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Imagine having all the power but none of the brains. That’s the current administration, the one that behaves like a blind, enraged bull set loose in its own china shop. “We can always get more china,” says the administration, shortly before realizing it really can’t, thanks to tariff efforts that ensure China won’t be buying from the US any time soon, much less selling replacement china at the expected price point.
This is worse than the inmates running the asylum. This is more akin to a bunch of Nurse Ratchets running the asylum. The asylum becomes more cruel and less competent with each passing day. Cruelty isn’t generally associated with intelligence. And that truism remains unbothered during Trump’s second ascendance to the Oval Office.
Trump and his fans spent years stoking conspiracy theories about Democratic party members and the wholesale sexual abuse of children. These conspiracy theories led to actual violence that those participating in these conspiracy theories refuse to take responsibility for.
New York financier/pimp Jeffrey Epstein was apparently a friend to everyone rich or powerful. And he gave them what they couldn’t get elsewhere: sexual access to minors. Some of this remains alleged. But some of it was the supporting evidence for Epstein’s conviction. Epstein is dead and I can imagine lots of his friends and acquaintances breathed a sigh of relief when it was reported he had (allegedly) died by suicide in jail.
A resurgence of interest in Epstein’s files posed a unique problem for Donald Trump. On one hand, Trump had spent years stoking interest in these files, claiming they would expose a vast Democratic party cabal solely interested in sexually exploiting minors. But he also knew these files would reveal things about his own relationship with Epstein and, very likely, contain implications about Trump’s interest in much younger women.
After a period of proclaiming the Epstein files to be something no one was interested in (blatantly false, no matter which side of the MAGA you fall on), Trump and his DOJ decided to move forward with a staggered release of these documents. Congress actually managed to get in on the governance game (something lately completely subsumed by Trump’s desire to rule solely from the confines of the Oval Office via executive orders) and passed a bill that required a full release by December 19.
This didn’t happen. GOP leaders made sure it wouldn’t happen by declaring a Congressional holiday recess well in advance of the holidays to ensure GOP reps would be safely back in their home states before the release of additional Epstein files.
We got whatever the DOJ chose to release. And that release was a combination of stuff we’ve mostly already seen, some (heavily-redacted) stuff we hadn’t seen yet, and more than 200 pages of fully-redacted documents. We already knew we were in for a whole lot of opacity. What we possibly didn’t expect was the DOJ attempting to hide stuff after the fact.
At least 16 files disappeared from the Justice Department’s public webpage for documents related to Jeffrey Epstein — including a photograph showing President Donald Trump — less than a day after they were posted, with no explanation from the government and no notice to the public.
The missing files, which were available Friday and no longer accessible by Saturday, included images of paintings depicting nude women, and one showing a series of photographs along a credenza and in drawers. In that image, inside a drawer among other photos, was a photograph of Trump, alongside Epstein, Melania Trump and Epstein’s longtime associate Ghislaine Maxwell.
Trump’s DOJ is either too dumb to know or too stupid to care about the Streisand Effect. The quickest way to draw attention to something you don’t want people paying attention to is to perform a hasty deletion.
Anyone who was paying attention to this release had already saved the documents to a bunch of cloud services and static storage devices. Those who were paying attention past the initial release would know if the government decided to bury something after the fact.
Of course, the government did try to do that. The people with the most power and money seem to think they’re the smartest people walking the earth because they’ve fully bought into the meritocracy illusion. And they’re always wrong. Being rich or powerful doesn’t make you smarter. It just makes it easier to shrug off your losses.
The DOJ tried to do that after people outside of the imaginary “meritocracy” pointed out this post facto deletion.
Deputy Attorney General Todd Blanche early Sunday said the image was removed from the website after learning there were concerns about women in the photo, “so we pulled that photo down.”
“It has nothing to do with President Trump,” said Blanche on NBC’s “Meet the Press.
That’s impossible to believe because everything this particular federal government does has everything to do with Donald Trump. It’s a system of supposed checks and balances manned entirely by people who demand that the moment Poochie isn’t on screen, everyone should be asking “Where’s Poochie?”
Here’s the most high profile image the DOJ deleted (albeit temporarily) just in case it tries to do it again. Take a look in the drawer to find a photo of the current president next to someone the DOJ now implies was “a victim.”
After everyone noticed this premature burial, the DOJ restored the files, pretending this was all about protecting victims of crimes committed by Epstein and his associates (Donald Trump among them), rather than a misguided attempt to rewrite history while this particular history was still being published.
