot ship designed to bring Army tanks to shore during the Vietnam War. That vessel would cost around $25 million to destroy, funds that Oregon doesn't have, said Josh Mulhollem, manager of the state's derelict vessel removal program. It sits abandoned in the Columbia River with bolted-in doors to prevent trespassers. Washington's Derelict Vessel Removal Program has an active inventory of 300 abandoned or derelict vessels. In just over 20 years, it has removed more than 1,200 vessels. A 2022 law allocating the program an additional stream of funding from a watercraft excise tax has broadened its capabilities, but even then, the program waited until the next biennium, which began this July, to destroy the Pacific Producer. Its total cost — $3.9 million — would have taken up nearly 40% of the program's $10.5 million biennial budget and restricted the agency's scope to manage the hundreds of other abandoned boats. Instead, the program opted to pay off the expenses over two separate budgets. But this ended up costing nearly $300,000 more. It paid to dock the ship at a Seattle marina for over a year with on-site security to prevent trespassers. A rat infestation also racked up pest control fees. 'My question for the federal government is, why are you selling these into private hands when you know that the vessels are at the end of their life?' said Troy Wood, the manager of Washington's Derelict Vessel Removal Program who is part of a national workgroup dedicated to the issue and has helped other state agencies create their own program. Before private ownership, the former government vessels flagged or removed in Washington and Oregon were property of various agencies like the Defense Reutilization and Marketing Division, the U.S. Treasury Department, or the U.S. Department of Commerce. Records obtained by InvestigateWest show that at least 17 were formerly operated by the U.S. Navy. Six were with the U.S. Coast Guard. Two were former Canadian military vessels. One, the Hero, was the last wooden icebreaker in Antarctica, formerly owned by the National Science Foundation. Most records don't show how the vessels were transferred from the government to the public. Those familiar with the process for distributing federal surplus materials say it is deeply flawed. Once an old ship is put up for public auction, just about anybody can bid. There are often no requirements that bidders carry insurance or have the financial ability to properly care for an old, broken-down vessel. In 2017, the Government Accountability Office, a nonpartisan research agency that investigates government agencies at the request of Congress, issued an audit report on the Department of Defense's process for disposing of sensitive equipment. The GAO posed as a fake federal law enforcement agency and was accepted in a surplus property program. Diana Maurer, director of the defense capabilities and management team at the Government Accountability Office, said DOD officials missed several opportunities to verify the agency's legitimacy. 'No one called us to double-check the fictitious information we provided,' she said. 'Among other things, we gave a phony agency name, a phony address and phony legal authorities that purported to be in the U.S. Code. A simple phone call or Google search could have confirmed that we were not who we said we were.' After the audit was released, the DOD took 'quick action to close the loopholes' that allowed the GAO to obtain military equipment, Maurer added. The GAO's fake agency was able to obtain over 100 controlled items — sensitive equipment not to be released to the general public — worth an estimated $1.2 million. Although none of these items were vessels, the report highlights the DOD's — which includes the U.S. Navy and Coast Guard — largely unregulated approval process to buy up surplus property. In the case of the Pacific Producer, the U.S. Marshals Service sold the ship twice to the same owner hiding behind shell companies following lawsuits spurred by unpaid debts. Each time the Marshals Service stripped it of all liens and the owner bought the boat back with a clean title. Since the final purchase of the vessel in 2007, it acquired over $1 million in unpaid liens and hundreds of thousands of dollars of fines from the Occupational Safety and Health Administration. The owner did not respond to inquiries from InvestigateWest. Under Washington law, the owner of an abandoned or derelict vessel is responsible to reimburse the state Department of Natural Resources and any other authorized public entity for costs associated with surveying the vessel, disposal and any environmental damage. If left unpaid, the DNR can place liens on the owner's assets and take the owner to court. But Wood, the manager of Washington's derelict vessel removal program, says that more often than not, the owner leaves the state or becomes untraceable, leaving the state to foot the bill. The General Services Administration, a federal agency that manages the excess property of other federal agencies, regularly sells older vessels from the Navy and Coast Guard. The process goes like this: When a federal agency decides to dispose of a vessel, it's first offered to other federal agencies. If it doesn't draw interest there, the offer extends to state and municipal agencies. If there still aren't any takers, that's where the GSA's public auction comes in. InvestigateWest reviewed over 100 online sale listings of previous auctions in Washington state. The listings date back only to 2016 but offer a glimpse into typical vessel sales. Only 10 had thorough inspection reports. The majority listed a slew of issues. Vessels were often heavily corroded, sold without an engine or had water leaking into the hull. Two former Navy boats were listed as having engines with excessive heat problems to the point where 'insulation will begin to smoke.' Three were built in the 1940s. One of those, a 66-foot old Navy tug, sold for just $10,000. It was not inspected and its listing states, 'Boat Is In The Water. This Does Not Imply A Warranty Or Guarantee That The Boat Is Operational.' It also states the bidder is responsible for the disposal of oil accumulated on the boat. None of the listings had stringent bidder requirements such as proving valid insurance or the financial means to care for the boat. People in the boating world familiar with this issue call the buyers of these boats 'dreamers' with big plans to create an ecotourism business, museum, fishing boat, venue or new home. 'Someone would say, 'That's cool, we could make a nice yacht out of that' and then realize, 'Wait a minute, the Coast Guard, with all their resources and manpower, couldn't keep this boat operational,'' Helton said. 'How was some guy with a pickup truck and a shoestring budget gonna keep it afloat?' Not all auctioned vessels cause environmental pollution. Some are successfully repaired and continue to operate safely in Washington's waters. But many do not realize the burden or cost of caring for these old ships. Sometimes half the battle is finding a part that hasn't been manufactured in over 50 years. Sometimes people build their own parts or give up and resell the boat. Then, somehow, they get abandoned and often sink. 