TANGIER, Morocco — Until recently, politics in Morocco involved red carpets and speeches in high Arabic that the average citizen could not understand. But on a campaign swing this fall through a working-class area of this port city, Prime Minister Abdelilah Benkirane stood on a makeshift podium in a muddy vacant lot.
He spoke without notes, kissed babies passed forward by the crowd and promised, as he has done all along, to fight corruption and return the government to the people.
“We will get stronger with the help of God and accomplish what we wanted,” he told the crowd, which roared its approval.
But more and more Moroccans are questioning his ability to do that, wondering whether Morocco’s version of the Arab Spring brought anything more than cosmetic changes to this impoverished country, which has been one of America’s most stable and staunch allies in a region marked by turmoil.
A year ago, it seemed Moroccans were giddy with the sense that they had found a gentle, negotiated answer to the popular uprisings in the streets. The country’s king, Mohammed VI, 49, defused angry protesters by volunteering to share his power. Within months, Morocco had a new Constitution.
Mr. Benkirane’s moderate Islamist party, the Justice and Development Party, won a plurality in parliamentary elections in November. Western governments heaped praise on the election process, satisfied that this strategically important country, just 12 miles south of Spain and atop a changing and uncertain continent, was settling in to a new more democratic order. (This week Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton is scheduled to visit Morocco for a meeting of the Friends of Syria.)
But these days, many here are questioning whether the king and his entourage really gave up anything at all. Telquel, perhaps the country’s most influential magazine, ran a cover story this fall saying that the palace had gradually taken back its concessions: the king’s shadow cabinet was interfering at will and was even sending its own emissaries to the United States and Brussels when Moroccan interests needed tending to. Mr. Benkirane, the magazine pointed out, had publicly admitted that the king’s advisers sometimes met with government officials without consulting him.
Some also point to a quiet clamping down on political activists. In October, the United Nations said there was evidence of a recent spike in reports of torture in Morocco. About 70 protesters associated with the pro-democracy February 20 Movement are still in prison. In May, a popular rapper was sentenced to a year in jail for a song about police corruption. And six political activists testified at a hearing in September that they had been physically — and sexually — abused after being arrested for protesting in July.
In other countries rocked by Arab Spring uprisings, tensions today are being felt largely over the role of Islam in government. These issues have come up in Morocco, too. But here, the larger tensions appear to be over the power of the old guard. Many Moroccans will not criticize the king, instead focusing on the network of power and privilege that surrounds him and the corruption that they believe sucks any hope of prosperity from this country.
The problems Morocco faces are enormous. The country has invested heavily in infrastructure: superhighways are everywhere and there are plans for a high-speed train, too. But 40 percent of the population cannot read or write. Forbes has estimated the king’s fortune to be more than $2 billion. But the average income here is low, roughly half of what it was in Tunisia, where the Arab Spring first took off.
Mr. Benkirane took office showing a flare for the dramatic. He quickly slashed ministerial salaries and perquisites, and he refused to move to the prime minister’s mansion. He also took on Morocco’s notorious cronyism. To widespread amazement, his government published the names of those who had been given lucrative bus licenses. Since then, however, his efforts have foundered.
Some critics say the prime minister has been outmaneuvered at every turn. Once last spring, Mr. Benkirane seemed to lash out at the king and his entourage, suggesting that protesters could easily return to the streets. But soon after, he said the remarks had been misunderstood.
If you need a loan, ask Bill and Melinda Gates. Or better yet, ask one of the seven cities that are splitting a new $ 25 million grant courtesy of the couple’s philanthropic foundation.
The funds are going to promote cross collaboration between charter and district schools, which have previously operated in a strict and contentious independence from one another.
The foundation announced the award this week, and the cities benefiting are Boston, Denver, Hartford (CT), New Orleans, New York City, Philadelphia and Spring Branch (TX).
How did they get so lucky? They’re among a group of 16 communities that signed the Gates-sponsored “District-Charter Collaboration Compacts” pledging for an open-source collaboration between public charter and district public schools.
Communication between these two models is unusual to say the least; they’ve had a long and illustrious history of battling each other over tax dollars, students and even building space.
But when charter schools first opened 20 years ago, their original purpose was to create an experimental educational space which would then share its best methods with public district schools. Instead, the two grew into rivals and critics of each are vehemently opposed to the other.
Among the complaints, charter schools are seen as selfishly siphoning off the most motivated students from the district while upholding a rich-poor educational divide and failing to live up to the promise of a better education. Others say its district schools that are the issue for their unionized teacher complacency and a consistent inability to keep a large margin of students from falling through the cracks.
In truth, neither system is a slam-dunk, and both are experiencing closures nationwide due to underperformance.
The goal of the District-Charter Collaboration Compacts is to restore the original relationship of the two camps, effectively establishing a regular protocol of sharing their best practices, innovations and resources.
Don Shalvey, the deputy director at teh Gates Foundation told The New York Times, “It took Microsoft and Apple 10 years to learn to talk. So it’s not surprising that it took a little bit longer for charters and other public schools. It’s pretty clear there is more common ground than battleground.”
But what will this grand collaboration yield? If all goes according to plan, students from both camps will benefit from new teacher effectiveness practices, college-ready tools and supports, and innovative instructional delivery systems.
