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Saturday, Sep 10, 2005 7:30 PM UTC

Connected giving

Americans who want to give more than cash to help Katrina victims are using the Internet to send diapers, baseball gloves and CDs directly to the disaster area.

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Last Thursday, Karen Gurwitz drove all over Manhattan picking up boxes of baby clothes, formula, diapers and other goods from shower caps to baseball gloves. On Friday morning, two trucks — their services donated — filled with those offerings left for a hurricane shelter in Baton Rouge. Through word of mouth, mostly electronic, Gurwitz had collected donations from 150 people in under a week — the busy week after Labor Day, no less. “I made a financial contribution to the Red Cross, but it never feels like enough,” says Gurwitz, 36, founder of a meal delivery service called Mothers & Menus. “I wanted to give something more tangible than my credit card number.”

Gurwitz’s efforts highlight a new phenomenon in post-disaster charitable giving: highly specific in-kind donations, guided by the information available on the Internet and sent directly to local agencies or entities. Aid organizations discourage in-kind donations because they create logistical problems and are not always appropriate or needed. But with the Internet, someone who wants to donate, say, food or clothing instead of writing a check can find out who needs what and send it directly to them. And as sites like Craigslist show with their profusion of offers to help, the Internet may also be attracting new donors, or enabling existing donors to give in new and creative ways. Call it connected giving.

The increase of in-kind donations does not seen to have hurt monetary giving. Financial donations to Hurricane Katrina relief efforts are reportedly nearing the $600 million mark, outpacing the donations made within nine or ten days of the terrorist attacks of 2001 and the tsunami of last December. Experts attribute the unprecedented check writing to several overlapping factors: the disaster occurred at home, created so many suffering survivors, laid so clearly bare the differences between those who have something to donate and those who lost the next-to-nothing they had — and motivated many to pick up where the government, it seemed, hadn’t picked up at all.

But the same time, all over the country, people are demonstrating their immense desire to help in other ways: sometimes more creative, often more concrete. Some are wary of high-budget charities, uneasy about sending their money into a massive donation vortex; some feel that what they can afford, if anything, simply isn’t enough. (If Bangladesh can come up with $1 million, what good will my $100 do?)

Result: An enormous number of people are supplementing, or in some cases replacing, their check writing with donations of diapers, say, to ad hoc shelters in Mississippi motels too small to bleep on the FEMA radar. The Community Bookstore in the Park Slope area of Brooklyn, N.Y., well-known in its neighborhood and beyond for transforming itself into a clearinghouse for donations to the Sept. 11 rescue efforts, is now collecting items for four relief locations in Louisiana and Texas. Sheila Jozami, 19, a college student who’s been volunteering at the Houston Astrodome, teamed up with a friend to collect CDs and boom boxes for displaced kids. (“I can’t imagine being a teenager and going through tough times without my music,” reads their Web site.) Sewing enthusiast Tom Farrell, 33, of Somerville, Mass., is trying to organize fellow seamsters to make duffel bags for displaced people to keep their belongings (if his plan proves workable, he’ll post the pattern online for anyone to follow).

“People want do to more,” confirms Henry “Hank” Goldstein, chair of the Giving USA Foundation. “They want to feel as if they have a direct involvement.”

For good reason, aid organizations do not welcome most in-kind donations. The Red Cross, for one, specifically discourages unsolicited in-kind donations, as do most other relief organizations and people experienced with disaster recovery. Why? Parcels require opening and sorting, a task for which there are rarely extra hands; the goods inside may be insufficient or inappropriate to the needs of a given location. In other words, giant boxes of bedroom slippers addressed “c/o Houston Astrodome” are not the best way to get your Good Samaritan on. “Mostly you get these containers of teddy bears that get in the way of food and water,” says Matt Easton, a senior associate at Human Rights First who has also worked on relief and development projects in Asia and Africa, including tsunami and hurricane recovery.

By and large, they say, money — flimsy and insubstantial as a check may feel to its writer — is the way to go. “Generally, the best thing for relief organizations is cash — giving them the finances to procure what’s needed,” says Gerald Martone, director of Humanitarian Affairs for the International Rescue Committee. He adds that in some cases, goods purchased near disaster areas — as opposed to shipped from afar — can also do their part to help boost damaged local economies.