'A 140-foot boat should cost more than $50,000,' said Mulhollem, manager of Oregon's derelict vessel removal program. Over half of the vessels sold by the GSA in Washington came from the Navy, Coast Guard and Army. The Navy has sold more than any other agency in Washington. Sometimes the Navy sells old ships to foreign allied militaries, sometimes it turns them into museums or artificial reefs. The Navy's decision to send a vessel to the GSA 'is primarily based on their inability to meet current mission requirements,' according to a Navy spokesperson. The Navy did not disclose to InvestigateWest why it doesn't destroy its own vessels. The Hero was an out-of-service Antarctic research vessel acquired by an oceanic foundation in Oregon with plans to make it the focal point of a larger Antarctic 'exploratorium.' It was bought at a General Services Administration auction in 1985 for $5,000. When plans fell through, the vessel was resold, then sold at least another four times as new owners failed to make the vessel viable. In 2017, after the Hero's last two owners had stripped the ship of parts to turn a profit, the boat sank at the mouth of the Palix River, a waterway that sustains one of the state's largest oyster farming areas. It cost the Washington Derelict Vessel Removal Program over $3.7 million to remove and destroy it. 'Took us awhile to get the funding, but we eventually did,' Wood said. 'A million of it was for environmental cleanup because we went in and vacuumed the riverbed.' Every vessel carries aboard some mixture of hazardous materials. All carry necessities like motor oils, flares and batteries. When an old damaged vessel is left abandoned, it may leak hazardous materials without anyone reporting it to authorities. 'The toughest spills we face where we get the worst pollution recovery results are spills that are not reported in a timely manner,' said Byers, the oil response manager at Washington's Department of Ecology. 'In some cases, the oil spreads out… so thin that our response efforts might actually cause more environmental harm than good. We have to literally remove the environment to get the oil with it.' Found on all vessels for fire protection, but in even larger quantities on larger vessels, are flame retardants containing polybrominated diphenyl ethers (PBDEs), which accumulate in an animal's body and are considered toxic. It hasn't been widely studied in natural environments like the ocean, but one controlled study found PBDEs to diminish reproduction in fish. 'A lot of the damage is under the water surface and invisible,' Byers said. 'It's occurring, but it's not obvious.' Other hazardous materials can include fishing nets, steering gear, cleaning products, fire extinguishers, hydraulic oil and lubricants. Fishing vessels, like the Pacific Producer, carry ammonia used as refrigerant and chlorine as decontamination material, said Helton, with the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration in a recent webinar. Some vessels, he said, would store fuel in chain lockers and other void spaces aboard in order to maximize time at sea without having to refill, increasing the amount of hazardous material that could end up in the ocean. Researchers say it's nearly impossible to quantify how much abandoned and derelict vessels have polluted Washington's waters. The pollution isn't as constant as commercial vessel traffic or stormwater runoff, but spills from abandoned vessels have the potential to harm the environment they're left in for years. Last year, California U.S. Rep. John Garamendi introduced the Abandoned and Derelict Vessels Act of 2024. The federal bill didn't pass, but one provision was tacked on to the National Defense Authorization Act, the military spending bill Congress passes each year. It established requirements for purchasing federally auctioned vessels, including verifying that the prospective buyer holds proper insurance and has adequate financial resources to care for the vessel. But, so far, the message hasn't gotten out. Some parties involved with removal of former government vessels were not aware of this provision, the GSA has not included the requirement in its current boat listings and GSA sales employees were not aware of this law. 'I think it's beneficial legislation,' said Mulhollem, who oversees Oregon's vessel removal program. 'I don't think it solves all the issues — I mean insurance and means to take care of a vessel can be temporary.' There isn't an agreed on solution to this problem, Mulhollem added. These larger abandoned vessels are 'complicated pieces of waste that no one is equipped' to handle. Other failed provisions in Rep. Garamendi's original bill also called on the government to create a database of all abandoned and derelict vessels across the country and to authorized the Coast Guard and Army Corps of Engineers to remove those vessels. 'Maybe the government shouldn't be selling them at all… or maybe they should be trying to figure out some other way to dispose of them,' said Helton, the retired operations supervisor at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. The U.S. government rarely destroys its own ships. Shipbreaking is a dangerous and labor intensive job. Laborers remove hazardous materials onboard and cut a boat to pieces to later be sold for scrap. There are only three shipbreakers in the country authorized to do business with the U.S. government, and all are located in Brownsville, Texas, where wages are low, and the Environmental Protection Agency imposes strict rules. 'Depending on the weight of the vessel, our cost to process a vessel is going to be somewhere in the region of $200 per ton plus any remediation fees,' said Jeremy Kirchin, chief executive officer of Scrap Metal Services, LLC, one of the nation's three government-authorized shipbreakers. He said that old U.S. Navy ships from Seattle commonly make the journey to his facility. First, they must be repaired to be seaworthy enough for a last voyage to the southernmost point of Texas, bordering Mexico. The 5,500-nautical-mile journey takes ships down the Pacific Coast, through the Panama Canal up and then through the Gulf of Mexico to Texas. That trip takes over 20 days and often costs over $1 million. But not all vessels are even worth the journey to destroy. 'It's a life cycle issue,' Helton said. 'That's sort of the dirty secret, is that sometimes it's easier to sell a vessel for cheap than it is to actually properly dispose of it.' After its multi-agency cleanup in the Thea Foss waterway, the Department of Natural Resources took possession of the Pacific Producer. Unable to give up over half of its biennium budget to destroy the vessel, the department has left it docked at a marina in Seattle since December 2023, racking up nearly $300,000 in moorage, security and pest control fees at Foss Maritime. Last month, it was taken to a concrete facility in Tacoma that has a dry dock where it will be destroyed this summer. The Department of Natural Resources waited until July this year to get more funding. Destruction will take a month to complete and cost over $1 million. The contractor responsible for disposal will recycle as much material as possible. Assuming that happens according to schedule, it will have taken nearly two years and nearly $5 million to safely remediate and destroy the Pacific Producer. InvestigateWest ( is an independent news nonprofit dedicated to investigative journalism in the Pacific Northwest. Reporter Aspen Ford, a Roy W. Howard fellow, can be reached at aspen@ Solve the daily Crossword
Yahoo
08-06-2025
- Yahoo
WA farmworkers fear reporting sexual harassment to federal agency under Trump