The Department of Justice on Sunday restored online a photo from the Jeffrey Epstein files that contained images showing President Donald Trump after backlash over its removal.
[…]
“The Southern District of New York flagged an image of President Trump for potential further action to protect victims,” the DOJ said in a post on the social media site X.
“Out of an abundance of caution, the Department of Justice temporarily removed the image for further review. After the review, it was determined there is no evidence that any Epstein victims are depicted in the photograph, and it has been reposted without any alteration or redaction.”
I’d love to be able to take the DOJ at its word. But it has steadily destroyed that option ever since [gestures at the long history of the DOJ, but emphasizing its recent actions with much more demonstrative hand gestures] it has been the (alleged) Department of Justice. But it gets even less of a benefit of a doubt here because we are absolutely right to assume this DOJ considers Donald Trump to be the victim of any criminal acts he may have actually perpetrated while getting cozy with Mr. Epstein.
At some point, the Trump DOJ is going to insist that if Trump ever participated in the rape of underage women, he was forced to do by Antifa protesters backed by billions in George Soros funding. He will have been the victim of a “woke” cabal that recognized him for the sexual predator he is and then used his predilections against him.
This move by the DOJ to temporarily bury a photo of Trump makes it clear it will always do whatever it thinks might please Trump even when it’s immediately obvious it cares more about fluffing Trump than serving the nation.
I’ve written a lot about the AOL–>AT&T–>Time Warner–>Discovery mergers simply because I think they perfectly encapsulate the pointless, destructive incompetence at the heart of modern media consolidation, and the cannibalistic nature of Wall Street’s obsession with illusory quarterly growth propped up by smoke, mirrors, and complex accounting.
At the heart of this enshittification (at least the more recent mergers involving AT&T and Discovery) has sat Warner Brothers CEO David Zaslav. Like the AT&T execs before him, Zaslav has seen absolutely zero accountability for this chaos, and, in fact, has been repeatedly rewarded with a series of massive compensation packages that in absolutely no way reflect his competency.
“Zaslav will receive $30 million in “golden parachute” compensation, along with $537 million in equity, for a total of $567 million in a transaction-associated pay, per the Wednesday filing. Zaslav has led Warners since it formally merged with Discovery in 2022 following a $43 billion spinoff from then-owner AT&T.”
Now you might be inclined to say something like, “well he’s being justly compensated by the extraction class for his successful efforts to cannibalize the brand and usher it through a series of consolidative deals that were in the best interests of shareholders.”
But that’s not really true.
The endless chaos created by “growth for growth sake” mergers may provide temporary stock boosts and tax breaks, but it simultaneously has generated no limit of ill will among consumers (something Zaslav sometimes pretends to recognize), massive stock fluctuations, a huge talent drain, lots of wasted money and time, significant animosity among creatives, and significant harm to core brands (like HBO and CNN).
It’s the extraction class abusing the rules of the game to pretend to be good at business. They’re not actually building anything useful, or remotely interested in the longevity of the company, its customers, the talent that powers it, or the people who work there. They’re playing with funny numbers to try and perpetually generate the illusion of impossible permanent growth at incredible scale, then cashing out when the check finally comes due for their complicated shell games.
This, of course, won’t end here. Whichever company (CBS or Netflix) buys Warner Brothers will initially promise an ocean of new “consolidative synergies” before inevitably cutting, burning, and slashing resources, staff, and product quality to try and pay off debt from more pointless M&A and goose earnings frustrated by frustrated customer churn and saturated streaming growth.
Thanks to mindless deregulation of the markets and our adoration of artifice, there’s no financial incentive to do anything differently or learn from experience, which results in these folks engaging in the same behavior over and over again. At least until a truly severe market crash occurs, at which point, guys like Zaslav will be nowhere to be found and well insulated from the real-world harm they helped cause.
People who accuse someone of suffering from TDS will invariably be more unhinged than the person they’re accusing.
Over on the funny side, it’s another slow week for comments (actually pretty slow on both sides, which I chock up to the holiday season!) so once again we’ll forego the editor’s choice and just highlight the two comments that barely cracked the threshold for a funny badge. In first place, it’s zerosignal with a comment about the rhetoric around ICE ramping up activity in Minneapolis:
I went downtown to a Timberwolves game recently, and was murdered TWICE! Once on my way to dinner before the game, and once after the game walking to Ramp B.