Now, however, people are using the Internet — perhaps to an unprecedented degree — to exchange detailed, up-to-date information about precisely what supplies are needed and where, even how they should be packaged. (One person assembling donations, for example, passed along a Houston shelter’s request for clothing boxed and labeled by type and quantity — “7 days’ worth of 3-year-old boy clothes” — for easy distribution.) This type of donation does get the seal of approval. “If you’ve made contact with a hotel that tells you exactly what they need, that’s a great way to donate,” says Sheila Graham, a spokesperson for the American Red Cross.

Does this electronic end run around the major players represent a new trend toward direct charitable giving? Hard to say. Given the vast quantity of financial contributions still pouring in, it doesn’t appear that these well-informed in-kind donations are siphoning dollars away from relief efforts. Also, it’s difficult to find accurate bases of comparison. Sept. 11 — tragically, in its own way — did not leave such a vast, spread-out population of survivors in need; the remoteness of the tsunami left Americans with fewer options for direct giving. And one hopes that the scope and scale of need created by Katrina will remain unique. But experts say the Internet has clearly been a major factor not only in terms of bringing help to smaller, struggling groups, but also in motivating and mobilizing people to give of themselves in as many ways as possible. “The number of blogs and Craigslist-type postings on this topic is absolutely amazing,” says Jack Siegel, CEO of Charity Governance Consulting and author of the forthcoming “A Handbook for Non-Profit Boards, Executive Directors and Advisors: Avoiding Trouble While Doing Good.” “People who feel that donating money is not enough are able to have much more direct participation than ever in the process of giving.”

Gurwitz herself searched Craigslist to make contact with a group in need before rallying her donors; the most cyber-savvy volunteers are creating blogs and Web sites designed to gather donation specifics into one place, or even to match donors to needs. Amy Lynn Cook, 25, of Raleigh, N.C., a stay-at-home mom of two and freelance Web designer, initially created SurvivedKatrina.net as an information hub for survivors; she recruited volunteers on Craigslist to help her run the site. Now, one of the most active parts of the site is the forum for information about donating goods from tarpaulins to plus-size clothing to school supplies.

(Predictably enough, Katrina brought with her a storm surge of Internet spamming and scamming. Unless donation information has come directly from a trusted source — and a recent one, as shelters’ needs may change daily — it’s always best, where possible, to call and confirm.)

Brooklyn real estate agent Lee Solomon — who recalled stories of overgenerous donations of cold cuts for World Trade Center rescue workers that were left to rot on New York’s West Side Highway — started soliciting donated supplies only after making direct contact with several smaller relief providers (a church and a thrift shop in Alabama, for example) who, she said, “had not heard word one from FEMA or the Red Cross.” She posted information about what was needed on various local online boards, offering to gather and ship donations. Within four days, Solomon had enough donations in her office to fill seven large moving boxes. “This is the first totally ‘connected’ tragedy we have experienced in this country,” she observes, citing stories of stranded victims text-messaging for help whose relatives, in turn, posted their pleas on Nola.com. “The next logical step in this connected world: the aid that’s needed can be requested and taken care of directly.”

Award-winning journalist Lynn Harris is author of the comic novel "Death by Chick Lit" and co-creator of BreakupGirl.net. She also writes for the New York Times, Glamour, and many others. More Lynn Harris.

Thursday, Mar 1, 2012 1:00 AM UTC

I fell for a Craigslist job scam

I wish I'd seen the red flags, but unemployment made me desperate enough to take a risk I now regret

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I fell for a Craigslist job scam (Credit: Salon/Cowpland via Shutterstock)

A professor once told a class at my university that “all of society is playing itself out on Craigslist.” He was right, it’s all there: the things we value and no longer want, the spaces we live in, our mating calls. There’s the Good Samaritan who posts an ad seeking the owner of a diamond ring he found. There’s also the con artist taking advantage of a few million desperate job seekers. Unfortunately, that’s what I found.

I had recently graduated college when Craigslist began to consume my life. I was 28, old enough to remember the joy of sitting in my kitchen with a pen and a cup of coffee, circling help wanted ads in an old-fashioned newspaper. But I don’t need to tell you that Craigslist is way better than print classifieds ever were. It’s free, it’s instant, it’s hyper-local. Still, Craigslist does require a certain amount of street smarts; it can be a landmine of check fraud Trojan horses, fake website switcheroos and other gray-area opportunities. This isn’t news, of course. So while you wouldn’t want your grandmother using Craigslist, for fear she’d wire her identity to a Nigerian prince, those of us who’ve grown up with the seediness of the Web realize it’s no big deal. We know what to avoid on the Internet, the same way we know to avoid a dark alley on an unfamiliar street. Well, I thought I knew, anyway.