Marlen, right, a peer trainer for the BASTA Coalition of Washington, and Isabel Reyes-Paz, the coalition's director, lead trainings primarily for Mexican immigrant women about sexual harassment of farmworkers in the Yakima Valley, an agricultural region in Central Washington. (Photo by Jake Parrish/InvestigateWest) Marlen, a 35-year-old mother from Mexico, knows what farmworkers like her are supposed to do if they're sexually harassed on the job: Tell the harasser to stop, document it, then report it to company leadership. If none of that works, get legal help. This could mean filing a complaint with the U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, the government agency responsible for enforcing federal employment discrimination laws. Marlen leads training sessions in Spanish for other Latina farmworkers in central Washington about sexual harassment, following guidance drawn from the EEOC. In agricultural areas like Yakima County, where more than half the population is Hispanic or Latino, many victims are immigrants who speak little English, while many perpetrators are supervisors with the power to punish those who report them or refuse their demands. So at the end of 2023, when Marlen's supervisor at a large fruit farm in the Yakima Valley started leering at her, making crude comments about women's bodies like 'nice camel legs,' and filming her as she stood on a ladder cutting tree branches, she reported it to a manager, she said. Then she was assigned to more physically demanding jobs, such as digging holes in rocky ground and moving heavy wooden posts — work that typically only men would do and that isolated her from co-workers, according to her documentation of the incidents. 'It makes me feel like it was wrong of me to report him,' Marlen said in Spanish. She asked to go by her first name for this article because she still works for the company. 'Like I made a mistake, when the one who made the mistake was him.' But if things get worse for Marlen, she probably wouldn't report it to the EEOC, the commission that for nearly three decades has defended immigrant farmworkers like her against workplace sexual harassment and abuse — no matter their immigration status. 'What are they going to do with the information we give them? Are they going to help us or make things worse for us?' she said. 'I feel like — not just in cases of harassment, but with anything happening with someone right now — people won't report it because of fear.' As the Trump administration's immigration crackdown reaches into agricultural communities across the country and the EEOC shifts priorities to align with those of the president, it's unclear to these farmworkers and their attorneys whether the agency will continue to protect them. In one of several actions contributing to a growing fear that the EEOC is being politicized by President Trump, the commission's Trump-appointed acting chair, Andrea Lucas, announced in February that the commission will help deter illegal migration by enforcing employment antidiscrimination laws against employers that 'illegally prefer non-American workers.' And in the name of protecting women from workplace sexual harassment, Lucas also vowed to roll back the Biden administration's 'gender identity agenda.' The commission then moved to dismiss several lawsuits against companies alleging discrimination against transgender and nonbinary workers. The commission declined to comment when InvestigateWest asked if workers can continue filing complaints without fear that their immigration status will be used against them. 'The EEOC was playing a very critical role in being able to protect survivors of workplace sexual harassment, including egregious rape. The sense that we're getting is that they're no longer going to be that kind of an agency,' said Blanca Rodriguez, deputy director of advocacy for Columbia Legal Services, a nonprofit legal aid program in Washington. 'They're going to be an agency that immigrant communities are going to fear. And that is not only going to do harm during the Trump administration, but for years to come.' While it's unclear whether the federal commission would in fact share people's immigration information with other agencies like Immigration and Customs Enforcement, the uncertainty alone is deterring farmworkers from reporting sexual harassment and abuse to government and legal organizations, according to attorneys and advocates in the region. The Northwest Justice Project, a nonprofit law firm that represents low-income people in Washington, recorded 16 cases involving sexual harassment of a farmworker in 2024. It had 21 such cases in 2023 and 17 in 2022. So far in 2025, as Trump returned to the White House, the firm has recorded only two cases (although the Northwest Justice Project cautioned this could be an undercount because the data is not yet fully entered in its system). These cases may also take a back seat as the Washington Attorney General's Office, an alternative to the federal government for combating sexual violence against farmworkers, spends more of its limited resources pushing back against the Trump administration's actions, leaving these workers with few — if any — options for recourse. The state Attorney General's Office has sued the Trump administration more than a dozen times over issues like birthright citizenship, gender-affirming care for youth, education funding and health funding. 'It's a terrible outcome if we have to spend all of our energy responding to the federal government, and thus leaving workers in Washington without any protection because the EEOC may not do its job,' said the office's Civil Rights Division Chief Colleen Melody. 'Resources are a major concern, and burnout will be a huge concern if we don't get additional resources to help do this work.' In 1991, a federal court case in California shaped the future of undocumented workers' rights. In a victory for immigrant rights, the judge ruled that undocumented workers are covered under Title VII, a section of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 that prohibits discrimination against employees based on national origin, race, sex and more. The ruling opened the door for millions of immigrant workers to file discrimination charges with the EEOC. For William Tamayo, a now-retired attorney who represented the plaintiff, a woman from Mexico, it was just the beginning of a trailblazing career protecting immigrants from sex-based discrimination. When Tamayo joined the EEOC as a regional attorney in 1995, the agency had never before sued an agricultural company over sexual harassment of a farmworker. 'Largely, the presence of the federal government was the immigration service. So I had to figure out, 'How would they trust me and trust the EEOC?'' Tamayo said. 'It was really hard work.' His first major breakthrough came in 1999. One of the nation's largest lettuce growers, Tanimura & Antle, settled a case with the EEOC involving a single mother from El Salvador who said that a hiring official forced her to have sex to get a seasonal job picking crops. Since then, the EEOC has brought more than 50 agricultural companies to court over such allegations, primarily under Tamayo's leadership, leading to improved sexual harassment trainings and over $35 million awarded to farmworkers throughout the country. This doesn't include the many cases resolved through mediation and settlements before a lawsuit was filed. Allegations range from pervasive verbal harassment to violent assaults: A woman whose supervisor held pruning shears to her throat and repeatedly raped her at a tree farm in Oregon's Willamette Valley. Managers and employees at a California raisin company who, for over a decade, groped and demanded sex from female workers. A pregnant woman whose manager, after she rejected his almost daily sexual advances at a fruit packing warehouse in central Washington, fired her husband and assigned her to lift 40-pound boxes without help. In most cases, the women who reported sexual violence also reported consequences for doing so — they lost their jobs, were demoted, isolated from co-workers. Sexual harassment and retaliation are illegal under federal and state law. Yet studies estimate that 65% to 80% of farmworker women in the U.S. agricultural industry experience workplace sexual harassment. The nationwide issue, spotlighted by a 2013 PBS Frontline documentary, 'Rape in the Fields,' has been especially scrutinized in California, Washington and Oregon, which have among the highest employment levels in agricultural industries of all states, according to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics. The commission's commitment to protecting people's immigration information is key to farmworkers' ability to speak out about sexual abuse and harassment, according to Tamayo, who retired from the EEOC in 2021 after 20 years as a regional attorney and another six years as district director overseeing investigations across the western United States. 