According to the Gates Foundation, only one-third of students meet the criteria of college ready by the time they graduate. And most of the kids who don’t are often minority students from lower income areas. By creating collaborative aims with charter and district, kids from all over can have access to a wider swath of teaching frameworks and curriculums.
Related Stories on TakePart:
• Public Dollars for Private Schools? Voices from the Voucher Debate
• School Vouchers: The Debate Heats Up Across the U.S.
• Howard Fuller: One of the Most Powerful Educators in America
A Bay Area native, Andri Antoniades previously worked as a fashion industry journalist and medical writer. In addition to reporting the weekend news on TakePart, she volunteers as a webeditor for locally-based nonprofits and works as a freelance feature writer for TimeOutLA.com. Email Andri | @andritweets | TakePart.com
Connie Britton always knew she wanted to have a family — and she wasn’t about to let her single status stand in her way.
“I lost both of my parents within three years of each other and I kind of thought, ‘What am I waiting for?’” the Nashville star said during The View on Monday.
“The man will come and if I want to have my own kids I can do that, but I [knew] this was something I [wanted] to do.”
And after shining light on Africa’s orphan crisis, it didn’t take long for Britton, 45, to decide where she would find her first child. “I was going to do a documentary about Ethiopian orphans and spent a lot of time in orphanages there,” she shares.
“It was something I knew I always wanted to do — adopt from there.”
In 2011 the actress welcomed home Yoby – a “wonderful and life-changing experience,” Britton says — and, from the start, baby boy has been busy motivating his mama in ways she never imagined.
“It is really true, I sing to him all the time. Poor thing practically never hears me just say a straight word. I sing everything like we’re in a musical,” she jokes. “I guess he likes it. He wasn’t able to defend himself because he couldn’t speak until just recently.”
So when she was offered the role as country superstar Rayna James on the hit show Nashville, Britton didn’t think twice about belting out her voice. “When this came up, I thought to myself, ‘You know, I sound pretty good singing with Yoby. I’m sure I can pull it off.’ Not smart!” she says with a laugh.
SEATTLE (AP) — The crowds of happy people lighting joints under Seattle's Space Needle early Thursday morning with nary a police officer in sight bespoke the new reality: Marijuana is legal under Washington state law.
Hundreds gathered at Seattle Center for a New Year's Eve-style countdown to 12 a.m., when the legalization measure passed by voters last month took effect. When the clock struck, they cheered and sparked up in unison.
A few dozen people gathered on a sidewalk outside the north Seattle headquarters of the annual Hempfest celebration and did the same, offering joints to reporters and blowing smoke into television news cameras.
"I feel like a kid in a candy store!" shouted Hempfest volunteer Darby Hageman. "It's all becoming real now!"
Washington and Colorado became the first states to vote to decriminalize and regulate the possession of an ounce or less of marijuana by adults over 21. Both measures call for setting up state licensing schemes for pot growers, processors and retail stores. Colorado's law is set to take effect by Jan. 5.
Technically, Washington's new marijuana law still forbids smoking pot in public, which remains punishable by a fine, like drinking in public. But pot fans wanted a party, and Seattle police weren't about to write them any tickets.
In another sweeping change for Washington, Gov. Chris Gregoire on Wednesday signed into law a measure that legalizes same-sex marriage. The state joins several others that allow gay and lesbian couples to wed.
The mood was festive in Seattle as dozens of gay and lesbian couples got in line to pick up marriage licenses at the King County auditor's office early Thursday.
King County and Thurston County announced they would open their auditors' offices shortly after midnight Wednesday to accommodate those who wanted to be among the first to get their licenses.
Kelly Middleton and her partner Amanda Dollente got in line at 4 p.m. Wednesday.
Hours later, as the line grew, volunteers distributed roses and a group of men and women serenaded the waiting line to the tune of "Chapel of Love."
Because the state has a three-day waiting period, the earliest that weddings can take place is Sunday.
In dealing with marijuana, the Seattle Police Department told its 1,300 officers on Wednesday, just before legalization took hold, that until further notice they shall not issue citations for public marijuana use.
Officers will be advising people not to smoke in public, police spokesman Jonah Spangenthal-Lee wrote on the SPD Blotter. "The police department believes that, under state law, you may responsibly get baked, order some pizzas and enjoy a 'Lord of the Rings' marathon in the privacy of your own home, if you want to."
He offered a catchy new directive referring to the film "The Big Lebowski," popular with many marijuana fans: "The Dude abides, and says 'take it inside!'"
"This is a big day because all our lives we've been living under the iron curtain of prohibition," said Hempfest director Vivian McPeak. "The whole world sees that prohibition just took a body blow."
Washington's new law decriminalizes possession of up to an ounce for those over 21, but for now selling marijuana remains illegal. I-502 gives the state a year to come up with a system of state-licensed growers, processors and retail stores, with the marijuana taxed 25 percent at each stage. Analysts have estimated that a legal pot market could bring Washington hundreds of millions of dollars a year in new tax revenue for schools, health care and basic government functions.
But marijuana remains illegal under federal law. That means federal agents can still arrest people for it, and it's banned from federal properties, including military bases and national parks.
The Justice Department has not said whether it will sue to try to block the regulatory schemes in Washington and Colorado from taking effect.
