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• The Pulaski Community School District summer school program attracts more than 2,500 kids – 68% of the district’s enrollment. 
• The free program has become a lifeline for parents at a time when affordable child care can be hard to find. 
• Students can sign up for fun classes such as cooking and swimming lessons. Those who need academic support get it. 
• One of the biggest challenges officials ran into initially was – ironically – child care for educators. Now there’s “a babysitting room” where fellow teachers and students interested in early childhood education take care of a handful of babies.

On a Thursday in early July, more than 1,000 children flooded the halls of Pulaski Community Middle School. Heaps of backpacks were piled in corners of classrooms and hallways. Bikes crowded the racks outside. At lunchtime, lines of children snaked around the building as they waited for hamburgers. 

Summer school: a phrase usually wielded as a threat to keep students on task in the classroom.

Not in Pulaski. 

For six weeks each summer, the northeast Wisconsin village’s middle school transforms into the “place to be,” instead of a punishment.

More than 2,600 kids — 68% of the school district’s enrollment — sign up for summer classes ranging from knitting and cooking to swimming lessons and science experiments. Students who need extra academic help get it, but the focus is on exploring new interests, spending less time on screens and nurturing kids’ creative sides in a way classwork doesn’t always encourage.

At a time when affordable child care can be hard to find, the free program has become a lifeline for the community. Signing up for classes is as competitive as queuing to buy Bruno Mars tickets, staff said — the most popular classes fill up in minutes. 

“You get to see a lot of kids from other schools that you don’t get to see normally,” sixth grader Xiomara Lloyd said as she strung beads to add to the stack of bracelets on her wrist, each adorned with her nickname, “Xio.” “I love it.”

The classes help students build a positive association with school, explore new hobbies, get offline and into the real world — and, of course, learn. 

“There’s a lot of anxiety and different things as soon as they get close to those (school) doors because now they’re asked to do a lot of things that are difficult for them to do,” said Pulaski Area Community Education Director Mark Heck, who leads the summer school. “But when we can have them come in and have great success and really enjoy it, that’s a win.” 

‘A little different type of learning’

Walking through the halls is like stepping between different worlds. 

In one classroom, students dressed in Halloween costumes have a dance party. In another, students take turns using American Sign Language to describe emotions. Upstairs, students cook pizza from scratch in a home economics classroom. And in the gymnasium, shrieks and shouts echo as kids play an intense game of dodgeball.  

But the chaos is organized — every classroom has at least two adults, and kids wear a badge printed with their name and their schedule, so adults know where they belong if they get lost. 

“Summer school is stuff that you learn new, like swimming floats, or you learn how to make diamond art, or even make hearts made out of clay … Summer school lets you have fun in the summer, if you don’t know what to do at your house,” said elementary student Ava Lentz. 

And it’s not all fun and games. Those behind in classes or on tests take reading and math classes designed to catch them up. Several teachers also host tutoring sessions.

But generally, the classes take a more creative approach. That includes a science class where kids gleefully partake in a series of science experiments — on that Thursday, they combined soda and Pop Rocks and watched the fizzy reaction. 

“It’s really great learning, but it might not be exactly what they’re learning during the school year, where (educators are) worried about standards, and worried about the tests that they’re going to be getting kids ready for, and things like that,” Heck said.

“All of those things are very important, but during the summertime we can do a little different type of learning.”

That philosophy has guided the program for two decades.

When Pulaski leaders launched the summer school 22 years ago, it was a small program consisting of one or two classes at several schools because the state would only fund a few hours a day. 

Busy parents begged for a full-day program. Not long after Pulaski schools started offering afternoon programming at a cost, the state’s rules changed. Now, schools can get funding for eligible programs all day, all summer long. So Heck dreamed of something bigger.

“I just had this idea in my head that was going, ‘I think we could do something a lot better than this.’ … I want to make a program where your kids say, ‘No, I want to go to summer school,’” he said.

Nowadays, they do. 

Kids beg to sign up to be where their friends are. About 68% of the district’s 3,800 students will enroll in at least one summer school course. Signing up for classes is “an Olympic sport,” staff say. Parents take off work to refresh the computer. They post to Facebook the night before registration, wishing each other luck. The best classes fill up in minutes. 

It takes a village

Keeping such a behemoth summer school running smoothly takes a village. But in the tight-knit community, it works. 

The district employs roughly 130 teachers, 25 classroom aides, various high school and college students and other community members to keep over 2,500 students busy. 

“When we hire our teachers … The first thing I say is, if you weren’t here right now, what would you be doing?” Heck said. 

Those answers often become classes. For example: A local farmer teaches kids about horses, even bringing in equestrians as guest speakers and taking kids to visit the farm animals. Two food service workers teach students how to cook. A hobby fisherman took students to different ponds in the area during a previously offered course. 

Running such a major operation has also brought challenges. It was tough getting all of the departments — transportation, food, academics — on board. But that’s much easier to do in a small district like Pulaski, Heck said. 

Ironically, another major challenge: child care. 

Many educators have young children who are too young to attend summer school but still need care during the workday. Without viable child care, they couldn’t commit to working in the warmer months. 

The district’s solution: One classroom is transformed into a “babysitting room,” where fellow teachers and aspiring early childhood educators change diapers, make bottles and keep a handful of babies entertained. 

For aspiring educators like Cori Adelman, who studies early childhood education at Northeast Wisconsin Technical College, the room offers hands-on experience working with young children. 

The program has become a workforce pipeline, too. Heck estimates about 15 young adults who first worked summer school have since returned as full-time educators either in Pulaski or in neighboring districts.

‘A lifesaver’

Affordable child care has become increasingly difficult to find, and securing spots in summer camps is notoriously competitive. For that reason, the free summer school that turns away no one has become a lifeline for local families.

Parent and Pulaski Area Chamber of Commerce Executive Director Stacey Von Busch said her kids have participated in the camp for years, calling its affordability a “lifesaver.” 

“To have something like this in our community, where we don’t have to drive 30 minutes to get our kids to (other camps), is huge,” she said. 

The district provides bus transportation for students who need it, and thanks to a federal grant, children can eat breakfast and lunch at school. 

While by law the school must be tuition-free, the district may charge modest fees for supplies, such as beads for making bracelets or yarn for knitting and crocheting. Course fees range between $0 and $40 for each two-week term. 

The school is funded by the state — Wisconsin schools can receive funding for summer school classes that meet certain academic requirements. Rather than paying schools a flat amount for each student, the state bases funding on the total instructional time students attend. Therefore, Heck is on a mission to keep enrollment high: More students involved equals more funding.

That includes everyone. Parents of children with disabilities often struggle more to find summer schools and camps that serve them, Heck said. He didn’t want that to be the case in Pulaski. 

Many of the district’s special education employees staff a classroom dedicated to children with disabilities. That includes those who require federally mandated “extended school year instruction,” an individualized academic program meant to stop students from regressing over break. 

“I look forward to this every year,” said special education teacher Tessa Badtke. “You just get to know them in such a different way because there’s not this academic pressure like at school, so you can just build these relationships.” 

And then, Badtke said, students have a better school year. Heck agreed. 

“What’s the win out of it for us? We got our kids to walk through the school doors and actually not be angry and upset when they came in,” Heck said. “They’re coming in and they’re happy. Our hope is maybe next year, when they come back in the fall, they’re coming in and they’re saying, ‘I’ll give it a chance.’”

Miranda Dunlap reports on pathways to success in northeast Wisconsin, working in partnership with Open Campus. Find her on Instagram and Twitter, or send her an email at mdunlap@wisconsinwatch.org.

This story was updated to correct the number of students who attend summer school. Wisconsin Watch regrets the error.

A Wisconsin school district made summer school fun. Now 2,600 kids show up. is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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• Newcap was a leading provider of homeless services for 10 counties: Brown, Florence, Marinette, Menominee, Oconto, Shawano, Forest, Langlade, Oneida and Vilas.
• The organization’s abrupt closure in March left counties scrambling to fill the gaps. 
• In Shawano County, for example, residents no longer have a year-round homeless shelter. 
• Furthermore, Newcap took the lead in three regional homeless coalitions, and its staff served in key roles, fulfilling responsibilities for Coordinated Entry, the point-in-time count and federal and state funding. 
• Newcap’s Brown County federal grants have been transferred to House of Hope and Foundations Health & Wellness.

It’s been more than three months since the anti-poverty nonprofit Newcap closed, laying off 90 employees and leaving more than 100 low-income households on the brink of homelessness. For Shawano County residents, that means losing their only year-round homeless shelter. 

At Safe Haven domestic abuse shelter in Shawano, Executive Director Mindy Lohff started getting dozens more crisis calls and observing more unsheltered people on the streets or in wooded areas.

“We’ve seen an increase in our shelter stays directly, we’ve seen an increase in the calls for looking for shelter,” Lohff said. “Unfortunately, if they aren’t actively fleeing domestic violence or sexual violence, they’re not eligible (to) stay here, and there’s nowhere for them to go in Shawano County.” 

It’s not just that Lohff has nowhere to direct unsheltered people in Shawano. Newcap was a leading provider of homeless services for 10 counties — including Brown, Florence, Marinette, Menominee, Oconto, Shawano, Forest, Langlade, Oneida and Vilas. In 2025, Newcap had the capacity to provide nearly 250 beds across those counties, from emergency shelter to permanent housing. 

These mostly rural counties have been rocked by Newcap’s abrupt closure March 31, which came amid financial challenges and leadership changes. Former CEO Cheryl Detrick was placed on leave shortly before the nonprofit closed its doors and filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy, revealing that it owed nearly $4 million to creditors. 

The nonprofit’s closure reveals how the loss of a single agency can have a staggering effect, especially in rural areas where resources for the unhoused are already few and far between. As a federally designated regional leader — or Community Action Agency — Newcap held the keys to funding for many programs and can’t be easily replaced by a single organization. 

Working together on shelter solutions

Shawano Area Matthew 25 is a seasonal overnight homeless shelter open from Oct. 15 to May 15. Newcap’s closure means Shawano County residents no longer have a homeless shelter to turn to during warmer months. Newcap also led Shawano’s homeless coalition, meaning it controlled state funding for SAM25. Executive Director Kendra Brusewitz said she’s still waiting on $12,000 in funds. 

Over the summer, SAM25’s resource center is still open, providing food, showers, laundry and other assistance. 

“We just continue to see an increase in the numbers coming through our resource center,” Brusewitz said. “Not having a place to refer people, families to in the area during the summer months is challenging.”

Without Newcap, nonprofit leaders realized there was no longer a way for Shawano County residents to access Coordinated Entry – a prioritization list that matches people with housing resources throughout the state based on their eligibility. 

Safe Haven and SAM25 teamed up with Shawano Area United Way to form a coalition, educating local officials on housing needs and brainstorming solutions. Brusewitz and Lohff took charge of signing people up for Coordinated Entry. 

“We’ve actually had clients getting pulled for the housing assistance because they wanted to move to other counties, so that’s been great,” Lohff said. 

They’ve also applied for grants to fund a housing coordinator for Shawano County and collaborated with Bonduel middle and high schools to make hygiene kits. The coalition’s efforts aren’t funded, nor are they part of anyone’s job description. But Shawano community leaders feel it’s necessary.

“A lot of us have lived here, grown up here, and we’re so passionate about it, so some of (the work) may be slightly out of the scope, but it’s so important,” Lohff said.

Support for survivors

Newcap’s grants allowed victims of domestic violence in Shawano and neighboring counties to obtain permanent housing, which is vital since Safe Haven is an emergency shelter, Lohff said. So far, no agency has been identified to permanently take on the grant. 

“The financial assistance for them to be able to obtain the housing has vanished,” Lohff said. “Within the realm of domestic violence, so many of our clients experience financial abuse … and that’s one of the reasons why they don’t leave that abusive relationship, is because their abuser holds finances over their head.” 

Rainbow House, a domestic violence shelter serving Marinette and Oconto counties, was similarly left as one of the area’s only providers after Newcap closed. Executive Director Courtney Olson told Wisconsin Watch she’s received a “steady increase” in calls since then.

Like Safe Haven, Rainbow House cannot respond to general calls for housing. As it is, its waiting list for domestic violence clients continues to grow, which means ensuring their safety in other ways.

