Billions Stolen, Watchdogs Silenced: Race Card Shields Minnesota Fraud

Think about it. For years, quietly, folks in Minneapolis whispered about discrepancies and whispered rumors swirling—fraud. In particular, repeated concerns cropped up concerning meal programs in the Somali community. Yet, time after time, policy makers and administrators put those misgivings to rest almost before they had begun. The risk of seeing their motives twisted—or, worse, being pilloried as bigots—seemed to outweigh the price of a deeper look. Bill Glahn, from the Center of the American Experiment, didn’t mince words: “The whole story kind of died under these accusations that people were being racist,” he told me recently, recalling how early warnings fizzled into silence. People shrugged. "Maybe there was a little off-the-top," they figured, "but nothing organized." How wrong that proved.

Things only started moving when federal prosecutors dove in, undeterred. As the investigation picked up momentum, suspect after suspect insisted the probe itself was tinged with bias. Joe Teirab, who was part of the prosecution team, remembered would-be defendants deftly using accusations of racism as both shield and weapon—especially when the spotlight got too bright for comfort. He admitted, “It provided cover… especially when fraud was obviously going on.” At trial, it even escalated into attempted bribery, cash on the table alongside claims that the entire process was prejudiced. The logic: cast enough doubt, and maybe nobody would dare to follow the money trail.

Senator Mark Koran didn’t exactly hide his frustration with the system. “Look, most Minnesotans don’t care who committed fraud,” he insisted in my conversation with him recently. “They just want the evidence to lead where it leads. If that’s one community more than another, facts are facts.” But inside the halls of government, some weren’t so sure. Time after time, genuine oversight and tough questions were shut down for fear of blowback. Some operators, growing bolder, sued the state—alleging racism—in a bid to keep money flowing and scrutiny at bay. Koran paused, then described it as “a disgusting disservice… a slap in the face to those dollars and the people who need them.”

Behind all of this lurked that familiar pattern: government systems ill-equipped to manage complexity and enormous sums, stumbling under loose controls. The numbers almost defy belief—federal prosecutors pegged the scam at $2 billion, and even that feels like the bare surface. Audits later revealed the Minnesota Department of Education tiptoed around Feeding Our Future, their caution not rooted in legal ambiguity, but raw fear of “bad press”—and specifically, the threat of being tarred by allegations of racism. Even in newsrooms, a chill ran through coverage. Dustin Grage, a conservative columnist, recalled being told bluntly not to pursue the story. “Because we’ll be accused of being racist,” he remembers hearing, as the fraud ballooned quietly in the backdrop, unseen by the public until authorities finally acted.

Then, of course, there’s the question of politics. Minnesota’s Somali community is a powerful electoral block—a group that votes overwhelmingly Democratic and can swing primaries and even general elections. So it’s hardly lost on political strategists that getting crosswise with community leaders could spell instant political trouble. That calculus, as one policy expert pointed out, encouraged even more hesitation. Nodes of power, it seems, sometimes tripped over themselves trying to sidestep controversy, even if that meant ignoring flashing red warning lights.

And so the tab keeps mounting. What taxpayers lost isn’t just money; it’s trust—something public programs can’t afford to burn. The safety nets meant to help the most vulnerable, whether a child’s lunch in Minneapolis or a food shelf in the suburbs, now hang a little less steady. Faith in oversight—maybe always a bit tentative—has slipped.

A glance toward Australia, meanwhile, shows the problem isn’t uniquely American. Take the Westpac case: with fake paperwork slipping past rushed loan officers, the same recipe played out—overwhelmed staff, sky-high targets, and a system that prized speed over checking the facts. “Shortcuts keep being taken,” said one source, shrugging, “because the targets are just crazy.”

What links Minnesota and Westpac isn’t so much fraud itself; it’s the culture that lets fraudsters operate in the shadows. When leaders—be they politicians, regulators, or editors—grow so fearful of controversy that they pull their punches, wrongdoing festers. In the end, it’s not accusations themselves that let scams grow; it’s the decision to look away.

There’s no quick fix. Fact-finding is slow, stories get complicated, and real accountability carries risks of its own. But if those tasked with oversight lack the resolve to stand up and dig in—come what may—we shouldn’t feign surprise when the next scandal bursts into view, shielded by the very values we claim to defend.