"The department's responsibility to enforce the Controlled Substances Act remains unchanged," said a statement issued Wednesday by the Seattle U.S. attorney's office. "Neither states nor the executive branch can nullify a statute passed by Congress."
The legal question is whether the establishment of a regulated marijuana market would "frustrate the purpose" of the federal pot prohibition, and many constitutional law scholars say it very likely would.
That leaves the political question of whether the administration wants to try to block the regulatory system, even though it would remain legal to possess up to an ounce of marijuana.
Alison Holcomb is the drug policy director of the American Civil Liberties Union of Washington and served as the campaign manager for New Approach Washington, which led the legalization drive. She said the voters clearly showed they're done with marijuana prohibition.
"New Approach Washington sponsors and the ACLU look forward to working with state and federal officials and to ensure the law is fully and fairly implemented," she said.
___
Johnson can be reached at https://twitter.com/GeneAPseattle
Brandon Ty Garner died on the day he was born: July 1, 2011.
He came into the world at 24 weeks, 5 days. His lungs hadn't developed. He lived for six hours.
Very few people ever saw him.
Nearly a year and a half later, his parents remain swaddled in grief.
They visit his grave twice a week, even though it's an hour's drive from their Menifee home, and decorate it for each holiday he cannot share with them.
Recently they put up a small Christmas tree, full of colorful lights and ornaments. They surrounded it with stuffed animals, some wearing Santa hats.
Most people, they say, do not understand.
But on the night of Dec. 6, Janet and Ty Garner, both 33, were far from alone in their sorrow.
At El Toro Memorial Park in Lake Forest, in the children's section where Brandon is buried, several hundred people gathered before a bronze angel on a pedestal.
Some stood. Some sat in camp chairs. Extended families huddled on blankets on the grass.
They held candles. They listened to songs. They let the tears fall freely. They didn't try to hold them in.
And when the time came, they lined up to speak the names of their lost children and to lay down white carnations on long green stems.
Children's voices squeaked: "My sister Emma." "My big brother Jack." Adult voices cracked and quivered at "our baby girl," "my great-grandson," "our beautiful, beautiful boy."
One young couple grieved for newborn twins who had died the month before. An older man remembered his son, a fire captain, who had died years back, fully grown.
For nearly 20 minutes the names kept coming, one lapping over the next, as flowers filled the angel's open hands and blanketed her feet.
Similar scenes played out at more than 100 angels across the country.
The Dec. 6 tradition started with a self-published book, "The Christmas Box," which has become a staple of grief support groups.
In the 1993 story by Richard Paul Evans, a woman never stops mourning her daughter, who died at age 3 on that day.
The fictional child's grave features a statue of an angel.
After Evans had one erected in Salt Lake City, others followed. (The statues can be ordered through his website.)
HAVANA — Cuba’s liveliest experiment with capitalism unfolds every night in a dirt lot on the edge of the capital, where Truman-era trucks lugging fresh produce meet up with hundreds of buyers on creaking bicycle carts clutching wads of cash.
“This place, it feeds all of Havana,” said Misael Toledo, 37, who owns three small food stores in the city. “Before, you could only buy or sell in the markets of Fidel.”
The agriculture exchange, which sprang up last year after the Cuban government legalized a broader range of small businesses, is a vivid sign of both how much the country has changed, and of all the political and practical limitations that continue to hold it back.
President Raúl Castro has made agriculture priority No. 1 in his attempt to remake the country. He used his first major presidential address in 2007 to zero in on farming, describing weeds conquering fallow fields and the need to ensure that “anyone who wants can drink a glass of milk.”
No other industry has seen as much liberalization, with a steady rollout of incentives for farmers. And Mr. Castro has been explicit about his reasoning: increasing efficiency and food production to replace imports that cost Cuba hundreds of millions of dollars a year is a matter “of national security.”
Yet at this point, by most measures, the project has failed. Because of waste, poor management, policy constraints, transportation limits, theft and other problems, overall efficiency has dropped: many Cubans are actually seeing less food at private markets. That is the case despite an increase in the number of farmers and production gains for certain items. A recent study from the University of Havana showed that market prices jumped by nearly 20 percent in 2011 alone. And food imports increased to an estimated $1.7 billion last year, up from $1.4 billion in 2006.
“It’s the first instance of Cuba’s leader not being able to get done what he said he would,” said Jorge I. Domínguez, vice provost for international affairs at Harvard, who left Cuba as a boy. “The published statistical results are really very discouraging.”
A major cause: poor transportation, as trucks are in short supply, and the aging ones that exist often break down.
In 2009, hundreds of tons of tomatoes, part of a bumper crop that year, rotted because of a lack of transportation by the government agency charged with bringing food to processing centers.
“It’s worse when it rains,” said Javier González, 27, a farmer in Artemisa Province who described often seeing crops wilt and rot because they were not picked up.
Behind him were the 33 fertile, rent-free acres he had been granted as part of a program Mr. Castro introduced in 2008 to encourage rural residents to work the land. After clearing it himself and planting a variety of crops, Mr. Gonzalez said, he was doing relatively well and earned more last year than his father, who is a doctor, did.
But Cuba’s inefficiencies gnawed at him. Smart, strong, and ambitious, he had expansion plans in mind, even as in his hand he held a wrench. He was repairing a tractor part meant to be grading land. It was broken. Again.