With national public health being run by RFK Jr., or run into the ground if you prefer, it’s been left to individual states to figure out where and how to fill in the gaps. Some states, such as Florida, have fully embraced Kennedy’s anti-scientific posture and are moving as quickly as possible to dismantle public health mandates and programs that have kept people, particularly children, from being infected with horrific infectious diseases. In other, saner states such as Colorado, state laws have been enacted such that state health policy no longer relies strictly on federal agencies like HHS and CDC, but instead takes into account other recommendations from NGOs that are more, well, let’s call them “traditional”.
It seems like California is about to go a step further than that and is constructing its own “Public Health Network Innovation Exchange” that will work with state health departments to advise on policy and advance public health in the state. Leading the charge for PHNIX (eyeroll) will be some familiar names.
The leaders of the new project are former CDC Director Dr. Susan Monarez, whom RFK Jr. forced out of her job just 29 days after the Senate confirmed her, and Dr. Debra Houry, the CDC’s former chief medical officer, who resigned after Monarez was fired.
At a presser announcing the initiative, Newsom called the leaders of the new project a “dream team” of public health experts, noting that Drs. Monarez and Houry would also be joined by Dr. Katelyn Jetelina, the founder and chief executive of the Your Local Epidemiologist newsletter. She’ll be advising the California Department of Public Health on building confidence in public health, which is kind of desperately needed after years of rightwing attacks on institutions and expertise.
Monarez is the former CDC director who was summarily fired by RFK Jr., reportedly for refusing to rubber stamp the anti-vaxxer nonsense that everyone knew would come out of Kennedy’s handpicked immunization panel at CDC. Kennedy disputes that as the reason for the firing, but his claims are as dubious as those he has about vaccines generally. Houry, meanwhile, was one of the senior CDC professionals that resigned in the wake of Monarez’s firing.
On the one hand, it’s an embarrassment of riches for California, to suddenly have leadership for public health in the state of the caliber of former high-ranking CDC professionals. The downside is that they’re now confined to 1 of 50 states instead of all of them. States like California shouldn’t have to do this sort of thing. And states should also not be in the position of jockeying to gobble up this talent before other states get there first simply because RFK Jr. is completely out to lunch.
But leadership isn’t about wishing for the best case scenario; it’s about making the absolute best you can with the hand of cards you’re dealt. I generally don’t think much of Gavin Newsom, to be honest, but in this case I’m impressed by his decision to lead for the benefit of his state.
In her new role, Monarez will be in charge of coordinating with the private sector, technology and academic partners, while Houry will engage with existing public health alliances.
“This collaboration,” the release continued, “is critical at a time when our public health community needs to coordinate our response to evolving gaps in federal leadership.”
Somebody has to do this job at the state level, in other words, because the Trump administration is too busy playing games with plaques about former presidents and installing gravel-mouthed charlatans in positions of authority over public health to do their damned jobs.
The state of streaming is… bad. It’s very bad. The first step in wanting to watch anything is a web search: “Where can I stream X?” Then you have to scroll past an AI summary with no answers, and then scroll past the sponsored links. After that, you find out that the thing you want to watch was made by a studio that doesn’t exist anymore or doesn’t have a streaming service. So, even though you subscribe to more streaming services than you could actually name, you will have to buy a digital copy to watch. A copy that, despite paying for it specifically, you do not actually own and might vanish in a few years.
Then, after you paid to see something multiple times in multiple ways (theater ticket, VHS tape, DVD, etc.), the mega-corporations behind this nightmare will try to get Congress to pass laws to ensure you keep paying them. In the end, this is easier than making a product that works. Or, as someone put it on social media, these companies have forgotten “that their entire existence relies on being slightly more convenient than piracy.”
It’s important to recognize this as we see more and more media mergers. These mergers are not about quality, they’re about control.
In the old days, studios made a TV show. If the show was a hit, they increased how much they charged companies to place ads during the show. And if the show was a hit for long enough, they sold syndication rights to another channel. Then people could discover the show again, and maybe come back to watch it air live. In that model, the goal was to spread access to a program as much as possible to increase viewership and the number of revenue streams.
Now, in the digital age, studios have picked up a Silicon Valley trait: putting all their eggs into the basket of “increasing the number of users.” To do that, they have to create scarcity. There has to be only one destination for the thing you’re looking for, and it has to be their own. And you shouldn’t be able to control the experience at all. They should.
They’ve also moved away from creating buzzy new exclusives to get you to pay them. That requires risk and also, you know, paying creative people to make them. Instead, they’re consolidating.