It was about four days after graduation that I realized I was heading toward disaster. Without my student financial aid money coming in, I wouldn’t be able to pay my bills with my joke of a part-time job. If I paid my upcoming rent, I wouldn’t even have gas money to get to that job. My degree offered few prospects in the city where I live, and breaking my apartment lease to move somewhere else would cost thousands. As panic set in, I abandoned the dream of starting a career and set out to simply stay afloat.

I was picky at first. I responded only to ads for parking lot attendants and busboys and landscapers. After a week, I responded to everything. I even took two days of work holding a sign at a busy intersection to promote an Indian lunch truck. I grinned when the boss handed me a total of $60 for those two days, but I’m pretty sure I was just high on exhaust fumes.

The Bureau of Labor and Statistics reported the unemployment rate in Tampa, Fla., at an even 10 percent that month. It certainly seemed worse than that, because even the most terrible jobs on Craigslist filled fast. I answered an ad looking for someone to deliver a pet cat to a town an hour away for $30. When I called, an exasperated cat owner told me she’d already hired someone, and turned down at least 40 other hopefuls in the hour since she’d put up the ad.

I was at my part-time job one evening scouring Craigslist and weeding out the usual dead ends. Potential scams were any vague listing that included phrases like “work from home,” “make over $1500 in first week” or  “own your own business cleaning chimneys” (not a joke). That night I responded to a normal-sounding ad for a “part time data entry person to help with a temporary computer project.”

When I got an email back the next day, it was a long, detailed response about how I could make $30 an hour signing up for “offers.” There were immediate red flags: It involved working from home and making a lot of money for doing little. Another bad sign was that the job described in the email was nothing like the one described in the original ad — a classic bait and switch.

But there were differences too. For one, the email wasn’t written in the weird, incomprehensible grammar that spam usually comes in. The writer, Aaron, made an assuring reference to the fact that I probably thought it was a scam. Most perplexing of all, Aaron offered to call me on the phone to prove he was legit.

I don’t trust anyone. I think it started on Christmas Eve when I was 5 and noticed that Santa Claus had a curl of black hair sticking out of his hat, much like Uncle Tony’s hair. For four more years I sucked it up and played the game, pretending to buy their excuse that Uncle Tony’s “on the toilet,” but I decided that once I grew up, I wasn’t going to be anyone’s sucker ever again. I closed Aaron’s email and planned to forget about it.

But I could not.

Even as I scrolled through other job listings on Craigslist that day, my mind kept returning to Aaron’s email, particularly the last line: “Worst case – it’s not for you and you wasted 10 minutes.  Best case – you make $600 extra per month at your leisure.”

Hoping for a dose of reality, I forwarded the email to my one friend more untrusting and cynical than I was — a New Yorker. Her opinion was that even though she was “99 percent sure” it was a scam, it couldn’t hurt to go one step further and just talk to Aaron. Coming from her, that was a ringing endorsement.

I started thinking. Surely, out of the billions of pop-ups and banners and emails floating around the Internet, touting things like free iPads and male enhancements and getting paid to take surveys, at least one out of all of them had to be grounded in a shred of truth, right? Couldn’t I have stumbled upon the one easy-money offer on the entire Internet that was for real? Wouldn’t I be a genius when my leap of faith paid off, and all those skeptics who deleted Aaron’s email missed out? Didn’t I want to avoid the shame and the shouting when the rent came due and I had to tell my girlfriend I didn’t have it?

I wrote Aaron and he called me from an unblocked Wayne County, Mich., number. He sounded young and all-American. We chatted about fantasy football, and how his team sucked. Then he explained the job. Just register on a website and give them his referral number. Then use the links on that site to sign up for trial offers of services like the Disney Movie Club, and Netflix and Creditreport.com. The trials would cost between $1 and $5, which I’d pay with my own debit card. I’d get it back soon. The idea here was that some loophole had been discovered in these companies’ marketing campaigns, and we would be the beneficiaries. Every time I signed up for five trials Aaron was going to deposit $50 in my PayPal account. Aaron made his money by referring people like me. “Call me any time you need help,” he said, soothing my nervousness.