The 1980s Soviet model tractor he bought from another farmer was as about good as it gets in Cuba. The Cuban government maintains a monopoly on selling anything new, and there simply is not enough of anything — fertilizer, or sometimes even machetes — to go around.
Government economists are aware of the problem. “If you give people land and no resources, it doesn’t matter what happens on the land,” said Joaquin Infante of the Havana-based Cuban National Association of Economists.
But Mr. Castro has refused to allow what many farmers and experts see as an obvious solution to the shortages of transportation and equipment: Let people import supplies on their own. “It’s about control,” said Philip Peters, a Cuba analyst with the Lexington Institute, a Virginia-based research group.
Other analysts agree, noting that though the agricultural reforms have gone farther than other changes — like those that allow for self-employment — they remain constrained by politics.
“The government is not ready to let go,” said Ted Henken, a Latin American studies professor at Baruch College. “They are sending the message that they want to let go, or are trying to let go, but what they have is still a mechanism of control.”
For many farmers, that explains why land leases last for 10 years with a chance to renew, not indefinitely or the 99 years offered to foreign developers. It is also why many farmers say they will not build homes on the land they lease, despite a concession this year to allow doing so.
Meet the Novatel MiFi Liberate: the first mobile access point with a touchscreen, letting you configure it without connecting it to a computer.
If you’re not familiar with mobile access points, these handy gadgets allow you to hook up to the Internet via cellular networks. It’s useful, often essential, if you’re in an area that has no Wi-Fi. If you’re in range of a cellular tower, this MiFi Liberate lets you connect 10 Wi-Fi devices of any kind to the Internet.
[More from Mashable: Google Considering Wireless Network [REPORT]]
Mobile access points are ideal for frequent travelers, accommodating anyone who needs to get online wherever they are. Just the fact that you’re no longer at the mercy of hotels and their Wi-Fi price-gouging makes it worth the cost of admission.
The Novatel MiFi device we tested connects to the AT&T LTE network. That resulted in spectacular upload and download speed, rivaling that of wired broadband networks. The speed of LTE is variable — depending on how many people are using it and how close you are to one of its broadcast towers — but if you’ve been limping along with 3G connectivity, you’ll probably be astonished at the difference.
[More from Mashable: Samsung Galaxy Camera Goes on Sale Nov. 16]
How fast was this MiFi Liberate? We took multiple readings in a variety of locations. It averaged a zippy 19.70 Mbps for downloads, and a tremendous 20.66 Mbps for uploads. That kind of speed can make a big difference in your work, especially if you’re dealing with large files. In many ways, though, that’s more of a testament to the speed of AT&T’s network, rather than the alacrity of this particular device. Your mileage may vary.
Lovely Touchscreen
The best new feature of this device is its excellent 2.8-inch LCD capacitive touchscreen, the first of its kind. It responds to the slightest touch, letting you easily wander around its menus. And even while using that gorgeous screen, it still has in excess of 10 hours of battery life per charge.
That screen can come in handy in unexpected ways. For example, we were impressed with the way it indicated when a device has connected. Once it has, you can drill down farther, finding out more about that device. The screen adjusts for orientation, righting itself when you turn it upside down just like smartphones do.
If you and others are connected to this MiFi unit, it lets you share movies, photos and music via DLNA, with all of you accessing content on a microSD card inserted into the side of this versatile gadget.
It’s Expensive
All that versatility and convenience doesn’t come cheap. While the MiFi Liberate costs $ 49.99 with a two-year contract, you’ll also need to pay a monthly tariff for your LTE connectivity. Because of its blazing speed, we’re thinking you might want to spring for the 5 GB a month plan for $ 50 from AT&T. That takes the MiFi Liberate out of the value-priced category, and into one that you hope your boss will be willing to pay for.
After spending a couple of weeks with this unit, it was easy to conclude that the Novatel MiFi Liberate is the best portable access point we’ve ever tested.
If you need connectivity on the go at the fastest possible speed, this one will do the trick. And if you want to observe and adjust the unit on a bright and responsive touchscreen, look no further.
MiFi Liberate, Side View
It’s nice and small, except for that bulge, which contains a changeable lithium-ion battery.
If you don't think laughter is the best medicine, just ask Prince William.
Despite a stressful week – which included a pregnancy announcement, hospital visits and more – the dad-to-be has managed to maintain his sense of humor.
The Prince, making his first public appearance since wife Kate was released from King Edward VII hospital following a four-day stay with hyperemesis gravidarum (severe morning sickness), attended the Winter Whites Gala in London on Saturday.
Michael O'Higgens, a former chairman of homeless charity Centrepoint, which the gala benefited, told reporters: "[William] said they shouldn't call it morning sickness as it's a day and all night sickness."
Inside the event, William shared his more serious perspective on his country's homeless population.
"About this time a few years ago, for one night, I gave up the warmth and comfort of my bed and tried sleeping on the streets of London. Of course, this was just one night. I was cold but safe and I knew I had a home waiting for me," he said.
"Many others have no such luck. The cold streets are the only reality they know. And yet so often their spirit shines through. What these unfortunate men, women and young people could achieve given the right opportunities is limitless. I really, really believe that," he continued.
William was originally scheduled to attend the British Military Tournament at Earl's Court in London on Sunday, but has canceled and will be spending the day "privately with the Duchess instead," a spokesman for the couple, both 30, said in a statement to PEOPLE.