“In response to these long waits, we are working hard to keep survivors safe in their own homes whenever possible,” Olson wrote in an email. “That means offering more on the security side (cameras, cell phones, panic alarms, lock replacements, temporary restraining orders) and working with landlords to remove the person causing harm from a lease rather than displacing the survivor.”

A ‘long, slow road’

Regional Continuum of Care programs distribute federal funding for homeless shelters. Milwaukee, Dane and Racine counties have their own CoCs, while the Balance of State CoC oversees the rest of Wisconsin through regional coalitions. 

Although based in Brown County, Newcap also served as the lead agency for the Wisconsin Balance of State’s Northeast Coalition — in Florence, Marinette, Menominee, Oconto and Shawano counties — and the NWISH Coalition – made up of Forest, Langlade, Oneida, and Vilas counties. 

The loss of Newcap comes at a time when national funding for Continuum of Care programs is already uncertain. President Donald Trump’s proposed 2027 fiscal year budget would eliminate the Continuum of Care program, reducing all homeless assistance funding by $400 million. 

Meanwhile, the 2026 budget will require the Wisconsin Balance of State to compete with Continuum of Care programs nationwide for a greater portion of funding based on the Trump administration’s priorities. An estimated 1,287 people could lose their housing in Wisconsin, according to the National Alliance to End Homelessness. 

The Balance of State is acting as a temporary lead for the Northeast and NWISH coalitions, ensuring the “point-in-time” homeless count happens – an essential step to securing federal funding – and filling vacant board positions. 

Balance of State homeless systems manager Ryan Graham said they’re essentially starting from square one, and they won’t be able to replace Newcap easily. 

“Now, it’s about, ‘How do we rebuild some kind of homeless response in that area?’ because the agency that pretty much did all of that and provided the capacity to do it is no longer there,” Graham said. “They were the coalition lead, they were the point-in-time lead, they were the state funding lead.” 

Graham has been impressed by organizations like Safe Haven and SAM25 stepping up, but finding an organization qualified to take on Newcap’s responsibilities is still hard. 

“It’s going to be a long, slow road, “ Graham said. “Hopefully, it won’t be too slow, but we’re really starting from scratch in a lot of areas, especially in the Northeast and NWISH Coalition, as far as building a homeless response system.”

Federal grants transferred to Brown County nonprofits

Even in Brown County, where organizations do exist to take on Newcap’s clients, it’s still not that simple. 

When Newcap closed, the 134 households that depended on federally funded programs were immediately put at risk of homelessness. Public officials advocated to get four federal grants transferred to local organizations and waited nearly a month after Newcap’s closure to receive confirmation from the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development. 

House of Hope in Green Bay will take on three of the four grants, but Director of Community Engagement Beth Hudak said it’s collaborating with multiple Brown County agencies to manage cases for Newcap’s former clients. 

“One of the biggest lessons we learned … is that when one agency holds all of the funding – does all of the work – when something happens, our community is devastated by it,” Hudak said. “What we really want to make sure we’re emphasizing in the future is having many, many more organizations involved in all of this work.” 

House of Hope’s primary mission is to serve homeless youth — not to provide permanent housing for adults, which some of the grants stipulate. But according to Hudak, HUD said House of Hope was the only agency qualified to take on the grants. 

“I don’t think we really had an option … HUD said that it was either us or the contracts would go to other parts of the state,” Hudak said.  

House of Hope will personally take over a $440,000 grant for youth rapid rehousing in Brown County. Through working with other agencies, it hopes to find subrecipients for a $1.1 million permanent supportive housing grant for individuals in Brown County. 

The third grant was specifically designated for supportive housing in rural northeast Wisconsin. Hudak said House of Hope is working closely with the Balance of State’s Northeast and NWISH coalitions even though they have yet to receive access to the grant funds.

Foundations Health & Wholeness, also based in Green Bay and primarily serving youth, will take on the fourth direct federal grant from Newcap, which provides nearly $300,000 for a youth mobile outreach program. 

Jackie Baumgart, director of Foundations Youth Services, said the grant fits into the work they’re already doing: engaging with homeless youth where they’re at since their access to transportation is often limited. 

“Why we were approached for this is because we do community-based services, and we don’t have specific offices where everybody works,” Baumgart said. “So our staff are out in the community … Our hope is to have a counselor go out and do a mental health check-in with young people that wouldn’t otherwise be able to access these services.” 

The organization will also take over Coordinated Entry for the NWISH and Northeast coalitions, filling another gap left by Newcap. Baumgart said her nonprofit plans to operate with more transparency and collaboration with other organizations. 

“My vision for what to do versus what has been done is to change it up a little bit and make it a more publicly known list for housing … I really want to make sure that we are teaching other organizations how to use it, when to use it, how to take people off of it, when to put people on, so that it’s not us doing all the work,” she said. 

Moving forward

In Green Bay, Newcap’s closure has made way for a unique new homeless shelter that takes in people who have been banned from other shelters in Brown County. Although controversial, Safe Haven Hope Center received a permit in May to use one of Newcap’s former buildings to shelter 19 individuals. 

Safe Haven technically rents the property from Newcap, which means Executive Director Cathi Oreto isn’t sure if it will be able to keep the property as Newcap liquidates its assets. But for now, she’s moving forward with a harm-reduction approach, offering a community-centered shelter with an extremely forgiving policy.

“We know that we’re going to have to ask people to leave, but when we ask them to leave, we’re going to ask them — and we have asked them — to leave for today and come back tomorrow,” Oreto said. “It doesn’t matter if it’s the first time, 10th time, or one millionth time, our exit strategy is the same.” 

Meanwhile, a Brown County coalition is making sure the point-in-time count still happens on the night of July 22. Although Newcap led the point-in-time count for the past five years, Hudak said some Brown County Homeless and Housing Coalition members have participated for decades. 

“I think we have it pretty well handled,” Hudak said. “One of the biggest issues that we’re coming across is just sort of a lack of data transfer, so some of the more in-depth information that Newcap had, we don’t necessarily have access to because of how quickly they closed.” 

In the future, Hudak said they’ll make sure the entire coalition has access to PIT documentation, instead of just one organization. It’s part of a broader effort to build interdependence between local anti-poverty nonprofits to minimize the impact of one closing. 

That network includes community members, too. Hudak said volunteers are always needed, and anyone who cares about homelessness can provide a fresh perspective. The NWISH and Northeast coalitions are also looking for members.

“All of our coalitions are always looking for more people to be in and support the work, and you don’t have to be a service provider to do that … Having outside perspectives is hugely, hugely important for making sure that we’re doing the best work that we can for the people that we serve,” she said.

‘There’s nowhere for them to go’: Newcap closure leaves northeast Wisconsin counties scrambling to prevent more homelessness is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: 5 minutes

When 15-year-old Amelia Culotta stepped into the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport, her whole world transformed. 

Walking through the airport’s 400-foot display of Atlanta’s role in the civil rights movement and African American culture, she saw her history reflected back at her for the first time.

“There was more history on one wall than I’ve ever had in school,” Amelia said. “Like, ever.”

Growing up in Green Bay, she was used to being one of the only Black girls in her grade and had never visited a city like Atlanta. Seeing the racial diversity among people living there was a culture shock in the best way.

“Before then, I just felt like, ‘Oh, this is how everything goes, my small world is how all the rest of the world is,’” Amelia said. “It didn’t feel real when I was walking off the airplane because I didn’t realize how much life I haven’t seen, and I was missing.” 

Moments like these are why Rhonda Chandler created Lovin’ the Skin I’m In, a nonprofit dedicated to supporting and empowering girls of color in northeast Wisconsin by giving them experiences like Amelia’s.

Small group meetings grow into nonprofit 

When Chandler moved to De Pere with her husband more than a decade ago, they were the first Black family in their neighborhood. For her three kids, transitioning from Charlotte, North Carolina, to a school district with less than 2% Black enrollment wasn’t easy.

“When we sent our children off to school, that’s when they started having a lot of challenges … It started with name calling, all of the things, microaggressions, etc.,” Chandler said. “My oldest daughter … really had a hard time struggling to fit in, finding her people, being accepted.” 

Chandler knew something had to change a few years later when her youngest daughter started experiencing the same bullying and microaggressions.

“I vowed I was going to do something different,” Chandler said. “I was not going to have the same pattern repeated that my older daughter had, so I kind of went into action mode.” 

At first, she started inviting other Black families who shared her daughter’s experiences to her home for monthly meetings in her basement. In 2020, Lovin’ the Skin I’m In was officially established as a nonprofit, motivated by nationwide protests against police brutality and racial injustice. 

“During George Floyd and Breonna Taylor’s murder is when it was kind of like an ‘aha’ moment for me, and I was like, this is bigger than just my girls, or just keeping it in my basement,” Chandler said. 

A 2014 report by the Annie E. Casey Foundation ranked Wisconsin as the worst state in which to raise African American children based on test scores, employment and poverty rates. Not much has since changed. In 2026, Wisconsin ranked 8th overall for child well-being, but had the worst racial disparities for Black and white children in the country for metrics like children living in high-poverty areas or not graduating on time.

And the school district Chandler lives in – De Pere – still enrolls less than 2% Black students a decade later, according to data from the state Department of Public Instruction. 

Having been a social worker for about 30 years, Chandler strives to provide a welcoming environment that girls may not feel at school. 

Lovin’ the Skin I’m In now runs regular meetings during the school year at local elementary, middle and high schools, providing peer support and cultural education. Guest speakers have taught students about hair care, career development and mental health, and field trips include going to see DRUMLine Live, based on the marching band tradition at historically Black colleges and universities.

The Women’s Fund of the Greater Green Bay Community Foundation awarded Chandler the 2026 Nancy Armbrust Impact Award for her service to over 700 community members in northeast Wisconsin, and her organization continues to grow. Last month, Lovin’ the Skin I’m In launched a weeklong summer camp for elementary and middle school students called the Summer of She. Students learned sailing with Green Bay Sail & Paddle or entrepreneurship at a local Black-owned business, developing new skills and building community.

Having outgrown Chandler’s basement, families meet monthly at Life Church in De Pere. She said the group doesn’t shy away from hard topics in their discussions. 

“We have hard conversations, so sometimes that can be challenging … We talk about how the issues with immigration may affect our families, or what’s happening at school, or the political climate, and the mistreatment in our community and in our world,” Chandler said. “We talk about those things because it’s life and it’s going to affect our family.” 

‘They don’t have to limit themselves’

Prior to her trip to Atlanta, Amelia had been participating in these support groups since elementary school. Now a rising sophomore at De Pere High School and a member of the school’s Black Student Union, she’s seen the program grow up with her in the years since Chandler started it. 

“What we were talking about was just learning about self-confidence and being a part of a (predominantly white institution) … I’ve learned that being an African American girl in Wisconsin isn’t easy,” she said, “but it also gives me the voice to teach and to also learn.” 

Her trip to Georgia in March was part of Lovin’ the Skin I’m In’s second annual cohort introducing a group of a dozen high schoolers to HBCUs such as Clark Atlanta University, Fort Valley State University and Spelman College.

“It was so shocking, just stepping into the airport, the difference in the community … I was like, oh my gosh, I’m in a whole different world,” Amelia said. “And I feel safe for the first time in a long time.” 

As a graduate of Clark Atlanta herself, Chandler facilitated visits with Black sororities and plans to continue working with seniors on college applications, letters of recommendation and scholarships. 

“Some of our girls had never been on an airplane before, haven’t been out of state, any of that,” Chandler said. “So giving them that opportunity and … them being able to go and see those universities where there’s representation and know that they don’t have to limit themselves – they can go to school out of state.” 

The trip was an eye-opening moment that empowered Amelia to keep speaking out against institutional racism. Seeing historical exhibits like the one in Atlanta made her even more aware of the flaws in the education system.

“I think people struggle understanding things because they aren’t taught things, and the problem isn’t because of them, the problem is because of what they’ve been taught … I sit with the remarks and the hate every single day,” Amelia said, “and being a part of Lovin’ the Skin was good because it taught me how to deal with that.” 