So I went for it. I must have signed up for 15 trials that first day, determined not only to make money at it, but more money than anyone else. The week went on, and the referral site started to update my account with little green check marks next to the verified offers I’d completed, just like Aaron said. Those check marks made my heart pound. Every one of them meant $10 in my pocket.

Once I’d had about $100 worth of offers “go green” I messaged Aaron for my payment. He told me I had to verify my identity by sending in a snapshot of my driver’s license with any sensitive info blacked out, and then he’d pay me on Friday, when he paid all of his people at once. I sent the photo and waited.

Friday came and went. No payment. I wrote to Aaron. No response. I tried to find Aaron on Instant Messenger where we’d talked before. He wasn’t logged on. He was always logged on. I called the Michigan number. The user I was trying to reach was “not currently available.” It was a prepaid phone with no minutes left.

“Aaron” had cut me off.  He was never going to pay me, or any of the other people I imagined he’d hooked in. Of course, this realization didn’t stop me from continuing to email him every day for the next week anyway. First politely, in case there’d been some sort of honest mistake, then by screaming at him in all caps that I wanted my money “NOW!” Neither technique got any response. My money and my precious time were gone. Aaron was gone. I was a sucker holding a laptop like a bottle of snake oil.

Mysterious charges started showing up on my bank statement. It may not sound like a big deal, but calling to cancel my debit card was an especially low moment in my life. I tried to direct my anger at the scam artist, but I could not. I was too ashamed, and too angry with myself. I wasn’t supposed to fall for an obvious Internet scam. I was smart, and young, and had grown up using the Internet. I told no one.

Like the professor said, all of society is playing itself out on Craigslist. Scammers know there are people like me out there — people whose desperation pushes them to a point where they take risks they might not otherwise. But in a broader sense, scams work because of an even more powerful emotion: hope.

When I visit Craigslist each day, I see so much more than jobs and futons and apartments. I see hope. Sometimes it’s hope in the form of a position that could launch my career; sometimes it’s just a catering gig that could pay my overdue phone bill. Sometimes it’s just an offer that was too good to be true: hope that the slow, difficult climb to making ends meet could move at the speed of broadband.

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Christopher Spata is a freelance journalist in Tampa, FL and a recent graduate of the University of South Florida. He has written about music and pop culture for Creative Loafing and tweets at @ChrisSpata. More Christopher Spata.

Friday, May 13, 2011 7:14 PM UTC

An open letter to the Craigslist cat lady

A woman is offering her apartment in Washington's prestigious Dupont Circle for super cheap. There's only one catch

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An open letter to the Craigslist cat ladyFeeding time for all my friends.

It’s hard to find a good deal on a city apartment, as anyone who has ever spent hours trolling on Craigslist will tell you. But sometimes an advertisement that’s too good to be true is exactly that. Take this Craigslist post for a D.C. sublet in the expensive Dupont Circle neighborhood.

Since I’m always looking for a great deal, I decided to email the poster:

Hi there,

Saw your ad on Craigslist regarding the room in Dupont Circle. At first I was like “What a bargain!” but then I got suspicious. What’s the catch?

What amazing luck then, to open your listing and find that not only are you offering an amazing rate on a sublet in the heart of D.C., but you’re throwing in 16 precious little angels as well! I am a huge cat fan, and I feel like I should be paying you for the honor of spending a month with Polly, Bitnum, Lightning, Lightning II (Question: Is this Lightning’s offspring or another cat from a different family whom you’ve given the same name? It’s a deal-breaker, so let me know), Bebop, Cappy, Apina, Grobor, Kyle, Leesha, Somtorious, Gleebok, Horatio, Bananana (I will assume this is the correct spelling, as I will not live in apartments with cats named after fruit), Hoppy and Duran. I would love to cuddle and hang out with these adorable fluffer-butts all day!