"It is well known that hyperemesis gravidarum often recurs and, until further notice, to allow the Duchess a degree of privacy during her pregnancy, we do not intend to offer regular condition checks or advise of routine developments associated with it," the spokesman added.
The couple's next engagement is Wednesday December 12, when they are set to attend the royal premiere of The Hobbit movie in London's West End.
SEATTLE (AP) — The crowds of happy people lighting joints under Seattle's Space Needle early Thursday morning with nary a police officer in sight bespoke the new reality: Marijuana is legal under Washington state law.
Hundreds gathered at Seattle Center for a New Year's Eve-style countdown to 12 a.m., when the legalization measure passed by voters last month took effect. When the clock struck, they cheered and sparked up in unison.
A few dozen people gathered on a sidewalk outside the north Seattle headquarters of the annual Hempfest celebration and did the same, offering joints to reporters and blowing smoke into television news cameras.
"I feel like a kid in a candy store!" shouted Hempfest volunteer Darby Hageman. "It's all becoming real now!"
Washington and Colorado became the first states to vote to decriminalize and regulate the possession of an ounce or less of marijuana by adults over 21. Both measures call for setting up state licensing schemes for pot growers, processors and retail stores. Colorado's law is set to take effect by Jan. 5.
Technically, Washington's new marijuana law still forbids smoking pot in public, which remains punishable by a fine, like drinking in public. But pot fans wanted a party, and Seattle police weren't about to write them any tickets.
In another sweeping change for Washington, Gov. Chris Gregoire on Wednesday signed into law a measure that legalizes same-sex marriage. The state joins several others that allow gay and lesbian couples to wed.
The mood was festive in Seattle as dozens of gay and lesbian couples got in line to pick up marriage licenses at the King County auditor's office early Thursday.
King County and Thurston County announced they would open their auditors' offices shortly after midnight Wednesday to accommodate those who wanted to be among the first to get their licenses.
Kelly Middleton and her partner Amanda Dollente got in line at 4 p.m. Wednesday.
Hours later, as the line grew, volunteers distributed roses and a group of men and women serenaded the waiting line to the tune of "Chapel of Love."
Because the state has a three-day waiting period, the earliest that weddings can take place is Sunday.
In dealing with marijuana, the Seattle Police Department told its 1,300 officers on Wednesday, just before legalization took hold, that until further notice they shall not issue citations for public marijuana use.
Officers will be advising people not to smoke in public, police spokesman Jonah Spangenthal-Lee wrote on the SPD Blotter. "The police department believes that, under state law, you may responsibly get baked, order some pizzas and enjoy a 'Lord of the Rings' marathon in the privacy of your own home, if you want to."
He offered a catchy new directive referring to the film "The Big Lebowski," popular with many marijuana fans: "The Dude abides, and says 'take it inside!'"
"This is a big day because all our lives we've been living under the iron curtain of prohibition," said Hempfest director Vivian McPeak. "The whole world sees that prohibition just took a body blow."
Washington's new law decriminalizes possession of up to an ounce for those over 21, but for now selling marijuana remains illegal. I-502 gives the state a year to come up with a system of state-licensed growers, processors and retail stores, with the marijuana taxed 25 percent at each stage. Analysts have estimated that a legal pot market could bring Washington hundreds of millions of dollars a year in new tax revenue for schools, health care and basic government functions.
But marijuana remains illegal under federal law. That means federal agents can still arrest people for it, and it's banned from federal properties, including military bases and national parks.
The Justice Department has not said whether it will sue to try to block the regulatory schemes in Washington and Colorado from taking effect.
"The department's responsibility to enforce the Controlled Substances Act remains unchanged," said a statement issued Wednesday by the Seattle U.S. attorney's office. "Neither states nor the executive branch can nullify a statute passed by Congress."
The legal question is whether the establishment of a regulated marijuana market would "frustrate the purpose" of the federal pot prohibition, and many constitutional law scholars say it very likely would.
That leaves the political question of whether the administration wants to try to block the regulatory system, even though it would remain legal to possess up to an ounce of marijuana.
Alison Holcomb is the drug policy director of the American Civil Liberties Union of Washington and served as the campaign manager for New Approach Washington, which led the legalization drive. She said the voters clearly showed they're done with marijuana prohibition.
"New Approach Washington sponsors and the ACLU look forward to working with state and federal officials and to ensure the law is fully and fairly implemented," she said.
___
Johnson can be reached at https://twitter.com/GeneAPseattle
Matthew Stavron, 24 speaking, mother Kelle Stavron
Chaz La Bry, 26 speaking, mother Robin La Bry
William "Skip" Halpin, 51 speaking, brother Jerry Halpin
Doneno "Rick" Polizo, 58 speaking, wife Margaret Polizo
Karl Finnila, 43 speaking, sister Sally Finnila-Sloane
Jennifer Thurber, 22 speaking, father Charles Thurber
Alex Clyburn, 23 speaking, father Ron Clyburn
Larry Carmichael, 51 speaking, son Dan Carmichael
Clifford Dwight Oshier, 60 speaking, brother Ron Oshier
He prescribed powerful painkillers to addicts who had no medical need for them, conducted sham examinations and appeared to be a key supplier for drug dealers, according to court records.