Media companies keep announcing mergers and acquisitions. They’ve been doing it for a long time, but it’s really ramped up in the last few years. And these mergers are bad for all the obvious reasons. There are the speech and censorship reasons that came to a head in, of all places, late night television. There are the labor issues. There are the concentration of power issues. There are the obvious problems that the fewer studios that exist the fewer chances good art gets to escape Hollywood and make it to our eyes and ears. But when it comes specifically to digital life there are these: consumer experience and ownership.
First, the more content that comes under a single corporation’s control, the more they expect you to come to them for it. And the more they want to charge. And because there is less competition, the less they need to work to make their streaming app usable. They then enforce their hegemony by using the draconian copyright restrictions they’ve lobbied for to cripple smaller competitors, critics, and fair use.
When everything is either Disney or NBCUniversal or Warner Brothers-Discovery-Paramount-CBS and everything is totally siloed, what need will they have to spend money improving any part of their product? Making things is hard, stopping others from proving how bad you are is easy, thanks to how broken copyright law is.
Furthermore, because every company is chasing increasing subscriber numbers instead of multiple revenue streams, they have an interest in preventing you from ever again “owning” a copy of a work. This was always sort of part of the business plan, but it was on a scale of a) once every couple of years, b) at least it came, in theory, with some new features or enhanced quality and c) you actually owned the copy you paid for. Now they want you to pay them every month for access to same copy. And, hey, the price is going to keep going up the fewer options you have. Or you will see more ads. Or start seeing ads where there weren’t any before.
On the one hand, the increasing dependence on direct subscriber numbers does give users back some power. Jimmy Kimmel’s reinstatement by ABC was partly due to the fact that the company was about to announce a price hike for Disney+ and it couldn’t handle losing users due to the new price and due to popular outrage over Kimmel’s treatment.
On the other hand, well, there’s everything else.
The latest kerfuffle is over the sale of Warner Brothers-Discovery, a company that was already the subject of a sale and merger resulting in the hyphen. Netflix was competing against another recently merged media megazord of Paramount Skydance.
Warner Brothers-Discovery accepted a bid from Netflix, enraging Paramount Skydance, which has now launched a hostile takeover.
Now the optimum outcome is for neither of these takeovers to happen. There are already too few players in Hollywood. It does nothing for the health of the industry to allow either merger. A functioning antitrust regime would stop both the sale and the hostile takeover attempt, full stop. But Hollywood and the federal government are frequent collaborators, and the feds have little incentive to stop Hollywood’s behemoths from growing even further, as long as they continue to play their role pushing a specific view of American culture.
The promise of the digital era was in part convenience. You never again had to look at TV listings to find out when something would be airing. Virtually unlimited digital storage meant everything would be at your fingertips. But then the corporations went to work to make sure it never happened. And with each and every merger, that promise gets further and further away.
We’ve noted how Larry Ellison, as part of his attempt to control the entirety of media, had launched a $108 billion hostile takeover bid for Warner Brothers. Larry, as we’ve seen with CBS and his interest in TikTok, is trying to convert what’s left of U.S. media into a giant safe space for affluent right wing autocrats and the right wing culture war grievance and infotainment complex.
While the Ellison deal is higher, Warner’s board is concerned with a few things. One, that Larry Ellison isn’t fully using his own cash to fully back the bid, which could create chaos when it’s time to actually get the money together:
“Warner Bros has raised doubts about Paramount’s financial condition and creditworthiness. The offer relies on a seven-party, cross-conditional structure, with the Ellison Revocable Trust providing just 32% of the required equity commitment while capping its liability at $2.8 billion, Warner Bros said. It noted that the trust’s assets could be withdrawn at any time.”
The Warner board is also nervous that the involvement of Saudi money in the hostile takeover attempt could generate more national security regulatory heat than they’d like, further complicating a deal. In total, they see Netflix as the cleaner, easier, and more predictable path.
What happens next? Well, Netflix has already begun kissing Trump’s ass in the hopes of regulatory approval, and I suspect you’ll see Netflix executives debase themselves repeatedly and creatively in the new year to appease the President.
If that’s not enough to satiate Donald’s ego, then I suspect you’ll see his DOJ launch a fake antitrust, fake populist intervention sometime in the new year trying to scuttle the deal and redirect the assets back to Ellison so he can continue his goal of creating autocrat-friendly state television leveraging the combined assets of CNN, HBO, CBS, and TikTok (if the Chinese give their approval).
Again, none of this will be reported clearly or honestly by the corporate American press, whose ownership has zero interest in journalism that’s critical of mindless consolidation or their pathetic groveling in the face of authoritarianism. Ideally a functioning government (which we don’t have) would block all media consolidation, but Netflix remains the better of a slate of bad options moving forward.