Amelia also hopes to continue the legacy of Chandler’s daughter, who was the president of De Pere’s Black Student Union. She wants to help organize an assembly with guest speakers that would teach students about the impact of racism. 

“Do people know what racism is? Not really,” Amelia said. “They know the word. It just sticks out – it’s like a big bad word – but no one really knows what it’s associated to, where it came from, how it impacts people of color. That was never taught.”

This story is part of Community at Work, an ongoing feature series focused on community organizations that make a difference in northeast Wisconsin. Who should we feature next? Email jzvandenhouten@wisconsinwatch.org.

‘I feel safe for the first time’: Brown County nonprofit uplifts girls of color is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: 6 minutes

Editor’s note: This story discusses suicide. If you or someone you know may be experiencing a mental health crisis, contact the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline by dialing “988.” 

Laurie Doxtator hasn’t been sleeping well lately. 

That’s been the case since she moved out of Amanda’s House last fall. 

She spent nearly three years working toward her sobriety at the long-term, sober living home for women and their children in Green Bay. She also became a leader — helping housemates navigate the communal quarters and feel supported. She was three years sober from alcohol, eight years sober from heroin and free of all other drugs when she left.

But Doxtator has hit bumps along her sobriety journey since moving in with her older brother, less than seven miles away on the Oneida Reservation, where she’s an enrolled Oneida Nation member. 

While still avoiding heroin and alcohol, she recently began smoking marijuana again — about once a day to ease her grief. That’s typical with recovery. Progress rarely moves in a straight line. 

As Wisconsin Watch reported last year while chronicling her move out from Amanda’s House, grief has remained an undercurrent for Doxtator, who has endured losing a range of family members.

But joy and fulfillment have been there, too — including at Amanda’s House, where she learned to cope through a daily routine marked by affirmations. 

She knew leaving wouldn’t be easy. Establishing new routines would take time. Moving in with her brother meant returning to where she previously used substances and was surrounded by negative influences. 

“I wish I could just go and hide,” Doxtator said. 

But she now has tools to cope and move forward, and she has support from outside of Amanda’s House. That includes visits to the Recovery Nest, part of the Oneida Comprehensive Health Division, which offers holistic healing and growth for those seeking recovery. It’s a place to process her emotions and connect with coaches who can relate. 

“I had a slipup in my journey but it happens, it happens no matter what,” she said. “I’ll get back on track. 

‘Deep down I hurt’ 

While crafting a turtle medicine wheel at a Recovery Nest event in May, Doxtator left the room in tears. The pit-pattering of rain against the window had stopped as the dark blue-and-gray sky outside gave way to sunshine. 

Doxtator sat at a table surrounded by her fellow recoverees, including coaches Stephanie Skenandore and Kristy Bedolla. A volunteer prepared “Indian tacos” featuring made-from-scratch fry bread. As part of a cleansing routine, the recoverees passed around a shell with burned sage, a process called smudging that’s intended to rid evil and negativity from the room. The women teased each other like family.

“I laugh and giggle but deep down I hurt,” Doxtator said. 

Doxtator had just learned of another family member’s death. This time, a cousin. That’s why she attended that evening’s Recovery Nest gathering. She recognizes that trauma and grief can spiral into old habits if not addressed. A day earlier was the one-year anniversary of her brother Earl’s death. 

“I better get over here before my mind starts wandering,” Doxtator recalled telling herself that morning. 

She planned to attend her cousin’s funeral that evening. It would be a traditional Oneida Nation arrangement, similar to ceremonies for Earl and the two children she lost. 

As Doxtator’s 62nd birthday approached, she stared down a maze of dates marking the deaths of loved ones. Spring and summer are particularly hard each year, Doxtator said. She lost her mother and a son in those seasons, too. 

Paula Jolly, who co-founded the Mandolin Foundation with her daughter and later opened Amanda’s House after her daughter’s overdose death, understands the difficulties of grief and loss — especially as she helps people facing the same hardships her daughter faced. She jokingly warns people not to interrupt her when she’s cleaning her office — it’s how she copes with frustration. 

Jolly has never struggled with addiction herself, but she regularly attends 12-step meetings. She just finished two years of therapy after realizing that the characteristics of alcoholism and family dysfunction she experienced growing up had carried into her own life.

“Everyone’s like, ‘oh my gosh, I can’t believe you’ve been through all that and you keep moving,’” Jolly said. “I don’t have any choice. This is what I was put here for. I just do the best I can. Some days are messy, that’s just the way it is.” 

A familiar face on the road 

Challenges like Doxtator’s prompted Recovery Nest to start in the first place.

The need for a safe place to connect with others in recovery while leaving toxic influences behind illustrates why Recovery Nest still matters, Skenandore said. Drawing on her own experience with addiction and recovery, Skenandore understands what it takes to stay sober and how easy it is to return to substance use patterns. 

Skenandore and Doxtator share more than a commitment to recovery. They’re also cousins who have known each other since childhood, even bowling together in a league at Red Carpet Lanes in Green Bay. 

“I get to tell some of my cousins, they can’t get rid of me no matter what because they’re a cousin on both sides,” Skenandore said, laughing. 

In her Recovery Nest role, Skenandore wants to make sure Doxtator and her peers know they have supporters who back them no matter what. 

“We’re not a treatment, we’re just here to walk with them and be that extra support for them.”

When working with Native peers, Skenandore builds on her understanding of the intergenerational trauma many tribal communities have experienced. Growing up, she thought the drinking in her family — and learning to open a beer can at an early age — was normal. Skenandore said she doesn’t remember what initially prompted her to seek treatment. 

“When I went, I went drunk, and I don’t remember the ride,” she said. 

“I never realized until after I became sober… that it really dawned on me how much trauma there is,” Skenandore said. “We haven’t been able to change it. It’s slowly changing, it’s not a quick change.” 

Even if it’s difficult to break cycles of intergenerational trauma in their communities, Skenandore and Bedolla see promising signs for the future as a culture of recovery and sobriety emerges in their children’s generation. 

A new look for a new chapter 

Doxtator’s hair is now even shorter than before. After moving out of Amanda’s House last year, she chose a new style to mark a fresh start. 

She previously taught a grief class at Recovery Nest and knows that participating in the program helps manage her recovery. She hasn’t regularly attended recently, but she’s planning to change that.

 “They miss me,” Doxtator said. Her coaches hope she will eventually lead the classes again, where she once led candlelight conversations. 

Living with her brother gives her more freedom than Amanda’s House did, with its rules and structure. But she’s not sure she was ready for it. 

Doxtator said she regrets restarting smoking, but she’s determined to break the habit again. “It’s up to me … I will get through this.”

Editor’s note: After being interviewed for this story, Doxtator and Jolly participated in a Wisconsin Watch Public Square community event, where they reflected on what it was like to share their stories. Read more here.

Laurie Doxtator faces recovery’s next test is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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• Students from the age of 11 to 18 can enroll at career-focused summer camps at Lakeshore College. 
• The June camps focused on culinary arts, manufacturing and information technology careers. 
• The camps introduce students to high-demand careers when they’re young, which leaders hope will spark their interest and help fill worker shortages.

In mid-June, roughly a dozen young teens wearing white chef coats lined up at stations inside a classroom resembling a real industrial kitchen. 

They gingerly cut slices of avocado, cucumber and mamenori — soy paper — before finally using a bamboo sheet to roll the ingredients into a log of sushi. 

Their instructions, delivered by a Lakeshore College instructor, looked much like lessons given in a real college class. But the students weren’t getting graded — they were attending the college’s summer camp, designed to introduce them at a young age to high-demand jobs in the region. 

Across the Cleveland, Wisconsin, campus that week, students between the ages of 11 and 18 learned the basics of culinary, manufacturing and information technology careers. It’s all part of a growing push by education and workforce leaders to expose students to high-demand careers long before they graduate high school, hoping early exploration will help fill worker shortages. 

In just three days, Haiden Taylor learned to cook hummus, tzatziki, pizza, and, her favorite, doner kebab. It was her second year enrolling in the camp. As she heads into her senior year of high school, she’s now considering culinary as a career.  

“I like working with people. I like working with my hands. I really don’t see myself at a desk job,” Taylor said. 

It all offers kids much more exploration and hands-on learning than Electro and Maintenance Mechanic instructor Kaven Lewis had as a kid. Then, people discouraged skilled trade work, he said. Events like the summer camp feel like proof that this is changing today. 

“It was … ‘Go to college, get an education,’” Lewis said. “Now it’s like, ‘Trade school, that’s where all the money is going to be.’ It’s kind of cool to be in the middle of that transition … It’s cool to see these kids coming in and being more interested in that blue collar, hands-on type of career.” 

Opening students’ eyes

On the other side of campus, a group of children between ages 11 and 13 appeared dwarfed by the cavernous garage they gathered in. 

The children focused intently on assembling a mousetrap-powered car kit, hoping to build the fastest car to win the drag race that took place in the hallway. 

The activity involved trial and error — one student’s car detonated at the starting line — but in the process, they learned how different factors impacted speed, torque and the distance the car traveled.

Down the hall, in the welding and fabrication lab, students learned to shape metal into spatulas. When they were asked how many of them took it as an opportunity to engineer gifts for the upcoming Father’s Day holiday, nearly every student’s hand shot in the air. 

About half of the students who come to camp are already dead set on what they want to do when they grow up, said Ben Reynolds, chef and culinary arts instructor. The other half have no clue. 

“It’s really fun to see the ones that aren’t sure, and then by day three they’re like, ‘yup!’” Reynolds said. 

That was the case for student Claude Judd, a 10th grader who signed up for culinary camp just for fun. 

The lessons “definitely opened my eyes a little bit,” she said, and she’d now consider a career in culinary arts. 

Workers needed

Initially supported by grants and now funded by the college, the summer camps have been put on by Lakeshore for years. The subjects and careers students explore vary annually based on feedback from college faculty and the campers themselves. 

The careers highlighted this summer — including manufacturing, culinary arts and information technology — are among those employers in northeast Wisconsin have struggled to fill.

For example, restaurant cook gigs are one of the fastest-growing in northeast Wisconsin, projected to add 740 jobs between 2022 and 2032, state data shows. 

Cooks and food preparation workers in the northeast region made an average salary of $34,550 in 2025. Data shows such academic programs have mixed results in actually setting participants up to make more money. According to an analysis of earnings data from Open Campus and The HEA Group, not all culinary programs in the state lead students to higher earnings than the average high school graduate. 

In contrast, welding and metal working jobs are expected to grow by about 10% during the same period, adding 430 jobs. Technical college job training programs for these careers usually set students up to make at least $15,000 more than the average high school graduate, and sometimes up to nearly $30,000 more. 

Even if students don’t leave camp committed to a particular career path, college leaders say they’re gaining confidence and communication skills. 

“At this point in their collegiate journey they’re getting that question of, ‘What do you want to do?’” Reynolds said.

The philosophy that drives the summer camp program is similar to what Reynolds tells his teenage son.

“I don’t expect you to know what you want to do your whole life. I just expect you to go experience things and try things and find out what makes you want to get out of bed.”

Miranda Dunlap reports on pathways to success in northeast Wisconsin, working in partnership with Open Campus. Email her at mdunlap@wisconsinwatch.org.

Lakeshore College summer camp introduces children and teens to hands-on, in-demand jobs is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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Editor’s note: This story contains topics of domestic violence and abuse.

When Kimberly Johnson mustered the courage to leave her abuser, she hoped the Christine Ann shelter in Winnebago County would be a refuge.

Johnson said she didn’t leave her abuser when he went to prison for beating her, or when she got evicted because of the damage he and his friends caused to her home. It took her years to get away, and when she did, there was only one place she thought to go. 

What she didn’t expect was to be turned away.

Johnson is one of several domestic abuse survivors who, after what they describe as bad experiences with the Oshkosh shelter, left negative online reviews. Their stories raise questions about where survivors can turn when a shelter of last resort shuts them out. 

Christine Ann Domestic Abuse Services Incorporated, or CADASI for short, has long stood as a community pillar for domestic violence victims in Winnebago County. 

The center was founded in 1984 and renamed in 1991 after Christine Ann Schambow, who was murdered by her husband. That same year it moved to Algoma Boulevard near its current location a few blocks from the Fox River. In 2024, the shelter relocated again to a new 64-bed facility that provides legal and mental health services and up to two years of housing support.