He wrote more prescriptions than the entire staffs of some hospitals and took in more than $1 million a year.
Worse, one of Estiandan's patients had fatally overdosed on drugs he prescribed, a board investigator learned. The investigator said in her report that she confronted the doctor and told him the death was "the inevitable result" of giving narcotics to an addict.
Unknown to the investigator, two other Estiandan patients had suffered fatal overdoses. More deaths would follow.
By the time the medical board stopped Estiandan from prescribing, more than four years after it began investigating, eight of his patients had died of overdoses or related causes, according to coroners' records.
It was not an isolated case of futility by California's medical regulators. The board has repeatedly failed to protect patients from reckless prescribing by doctors, a Los Angeles Times investigation found.
It is board policy to give such cases a high priority. But The Times' examination of board records and county coroners' files from 2005 through 2011 found that:
"Material things are nothing now," said Dr. Carlos Estiandan, who was released from prison in September, after serving roughly half of a five-year sentence. (Liz O. Baylen / Los Angeles Times)
At least 30 patients in Southern California have died of drug overdoses or related causes while their doctors were under investigation for reckless prescribing. The board ultimately sanctioned all but one of those 12 doctors, and some were criminally charged — too late to prevent the deaths.
The board seldom tries to suspend the prescribing privileges of doctors under investigation. The agency can petition a judge for an interim suspension order. It has obtained orders only rarely: 12 times in the last five years in cases of excessive prescribing, in a state with more than 100,000 practicing physicians.
Even when the board sanctions doctors for abusing their prescribing powers, in most cases it allows them to continue practicing and prescribing. In 80% of the 190 cases of improper prescribing filed by the board since 2005, the offending physician was given a reprimand or placed on probation. In most of those cases, the doctor was allowed to continue writing prescriptions with few or no restrictions.
Eight doctors disciplined for excessive prescribing later had patients die of overdoses or related causes. Prescriptions those doctors wrote caused or contributed to 19 deaths.
At the heart of these shortcomings is the board's approach to oversight. It investigates when it receives a complaint of abuse or poor treatment of a specific patient or patients. It generally does not look for evidence of wider problems in a physician's practice.
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For example, in looking into cases of improper prescribing, investigators usually do not search county coroners' files to determine whether — as in Estiandan's case — a doctor's patients are dying of drug overdoses.
Dr. Rick Chavez, a pain management physician in Redondo Beach, serves as an expert for the board in cases of reckless prescribing. He said overprescribing is a pervasive problem, and oversight is inadequate.
"We have doctors out there doing things that no one is monitoring," he said. "It's scary."
The medical board's president, Sharon Levine, a pediatrician who is an executive at Kaiser Permanente, declined to be interviewed, saying it would be "inappropriate" because disciplinary cases are ultimately decided by the board. Executive Director Linda Whitney declined to comment, and staff members said they are barred by policy from speaking with reporters.
Responding by email to written questions, board officials asserted that their "highest priority and primary mission is consumer protection."
In response to The Times' findings, they have asked the Legislature to require county coroners to report all prescription drug deaths to the board.
"If only one physician was found to be overprescribing," the board said in its request to legislators, "this could save numerous lives."
Estiandan, a diminutive man with a cheerful demeanor, had a thriving general practice. He sang tenor in his church choir, played golf once a week with his sons and took his wife ballroom dancing. He was a lieutenant colonel in the U.S. Air Force Reserve and led medical relief missions to the Philippines, where he grew up and attended medical school.
In October 2004, one of his employees reached out anonymously to authorities.
The man told Robin Hollis, a medical board investigator, that Estiandan, then 62, was taking in $3,000 in cash a day selling prescriptions. Drug-addicted patients, the employee said, crowded the lobby of the doctor's clinic west of downtown Los Angeles, one of three he owned.
"Estiandan will give the patients anything they want," he told Hollis, according to her report.
The U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration and the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department were also investigating Estiandan, and the agencies shared information.
Evidence accumulated quickly. Alleged drug dealers were arrested in Los Angeles carrying bottles of medications prescribed by Estiandan, court records show.
A Costco pharmacist reported that groups of men in their 20s and 30s were showing up at his counter with prescriptions from Estiandan for painkillers, tranquilizers and muscle relaxants — the makings of a drug cocktail that is popular with addicts.
The pharmacist, Edward Wong, told authorities he would call Estiandan to make sure the prescriptions were legitimate, and the doctor would instruct him to fill them. Eventually, Wong stopped calling and simply refused to fill the prescriptions.
In Albuquerque, DEA agents stopped a man who was carrying more than 1,800 pills and several bottles of narcotic cough syrup with a street value of up to $500 each. According to court records, the medication labels identified Estiandan as the prescriber.
In the summer of 2005, about 10 months into the investigation, Leo Martinez checked in at Estiandan's clinic in Reseda. He paid a $120 fee for the office visit and waited a half-hour to see the doctor.
What happened next is detailed in court records.
Estiandan asked Martinez what was wrong.
"Nothing," Martinez said. He explained that he wanted a refill for painkillers he had been prescribed by another doctor whose clinic had since closed.
Estiandan asked him why he was in pain: Had he fallen or been in an accident?
He asked Martinez again if he had hurt his back or been in an accident. This time, Estiandan nodded and raised his eyebrows.
No, Martinez replied.