Netflix has fewer redundancies that would possibly mean potentially fewer layoffs. And they’re slightly less lodged up Donald’s colon (though they’re going to test that thesis to gain approval). And while they’ll certainly fire people and generate plenty of homogenized slop post acquisition, that’s still somehow a better option than letting Donald Trump and his autocrat friends flesh out their dream of state television.
A bipartisan group of the most anti-internet Senators around have released their latest version of a plan to “sunset Section 230.” We went over this last year when they floated the same idea: they have no actual plan for how to make sure the open internet can continue. Instead, their “plan” is to put a gun to the head of the open internet and say they’re going to shoot it… unless Meta gives them a different alternative. Let’s bring back Eric Goldman’s meme:
There is no plan for how to protect speech on the internet. There’s just hostage-taking. And remarkably, the hostage-takers are saying the quiet part out loud. Here’s Senator Dick Durbin’s comment on releasing this bill:
“Children are being exploited and abused because Big Tech consistently prioritizes profits over people. Enough is enough.Sunsetting Section 230 will force Big Tech to come to the table take ownership over the harms it has wrought.And if Big Tech doesn’t, this bill will open the courtroom to victims of its platforms. Parents have been begging Congress to step in, and it’s time we do so. I’m proud to partner with Senator Graham on this effort, and we will push for it to become law,” said Durbin.
Read that bolded part again. Durbin is admitting—in a press release, for the record—that he wants Big Tech to write internet policy. He’s threatening to blow up the legal framework that allows everyday people to speak online unless Mark Zuckerberg comes to his office and tells him what laws to pass. This is Congress openly abdicating its responsibility to govern in favor of letting a handful of tech CEOs do it instead.
The problem? The people who benefit from Section 230 aren’t the big tech CEOs. They’re you. They’re me. They’re every small forum, every Discord server, every newsletter with comments, every community space online where people can actually talk to each other without first getting permission from a building full of lawyers.
They want “big tech” to come to the table, even though (as we’ve explained over and over and over again) the damage from repealing 230 is not to “big tech.” Hell, Meta has been calling for the removal of Section 230 for years.
Why? Because Meta (unlike Durbin) knows exactly what every 230 expert has been saying for years: its main benefit has fuck all to do with “big tech” and is very much about protecting you, me, and the everyday users of the internet, creating smaller spaces where they can speak, interact, build community and more.
Repealing Section 230 doesn’t hurt Meta at all. Because if you get rid of Section 230, Meta can afford the lawsuits. They have a building full of lawyers they’re already paying. They can pay them to take on the various lawsuits and win. Why will they win? Because the First Amendment is what actually protects most of the speech these dipshit Senators are mad about.
But winning on First Amendment grounds probably costs between $2 million and $5 million. Winning on 230 grounds happens at an earlier stage with much less work, and probably costs $100k. A small company can survive a few $100k lawsuits. But a few $5 million lawsuits puts them out of business.
We already know this. We can see it with the DMCA, which was always weaker than Section 230. A decade and a half ago, Veoh was poised to be a big competitor to YouTube. But it got sued. It won the lawsuit… but went out of business anyway, because the legal fees killed it before it won. And now YouTube dominates the space.
When you weaken intermediary protection laws, you help the big tech providers.
Separately, notice Durbin’s phrasing about children being exploited. Can some reporter please ask Dick Durbin to explain how removing Section 230 protects children? He won’t be able to answer, because it won’t help. Or maybe he’ll punt to Senator Graham, whose press release at least attempts an answer:
“Giant social media platforms are unregulated, immune from lawsuits and are making billions of dollars in advertising revenue off some of the most unsavory content and criminal activity imaginable.It is past time to allow those who have been harmed by these behemoths to have their day in court,”said Graham.
Day in court… for what? Most “unsavory content” is constitutionally protected speech. The rap sheet is mostly First-Amendment activity—Section-230 just spares hosting it; repeal means litigating over legal speech, one plaintiff at a time.
As for criminal activity, well, that’s a law enforcement issue, not related to Section 230. If you don’t think that criminal activity is being properly policed online, maybe that’s something you should focus on?
Section 230 gives companies the freedom to make changes to protect children. That was the entire point of it. Literally, Chris Cox and Ron Wyden wanted a structure that would create incentives for platforms to be able to protect their users (including children!) without having to face legal liability for any little mistake.