'Certainly, if the EEOC started asking about immigration status, that would be the end of these farmworker cases,' he said. 'It has nothing to do with whether she was raped or not.' Attorneys like Rodriguez and Michael Meuter, vice president of legal affairs and general counsel at California Rural Legal Assistance, say their farmworker clients in Washington and California are now deciding not to file sexual harassment charges with the commission. The level of fear among immigrant clients is unmatched even compared to the first Trump administration when anti-immigrant rhetoric escalated, they say. 'I think during the last administration, it was harder to get cases approved for litigation. But I think partly because Bill Tamayo — people who care about immigrant workers like him — were still at the EEOC, I still saw the EEOC conduct investigations,' Rodriguez said. 'Things are completely different now. There is no trust at all in the EEOC.' Despite the successes that the EEOC had under Tamayo's leadership, filing complaints with the commission has never been a silver bullet. Strict filing deadlines, language barriers and fear of reporting have long stood in the way of farmworkers facing sexual harassment on the job, attorneys say. Of 8,191 sexual harassment charges resolved through the EEOC in fiscal year 2024, 26.7% were closed for administrative reasons like untimeliness, according to the commission's enforcement and litigation statistics. Nearly half (47%) were dismissed because the commission didn't find reasonable cause to support the discrimination claim. In Oregon, the EEOC hasn't litigated a farmworker sexual harassment case since 2013, court records show. Reporting to the commission, however, can still prove beneficial because it preserves workers' Title VII rights — they receive a 'Right to Sue' notice when the agency closes its investigation, enabling them to file their own Title VII lawsuits. In states with stronger worker protections like Washington, California and Oregon, farmworkers can instead take complaints to their state governments, an option that might feel safer for immigrants who distrust the current federal administration. But those routes have limitations as well. In Washington, for example, the Washington State Human Rights Commission enforces state law prohibiting sexual harassment. While the state commission itself doesn't bring cases to court, it can negotiate agreements with companies and refer cases to the state Attorney General's Office. 'We want every farmworker — regardless of immigration status, job type, or background — to know that they have the right to live and work free from sexual harassment and discrimination,' said Washington State Human Rights Commission Executive Director Andreta Armstrong in an email statement to InvestigateWest. But workers have just a six-month window from the date of the harm to file a complaint with the state commission, and a backlog of cases means that complaints can take years to be investigated. Of 44 sexual harassment complaints against agricultural companies received by the Washington commission since 2015, just eight ended in resolutions through settlements or agreements with their employers, according to InvestigateWest's review of data provided by the agency. Nearly 70% of cases were closed for administrative reasons or after the commission found 'no reasonable cause.' Another avenue that has proven committed to combating sexual violence against farmworkers — the Washington Attorney General's Office — is also narrowing under the Trump administration. Since launching its civil rights unit in 2015, the office has sued five different agricultural companies on behalf of farmworkers who alleged sexual harassment or sexual abuse on the job. Although state law protects everyone from sexual harassment, regardless of immigration or citizenship status, many farmworkers still fear that coming forward may put them at risk for attention by immigration officials, said Melody, the office's civil rights division chief. This fear has been 'noticeably true' since the 2024 election, Melody added. 'Witnesses tell us that they have a story to tell, but they're afraid and unwilling to come forward and tell it,' she said. 'They may have family members who are impacted. They may have colleagues who are impacted, and they fear that coming forward may expose any of those people to retribution.' For immigrant farmworkers who are weighing the risks of speaking out, Melody recommends they ask questions like: Will my immigration status be necessary for this investigation? Will it be shared? With whom will it be shared? 'In the Washington State Attorney General's Office, the answer is, 'We almost always don't need to know, and we don't share it with anyone,'' she said. 'I'm not sure what the answer is at the EEOC right now.' On a Saturday morning in May, Marlen gathered with seven other women in a classroom in Sunnyside, a small city in the heart of the Yakima Valley. Over a table of tamales and coffee, they painted bandanas for the BASTA Coalition of Washington, which provides sexual harassment trainings for farmworkers in the state. They filled the white cloth with messages in Spanish and English like, 'Farmworker women's voices are key!' The women, who each found agricultural work in central Washington after leaving Mexico, spoke about how to weigh the importance of reporting sexual harassment against people's fear of losing their jobs or being deported for doing so. Marlen said the harassment she experienced in the apple orchards has improved recently, after she took some time off from work for a family matter. A few months ago, when she was being isolated from her co-workers in what she believes was retaliation for reporting her supervisor, she would've said she regretted reporting the harassment. But now, despite the risks, she stands by her decision. 'There comes a time when you get overwhelmed and say, 'Why did I report it? I should've just kept quiet,'' Marlen said. 'But if tomorrow it happens to my daughter, I feel like no — someone has to make the change.' That decision, however, may not be right for everyone. BASTA, which means 'enough' in Spanish, currently lists the EEOC as a resource for workers facing sexual harassment. The coalition's director, Isabel Reyes-Paz, said they might need to reconsider that recommendation, or at least provide a caveat: 'We don't know what's going to happen with the current administration. We can't guarantee that your legal status information is protected or not,' Reyes-Paz said. The coalition is also grappling with federal funding cuts, as grants that it had relied on to grow — like those administered by the Department of Labor to support women's employment — are being slashed. 'What are we going to do?' one woman said in Spanish at the meeting in May. 'How are we going to encourage them to seek help if we're also thinking the same thing? We're all afraid.' InvestigateWest ( is an independent news nonprofit dedicated to investigative journalism in the Pacific Northwest. Reporter Kelsey Turner can be reached at kelsey@ or 503-893-2501.