I have one request, and that’s that I be allowed to bring my cats over to your apartment during this month, as I cannot shuttle back and forth every day to take care of my two sets of children! My babies are all litter-box trained, and would love to meet some new friends! Here is a brief description of my little reasons for living (as I like to call them):

Tabby – Shy

Smokey – Depressed

Simba – On medication for his attention-deficit disorder

Squeeks – Ruminative

Cat Damon – Dubious

Mrs. Winkles – Kind of a gossip

Fatso –Undermining

Orwell – Glib

Melanie – Pleasant but dull

Peaches – Might have a drug problem

Mackenzie – Uppity

Patches – Friendly to your face but don’t trust her lies

Sammy – the brown one

In addition, I have two Roombas as well and have been looking for someone who’d be interested in breeding opportunities. Purebred Roombas go for a lot of money these days!

It’s been a pleasure writing to you, and hope that our kitties will meet soon. Meow meow,

Drew

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Drew Grant is a staff writer for Salon. Follow her on Twitter at @videodrew. More Drew Grant.

Tuesday, Feb 15, 2011 9:09 PM UTC

Man turns to Craigslist for help explaining “Lost,” possible date

Months after ABC's mysterious island show ended its six season run, one man still demands answers

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Man turns to Craigslist for help explaining "Lost" in translation

As someone who didn’t watch “Lost” out of spite for six years, I can totally relate to being confused by that show. Especially because I’d only hear about it through hours of inane episode dissections which otherwise considerate friends would spontaneously burst into, regardless of whether parties present even cared what was in that hatch/what those numbers meant/if Jacob was real/if that was Penny’s boat/where the island was/when the island was/what a “flash-sideways” was/why Kate didn’t just choose the clearly superior Sawyer/etc./etc.

But the day the show ended, I began watching “Lost.” I watched it every day this summer, and I finished the whole thing in three months. I did this mostly out of spite as well, so that those same friends now had to listen to my own inane theories about the island being part of a giant government experiment or Locke being Sawyer’s dad (don’t know how I came up with that one), while they bit their tongues and tried not to spoil anything.

Maybe it was because I blew through the episodes so quickly and didn’t spend over half a decade looking for answers that I wasn’t that bothered by the show’s finale. In fact, all things considered, I thought “Lost” tied up most of the big loose ends. It wasn’t the end I would have written for the show, but at least now we know where those polar bears came from.

The point here being: Who even cares about “Lost” anymore? The Awl has the answer. This guy:

I like how non-predatory this ad tries to sound, which somehow makes the whole thing even creepier.

“…summation: we meet at a public place, I buy you breakfast, you answer my questions about Lost and walk away after exactly one hour.”

I’d love it if someone showed up to the restaurant and found a forlorn Damon Lindelof sitting over a pot of lukewarm coffee.

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Drew Grant is a staff writer for Salon. Follow her on Twitter at @videodrew. More Drew Grant.

Wednesday, Feb 9, 2011 9:01 PM UTC

Married GOP congressman resigns hours after caught trolling Craigslist for a date

Updated: New York's Chris Lee has now resigned after his shirtless solicitation was revealed

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Married GOP congressman resigns hours after caught trolling Craigslist for a date

[Update: That was absurdly fast. Chris Lee has already resigned. Before we even had a chance to make fun of him for this quote. Meanwhile, David Vitter is still in the Senate! I guess it's picture.]

Chris Lee is a Republican Congressman representing upstate New York. He 46 years old and married with one son. Except when he’s responding to Craigslist personal ads. Then, he’s 39 and divorced. And a lobbyist.

That is my single favorite detail in Gawker’s embarrassing story of Representative Lee trying to pick up a woman online: The “cover story” a Republican congressman uses is that he’s a lobbyist.

Here’s what Lee wrote in response to this Craigslist ad:

i’m a very fit fun classy guy. Live in Cap Hill area. 6ft 190lbs blond/blue. 39.. Lobbyist. I promise not to disappoint.

That was accompanied by a classy photo of the congressman golfing or something. He later sent the woman who posted the ad a more risque shot of himself shirtless and flexing in front of a bathroom mirror. It didn’t go anywhere (the woman realized he’d lied about his age and, uh, the fact that he’s a member of Congress).

Here’s what Lee’s spokesperson told Gawker:

“The Congressman is happily married,” said Lee’s spokesman when pressed for answers to our questions. “The only time he or his wife posted something online was to sell old furniture when they changed the apartment they keep in DC.”

Back in the good old days, a married congressman would just meet a woman at Hawk ‘n’ Dove, and no one would ever be the wiser, unless he got arrested on the way home for drunk driving. The Internet ruins everything.