If you take away Section 230, you actually tie the hands of companies trying to protect children. Because, now, every single thing they do to try to make their site safer opens them up to legal liability. That means you no longer have trust & safety or child safety experts making decisions about what’s best: you have lawyers. Lawyers who just want to protect companies from liability.
So, what will they do? They’ll do the thing that won’t protect children (which is risky), the thing that avoids liability, which tends to be to putting your head in the sand. Avoiding knowledge gets you out of these lawsuits, because under existing distributor liability concepts, knowledge is key to holding a distributor liable.
The only benefits to killing Section 230 are (1) to the biggest tech companies who wipe out competitors, (2) to the trial lawyers who plan to get rich suing the biggest tech companies, and (3) to Donald Trump, who can use the new rules to put even more pressure on the internet to suppress speech he doesn’t like.
I know for a fact that Senator Wyden has tried to explain this to his colleagues in the Senate, and they just refuse to listen.
Reminding everyone for no particular reason that Section 230 is one of the last things standing between free speech online and Trump having control over everything you see and say on the internet
This is exactly why Techdirt needs your support. When the most powerful people in government are ignoring experts and pushing legislation based on lies, someone needs to keep explaining what’s actually happening. We’ve been doing that for over 25 years, and we’re going to keep doing it—but we need your help to make sure that continues.
Meanwhile, the actual users of the open internet—and the children Durbin claims to be protecting—come out worse off. Senator Durbin and his cosponsors (Senators Graham, Grassley, Whitehouse, Hawley, Klobuchar, Blackburn, Blumenthal, Moody, and Welch) know all this. They’ve been told all of this. Sometimes by Senator Wyden himself. But all of them (with the possible exception of Welch who I don’t know as much about) have a long and well-known history of simply hating the fact that the open internet exists.
The bill isn’t child protection, and it sure isn’t tech regulation. It’s a suicide pact drafted by people who’ve always despised an internet they don’t control. Zuckerberg gets handed the pen; we get handed the bill—and the bullet.
Rose Natabo needs to leave one of her starving sons behind. At dawn, she squeezes her firstborn goodbye, then wraps her youngest, Santo, to her back, his legs akimbo at her waist. Taking the hand of her middle child, James, she hurries away toward help, her pink plastic sandals clapping over the dry dirt.
A couple hours later, the trio are in the back of an ambulance speeding by soccer fields, slums and footpaths. They turn through an iron gate and into the only hospital in Kakuma, a sprawling refugee camp in Kenya’s northern desert. After running from wars and natural disasters, this camp, the third-largest in the world, is their home. They have nowhere else to go. Rose joins a crowd of other mothers checking into the pediatric malnutrition ward.
It is July 8. Rose ran out of food less than three weeks ago after the World Food Program cut rations across the camp. At the hospital, she learns why: WFP lost its funding from the United States, the program’s biggest donor. What she doesn’t know is that aid workers and government officials from both the U.S. and Kenya spent the previous months begging and warning Trump administration leaders that families like hers depended on that food to survive. But for months, nothing changed. So Rose and thousands of other mothers watched their children starve.
Trump’s aides say the funding cuts were necessary to reform America’s broken foreign aid system, and they’ve begun making new investments into Kenya. “What you’ve seen right now,” one senior official at the State Department explains, “is there’s always some period of disruption when you’re doing something that’s never been done before.”
For WFP, that disruption meant telling 300,000 refugees in Kakuma that a little more than half of them will receive a meager portion of rice, lentils and oil some time next month, in August. The rest will get nothing. Rose doesn’t know which group she’s in. And she doesn’t know if her sons will survive that long anyway, especially Santo, who is only 2 years old.
Under the fluorescent lights in the malnutrition ward, nurses try to get an IV into him. But Santo is so swollen with edema — a result of severe protein deficiency — they can only find a vein on his head. Drained of color, his skin peels off in patches like burns. They drip milk into his mouth because feeding too quickly can be fatal. “Their bodies have adapted to starvation,” a nurse explains.
At night, Rose and Santo lie on a small vinyl hospital bed surrounded by a mosquito net. The swelling abates after a few days, but the little boy shrinks to 14 pounds and disappears into a loose, unstrapped onesie meant for a 9-month-old. The nurses tell Rose that God has performed a miracle, but Santo is still a long way from recovery. This is not his first time in the malnutrition ward this year.
Days pass. On July 16, the hospital discharges James, her 5 year old with dark marble eyes. He has somehow overcome a bout of malaria, which can be nine times more likely to kill a severely malnourished child like him. Without other options, Rose decides to send him home to her eldest, 7-year-old Lino, who is still staying with neighbors and relatives, even though she knows they have little food to spare. She has to stay behind at the hospital just a little bit longer, she tells James. Santo needs her.