Yahoo
23-05-2025
- Yahoo
Renewed investigation leads to criminal charges against wife of Portland identity theft victim
Danielle Del Prado thumbs through bank documents and credit reports that track where her wife allegedly used her Social Security number to open accounts and borrow loans. Like many victims of identity theft, she can only turn to civil court to seek justice, because spousal identity theft is rarely prosecuted. (Amanda Loman/InvestigateWest) This story was originally published by InvestigateWest, a nonprofit newsroom dedicated to change-making investigative journalism. Sign up for their Watchdog Weekly newsletter to receive stories like this one in your inbox. A Multnomah County grand jury indicted the wife of a Portland woman on identity theft and forgery charges this month, a reversal after Portland police dropped its investigation last year because of a 'lack of tangible leads.' Laura McCabe faces seven felony charges related to alleged identity theft against her wife, Danielle Del Prado, who told InvestigateWest her story in September after the criminal investigation stalled. At that time, law enforcement and the Multnomah County District Attorney's Office said legal complexities and limited resources were the main barriers to investigating Del Prado's case. Pat Dooris, spokesperson for the District Attorney's Office, said collaboration with an Oregon Department of Justice financial crimes investigator was critical to moving the case forward. Del Prado said the investigator contacted her just five days after InvestigateWest's story highlighted the barriers victims like her face when seeking prosecution against the spouses they say used their identity fraudulently. 'I was elated,' she said. 'I said, 'Finally, somebody's listening.'' Michael Korcek, the investigator, played a key role in gathering information via subpoenas and bank records, Dooris said. Korcek and a Department of Justice spokesperson declined to comment, citing the criminal case. Korcek and Del Prado are listed as the only names on the grand jury witness list. Del Prado said she also turned over hundreds of pages of her financial records, which she had pulled from banks across the country, trying to hunt down every application that used her Social Security number, sometimes with her name and other times with McCabe's. McCabe, who now lives in Montana, did not respond to two requests for comment by email. A day after the indictment was filed, she was arrested in Billings and held in the Yellowstone County Detention Facility, jail records showed. She was released after posting bond. Now, Portland authorities are preparing to ask Gov. Tina Kotek to extradite McCabe to Oregon to face the charges. 'The paperwork is underway,' Dooris said. Defendants who face extradition have a right to contest the process, though some waive their right to do so. McCabe has not waived her right, Dooris said. Del Prado said she discovered the identity theft in February 2023, when someone from the fraud department of Gesa Credit Union in Washington left her several frantic voicemails, trying to verify applications for a loan and a line of credit in her name. Del Prado had been abroad and did not apply for the loans, she said. When she started examining her credit report, Del Prado found close to 50 institutions had done hard checks on her credit for dozens of other loans and lines of credit. She had never heard of some of them. By now, Del Prado said she has found unauthorized applications totaling more than $417,000, including $31,350 in loans and lines of credit that were approved. Even as Del Prado compiled her records and communications with McCabe, when she approached police in late 2023 and early 2024, she was told that the couple's divorce case, filed last March, was the best place for her to work out her claims. 'Often, a civil resolution is sought because it's challenging to prove there wasn't some kind of verbal agreement and the case may require forensic accountants and more resources than police or the district attorney's office can provide,' said Terri Wallo Strauss, Portland police spokesperson. Criminal identity theft cases involving spouses remain rare, according to experts. According to the national Identity Theft Resource Center, an organization that provides resources to prevent and recover from identity theft, just 4% of victims of identity misuse in 2023 named ex-spouses or partners as the offending party. Kevin Demer, senior deputy district attorney in Multnomah County, said through a spokesperson that identity theft is 'not often charged as a criminal matter between spouses.' Del Prado said she pushed for a criminal case because McCabe is suing her for financial support under the affidavit that Del Prado signed to sponsor McCabe for a green card. Del Prado is also suing McCabe for $6.2 million for claims of identity theft, emotional distress and other damages. That lawsuit is ongoing.