Estiandan said the other doctor must have had a reason to prescribe painkillers.
Martinez said it was a long time ago and he couldn't remember.
Estiandan told Martinez he couldn't prescribe the drugs unless there was an indication Martinez was in pain.
Then he asked Martinez again if he had hurt his back or been in an accident. This time, Estiandan nodded and raised his eyebrows.
Reading the cue, Martinez said he hurt his back lifting weights.
Estiandan pulled out his prescription pad.
Martinez was an undercover sheriff's narcotics investigator who had been secretly recording the conversation. He left Estiandan's office with prescriptions for the painkiller Vicodin, the muscle relaxant Soma, the anti-anxiety drug Valium and a 16-ounce bottle of narcotic cough syrup.
The medical board and law enforcement agencies were not the only ones interested in Estiandan.
Medi-Cal agents suspected him of fraudulent billing and put him under surveillance. They followed him as he drove home to Northridge in a Lincoln Navigator or Lexus sedan, sometimes stopping at a hospital or to pick up takeout at a Filipino restaurant.
But amid this intense scrutiny of Estiandan's life and medical practice, one thing appears to have escaped attention: what was happening to his patients.
One of them, Pamela Stone, suffered chronic pain from herniated disks. She also struggled with anxiety and had trouble sleeping.
Stone's mother grew concerned when she didn't hear from her daughter for a couple of days and asked the manager of the Reseda apartment building where Stone lived to check on her.
On Nov. 20, 2006, the manager opened the door to the apartment and found Stone's lifeless body on her bed. There was a trace of dried white foam around her nose and mouth.
The coroner determined that Stone died of an accidental overdose of multiple drugs, including an anti-anxiety medication prescribed by Estiandan. She was 54.
Hollis continued with her investigation, unaware of the death.
Hollis is one of about 130 medical board investigators on the front lines of patient protection in California. They look into allegations of physician misconduct ranging from botched surgeries to sexual abuse of patients.
Their ranks have dwindled, even as the number of licensed physicians in the state has risen over the last decade, to 102,000.
There are about 30 fewer investigators today than in 2001. The board opened 1,577 investigations last year, a 40% decline from a decade ago, and investigations now take longer to complete: an average of 347 days, compared with 256 in 2001.
Members of the Medical Board of California meet in Torrance in May. (Liz O. Baylen / Los Angeles Times)
The agency is overseen by a 15-member board appointed by the governor and legislative leaders. By law, eight members must be doctors. The board is funded by physician licensing fees, a revenue stream that was supposed to be immune to California's boom-and-bust budget cycles.
But Govs. Arnold Schwarzenegger and Jerry Brown used the board as a piggy bank, taking $15 million in licensing fees — the equivalent of a quarter of one year's budget — to help fill holes in the state general fund.
Schwarzenegger ordered state employees to take three unpaid furlough days per month, hobbling the board's enforcement efforts. Brown imposed hiring freezes. At one point, 1 in 4 investigator positions were vacant.
The board's staff has warned for years that the cuts were crippling its ability to protect the public. Julianne D'Angelo Fellmeth, a public interest lawyer who has monitored the board for the state Legislature, said the situation is urgent.
"The medical board is regulating the most important profession in terms of irreparable harm," Fellmeth said. "It should not be neutered."
The board's challenges go beyond the financial. Unlike medical regulators in other states, it cannot suspend a doctor's license or prescribing privileges on its own, even to prevent imminent harm.
Instead, the board must petition a state administrative law judge for an interim suspension order. If it obtains an order, the board must file a complaint against the doctor within 15 days — a legal provision for which physician groups lobbied, Fellmeth said.
The 15-day rule means that "an investigation must be nearly complete" before the agency can seek a suspension, board spokeswoman Jennifer Simoes wrote in an email.
If a doctor has been criminally charged, the board can ask a Superior Court judge for a suspension. It has done so a handful of times in recent years in cases of excessive prescribing.
Board officials said they sometimes hold off on seeking suspensions until that point to avoid jeopardizing a criminal investigation.
Steve Opferman, a Los Angeles County sheriff's deputy who runs a task force on healthcare fraud and took part in the Estiandan investigation, questioned that rationale. He said the board should move swiftly to shut down a doctor's prescribing whenever lives are at stake — even if it could affect a criminal prosecution.
The danger in waiting, he said, is that "people are going to die."
Andrew Corless began abusing drugs at the age of 15 and spent at least eight stints in drug treatment. On Aug. 11, 2006, he had a moment of resolve.
He called Estiandan's office at 11:45 a.m. that day and left a message.
He was about to undergo drug detoxification, according to a handwritten note by a receptionist, and he asked that the doctor "please not see him anymore."
Three hours later, Corless called back with a message "to disregard" the earlier call.
Leslie Greenberg lies in the grass at a park after leaving flowers at the nearby grave of her boyfriend Andrew Corless, who died in 2006 of prescription drug and alcohol intoxication. (Liz O. Baylen / Los Angeles Times)
Corless was in Estiandan's office 10 days later, pleading for drugs, court records show. He was back again in December, this time after leaving rehab early.
On Dec. 13, 2006, Corless, 46, was found on the street in front of his house in Northridge, dead of an overdose. Two of the drugs found in his system — hydrocodone and alprazolam — had been prescribed for him by Estiandan.