July turns to August, and Rose becomes a fixture in the clinic. Five-foot-nothing and soft-spoken, she often enters and leaves rooms without notice. Every day, she sees other panicked mothers come to the clinic with sick children, a dozen a day on average. Some leave alone, after their children die.
Rose does laundry, bathes Santo and tidies up around their bed to stay busy. She wonders who, if anyone, is looking after James and Lino and what, if anything, they are eating. She starts asking staff any chance she gets if today is the day they will discharge Santo.
Some of the other mothers are so desperate to check on their children they sneak out at night and walk hours back home. Others abscond altogether. At least one baby died this year after her mother took her from the clinic before she was ready.
Rose considers leaving, too. “I don’t want my kids to suffer alone,” she says as her fingers work over black and white beads of a necklace she’s making for Santo, a traditional charm popular in South Sudan. Rose separated from her husband, who she says abused her, and now raises her boys alone. She inflates her cheeks and presses her face nose-to-nose with Santo. She’s the only one who can make him laugh.
Rose fled her home for Kakuma as a teenager in 2018, after South Sudan’s civil war found her village and left few survivors. She’s now about 23 — she doesn’t know her exact birthday — but still feels like an orphan in need of help.
On Monday, Aug. 4, a young, gentle nurse named Mark Kipsang walks through the pediatric malnutrition ward with a clipboard. Medical staff had promised Rose before the weekend that she and Santo would be discharged soon.
When Kipsang reaches their bed, Rose sits the boy upright and encourages him to greet their visitor. Kipsang offers a hand for a high five, but Santo doesn’t budge. His little feet dangle from the bed, still swollen with edema. Kipsang is worried Santo’s condition will worsen at home and that he’d quickly end up back at the hospital. This year, Kipsang’s ward has seen about six relapses every week on average.
“Has he had diarrhea?” he asks, inspecting the loose skin on Santo’s backside.
“No,” Rose lies.
“Can he walk?”
Rose nods and places Santo on the cold concrete, his shirt slipping from his shoulders. When he stands motionless, Rose holds his hands above his head and wills him forward, his feet barely shuffling. Santo starts to wail, and Rose sighs and lifts him back into her lap.
Santo is not ready to leave. Just then, Kipsang looks at Rose sitting cross-legged and notices what she has kept to herself all this time. Rose is pregnant.
Kipsang sends her straight to the hospital prenatal offices. She pads across the courtyard clutching a worn purple book that shows her first and only checkup was months ago. Rose speaks three languages but cannot read or write. Staff take her blood and conduct other tests and then explain the results as they jot them down in the book. She is extremely anemic, which means she is at risk for fainting, strokes or a preterm birth.
A third of the women in the hospital’s maternity ward have life-threatening complications that could be treated simply with food. They suffer from anemia like Rose, as well as dangerously high blood pressure. Their babies are born early, weighing too little and with underdeveloped lungs.
Jane Atim, a solicitous nutrition counselor, tells Rose that in order to avoid a dangerous birth, she needs to address her iron deficiency. Rose nods but otherwise sits still on a plastic chair, her fingers laced together. Atim flips through a ledger of two dozen other pregnant women she had seen in recent weeks, all with the same problem. There’s a diagram of a balanced diet on her desk. “How many times a day do you eat?” Atim asks.
Three, Rose lies again. She wants to end the conversation and figures there’s not much point in being honest or complaining. Instead, she lists peas, greens and lentils as her typical daily fare.
Atim knows it isn’t true, but she doesn’t think it does much good to despair alongside the starving mothers. So she tells Rose what she tells everyone: “The best thing for you to do is eat.”
The next morning, three days shy of one month in the hospital, Rose comes apart. “I am leaving today,” she shouts to a group of hospital workers who had gathered around her. The other mothers turn on their beds to watch. Her face is wet with tears. She tells them she doesn’t know who’s taking care of her other kids.
Her doctor relents and signs the discharge papers. “This is not ideal,” he says. He’s worried Santo might have contracted tuberculosis as well. But he says it’s better to discharge Santo than let Rose leave against medical advice and risk her ignoring their recommendations for treatment at home.