Yahoo
29-04-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Idaho's Owyhee County joins ICE agreement to enforce immigration law
Eddie Melendrez, a Chicano artist, speaks in a megaphone while showcasing his mural representing the United Farmworkers of America, a labor union that advocates for farmworker rights. Melendrez, and nearly 100 others, protested President Donald Trump's immigration policies in front of the Idaho State Capitol in Boise on Feb. 7, 2025. (Mia Maldonado/Idaho Capital Sun) This story was first published by InvestigateWest on April 25, 2025. Sheriff's deputies in a western Idaho county will soon be able to stop and interrogate any person they believe to be in the country without authorization. In February, Owyhee County Sheriff Larry Kendrick signed his county up for an Immigration and Customs Enforcement program that was discontinued in 2012 following multiple instances of racial profiling from participating law enforcement agencies. After taking office earlier this year, President Donald Trump reinstated the program, which President Barack Obama had halted. Under the program, called the 287(g) task force model, local police officers are trained to work as ICE agents, acting as a 'force multiplier' for ICE, according to its website. Designated officers will be able to stop and question people they believe to be in the country illegally and process them for federal immigration violations if they are also arrested on state charges. Trump has encouraged widespread participation from law enforcement agencies across the country to help enforce his mass deportation efforts. Idaho Gov. Brad Little also issued an executive order in February that asked local law enforcement agencies to consider entering into the 287(g) programs with ICE. The Owyhee County Sheriff's Office is the first agency in Idaho to have this kind of task force agreement with ICE. It went into effect Feb. 19, according to a copy of the agreement obtained by InvestigateWest. But Kendrick said his officers have not gone through training or begun participating yet in the program. Owyhee County has just 12 full-time and two part-time deputies. Kendrick said a sergeant and two deputies will likely make up the task force. Under the program, ICE pays for any new technology needed, but all other expenses will be paid by the sheriff's office. That includes salaries, benefits, overtime and local transportation. Previous law enforcement agencies have ended agreements due to the added costs. The 287(g) program refers to Section 287(g) of the Immigration and Nationality Act passed by Congress in 1996. The section authorizes ICE to tap state and local law enforcement officers for some components of immigration enforcement. Kendrick said the county's participation in the federal program is mostly meant to acknowledge support for Trump in Owyhee County. 'My constituents are all very conservative, and I'm conservative,' he said. 'I support Trump. I support his policies. So I joined to get on board with this simply because that is what my constituents expect. That's just supporting the Trump administration, which I do very, very much.' But the program's history of abuses concerns many immigration attorneys and advocates. 'I think it is going to reduce trust in the police, reduce the reporting of crimes,' said Nikki Ramirez-Smith, a partner and immigration attorney at Ramirez-Smith Law in Nampa. 'Nobody's going to want to talk. Because if you witness a crime where normally you would come forward and testify, are you really going to go talk to ICE? That's like being sent into the ICE building. I think the police need some distance from ICE if they want to do police work, which is their job, is to work with victims and perpetrators.' Kendrick said the agreement doesn't mean deputies will target people for immigration enforcement who aren't already under investigation for criminal activity. He said it will allow officers to add immigration charges to people who are arrested for drug trafficking. 'The purpose isn't to go out and look for illegals,' Kendrick said, referring to people who are in the country without authorization. 'Here's the thing, we have three dairies in our county, and the dairies were here even before me, and, yeah, there's probably some illegals working there, but we're not after them. We're after the bad guys.' Attorneys like Smith-Ramirez worry agreements like this alone damage the department's relationship with the community. 'The current political climate of fear has led, already, to a level of distrust of law enforcement,' Smith-Ramirez said. 'The police departments rely on relationships to get people to talk, to get people to report crimes, to get people to trust them. And doing something like this is counterproductive.' A study from Texas A&M University found that law enforcement agencies who had not signed 287(g) task force agreements — but were geographically close to another agency — were likely to engage in the same racial profiling that the participating agencies engaged in. The study found the state highway patrol in North Carolina and South Carolina were more likely to stop Latino drivers than white drivers. Research like that concerns Smith-Ramirez who said Owyhee County has a significant number of Latino farmworkers who she worries could be caught up in the system. 'Owyhee County has a huge farming population, which means you've got a lot of immigrant workers who are terrified to go to work,' she said. 'They're scared to leave the house. Their kids are scared for their parents to go outside or do anything. I think it's only going to get worse once they start doing this.' In 2011, a federal government investigation found that under the task force model, deputies in Arizona's Maricopa County racially profiled Latino residents for immigration enforcement and conducted unlawful searches, detentions and arrests of Latinos. A year later, federal authorities found that deputies in North Carolina's Alamance County, who also operated as task force agents under the 287(g) agreement, were unfairly arresting Latinos and had set up checkpoints in Latino neighborhoods and pulled over Latino drivers for traffic violations 10 times more often than non-Latino drivers. Both agencies had the 287(g) agreements revoked. 'If this is happening, I would be hesitant to report a crime myself,' said Neal Dougherty, partner and immigration attorney at Smith-Ramirez Law. 'I would be hesitant to advise my clients to report crimes to the Owyhee sheriff if I thought they were operating as ICE.' While Owyhee is the only Idaho county with an agreement to be trained as ICE agents, a different kind of agreement under the 287(g) program can allow local jurisdictions to hold ICE detainees in jails and to serve immigration-related warrants. Both kinds of agreements under the 287(g) program have grown dramatically under Trump. According to reporting from the Markup, 133 law enforcement agencies in 21 states had a form of the 287(g) agreement before the election. Earlier this month, 300 agencies in 38 states had them. In Idaho, three counties have the 287(g) agreements to hold ICE detainees or serve immigration warrants: Owyhee County, Power County and Gooding County. The Gooding and Power agreements have been in place since 2020. It is unclear if any other counties in Idaho will join the 287(g) program. Even without formal agreements, some sheriffs in Idaho have defined their own process for immigration enforcement. In Kootenai County, as InvestigateWest previously reported, deputies shared the immigration statuses of people who they encountered who were not being investigated for any state crimes. Idaho State Police Lt. Col. Fritz Zweigart said during a media briefing that the state police have been looking into the task force model, but 'right now, we're working so well with our federal partners that we don't necessarily need to sign into a written agreement.' Immigration enforcement is the sole duty of the federal government, according to a U.S. Supreme Court ruling, and local police may assist under federal direction. Without a 287(g) agreement, it is illegal for local police to serve federal immigration warrants and to investigate people's immigration statuses. Gov. Little has encouraged more coordination with ICE under 287(g). 'To the fullest extent of the law, all State agencies with law enforcement … authority must consider formal procedures and agreements to assist the federal government in the enforcement of immigration law, including agreements under Section 287(g) of the Immigration and Nationality Act,' his executive order said. eo-2025-03 InvestigateWest ( is an independent news nonprofit dedicated to investigative journalism in the Pacific Northwest. A Report for America corps member, reporter Rachel Spacek can be reached at rachel@ SUBSCRIBE: GET THE MORNING HEADLINES DELIVERED TO YOUR INBOX