When Johnson first arrived in 2024, she was assigned to an apartment with other women. She found a job as a cook at UW-Oshkosh and began to gain back some of her confidence.

But three days after she started working, she received a week’s notice to vacate. 

Johnson asked her counselor if she could stay until she received her first paycheck because she had nowhere to go. She recalled being told, “Well, we’re not a homeless shelter, (and) we feel that’s why you’re here, because you’re homeless.”

About two days later, after Johnson had asked her counselor how to file a grievance and discussed the situation with her roommate, who was also being kicked out, she heard a knock at her door. Her counselor, another shelter employee and two police officers were there.

Johnson said they accused her of threatening to “beat up” a CADASI staff member and told her she had 10 minutes to pack all her things before they would be removed.

Johnson recalled spending several days sleeping outside the Salvation Army in the freezing cold, before eventually being accepted into a homeless shelter. She said if she had not gotten into that shelter when she did, she would have gone back to her abuser.

Wisconsin Watch spoke with several former CADASI clients and domestic abuse survivors who reported being turned away, along with statewide advocates and government officials, about accountability for domestic violence agencies serving survivors’ needs. 

CADASI Executive Director Carly Hirsch said in an email that the organization is unable to respond to questions from Wisconsin Watch, but wrote in a statement that CADASI is “committed to empowering individuals and families, regardless of race, ethnicity, religion, gender identity, sexual orientation, or ability … by providing education, promoting safety, and offering compassionate support (while) always honoring the confidentiality of those we serve.” 

Former clients speak out

On websites like Charity Navigator and Indeed, CADASI’s shelter has overwhelmingly positive reviews for financial openness and working conditions. 

But out of the 62 service reviews for the shelter on Google, 17 are negative, and those reviews have overwhelmingly more likes than the positive ones. CADASI’s corporate office, which is listed separately online from the shelter, has only one review, which is negative. 

Wisconsin Watch confirmed the negative reviews with names attached were all from real people located in or near Winnebago County at the time. Among CADASI’s online reviews, three other women said the organization had kicked them out.

Jennifer, a single mother of three, said she sought support from CADASI sometime between 2011 and 2015 for an emotionally, financially and sexually abusive relationship. Jennifer, who wished to be identified by her first name, was often living in her car at the time.

She initially found the center’s programming to be helpful. She took a choice and consequences class with a former advocate whom she described as “awesome.”

“She would help me out when I was kicked out and didn’t have a job, but my kids needed something like a Halloween costume. She’d give me gift cards,” Jennifer recalled.

After that advocate left the center, however, Jennifer said things took a drastic turn. She got into an argument with her abuser, who told her he had contacted a legal advocate at the shelter. CADASI then abruptly canceled her services, refusing to speak with her or provide alternative resources because staff claimed a conflict of interest.

“Christine Ann has the right to decide who they can allow services or what a conflict of interest is,” she recalled the advocate telling her after repeated phone calls asking for an explanation. 

Multiple sources said CADASI used the phrase “conflict of interest” when refusing or withdrawing services, though it does not openly define this term. The nonprofit organization’s GuideStar profile says it has a conflict-of-interest policy, but it’s not publicly available on its website.

The United States Office for Victims of Crime says that “when a conflict arises between a victim’s interests and those of the victim assistance provider or program, the provider should verbally disclose the situation to the victim, refer the victim to an alternate provider, and/or consult a professional regarding appropriate resolution of the conflict.”

The experience ended up following Jennifer, who went back to her abuser. When she attempted to leave him again, she said Harbor House in Appleton, a CADASI partner, refused to serve her. 

She also said when she was hired for a job at Garage for Good in Neenah — a low-cost auto repair garage opened by CADASI and Harbor House for domestic abuse survivors that closed in 2020 — the job offer was rescinded the morning she was supposed to start working.

“Not only would they not help me, but now I can’t even have a job,” Jennifer said. “I finally got a job, and it was going to be good and I’ll make decent money so I’d be able to support myself, and I don’t have to go back. … And then the rug was just pulled out from under me.”

Jennifer didn’t talk to anyone about her experience with CADASI for a long time because she thought “no one cared.”

“The worst part about that was then when I left (my abuser) finally, permanently, I needed help, and I knew I couldn’t go to the Christine Ann center,” Jennifer said. 

Rejected survivors

CADASI is transparent about its inability to help all survivors in its community due to limited space — a nationwide problem as domestic violence shelters face funding cuts and uncertain futures. 

Advocates with Wise Women Gathering Place, a Green Bay nonprofit that provides culturally specific services to Native American victims of violence, told Wisconsin Watch that dozens of their clients have been turned away or abruptly kicked out of shelters across the state, particularly in the last few years. 

CADASI’s website notes that before the shelter moved and expanded from 37 to 64 beds in 2024, it turned away about 50 survivors annually for capacity reasons. But Johnson questioned that claim, saying her unit had five empty beds prior to her eviction. She said she saw two empty apartments on her floor and empty apartments throughout the third floor. 

Donna Prost said she was fleeing abuse and living in her car when CADASI turned her away in 2021. She said the shelter appeared mostly empty each time she visited, even though staff told her there was no room for her. 

CADASI declined Wisconsin Watch’s request for data on its occupancy rates, citing “the safety and confidentiality of (its) current and former clients,” though the shelter reports biannual point in time occupancy numbers to Wisconsin Balance of State Continuum of Care, which tracks homelessness.

Data from 2014 to 2025 shows CADASI has rarely been near capacity during the two nights each year the homeless advocacy organization recorded its occupancy rates. In half of the counts, occupancy rates were less than 50%, dipping as low as 13.5% in July 2022. The shelter has not exceeded 100% capacity during the counts since 2014.

A Wisconsin Balance of State Continuum of Care spokesperson told Wisconsin Watch a shelter might not appear full if it houses a family in a single unit with more beds than there are family members.

CADASI’s 2024 tax form, known as a 990, says the shelter provides families with private rooms, while single adults of the same gender may share rooms. The form also says the shelter does not limit how long clients can stay, though its website says housing is offered for up to two years.

Organization leaders did not respond to requests for clarification about the homeless counts and their bed capacity. 

After being turned away from CADASI, Prost returned to her abuser. “I had nowhere to go. I was selling my home at the time (and) ended up backing out of that,” she said.

She approached CADASI again in 2023 for help filing a restraining order due to an escalation in the abuse. She said CADASI was ultimately unhelpful — despite Winnebago County instructing people to contact CADASI for help with restraining orders. Prost ultimately completed her restraining order with help from the local library.

“I would probably have been killed somewhere along the line (without it),” Prost said. “I wouldn’t say (CADASI) was mean or anything like that … but both times they just didn’t want to be bothered.”

Carl, a 40-year-old Wisconsin military veteran who asked to be identified by his middle name because he feared retribution and wanted to protect his coparenting relationship, said a social worker friend encouraged him to call CADASI in 2018 for therapy resources after he showed her a video of his ex-wife verbally abusing him. He was hesitant to do so, half-convinced that he just had a “crazy ex.”

When he called the organization’s 24-hour helpline, Carl said it took time to convince the advocate on the other end that he wasn’t an abusive husband seeking help to stop abusing. Instead, he said, he wanted someone with whom to talk through his experiences. 

“I finally made her realize that, in my mind, I was a victim, and the response that I got will stick with me forever. She laughed,” he recalled. “She laughed at me and said that this was a women’s shelter. That they existed to protect women from people like me. (She said) men are not victims, and that I should just go check out the homeless shelter or something.”

Carl’s account was echoed by an anonymous online reviewer who said he filed a complaint with the shelter. 

The man said staff told him by phone he could stay after his girlfriend was arrested for domestic violence, but staff turned him away when he arrived because his presence would be a “conflict of interest” and that “women felt scared having a male stay there.” 

Studies show as many as 32% of Wisconsin men experience intimate partner violence, rape or stalking. CADASI’s websites and brochures say it serves “people of all backgrounds, genders, ages, ethnicities, sexual orientations, and abilities.”

CADASI receives annual government funding from the Wisconsin Department of Children and Families (DCF), the state Department of Justice (DOJ), Winnebago County Health and Human Services, the cities of Oshkosh and Neenah’s Community Development Block Grants and FEMA-EFSP. State law prohibits organizations that receive state funding from discriminating. 

Oversight and redress 

Some of the concerns raised about CADASI relate to a lack of transparency surrounding grievance and nondiscrimination procedures for clients. 

CADASI’s website says it encourages clients to report discrimination “promptly” after it occurs. According to GuideStar, a clearinghouse for nonprofit information, the organization “aim(s) to collect feedback from as many people (they) serve as possible” and makes additional efforts to collect feedback from “marginalized or under-represented people.”

The profile also says the organization has difficulty getting people to respond to requests for feedback because it lacks technology to “collect and aggregate feedback efficiently.” It says CADASI staff “find it hard to prioritize feedback collection and review due to lack of time.”

CADASI does not specify what its procedure is for collecting feedback, nor for addressing discrimination complaints or client grievances. CADASI declined to comment when asked by Wisconsin Watch.

Johnson said that when she asked an advocate how to file a grievance report two days before being kicked out, the advocate refused to explain the process. She still wants to officially report her shelter experience, but like many survivors in similar circumstances, has “no clue” where or how to do so. 

A Wisconsin DCF spokesperson told Wisconsin Watch that domestic violence agencies receiving DCF grant funds are contractually obligated to have a grievance process for staff and clients. If a client has completed the program’s complaint/grievance process and does not feel that the complaint has been resolved, the person can submit a complaint to DCF’s general complaint form. DCF lacks a complaint process or records database specific to domestic violence shelters.

Should DCF identify “instances of concern or non-compliance” with grant requirements for a shelter, DCF said the program agency must “take immediate corrective action” or work with DCF on a Corrective Action Plan in serious cases. If the shelter doesn’t comply with the plan requirements, DCF said it may terminate the grant agreement.

Responding to a Wisconsin Watch records request, DCF said it received a complaint about CADASI in 2019. The complainant accused the organization of sharing her address with her abuser, denying her shelter due to medical needs and not preparing her for her court hearing or helping her with transportation.

Currently, all DCF-funded shelters must provide temporary housing and food, educational arrangements for school-age children, emergency transportation, a 24-hour crisis line and an intake process for clients.

In response to the complaint, a DCF spokesperson said the agency had a conversation with CADASI and shared the results of the conversation with the complainant. The agency was “satisfied” with the outcome of the conversations, the spokesperson said without providing more detail.

End Domestic Abuse Wisconsin, a statewide coalition that works to “educate shelter and program volunteers and advocates, law enforcement, legislators, and community members to provide safety and support to survivors,” also has a multistep process for approaching grievances, communications director Elise Buchbinder told Wisconsin Watch.

When a client or survivor reaches out to End Domestic Abuse Wisconsin about a negative experience with a local agency, the coalition first tries to address the issue on a program level. The coalition may contact the agency informally to inquire about any problems, offer gaps in support and work alongside the agency to address survivor concerns.

The second step, Buchbinder said, is to bring the problem to the organization’s board members. The board is typically responsible for developing the policy, procedures and regulations of an agency, evaluating its programs’ performance and addressing client complaints.

Two former CADASI board members declined to comment for this story, and others did not respond to requests from Wisconsin Watch. 

Finally, if End Domestic Abuse Wisconsin receives many complaints about a shelter or agency, or if it is unable to address disputes locally, the coalition would contact the program’s funders and grant managers — including the DCF — as well as elected officials and the media. 

Buchbinder declined to comment on whether End Domestic Abuse has received complaints about CADASI.

The final option for survivors seeking redress is to contact the Wisconsin Department of Justice (DOJ), though its oversight also applies only to the shelters it funds, and even then is “limited” and “not regulatory” in nature.

When the DOJ receives a complaint about a domestic violence shelter, it first decides whether the complaint “relates to the terms and conditions of (its) grant” for that shelter. If it doesn’t, the DOJ either forwards it to an outside agency or returns it to the complainant.

“The DOJ generally does not have the authority to act on complaints regarding conduct that is not contemplated by the terms and conditions of the domestic violence shelter’s DOJ-administered grant program,” the agency said.