Later, Rose collects all of their belongings into the plastic wash basin she’s been using for laundry: two dresses, blankets, soap in an empty powdered milk tin, the iron tablets the prenatal ward had given her and papers describing Santo’s treatment plan. She doesn’t know what the files say, but she organizes them into neat piles anyway. The hospital had prescribed Santo 11 ready-to-use therapeutic food bars, and Rose keeps the packaging of one he just finished. She saves the empty wrappers to prove Santo has eaten them. Some mothers resort to selling theirs.
Rose ties Santo to her back with a blanket printed with monkeys, balances the basin atop her head and cups her lower belly with her free hand. “God help you,” another mother says.
As Rose reaches her sister’s house, Lino and James bound around the corner, through an open gate and beneath a clothesline made of concertina wire. Flanked by a posse of other children all coated in a film of dust, the boys beeline for Santo. They coo over their little brother before liberating a nutritional supplement wrapper from his hands to lick it clean. Rose inspects Lino’s dirty fingernails and picks up James, his brittle arms reaching around her neck; his body feels like an empty bookbag. He has a bad cough.
They look rough, Rose thinks, but they are alive.
It takes more than an hour to walk back to their house. James lost his shoes at some point after leaving the hospital. He struggles to stand, much less walk under the blinding East African sun. “He became so thin this year,” says Rose, whose own sandals have broken. “He’s usually fat.”
Strapped to her back, Santo falls asleep. Rose agonizes over being a mother unable to feed her children, with a pain so deep that she feels something like remorse for having had them at all. “There’s no happiness in it,” she says later.
They walk past the occasional house stripped to a husk. Those families, Rose explains, sold their clothes, chairs and even roofs to afford a ride over the border to South Sudan — a place they had not long ago fled for their lives.
Kakuma once felt like her only possibility for a future. She hoped to go into business for herself, selling food of all things. She’d raise money in case she and the boys were ever granted asylum in the U.S., where her sons could receive a good education.
But she’s abandoned that plan. Now she instead imagines joining those returning to South Sudan instead. “This sickness that came upon her baby has broken her,” Rose’s sister Sunday says, using a camp colloquialism for malnutrition.
“The only time she scared me,” Sunday adds, “was when she told me she wanted to take her kids back to South Sudan.”
On the morning of Aug. 11, Rose disappears into a crowd of hundreds of refugees under a pavilion about the size of a basketball court. Children lie across concrete benches while their mothers crane their necks toward the front, struggling to hear over the din. There, a small team of Kenya Red Cross workers holding clipboards call names on a bullhorn. One at a time, the mothers come forward to lift their kids onto a scale.
This outdoor clinic is functionally a pediatric malnutrition referral center. Community health workers fan across Kakuma to measure the circumference of children’s arms. Any kids in the area with arms thinner than 13.5 centimeters below the shoulder are sent here. They’ve made almost 12,000 malnutrition referrals this year.
Rose sits with James and Santo on either side of her, both half asleep despite the noise. Behind a folding table at the front of the crowd is a harried young Red Cross nutritionist. He said on a previous visit that the turnout shows how far malnutrition has spread. “It’s worse than last year,” he added, “because the food has been cut.”
Rose plops Santo on the scale: about 15 pounds. James is 21. Both weigh more than they did last check up, but still far less than what healthy children would at their ages. Each of their arms measures less than 12 centimeters, meaning the aid workers should prescribe them both therapeutic food.
The nutritionist tells Rose to follow him. He unlocks a heavy steel door that opens into a vault typically filled with nutritional supplements. Now, save for a couple boxes torn open on pallets, the room is empty. “We don’t have Plumpy’Nut anymore,” he says. (U.S. funding cuts disrupted the global supply chain that moves therapeutic ready-to-use food all over the world, The New York Times reported, stranding it in warehouses and at shipping companies.) He hands Rose a few bars of what remains for Santo and a different, less dense, supplement for James. They head back home.
Rose gives birth to her first girl two months later, on Oct. 5. It’s a Sunday, which is what Rose names the baby.
Her family still struggles to get food, even though WFP has started giving out more rations after a recent grant from the U.S. She rests under a tree with the children outside their dark, squat home, watching them sit listless in the heat.
All three of her boys have backslid. Lino and James are even thinner. The color has again drained from Santo’s skin and the edema returned to his legs, arms and face. He has lost 1 pound since the August weigh-in with the Red Cross.
Still wearing the black-and-white necklace his mom made him, Santo can hardly open his eyes or sit upright. It’s clear he needs to go back to urgent care. But she’s afraid to risk bringing her newborn to the hospital, where she might catch an infection.
They’ll all stay at home for now. This time, Rose has to choose baby Sunday.