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Alex Pareene

Alex Pareene writes about politics for Salon and is the author of "The Rude Guide to Mitt." Email him at apareene@salon.com and follow him on Twitter @pareene More Alex Pareene.

Wednesday, Nov 17, 2010 12:01 PM UTC

The Israel lobby gone wild

AIPAC staffers looking at porn and cruising for sex on Craigslist, according to allegations in court filings

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The Israel lobby gone wild

The latest shot in a long-running legal battle between AIPAC and Steven Rosen, a former top official at the pro-Israel group, reveals that AIPAC staffers regularly looked at Internet porn in the office, and that the married Rosen allegedly cruised for gay sex on Craigslist, according to new court filings. 

The Forward has the full back story here, but the basics are these: Former AIPAC official Steven Rosen was charged with espionage in 2005 for allegedly receiving and distributing classified information on U.S. policy toward Iran and other matters (the charges were later dropped). Soon after the charges were brought, AIPAC fired Rosen, with a spokesman saying that Rosen “did not comport with standards that AIPAC expects of all its employees.” In response, Rosen sued AIPAC for defamation.

Which brings us to the new, 260-page document filed by AIPAC in the case and first reported on by Grant Smith. In transcripts of a recent deposition of Rosen, a picture emerges of a frat-house atmosphere at AIPAC headquarters. “Q” here is an attorney for AIPAC, and “A” is Rosen.

Q How often would you browse for pornographic websites?

A I thought I answered that earlier. It varied a great deal. There were …

Q Daily?

A There were times where I viewed pornographic images daily. There were other times where I didn’t view them at all for long blocks of time.

Q And you know we have a copy of your hard drive, correct?

A I assumed it. I didn’t really know that.

Q And for how many years did you do this?

A That I really don’t know.

Q Did you do it in 2005?

A May well have. Don’t know.

Q Did you do it in 2004?

A Maybe. I don’t know.

Q 2003?

A I’ve already answered you that I have no recollection of the time periods.

Q When is the first time you viewed pornographic material using the company computers at work?

A I don’t know.

Q You have no idea?

A No. Mr. McCally, I have no idea. worked there 23 years. I really don’t know.

Q Number 30. “Request for admission: Admit that plaintiff Steven Rosen used his AIPAC computer to view pornographic images. Response: Admitted.”

How often did you view these pornographic images?

A Didn’t we just discuss that a moment ago?

Q No, that was browsing. You said sometimes daily.

A I’m sorry. I don’t know the difference between browse and view. What is the difference?

Q Browsing is surfing the web to find — you answered the question, sir, with the help of your attorney, I assume.

It goes on like that for a while (see Page 55 below). At one point Rosen remarks in his defense, ”I told you earlier, I witnessed Howard Kohr view — he’s the executive director — pornographic images on AIPAC computers. I witnessed his secretary do it repeatedly, and call people over to see it, including Howard Kohr. I witnessed other members of staff do it. And the Nielsen report you wouldn’t let me speak of before said 27 percent of American employees look at pornographic images on office computers. And to my knowledge that’s probably a good estimate at AIPAC too.”

(Rosen at one point also claims that Kohr ”routinely used locker room language every single day.”)

The putative purpose of the porn line of questioning was to establish that Rosen had not comported by AIPAC’s standards for employees. Less clear is why AIPAC’s attorney asked the married Rosen about his sexual encounters with men found on Craigslist. From Page 68:

Q If you had browsed the web for sexual encounters with gay men while at AIPAC , would that in your opinion be a violation of the computer usage policy at AIPAC?

A First, a technical correction. I actually sought married men like myself, not gay men, or I don’t know what you mean by the word “gay men,” but not men who were primarily living the life that’s referred to as the gay community and so on.

There are revelations of political interest in the documents, as well. As M.J. Rosenberg notes, Rosen reveals that “immediately upon being told by the FBI that he was in serious trouble, and being warned by AIPAC’s counsel to come immediately to his office and talk to no one in advance, he immediately ran to meet with the #2 at the Israeli embassy!”

We’ve posted the full document below. Shoot us an e-mail if you see anything of interest.

This is not over: Rosen told the Forward that he plans to inflict maximum embarrassment on AIPAC in his next filing.

11082010rosenvaipac

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Justin Elliott

Justin Elliott is a reporter for ProPublica. You can follow him on Twitter @ElliottJustin More Justin Elliott.

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