Discrimination complaints, for example, must be handled by the U.S. Department of Justice, but the Wisconsin DOJ typically assists complainants in submissions. 

When the DOJ finds that a grant recipient violated program conditions, it will typically work with the shelter or affiliated statewide coalitions to “achieve compliance,” sometimes attaching special conditions to grants or reviewing and revising the shelter’s policies.

In severe cases, the DOJ says it may reject future funding requests from the organization.

Some advocates argue that there is too little oversight or accountability for domestic violence agencies across the state. Shelters across Wisconsin, particularly in Winnebago County and the Fox Valley, have accumulated negative online reviews over the years.

Wise Women Gathering Place advocate and Oneida Nation member Julia McLester said many clients have faced discrimination from domestic violence agencies, including in Winnebago County. Advocates have called the police on clients and referred them to psychiatrists for practicing cultural rituals, discouraging some survivors from working with non-Native advocates altogether.

Nationally, more than half (55%) of Native women have experienced physical violence from an intimate partner. 

McLester has worked with the Wisconsin Coalition Against Sexual Assault to create a racial inclusion checklist for domestic violence agencies, but the idea hasn’t gained traction.

“Mainstream agencies need to be learning and growing and being accountable to how they provide training, trauma-informed care training, diversity, equity, inclusion skills, and accountability, how to check our own implicit biases so that it’s not creating harm to people coming in the door,” McLester said.

The aftermath of abuse

Buchbinder attributes the struggles many survivors are facing with Wisconsin shelters and coalitions to a systemic lack of resources for the survivors and agencies, rather than any ill will by the organizations.

“Our communities will continue seeing individual cases of escalated crises at the local program level due to an overarching lack of survivors’ needs being met,” Buchbinder said. “When an advocate is forced to say ‘no’ to (survivors’) basic needs due to lack of adequate resourcing, further escalation of crisis is too often a tragic outcome.”

Wise Women Gathering Place communications person Brenda John, who is also a member of Oneida Nation, echoed that statement. “The people who work in these settings, they care about victims … their resources are stretched thin as well, so they’re doing the best they can with what they have.” 

Nevertheless, they emphasized that institutional and societal responses to domestic abuse victims can inflict long-term trauma, such as feelings of shame and embarrassment that discourage survivors from seeking services. 

Following her eviction from CADASI, Johnson said she lived in a motel before being forced to live in her car. Now 56 and living with her mother, she struggles to find employment and lacks many of the resources needed to pursue her dream of attending college. 

“They were supposed to do everything they said in their ads,” Johnson said. “At that point I’m telling myself I am so broken, I don’t even know where to begin. And I need guidance, and I need help, and I’ve always been the type of person I will never ask anybody for anything. … I will not beg, you know? And that’s how they made me feel, like I had to beg for it.”

Jennifer said she felt like CADASI “slapped me in the face and victim-shamed me” and was “destroyed” for years after her experience. She remembers weeping in her aunt’s backyard when she was moving herself and three children into her aunt’s two-bedroom apartment. She called the suicide crisis hotline “too many times to count.” 

Though she managed to get a restraining order against her husband, Prost said that being turned away from CADASI made her life extremely stressful. The worry and fear keep her awake at night, even after her husband died in January 2025.

Carl said his CADASI experience was “shattering on a level (he) didn’t quite understand and wasn’t prepared to deal with.” Like Jennifer, he continues to coparent with his abuser without guidance.

Carl said a friend wanted him to go on a “warpath” against the shelter after hearing about his experience. But he advised against it. Carl doesn’t want the scrutiny and doubts anybody will believe him.

“Who are people going to believe?” he asked. “This one dude, or this shelter organization that has been active in the Fox Valley for who knows how long?” 

Still, many of the people Wisconsin Watch spoke with are healing after saving themselves from their circumstances when no one else would. 

They have gone to therapy, found jobs helping others and focused on building better lives for their children. By speaking up, they hope to raise awareness about how society treats abuse survivors and draw attention to the need for more empathy and transparency in the institutions that are supposed to help.

“I still have this dream in my head that I want to start my own shelter, get my own nationwide domestic abuse shelter going and not do this to women,” Johnson said. “It’s my life and my livelihood. How could you just disregard me like I’m less than a dog?”

Editor’s note: This story corrects the name of the local college in Oshkosh where Johnson worked as a cook.

An Oshkosh domestic abuse shelter has been panned online. Survivors describe what they experienced. is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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• The trend of older adults staying in the workforce is reshaping what retirement looks like in Door County. 
• Many retirees seek jobs in the county’s booming tourism industry, offering the chance for them to interact with people, as well as earn extra cash. 
• A local nonprofit organization matches older adults seeking work in Door County with employers. 
• Wisconsin Watch and Door County Knock spoke to several people over age 65 who continue to work for various reasons.

When James Carson, 72, retired to Washington Island a decade ago, he envisioned the next stage of his life as many do: leaving the workforce, volunteering, traveling, caring for his family. 

Instead, unexpected medical expenses and the rising cost of living soon forced him to pick up two service industry jobs to make ends meet. Today, he regularly clocks in seven days a week, logging 45 to 50 hours. 

Door County is home to one of Wisconsin’s oldest populations, largely thanks to its status as a serene retirement destination. But like Carson, more of those older adults and retirees are returning to work. Unwilling or unable to quit for good, they’re picking up jobs to afford the rising cost of living, to stay social and to become involved in the community. 

The trend is reshaping what retirement in Door County looks like today as people live longer and life becomes more expensive.

Carson wishes he would have saved more aggressively – he “was kind of naive” about retirement. He also thinks people have false ideas about what it looks like. 

“You cannot live on Social Security, and unless people have a very good retirement plan, they’re going to be hurting,” Carson said. 

Given Door County’s booming tourism industry, many retirees like Carson seek out hospitality and customer service jobs. Even for those not driven by finances, these gigs offer the chance to interact with others. But others simply continue their careers past retirement age or pivot fields.

To meet the demand from job-seeking older adults, local employment services nonprofit We Are Hope runs a program to match them with employers. Executive Director Kim Carley said the organization served more people in the first half of 2026 than it expected for the whole year.

“The need is definitely, definitely there. The majority of it is that social connection, but you do have that small population that financially they need to work still,” Carley said. “Not everybody in Door County is rich. The cost of living has really affected things right now, too.”

Wisconsin Watch and Door County Knock spoke with several workers over the age of 65. Together, their stories create a changing image of what retirement and aging look like today. Keep reading to learn more about their jobs.

James Carson

Age: 72

Job: Bartender

Former career: Amtrak conductor

Town: Washington Island

Why: Money

“Everyone wants to talk to the bartender,” Carson said. “I’m well-suited for the job.” 

Carson was not always a confident speaker. When he was younger, he stuttered badly. A fifth grade teacher helped correct it, he said, “and I haven’t shut up since.” 

Being well-suited for his job may be a good thing, but Carson did not think he’d still be working at 72 years old, especially not in Washington Island’s demanding summer service industry.

Carson and his wife, Stacey, bought a house there about 10 years ago, after he retired from a 20-year career with Amtrak. Stacey spent summers on the island growing up, and her parents live there now. 

He envisioned volunteering and traveling, and the couple would care for Stacey’s aging in-laws, he said. For the first year or so, that was what he did. Jim served on their church council, worked with a developmentally disabled young adult, volunteered for the island’s nonprofit Art & Nature Center, and gave back to a community he said welcomed them with open arms. 

“Until reality kicked in,” he said. The cost of living, including utilities, groceries and ferry travel, ate away at the couple’s savings faster than they anticipated. Jim needed eye surgery, then knee surgery. 

He quit volunteering and returned to the workforce, where he has remained for the last eight years. Between shifts as a prep and line cook at Nelsen’s Hall & Bitters Club and as a bartender at the Albatross Drive-In tiki bar, he works seven days a week during the busy tourist season.

“I’m working more aggressively this summer to bank against having to continue to work this much next year,” Carson said. But with the fluctuating economy, higher grocery bills and gas prices, that might change. Ideally, he would like to only work for another two years, he said. 

Mentally, Carson enjoys talking to people and has formed good relationships with the island’s youth — the Albatross is a popular hangout spot — but physically, the work takes its toll. The knee surgery made it harder to be on his feet all day and he falls into bed exhausted every night, he said. 

“I’m doing better than most. I hear about folks splitting or foregoing their medications and going to food pantries,” Carson said. “I’m not there yet.” 

Cindy Good 

Age: 71

Job: Retailer

Former career: Software and business consulting

Town: Sturgeon Bay

Why: Keeps her busy

Cindy Good plopped down on the chartreuse furniture clustered at the front of her store, The Naked Sheep Yarn Shop & Gift Boutique. At 2 p.m., it was her first time sitting that day. 

Good, nearly 72, is exhausted. But she said she’ll continue working “as long as my body will hold out.”

She retired at 70 after a career in software and business consulting. She once thought that she’d work part time at most at her age and take advantage of having more time to read books or catch up on knitting. But before she could do that, she and her sister opened a second venture: a yarn store on the west side of Sturgeon Bay. 

The store sells yarn, knitting tools and other tchotchkes. They also host classes, social knitting groups and crafting events. Good regularly bounces between handling orders for inventory, checking what’s in stock and helping customers with their knitting projects.

“There are days when I wake up and I think, ‘Oh God, why didn’t I just fully retire?’” she joked.

But in reality, she knows why: She feels the need to keep busy. 

If she quit working, her Social Security payments would provide enough money for her to live on. But she recognizes the rising cost of living that influences other working retirees in the area. For instance, no houses in the area are for sale at the price she and her sister bought theirs for. 

“We have friends that have money and they travel and do all that kind of stuff,” Good said. “That was sort of my goal, but I don’t have that kind of money. I was thinking I would do a trip a year or something, but now I’m here.”

Good loves Sturgeon Bay’s tight-knit feel and the downtown location of her business. In mid-June, business had just started picking up as tourism season began. By July, the street will bustle for their busiest month.

Maybe, she considered, once business is where she wants it to be, she might take those yearly trips.

Charlene Keith

Age: 68

Job: Door County Maritime Museum associate

Former career: Grocery distribution

Town: Sturgeon Bay

Why: Social interaction

Charlene Keith never envisioned herself retiring. 

Five years ago, she technically did. But she went right back to work. After two and a half years, she decided to finally slow down — but not fully. 

“If I sat home, I would just drive myself crazy,” Keith said. “I have to be doing something.” 

She reached out to We Are Hope, where MatchUp program leaders recommended a part-time opening at Door County Maritime Museum in Sturgeon Bay. 

Here, she works the front desk, welcomes visitors, sells tickets, stocks the gift shop, keeps tours running on schedule and closes the museum at night. 

It’s a far cry from her grocery distribution career, where she navigated difficult roles and recalled everyone around her being unhappy. Nowadays at work, “everybody’s happy to be where they’re at,” she said. Most of Keith’s co-workers are retirees, too.

“It’s just fun. It makes me believe that it can be done. I thought everybody was unhappy in (their job),” Keith said. “You hear people say if you have a job you love, then it’s not really working, and I thought, ‘Yeah, that doesn’t happen.’”

Keeping busy brings her joy. She enjoys seeing guests’ excitement over the museum’s exhibits.

Keith lives and shares expenses with her sister, so she doesn’t necessarily need the part-time wages to get by. But she sees why finances motivate other people her age. 

“It’s expensive to live, but people are living so much longer,” Keith said. “Unless you’re a millionaire and can travel, what would you do with yourself? I mean, I guess there’s people that sit around and fish for hours every day, but I’m not that kind of person.” 

Lee Engstrom

Age: 87

Job: First responder

Former career: Factory quality control

Town: Washington Island

Why: Keeps him busy

At 87 years old, Lee Engstrom is almost certainly among the oldest in Door County, according to county Emergency Services Director Aaron LeClair. He may be the oldest first responder in Wisconsin. 

Engstrom is a fourth-generation member of the family that owns and operates Sunset Resort on Washington Island. He grew up in Michigan and spent summers helping his grandparents at the resort. He always dreamed he would end up there full time.