A month later, authorities searched Estiandan's offices and home. They found hundreds of partially completed prescription forms, some of them already signed, along with $12,300 in cash, court records show.
Looking at patients' records, investigators saw that groups of people from as far as Bakersfield, the Antelope Valley, Victorville and San Bernardino would show up at Estiandan's clinic near downtown Los Angeles on the same day, describe the same symptoms and leave with prescriptions for the same drugs.
Shortly after the raid, Estiandan was back at work — and writing prescriptions at a furious pace.
DEA agents consulted a database on prescriptions for controlled substances, written for patients paying in cash, to see where Estiandan stood. For March 2007, he ranked first in Southern California, Nevada and Hawaii, and fifth in the United States, according to court records.
For Joyce Saldivar, 55, he prescribed hydrocodone.
Saldivar had chronic back pain and was known to abuse her medications, according to coroner's records. She died June 29, 2007. The cause was an overdose of multiple drugs, including hydrocodone.
Estiandan acknowledged that Corless was an alcoholic and an addict and had “begged” him for drugs, according to Hollis' report.
By then, Hollis had learned about Corless' death from his girlfriend, who complained to the medical board about Estiandan, court records show.
Hollis got Corless' medical records and the autopsy report, and summoned Estiandan to an interview at a board office in Glendale on Sept. 12, 2007.
Estiandan acknowledged that Corless was an alcoholic and an addict and had "begged" him for drugs, according to Hollis' report.
Hollis told Estiandan that she couldn't understand how he could "continue to give pain medication to a person who is addicted," according to her report. "I explained that now there was a patient death.... This was the inevitable result. It was just a matter of time."
Hollis later obtained a report from an expert physician stating that Estiandan's treatment of Corless included "extreme departures" from accepted standards and contributed to his death.
Another patient, Wilma Jones, 47, was found dead in an unfurnished one-room apartment in South Los Angeles on Feb. 14, 2008. She had contracted pneumonia, and various drugs had suppressed her breathing to the point of death, coroner's records show.
One of the drugs was hydrocodone, which Estiandan had prescribed for her, records show.
Within a six-week span that summer, three more people died after taking medications prescribed by Estiandan. In all, seven of his patients had died since the medical board began investigating nearly four years earlier.
Estiandan, an early riser, was on the computer, tending to his stock portfolio on the morning of July 23, 2008, when a throng of DEA agents and sheriff's deputies appeared at his doorstep.
The doctor was polite and cooperative as an officer handcuffed him and led him to a police car. He was charged with 13 felony counts of illegally prescribing controlled substances. He was not charged with any of his patients' deaths.
Clint McKinney, center, hugs his mother and wife after scattering the ashes of his father, Bill, who died of cancer, and brother, Byron, who died of prescription drug-related causes. (Liz O. Baylen / Los Angeles Times)
Three weeks later, the medical board asked a Superior Court judge to suspend Estiandan's license, saying it was "the surest way to protect the public" from a doctor who "supplied patients with drugs, not medical care."
While the board waited for a ruling, Estiandan was free on bail and seeing patients.
Byron McKinney, a former pro wrestler, had been seeing Estiandan for eight years and had gotten hooked on the muscle relaxant carisoprodol, the anti-anxiety drug Xanax and a narcotic cough syrup, according to his brother, Clint.
McKinney, 33, died Nov. 18, 2008, of heart disease. The coroner said carisoprodol and hydrocodone were contributing factors. An empty bottle of hydrocodone cough syrup prescribed by Estiandan was found on a coffee table near McKinney's body.
About this story
This is the second in a series of occasional stories on the epidemic of prescription drug deaths. For this article, reporters Lisa Girion and Scott Glover, with help from reporter Hailey Branson-Potts, examined medical board records, coroners' files and court documents, and interviewed doctors, law enforcement officials and relatives of those who died from overdoses.
Times photojournalist Liz O. Baylen created still images and videos, contributed reporting and helped conduct interviews.
Stephanie Ferrell designed the web presentation and Armand Emamdjomeh created the interactivity.
Clint McKinney told a coroner's investigator that he and his brother "were able to regularly obtain prescription painkillers at free will via an unethical doctor who would write them five prescriptions for $120," records show.
In February 2009, six months after the board went to court, a judge barred Estiandan from prescribing painkillers and other addictive drugs. He surrendered his medical license that September. The next year, he was tried and convicted on the criminal charges and sentenced to five years in prison.
He was released in September after serving about half his term. A few days later, he spoke with Times reporters in the spacious home where he now lives on a ridge of the Verdugo Mountains in Burbank.
He referred to his time in state prison as "my vacation" and described how he practiced guitar, tutored inmates, volunteered in the chapel and read the Bible.
By turns defensive and contrite, Estiandan complained of being unfairly targeted by prosecutors for simply doing his job.
He said he warned patients of the dangers of becoming addicted to prescription drugs, telling them: "Eventually you will lose control of yourself."
He recalled that his wife, Gloria, a nurse, had warned that he was headed for trouble. She saw the disheveled people in his waiting room, Estiandan said, and told him: "Just let them go."
Estiandan, now 70, said he was not motivated by greed and never intentionally harmed patients. But he said he realizes he used poor judgment in prescribing drugs.
"Instead of helping them, I might have harmed them," he said of his patients. "I made a mistake."
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