Yahoo
14-04-2025
- Yahoo
Washington's Yakima County represents breaking point in state's public defender crisis
A defendant with no available public defender to represent them waits for their court hearing to begin at the Yakima County Jail on Tuesday, March 25, 2025 in Yakima, Wash. (Photo by Jake Parrish/InvestigateWest) Last summer, Robert Dale Root was charged with violating a no-contact order to stay away from his partner. Unable to afford an attorney and facing a dwindling roster of Yakima County public defenders, Root waited three months for a public defender to represent him for the felony charge. His partner repeatedly asked to lift the order, to no avail, as Root posted bail twice — before landing back in jail for violating the order each time. He took off work for three arraignment hearings, but he showed up to the hearings without legal representation, only for his arraignment to be rescheduled for a later date. The attorney he was finally assigned met with him just once, complained of being flooded with other cases and left the office before Root's case was resolved, about seven months after his initial arrest. He's since been assigned another attorney and sits in the county jail awaiting a trial date set for April 21. Root's wait in the bottlenecked queue for counsel in Yakima isn't unusual. In fact, it was common last summer, according to court records reviewed by InvestigateWest. One woman arrested the same month as Root and facing a litany of charges related to theft and drug possession was arraigned eight times and waited five months for a public defender. Another defendant, charged with assault, waited five months. Another appeared at four arraignments without a public defender until his case was eventually dismissed. The list goes on. 'It's not our fault they don't have enough attorneys,' said Root, a 23-year-old descendant of the Yakama Nation. 'We have to sit here and try to await trial because we're innocent until proven guilty. … It's just wrong.' Lags in Yakima County's court system reflect a breaking point in the state's public defense system. A shortage of public defenders leaves indigent defendants waiting weeks, sometimes months for an attorney. These defendants often are left in the dark, oblivious to when or from whom they will have legal representation. In Washington, the issue varies by county — namely due to the state's lack of financial support and the counties' differing models of service. 'The Legislature has slowly choked the life out of local budgets,' said Derek Young, interim director of the Washington State Association of Counties. 'We can't afford proper staffing levels.' In what some would call a worst-case scenario, Benton County released five criminal defendants, with charges including rape and other violent crimes, from jail last year because it lacked defense attorneys to represent them. 'That's where their constitutional right becomes now a public safety problem,' Young said. 'The date we've been warning (the state) about for a long time has arrived. It'll start in those places that have the hardest time recruiting attorneys.' The problem is particularly acute in Yakima County. The county is both being sued by defendants and is suing the state, along with several other counties and the Washington State Association of Counties, for failing to provide adequate funding for public defense services. Young said the decision is in appeal, and he expects another hearing in early May. The director of the Yakima County Department of Assigned Counsel, Paul Kelley, declined to comment, citing ongoing litigation. On Sept. 30, five plaintiffs who languished in Yakima County's jail without an attorney, represented by the American Civil Liberties Union, filed a class-action lawsuit claiming that Yakima County failed to appoint counsel and unlawfully restrained those without legal representation. The plaintiffs faced 'onerous conditions of release, and repeated court hearings — where they [were] forced to face the court without counsel — that [did] not move their case forward,' according to the complaint. That suit came on the heels of a case in August 2024 in which Superior Court Judge Richard Bartheld declared that the defense shortage in Yakima — exacerbated by the departure of four attorneys, roughly a quarter of all of its public defenders — had reached 'a crisis level.' In that court case, a woman charged with driving under the influence had lost her attorney and waited three more months for a new one. To prevent the case being dismissed, Bartheld went as far as to amend court rules, declaring that the time spent reappointing counsel would not count against trial deadlines. 'When relief is not offered through executive or legislative action and the Supreme Court fails to address these issues in its rulemaking authority, it produces problems for trial courts that are unprecedented and unavoidable,' Bartheld said. Washington is among the few states that do not provide the majority of funding for public defense. In 1996, the state Legislature established the Office of Public Defense to provide supplemental representation for indigent defendants. Since 2005, the office has also been responsible for dispersing the limited state funding to counties — funding which does not surpass 3% of total spending for public defense services. Total state funding for counties in 2024 and 2025 was about $5.8 million each year. County revenues collected from property and sales tax make up remaining funds, but in Washington, local governments can only increase their property tax revenue by 1% without voter-approved ballot measures, failing to keep pace with the rising costs of running a court. 'The total revenue that you can generate… [is] beneath the rate of inflation,' Young said. 'It turns out your employees won't work for only 1% increases year over year.' In Ferry County, one of the least-populous counties in the state with about 7,500 residents, less than 18% of land is taxable. The rest is either reservation or national forest, making revenue from property tax particularly low. Public defense services are managed by county commissioners who contract with one attorney, located over an hour's drive away. 'Facilities are extremely limited,' said Bob Dean, Ferry County commissioner. 'Running [the public defense program] consists of basically, desperately seeking another lawyer if we lose this one.' Recruitment is another hurdle. Public defenders have a taxing job. A high workload and relatively lower pay makes the job less appealing to law school graduates, said Colin Charbonneau, director of Spokane's public defender's office. On top of that, many are not apt to relocate somewhere rural. In Benton County, 'we do not have a law school here locally, the closest one is in Spokane, which is about two and a half hours east of us,' said Keith Johnson, director of the Benton County public defender's office. 'We compete with other counties for talent.' InvestigateWest obtained 2023 grant applications sent to the Office of Public Defense from 10 rural and three urban counties. All counties, except one that didn't respond to the prompt, voiced the same concern: Retention and recruitment are struggles. 'The increasing salaries in larger areas has decreased the available attorney[s] in rural communities,' Okanogan County reported in its grant application. 'In addition, we continue to lack affordable housing.' Lewis County blamed the state's lack of funding for its issues. Its grant application said that 'unfunded mandates are absolutely the biggest challenge for counties across the state' and that 'other sources of funding will need consideration.' For years, Yakima's public defense office has tried to recruit more attorneys. County commissioners repeatedly approved new budgets to offer 20% pay increases, $12,000 in sign-on bonuses and retention bonuses for existing public defenders. Despite the attempts, few applied. For years, there were warnings. Back in July 2022, Kelley began sending monthly emails to the Yakima Superior Court judge and the director of prosecuting attorneys explaining the difficulty hiring attorneys and that new case filings 'outnumber[ed] the closing of felony cases.' In August 2022, Kelley decided to max out the county public defender office's capacity at 160 felony cases a month, with leftover cases carried over to the next month. Seven months later, the leftover cases had grown to 223 — more than 150% of the office's capacity — causing further delays for new case filings. It meant 'indigent felony cases first appearing in Superior Court on and after May 19, 2023, will not have in-house or contracted felony qualified counsel available … before July,' Kelley said in an email dated May 31, 2023. At the time, two dozen defendants in-custody would wait until July for counsel. Yakima County's backlogged court directly affected its defendants, many of whom could not afford a private attorney. 