That dream came true when he and his wife, Janet, moved to the island in the late 1980s after he retired from a 30-year career in a factory’s quality control department. 

Engstrom was not ready to stop working completely. He got a job with the local hardware store and did some plumbing work on the island. When he turned 62, he started getting Social Security and quit those jobs, but still needed something to keep busy. 

He became an emergency medical responder, then got certified as an emergency medical technician and joined the island’s volunteer fire department. Today, he spends 80 to 100 hours every two weeks on call as a first responder because he enjoys it. He also does maintenance and odd jobs around the resort.

At 87, he did not think he would still be working, he said. 

“I didn’t think I’d be alive,” Engstrom said. “When is it going to stop? As long as I feel good like this, I’ll just keep going. I have slowed down some, though … I’ve got fake ears, fake eyes and fake teeth. Everything else is original.” 

Unless there’s a rescue call, being on standby doesn’t take much time. Engstrom just needs to be dressed near the emergency services facilities in case a call comes in — easy enough on an island. He’s happy to be one of the responders on call during the day because many of the younger volunteers are working their regular jobs during that time. 

Engstrom focuses on patient care when he goes on calls. His primary objective is to make them feel comfortable and cared for once their medical condition is stable, he said. 

When there is a fire, Engstrom’s primary job is to fill the tender truck — a mobile reservoir that supplies water to hose trucks when fire hydrants aren’t available. Rural departments often use them. 

“I’m too old, and not as agile, to be going around dragging hoses and that kind of stuff,” he said. 

For a while, fewer and fewer new recruits became island first responders as agencies statewide saw dire staffing shortages. But a recent influx of younger people has changed that, he said. 

Financially, he and Janet are doing fine, and they have family who support and help them. But he enjoys his work — especially interaction with patients and knowing he provides a valuable service to his beloved island community. 

When he does stop for good, Engstrom said he might golf more, keep working in his shop and do what he can to help at the resort. He would also continue his daily cruise around the island with Janet, he added. 

“Whatever I’m doing, I enjoy taking the ride with my wife for a cup of coffee,” he said. 

Jeff Gildersleeves

Age: 65

Job: Door County Parks Department maintenance staff

Former career: Manufacturing plant management

Town: Gardner

Why: Money

Jeff Gildersleeves is no stranger to physical labor. The 65-year-old works for the Door County Parks Department’s “mow crew.” The part-time gig lasts from May to October, and he spends his days hauling equipment, mowing, trimming trees, planting grass seed, picking up trash and tackling other tasks to maintain the county’s parks. 

Gildersleeves’ first job as a teenager growing up in Door County was picking cherries and strawberries during summer. He loves the outdoors, and the work suited him well, he said. He went on to obtain a degree in biology and wildlife management, which he used to work for the Department of Natural Resources.

When Gildersleeves and his wife were expecting their first child, he switched careers and took a job at a chemical production and manufacturing plant in Milwaukee. He retired in 2021 and returned to Door County with his retirement benefits and a plan. 

According to Gildersleeves, a local company was offering an Employee Stock Ownership Plan. If he worked there for at least three years, he would receive his full investment and returns, enough to supplement his retirement savings from the Milwaukee job. 

Three months before his three-year anniversary, Gildersleeves got injured on the job. He needed surgery to repair a torn left rotator cuff, and that was it, he said. “I only got 20% of my investment back.” 

Today, the mowing job is replacing that lost income.

“We thought at 66, 67 we’d be able to sit back and enjoy life, but with the economy the way it is, and health insurance costs?” Gildersleeves said. “My wife has some hefty prescriptions. Social Security is not enough to live on.” 

The physical part of the job can be hard, he said. “You think you are physically fit until you’re out there doing it.” 

Beyond the manual labor, Gildersleeves guides younger employees. His supervisors value his experience, and he has a good rapport with the teenagers on his crew, who listen to him, he said. 

Doing something valued and worthwhile is good for his mental health, he said, but he is not sure how long he’ll continue. 

 “Until I’m unable to work anymore,” he said. 

He has a small IRA put away and a pending lawsuit against the Door County company where he was injured, but he said he doubts he will see any settlement money. He knows one thing for certain: He would like to remain in his own home for as long as possible. 

“I don’t want to sell off and go to a nursing home,” he said. “I watched my in-laws do that, and it’s not a good way to live.” 

Kathy Bandstra

Age: 76 

Job: Therapist

Town: Sturgeon Bay

Why: Is fulfilled by her career.

Kathy Bandstra returned to school in her 40s to become a licensed clinical social worker. Her sixth decade began before she paid off her student loans. At 68, she started considering retirement. 

“I retired in June of 2018 because my financial person said, ‘Don’t ever retire in the winter, because that’s too depressing,’” she said. “I followed his advice.” 

By the next month, though, she already returned to work part time for a private practice. A year later, she shifted to volunteer as a hospice worker during the COVID-19 pandemic. Then she moved from Racine to Door County and began volunteering at the area’s Aging and Disability Resource Center.

“I still felt like something was missing … It just felt like I could do more with the skills I had,” Bandstra said. “And I still had the energy to do it. And volunteering doesn’t pay you anything. I like making some money.”

People had told her that it was hard to find affordable mental health services in her new home county. She rented an office in Sturgeon Bay, opened her own business and offered services on a sliding scale to help people afford care. She couldn’t offer her services for so cheap if she wasn’t retired and receiving Social Security, she said. 

Now, at 76, Bandstra regularly sees several clients a day in person and through telehealth. She helps people through distress and trauma with cognitive behavioral therapy and eye movement desensitization and reprocessing therapy.

Continuing to work gives her the freedom to go out to eat, get a new car if needed and cover expenses that pop up outside of bills. If she stopped working, she might have more time for her hobbies — making clay pots, writing her memoir, doing open mic readings. But she would miss feeling helpful to others. She also feels her physical and mental health has improved because she keeps going. 

Bandstra believes people largely have false ideas about what retirement looks like. She thinks “it’s unrealistic to look to retire,” period. If clients continue to see her, she’d like to work into her 80s.

“I don’t know if some people would want someone that’s old enough to be their great-grandma,” Bandstra said. “But the people that stopped coming to me didn’t say that they thought I was too old or anything.”

Miranda Dunlap reports on pathways to success in northeast Wisconsin, working in partnership with Open Campus. Find her on Instagram and Twitter, or send her an email at mdunlap@wisconsinwatch.org.

Emily Small is a reporter for Door County Knock and a Report for America corps member. Contact her at esmall@doorcountyknock.org.

Door County is a retirement destination. So why are more older adults still working? is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: < 1 minute

Have you thought your concerns are being ignored by your elected leaders? You hire them with your vote, but they seem to be largely unresponsive to your needs. Your perception is not wrong, as determined by two Supreme Court decisions: Buckley v. Valeo in 1976 and Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission in 2010. These cases opened the door to equating money as free speech.

Former Sens. John McCain, R-Arizona, and Russ Feingold, D-Wisconsin, recognized this as a problem when $500 million was spent on campaign financing. In 2002 they sponsored bipartisan legislation to limit campaign financing, and it passed Congress. Then this legislation was attacked by special interests, and the Supreme Court ruled against the McCain-Feingold bill. The total spent on federal and state elections in 2024 surpassed $20 billion, according to OpenSecrets. Our legislators are spending a good share of their time dialing for dollars versus communicating with their constituents. The massive amount of money has filtered down into our local nonpartisan elections through outside interests.

Now legislators are not able to set campaign finance guardrails until the Supreme Court decision is corrected. This is done through an amendment to the Constitution. A grassroots effort is requesting that amendment. Already 180 Wisconsin municipalities have sent a resolution to their state representatives requesting an amendment. This includes Green Bay and Brown County; both passed with overwhelming majorities. Twenty-five states have already called for an amendment by sending a resolution to their congressional representatives. 

Let’s see Wisconsin become the next state to demand our state representatives call for a resolution and return our government to representation by the people for the people. 

Judy Nagel is a De Pere resident and a volunteer with American Promise.

Guest opinion: Are your elected officials listening? is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: < 1 minute

My wheels got turning about how common sextortion has become after reading about a local case in the federal court newsletter Court Watch. 

Journalists Seamus Hughes and Peter Beck flagged a federal sextortion case from Outagamie County in March that caught my eye. The Post-Crescent covered the case with a brief story in April.

Teenagers and young people spend so much time online, it stands to reason there would be more opportunities for this kind of crime. That led me to another question: Is anyone tracking the number of sextortion cases reported in Wisconsin?

Intern Astrid Code took the assignment and ran with it. She tracked down law enforcement officials with the state Department of Justice, the Brown County Sheriff’s Office and more. The DOJ tracks the number of sextortion cases, and it nearly tripled from 2024 to 2025. 

Those cases represent real people, and Wisconsin Watch is always looking for ways to explore solutions to the challenges our neighbors are going through. Several families whose children died by suicide after being sextorted have turned their grief into action: They publicly advocate for victim protections and educate students in northeast Wisconsin. Thank you to Jamie and Jared Weigelt and Jill Yindra for speaking to Astrid for the story. 

And lastly, thanks to Hughes and Beck at Court Watch. They spend a lot of time and money (records are not cheap) sifting through federal court dockets in a world where too few journalists have the expertise or time to do so. Our story started because of their important work.

Federal court newsletter sparks Wisconsin Watch sextortion story is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: 10 minutes

Editor’s note: This story discusses suicide. If you or someone you know may be experiencing a mental health crisis, contact the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline by dialing “988.” 

Click here to read highlights from the story

• Jared and Jamie Weigelt share the story of their son Landen’s sextortion and suicide in an effort to educate northeast Wisconsin students, teachers and law enforcement officers about the signs of the scams and ways to report it.  
• Since Landen Weigelt died in 2023, sextortion cases in Wisconsin have skyrocketed.  
• From 2024 to 2025, the number of cases nearly tripled, according to the state’s Internet Crimes Against Children Task Force. 
• Families are not sitting on the sidelines: They’re speaking to schools, advocating for legislation to protect victims, and some are suing social media companies. 
• Lawmakers passed five bills into law in 2025 to provide recourse for victims and allocate more state resources to responding to sextortion cases.

In a hotel conference room in Appleton, Jamie and Jared Weigelt prepared to tell the story of their son’s death to a waiting group of police officers. In the three years since 17-year-old Landen Weigelt died, they’ve shared this story with countless schools in northeast Wisconsin. 

It’s not easy to relive that day, but they won’t stop anytime soon. 

On Feb. 7, 2023, Landen Weigelt spent the day at Oconto High School, where he was a junior. He was a football and varsity basketball player, popular among his peers, got good grades and had plans for a career as a counselor. 

An employee of the school district, Jamie Weigelt worked in Landen’s building. The day before, a few students came up to her and said something seemed off about Landen.

“Some kids had said that he just didn’t seem himself,” Jamie Weigelt said. “I went down and I talked to him. He told me everything was fine, everything was great.” 

The next afternoon, Jamie found her stepson in his bedroom after he had taken his own life. 

“At first, it really did look like he was sleeping,” she told the group of officers. “It was not until I got closer that I realized something was seriously wrong. … I grabbed his sweatshirt and shook him, but there was no response, and it was at this point that I screamed and grabbed my phone. I knew that I wasn’t calling 911 to save him, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

She learned Landen exchanged nude images with a scammer on Snapchat, who threatened to share them widely if he didn’t pay hundreds of dollars. Landen begged the suspect not to release photos, but they continued to demand money and told Landen they would ruin his life.

“I’m sorry but I think I would rather kill myself,” Landen had responded. 

He was the victim of a crime known as sextortion, something Jamie Weigelt had never heard of before. In the years since Landen’s death, cases have skyrocketed. In Wisconsin, sextortion cases nearly tripled in a single year. The state’s Internet Crimes Against Children Task Force received 650 online tips related to sextortion in 2025, an increase from 230 in all of 2024. 

Now, the Weigelts and other victims’ families are devoted to raising awareness about the dangers of this deadly crime. Their efforts, in tandem with law enforcement and state lawmakers, have led to increased outreach in schools, more legal protections for victims and additional resources for the state Department of Justice to respond to sextortion tips.

What is sextortion?

Victims of sextortion — often but not exclusively teens — are solicited or coerced into sending explicit photos to an individual online and then blackmailed into sending more money or more images. In most cases, the perpetrator will create one or more fake accounts posing as teens the victim’s age, sometimes offering nude images first before asking for images in return. Generative artificial intelligence has also increasingly played a role in perpetrators carrying out sextortion schemes without even having to receive a nude image. 

In 2025, the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children (NCMEC) received an average of 137 reports of financial sextortion a day and noted that at least 36 teenage boys had committed suicide as a result of being sextorted. 

Parents, lawmakers act

In Wisconsin, families of victims teamed up with lawmakers to develop specific legislation that addresses sextortion. Last year, sextortion was classified as a felony in Wisconsin under “Bradyn’s Law,” named in honor of Bradyn Bohn. The 15-year-old from Kronenwetter died by suicide in 2025 after being sextorted, and his parents have been key in advocating for increased legislation. 

This April, Gov. Tony Evers signed five new laws providing more recourse for victims and funding for the state to respond to sextortion crimes. Among them, 2025 Wisconsin Act 215 allows victims’ families to file a wrongful death lawsuit if their family member’s suicide was largely due to sextortion, in addition to allowing victims to file a civil suit for monetary damages.

The bills also provided an increase of $400,000 per year in the 2025-27 biennial budget for the Wisconsin Internet Crimes Against Children Task Force, which receives and responds to tips of suspected online child sexual exploitation. The legislation adds four full-time positions to the team — two criminal analysts, one outreach specialist and one digital forensic analyst — and requires the task force to run a public awareness campaign regarding online safety for children. 

The number of tips coming into the task force is “staggering,” said commander Jesse Crowe, and can cause mental health issues among his staff. As of May 21, 2026, they’ve received over 7,400 CyberTips so far this year with over 300 related to sextortion — which means their one part-time and three full-time criminal analysts are tasked with responding to nearly 1,500 tips per month.

“We really needed the resources based on our numbers,” Crowe said, “and this is a very, very good step in the right direction to get the resources that we need.” 

Having a designated outreach specialist will allow the rest of his team to focus solely on their caseload, rather than having to fit outreach in between cases. 

“This person will be dedicated to really working with communities, working with law enforcement to get more of our messages out there – not only about sextortion, just about how to use the internet responsibly,” Crowe said.

They hope to have the new task force members onboarded by the end of July. 

How tips are submitted

Although tips can be self-reported through report.cybertip.org, many are sent by electronic service providers — such as social media companies. 

Part of the exponential increase in tips over the past two years is because of the federal REPORT Act, which required electronic service providers to report online sexual exploitation of children starting in May 2024.

Self-reporting is also increasing, with NCMEC’s CyberTipline reporting a 100% increase in reports directly from victims in 2025. Experts say this is a positive result of heightened awareness because perpetrators rely on victims being too afraid to speak up. Crowe believes the state’s increase in CyberTips can be partially attributed to outreach efforts in addition to social media companies complying with reporting requirements. 

Once tips are received by NCMEC, they’re assigned to each state based on the location of the suspects and victims. Crowe’s team uses IP addresses, phone numbers or open records requests to determine which sheriff’s offices should receive tips. 

Brian Slinger is the Internet Crimes Against Children supervisor for the Brown County Sheriff’s Office. Once he receives a tip, his main priority is to locate the child and make contact as soon as possible. He relies heavily on partnerships with school districts, including school resource officers. 

“We will usually involve the school resource officers as quickly as we can to make contact with the child to ensure that they’re safe because that’s the number one goal,” Slinger said.

What parents can do

The main message that Crowe, the Weigelts and other advocates emphasize is to develop an open line of communication between parents and children. 

“We tell kids at a very early age, hold my hand to cross the street, wear a helmet, wear a seat belt, and that’s ingrained in them,” Crowe said. “If we start that conversation about safe, appropriate internet use when they’re young, it’ll just be a normal function of them growing up.” 

Becky Wright is the program director at HER Alliance, a nonprofit organization in Green Bay that works with people who have experienced sex trafficking. The organization does outreach presentations to school districts in Brown County about digital safety, healthy relationships and online exploitation.

“I think one of the biggest reasons criminals are using sextortion to target kids is because it causes them to completely panic,” Wright said. “They don’t know what to do because there’s money involved, and they realize they may have made a mistake in the conversation.” 

As a parent of a 12-year-old son and 15-year-old daughter, Wright has regular discussions with them about online safety. Each night, they return their phones to her bedroom to charge. 

“I’m monitoring and looking at their phone, usually on a weekly basis, just looking through photos and search histories,” Wright said. “But again, it’s also because I’m aware of what can happen, and they know that, and we’ve had a lot of discussions about that.”

Efforts underway

Rep. Lindee Brill, R-Sheboygan Falls, authored several of the recently passed laws, but wrote in a statement to Wisconsin Watch that they’re “only a few spokes in the broader wheel of kids’ online safety.” 

She pointed to other bills that came out of the Assembly Speaker’s Task Force on Protecting Kids, including Assembly Bill 962, which would require age verification on social media platforms. 

Bohn’s parents, Luke and Brittney Bird, testified in support of the bill, but it failed to pass in the Senate last year among concerns of privacy rights violations. The Birds also joined a wrongful death lawsuit against Meta, the parent company of Facebook and Instagram, for failing to protect their children, emphasizing a growing effort to hold social media companies accountable for children’s safety. 

Justin Patchin, a professor at the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire and co-director of the Cyberbullying Research Center, has a different proposal: safe sexting strategies. He outlined tips in a recent paper such as not including identifying features or sending suggestive images rather than explicit nude images. Patchin said there needs to be a less fear-based approach to sexting, which is in line with the state’s list of best practices for prevention programs.  

“Teens engage in sexting because it’s developmentally somewhat normative,” Patchin said. “We tell them not to engage in these behaviors, and in fact, some police officers threaten them with arrest.”

Teens who engage in sexting and find themselves victims of sextortion may then feel trapped. 

“Now you’re backed into a corner, right?” Patchin said. “That you’ve done this illegal thing, technically, because you’ve created and distributed child porn, and so now you feel helpless.”

Although possessing or distributing explicit images of a minor is still illegal under Wisconsin’s child pornography laws, minors generally won’t be charged when images they send are used to extort them – they are seen as victims of a crime in Wisconsin, Crowe said. However, children and teenagers can be charged if they create images and send them without coercion or prompting. 

According to Patchin’s research, only 24% of teens he surveyed said they engage in sexting. But among those who do, about half the time, that image is shared with someone beyond the original sender or they’re the victim of sextortion.

“In the last few years, the international bad actors have gotten into the game,” Patchin said. “They’ve gotten good at targeting vulnerable youth. If you look at case studies of this, if you look at the media reports, a lot of these – especially boys – who have been targeted in the last few years, are popular. They have a lot going on for themselves. They have a lot to lose.” 

Oconto Police Chief Kassie Dufek said over the years that she’s presented Landen’s story with the Weigelts, she’s only seen victimization increase, despite efforts from the DOJ or families. Real change would require social media apps “having significant restrictions.”  

“Our search warrants are signed by a judge that say you must give us this information by this date,” Dufek said. “They don’t comply because they know that they have these big time lawyers … it’s more of a fight for us than it’s worth because we don’t have the time, we don’t have the resources. They do.” 

‘The word is out’

Jill Yindra, who lost her son to sextortion-related suicide, said she and her husband hosted an awareness night in March with over 700 attendees in Mishicot. She recently received a call about a 15-year-old student from a local high school who contacted authorities after being targeted by someone on Instagram. 

“AI imagery was used, threats were made, demands for money, and that perpetrator had also friended mutual friends of the first victim,” Yindra said. “So when this individual realized what this was and what the dangers were, they called authorities right away, and they were able to stop it.” 

Seeing that her and her husband’s advocacy efforts were working gave her hope.

“It warmed our hearts,” Yindra said. “We just don’t ever want another family to go through what we are going through. It’s absolutely horrific.” 

The perpetrators of sextortion schemes depend on the victim feeling alone and ashamed of their mistake — which is why it’s important to inform the public that this is a scam where international criminals systematically target and manipulate teens.

“We’ve had the hard conversations with our kids, but these are career criminals,” Yindra said. “It’s sad, and it’s unfortunate, but we live in a cruel world, and we need to be proactive with it, because this crime goes like wildfire when we remain silent.

“But if you speak up, you talk, you educate, and advocate, things will slow down,” she said. “And now it’s obviously working, because the word is out.”

Data reporter Hongyu Liu contributed to this report.

This story was updated to include the name of the 2026 School Resource Officer Training Conference in photo captions and to clarify that Jamie Weigelt is Landen Weigelt’s stepmom.

‘The word is out’: Wisconsin families turn grief into action as sextortion cases rise is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: 4 minutes

Scott Rosenberg and Heather Toman did not expect to own a vegetable farm in Wisconsin. Toman was born in New Mexico, and Rosenberg spent the first two decades of his career in the insurance industry. 

Now, as the owners of Full Circle Community Farm in Seymour, they’re considered some of the best organic farmers in the Midwest, and they’re helping expand a community dedicated to sustainable farming. 

Rosenberg quit his high-paying job to get an associate’s degree in sustainable farming at Northeast Wisconsin Technical College. There he met Valerie Dantoin, who encouraged him to rent a quarter acre of her land to grow vegetables. 

“A midlife crisis is really what it kind of came down to, but instead of buying a sports car, I took a gigantic pay decrease,” Rosenberg joked. 

After getting her master’s degree in biology at Northern Michigan University, Toman met Rosenberg and established Full Circle Community Farm in 2017, along with Andrew Adamski. 

“It’s a continuous learning curve,” Toman said. “It never is really going to end – us learning and improving. We figure out new things every year.

Collaboration in action

The vegetable farm started on the family land of Rick Adamski and Dantoin, who own an organic pork and beef farm that Full Circle Community Farm partners with. Marbleseed named the group of five its Organic Farmers of the Year for 2024 for their sustainable practices.

Rosenberg and Toman now farm between 12 and 15 acres at peak season. Their Community Supported Agriculture program serves 250 people during the summer, delivering boxes of fresh produce to customers in Green Bay, De Pere and Appleton. 

“Another way to look at it is in 2017-2018, for our cold storage, we were utilizing a donated refrigerator, and now we have a 20-foot by 30-foot walk-in cooler,” Rosenberg said. “So things have slowly changed over the years.”

They help run the SLO Farmers Co-op, a group of seven independent family farms in northeast Wisconsin that cooperate to provide food to local schools and restaurants. All of the farms are committed to organic and sustainable practices.

“Corn, soy farmers, you know, at the end of the day, they’re farmers like I am, so I have respect for them and what they do, and they can farm how they want,” Rosenberg said. “It’s important to me that I’m recognizing the migratory birds that are coming through the area, and the deer that sometimes eat my vegetables, just having buffer zones by the creek of trees, and planting additional trees in there that are native to the area.” 

Rosenberg gave a public tour of the farm on Sunday, June 7, as part of the Summer Farm Crawl hosted by the Lake to Bay chapter of the Wisconsin Farmers Union. Rosenberg showed their greenhouses and some of his equipment, like an Allis-Chalmers Model G tractor that he modified to be an electric vehicle using a golf cart motor.

“Even though I’m not an engine guy, I figured if I just started taking bolts off the engine, it would eventually fall off, and it did … I can get about six hours of operation off that battery, which is more than I need in a single day,” Rosenberg said.

Building community

Full Circle Community Farm also provides a “worker share” option for its CSA, in which members work a shift each week in exchange for a large box of produce. These workers have grown into some of their most valued employees. 

“People just find us, and they have been a huge, huge blessing,” Rosenberg said. “We’ve had some worker shares that have been with us for four or five years now, and they just love their little four-hour slice of coming out here once a week and getting their hands dirty and doing something different.”

The farm also takes on interns through NWTC, training people of many experience levels. 

“We’ll bring people on with zero skills and patiently work with them,” Rosenberg said. “I just get a kick out of working with people and teaching them things, and just seeing the wonder on their faces that sometimes I don’t always feel, so I feel like that’s pretty unique.”