'The heavy caseloads harm marginalized clients — often young, non-white individuals involved in gangs with traumatic personal histories — who need experienced attorneys to navigate their complex situations,' Vanessa Martin, a longtime public defender in Western Washington, said in an email to the state Supreme Court concerning a proposal to adopt new caseload standards. The display on Mac Jardine's computer at the Grays Harbor County Department of Public Defense is a photo of Noah's Ark. When Jardine was hired to be the first director of the program, she was asked to 'build' the department. 'I had no direction, and they had no direction,' Jardine said. 'It's like sending me out to build an ark, and my name ain't Noah … I have built my office from scratch.' Because administration of indigent defense services is decentralized in Washington, counties are operating with mixed models. Less than half of Washington counties have an office dedicated to public defense. The state Office of Public Defense encourages counties to create offices, but costs for space, public defenders, a director and other administrative positions are beyond the means of many rural counties. King County employs all of its public defenders through the county. Grays Harbor County uses a mixed model of county and contracted public defenders. Asotin County in the state's southeast corner relies solely on contracted attorneys to deliver public defense services. In 2022, Kittitas County in Central Washington opened its own public defense department with its first employee, Eileen Murphy, now director of the program. On top of managing the county office, Murphy carries a full caseload. She works 'at least 60 hours a week,' in an office with 'a lot of walk-in traffic' and 'phones ring[ing] all day.' She hopes in the future to hire more positions. 'That's just the reality of the job for me,' Murphy said. 'There are still some policies and procedures I'd like to put into place, but dealing with my clients and their cases is… my first priority.' Murphy said this institutionalized model of public defense is better than relying on solely contracting attorneys because it holds people accountable. 'There are more protections in offices, because you have supervisors, and you have people that can review your work,' said Liz Mustin, supervising attorney of criminal defense programs at the Office of Public Defense. 'Prosecutors are county employees who get county benefits and retirement plans, and the [contracted] defenders are just kind of on their own.' Critics of contract attorneys say they aren't as invested in their indigent defendants because they have other cases that might be more financially rewarding through a private firm. But for rural counties, models like this become the only way these services are possible. 'I think relying on contract attorneys is a little scary because you just really have to rely on the attorneys' integrity and intelligence and experience,' said Lisa Pruitt, co-author of 'Legal Deserts and Spatial Injustice,' a study on indigent defense programs in rural Washington counties. 'There's a lot at stake for people if something goes wrong.' Desperate for attorneys, some rural counties offer almost twice what urban counties pay contract attorneys. Asotin, Grays Harbor and Whitman counties offer $150 an hour for contract attorneys. King County, by contrast, offers $85 an hour. Now, the state's system is at a crossroad. Recent efforts to resolve Washington's public defender shortage have stalled in the Legislature — except for Senate Bill 5780, passed in 2024, which created the law student rural defense program allowing law students to gain internship experience in rural jurisdictions. Though not a cure-all for rural counties, it helps, attorneys say. Yakima County Department of Assigned Counsel described the program as 'an overwhelming success' after two students who interned one summer returned the following year and expressed their intention to join the office after graduation, according to its grant application. This year, Senate Bill 5404, a bill that would have revolutionized Washington's public defense by making the state pay for virtually all public defense programs, fell flat. Many are now anxiously awaiting the state's Supreme Court to decide on new workload standards, which would dramatically reduce the caseloads for public defenders. Last year, the Washington State Bar Association adopted the standards and asked the Supreme Court to do the same. The Supreme Court has no deadline to act. If adopted, the new standards would set the maximum capacity for adult felony cases at 47 a year, less than a third of what it is today, but on a rolling basis over three years. Current standards, developed from a 1973 study, allow public defenders to take on up to 150 felony cases a year. But felony cases are more complex than they were 50 years ago and require the acumen of an experienced attorney. Public defenders say for a serious felony case, an attorney might sift through hours of body camera footage, order psychological evaluations, retain an investigator, create a defense strategy all while repeating the process for other clients and spending days in and out of court hearings. The stress adds up. People leave the field. Public defense administrators scramble to accommodate the constitutional right to counsel. The state's Office of Public Defense and King County have already adopted the standards, but counties are not required to abide by them until the Supreme Court affirms it. 'We know as a matter of fact that there is a crisis in public defense,' Matt Sanders, interim director of King County Department of Public Defense, said in the Supreme Court's hearing on indigent defense standards. 'The people who are harmed by this system are disproportionately people of color, the mentally unwell, LGBTQ members of our community. And we know if this court does not adopt these standards, that this ongoing crisis will continue unabated.' The Washington State Bar Association asked for contractors to conduct a workload study last year and chose the same vendor who conducted a similar study in Oregon. The bar association says the study will conclude in late summer this year. There are many opponents, namely from rural counties, who say the standards would exacerbate the public defender shortage by mandating counties to hire more attorneys over a relatively short timeline without state funding. 'The real problem is that the additional attorneys needed to bring the county in compliance with the amendments simply do not exist,' Albert Lin, prosecuting attorney for Okanogan County, said in a letter to the Supreme Court. 'This is why I find the proposed amendments so perplexing — the solution to a supply problem is to create more demand?' Over the last 20 years, three lawsuits in Washington have accused contracted public defenders of failing to provide adequate representation. Those lawsuits originated in rural counties that today feel like their concerns should prevent the Supreme Court from accepting proposed new standards that would significantly reduce public defenders caseloads and mandate new hires. 'To implement these standards as low as proposed will basically take away the very few attorneys that I have,' said Brooke Burns, Superior Court Judge for Asotin, Garfield and Columbia counties in Asotin County's grant application. 'Cases will have to be dismissed. This means that victims will not be made whole or felt to have secured justice. It will decrease community safety because defendants will have the knowledge that if there is no attorney, their crimes will go unpunished.' This article was first published by InvestigateWest ( an independent news nonprofit dedicated to investigative journalism in the Pacific Northwest. Reporter Aspen Ford, a Roy W. Howard fellow, can be reached at aspen@