Amber Borealis started as a worker share about eight years ago. She moved onto the property during the COVID-19 pandemic and is now working full time as the farm’s pack shed manager. She’s impressed by how much they’ve been able to expand the farm over the years, including building the pack shed and three high tunnel greenhouses.

“When I started, they had one field,” Borealis said. “So just getting to see how much they can grow and how much community support they’ve had and how much they’ve supported the community in return has been really awesome.” 

Transitioning to farm life wasn’t always easy – Borealis was born in Virginia and trained as a glassblower in college — but Rosenberg and Toman were always game for her to try new things. 

“This past year I learned how to drive a tractor, which is not something I ever thought I’d do in my life … It’s terrifying the first time,” Borealis said. “It is a very large piece of equipment. It’s very loud. You feel very exposed, even if you’re in a cab, because it’s all glass. But it’s really fun, and this is the first year that the plants we’re harvesting are things I planted driving the tractor.” 

Borealis said she’s found an important sense of community living on the farm, especially since her family lives far away on the East and West coasts. 

“It’s nice having the little shelter and little group of friends who feel like family here,” Borealis said. “If I’m having a bad day, I can absolutely lean on Scott or Heather. And then if I’m having a really good day, they will absolutely support me and be like, ‘Yes, you did it!’” 

This story is part of Meet a Neighbor, an ongoing feature series focused on the people who make a difference in northeastern Wisconsin. Know someone we should spotlight? Nominate them here.

Seymour farmers build organic farming community in northeast Wisconsin is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: 4 minutes

On Monday, June 1, the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development, better known as HUD, released its Notice of Funding Opportunity Continuum of Care Competition for Fiscal Year 2026. 

Brown County is part of the Balance of State CoC, the Continuum of Care that makes up the majority of the state outside of Milwaukee, Dane and Racine counties, which have their own CoCs. A Continuum of Care is a regional nonprofit or government entity that helps coordinate and distribute funding to homeless and housing providers. 

Homelessness fell 3.1% nationwide based on the January 2025 Point in Time count, according to the 2025  Annual Homeless Assessment Report to Congress (Part 1). This trend is seen locally: In Brown County there was an 8% decrease in homelessness from 453 in 2025 to 416 in 2026 on the night of the Point in Time count. 

More people than ever before are receiving housing services nationally: 642,451, an increase of 4%, according to the annual report. However, over the course of 2024, 912,807 people entered homelessness for the first time. 

Service providers are tasked to meet the needs of an increasingly vulnerable population, including the chronically homeless. Chronic homelessness is defined as an individual with a disability who has been continuously homeless for one year or more or has had at least four episodes of homelessness in the last three years where the combined length of time spent homeless on those occasions is at least 12 months. In particular, chronic homelessness continues to be a challenge for CoCs with funding for Permanent Supportive Housing. Organizations nationwide have Permanent Supportive Housing beds available for, at most, 32% of the chronically homeless population, according to the AHAR report. In Brown County nearly 19% of our homeless population meets the chronically homeless designation and 69% have a disability.

HUD has designated $4.04 billion in funding for CoCs to apply for in fiscal year 2026, more than previous HUD notices. However, this notice redirects CoC programming away from Permanent Supportive Housing and toward Transitional Housing programming, with addiction and mental health treatment as an objective for housing services.

In the notice, HUD tells us that “Housing First” programming has failed, pointing to the 27% increase in homelessness since 2013 when “Housing First” was introduced. In that time, funding for “permanent beds” has increased 150.9% and CoC funding has increased 111%. 

From 2013 to 2026 rental costs in Wisconsin have increased nearly 78%, according to data from the U.S. Census Bureau and Zillow, with spikes in post-COVID rental markets in midsize Wisconsin cities such as Green Bay and Appleton being hit the hardest. 

The minimum wage has not changed in the state of Wisconsin since 2009, and according to data from the National Low Income Housing Coalition this leaves rental options out of reach for many in the state of Wisconsin. In Brown County, an estimated 35% of the population, or 39,000 people, are renters, coalition data shows. This means a minimum wage worker in Brown County needs to work 104 hours a week to afford a modest one-bedroom rental. 

With direction from the HUD notice, CoCs will need to meet a new set of requirements that are beyond the scope of nonprofit service providers in our community. This includes increasing the wages of program participants and required mental health and addiction treatment. This is not something that can be done at a CoC level alone. Brown County service providers are working diligently to meet the needs of those in our community who are experiencing homelessness by offering opportunities for permanent housing, transitional housing and emergency shelter. They are not built to respond to a stagnant minimum wage, a housing market devoid of options and a mental health epidemic.

The current CoC project is not perfect, but it does not exist in a perfect environment. For Permanent Supportive Housing programs with full funding to succeed, we need to create that. The HUD notice puts the responsibility of making the perfect environment and running the perfect program on the regional housing coalitions, and if you are unable to meet that, too bad. 

Housing is the responsibility of our community and the people who live here. This “pay-to-play” model is harmful to our CoCs, community nonprofits and especially harmful to the neighbors they serve. 

We don’t fix our current homelessness crisis by punishing the helpers. 

We fix the problem by addressing the root causes:

• State and local governments can work to support increased development by repealing restrictive zoning rules. 
• Grants and low interest loans should be used to support development to ensure there are units available for those at 30-80% Area Median Income. In Brown County we are already doing this; many zoning changes across the community are starting to happen. 
• We need collaboration across municipalities to keep up with the demand and meet the changing needs of households in our community. 
• We need grants to help landlords and property managers make necessary repairs to our aging housing stock to keep it up to code and available for program participants. 
• We need to protect our “mom and pop” landlords from consumer act lawsuits, while increasing tenants’ rights: right to council during evictions, right to organize and the right to purchase. 

And this is just the start. We need to increase access points for mental health and addiction treatment by expanding public health care; treating these not as the cause of homelessness but as a health crisis. 

It’s not an easy pill to swallow, and addressing the root causes will require hard work and time. But we live in a community that cares and has the resources to make an impact by working together and helping our neighbors.

Josh Benti is the homeless initiative project director for the Greater Green Bay Blueprint to Prevent and End Homelessness, an initiative of the Greater Green Bay Community Foundation  that creates pathways to prevent and end homelessness in the region.

Guest opinion: New federal funding guidelines fail to address root causes of homelessness is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: 5 minutes

An idea about profiling voters across Wisconsin turned into a multiyear project for Wisconsin Watch photojournalist Joe Timmerman – one focused on connection. 

The Public Square series launched in November 2024 and so far includes 10 stories about regular Wisconsin residents working to build community in the towns and cities they call home. 

“Instead of just focusing on politics, we really wanted to focus on community and where people were coming together,” Timmerman said.

To showcase the images and celebrate the project, Wisconsin Watch partnered with the city of Green Bay, the Astor Neighborhood Association, Catchlight Local and Report for America to host an outdoor photo exhibition on Saturday, June 6, at St. James Park in Green Bay. The display will be available for a short time at the park for community members to visit. 

Roughly 45 people attended the event on Saturday, walking among the posters of images, reading summaries of the stories and listening to a panel discussion about the series. Timmerman moderated the event, asking questions of four northeastern Wisconsin residents who participated in Public Square. 

Below, we recap the panel discussion, highlighting a few of the panelists’ answers for each question. Be sure to check out all 10 stories in the Public Square series, which included people who live across the state. 

How do you think your story fits into Public Square?

The students and staff who keep the Pulaski News in print embody the mission of the series, said Madelyn Rybak, a recent Pulaski High School graduate who wrote for the Pulaski News.

“We really are the only major source of news in the village of Pulaski, so I think that through writing for the Pulaski News, we really do our part in ensuring that the community really knows their neighbor,” she said. 

So too, does Third Space Green Bay, said co-founder Ivy McGee. The nonprofit organization aims to create an environment where people can make connections, particularly people of color and members of the LGBTQ+ community who move to Green Bay. 

“I was kind of naive to the fact that people that are coming into this community really don’t feel that connection, and it’s a hard community to kind of come into,” she said. 

What was it like being interviewed and photographed for the series?

Paula Jolly, executive director and co-founder of Amanda’s House, said she usually isn’t comfortable doing interviews and being photographed by journalists. But with Timmerman, the experience was different. 

“He took his time, and he cared, and it just really made it a lot easier,” Jolly said. 

Part of it, she said, had to do with the equipment Timmerman chose to make the photographs. He used a twin-lens reflex camera circa 1950 and medium format film; it meant he had to take his time. 

Timmerman visited each subject for Public Square multiple times and spent hours with them – talking to them, observing how they went about their days and seeing them inhabit their spaces. 

The process allowed McGee and her co-creators to “slow down and take a breath.”

What was it like seeing your stories published?

A friend reached out to Laurie Doxtator after her photo appeared on the front page of a local newspaper (Wisconsin Watch allows media outlets to republish its stories free of charge). Timmerman met Doxtator when she was living at Amanda’s House. She allowed him to document her journey moving out of the sober living home.  

“This was my story that I told,” Doxtator said.

Similarly, Jolly said she sits for interviews to help community members better understand addiction, including how it affects people and their families. 

However, she was surprised to hear from people outside northeast Wisconsin who saw the story. 

“I didn’t realize it was going to the rest of the state,” she said. “Somebody from, I think, Milwaukee said, ‘Oh, I saw your article.’ I was like, ‘What? Really?’ It was kind of fun, but it also gets the word out in a wider area, so that’s important.”

Rybak spoke about the important role journalism plays in making people be seen and heard. 

“It felt so nice to just have a spotlight shown and to know what I did mattered to people,” she said. 

Once the feature on Third Space Green Bay was published, McGee said she continued to follow the series. 

“I was more connected to the community through the storytelling,” she said. 

How have each of you, your organizations or your communities grown, changed or developed since the time these images were taken?

Since Doxtator moved out of Amanda’s House, she continued her sobriety and cut her hair. 

“I’m still here and still growing,” she said. “Every day is a different day.”

The Public Square feature on Amanda’s House “opened up a lot more opportunities for us, just getting the word out there and helping people,” Jolly said. 

Third Space Green Bay now has a physical space, which the organization leases through The Art Garage. The co-creators are still looking for a permanent space to call their own. 

“There’s so many reasons why Third Space Green Bay is important, and why it exists, and why we want to continue to be a space to offer folks to come and connect, or just be,” McGee said.

The organization also started “Third Thursdays with Third Space” – monthly, themed events designed to “build connection, promote collective well-being and celebrate the creativity and resilience of BIPOC and queer communities in Green Bay.”

As for the Pulaski News, the publication was featured in myriad news stories and received a $5,000 grant from the Herb Kohl Educational Foundation. Rybak said more students are interested in writing for the newspaper, as well.

“For a very small student-run publication like us, it (the donation) is huge,” Rybak said. “That was such a great feeling to know that my work was a tiny part of that, and I feel so grateful for the opportunity we had with Wisconsin Watch, just to get our word out there.”

The photo captions in this story were updated with the correct spelling of Madelyn Rybak’s name. Wisconsin Watch regrets the error.

‘It felt so nice … to know what I did mattered’: Public Square subjects reflect on the power of community storytelling is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: 2 minutes

When I started working at Wisconsin Watch nearly two years ago, the 2024 election was quickly approaching. In my role as the sole staff photojournalist, I began collaborating with my colleagues deeply reporting investigations and explainers that held power to account and explored solutions to the biggest issues facing our state: health and welfare, government, education and employment, agriculture and the environment and justice and safety. 

As my colleagues followed timely news hooks for their election coverage through breaking news and investigations, I wanted to spend more time with the people behind the headlines. That planted the seeds for Public Square, a series of profiles exploring the lives of voters from across the state — not just recording who they planned to vote for but understanding why and documenting the daily experiences that shaped their decisions. 

Soon after I began working on the original series of voter profiles, we realized this project was about far more than a single election and would require more time, care and energy to give each story the attention it deserved. At the time — and still today — I was thinking a lot about how politically divided this country and Wisconsin can feel while also hearing about the decline of third spaces: public places beyond work and home where people gather and build community. As more of our lives moved online, those spaces seemed to shrink or be forgotten.

Public Square became a direct response to those questions about where people can still find connections, regardless of political identity. As I traveled across the state, we introduced readers to their neighbors and invited them to suggest who we should talk to next. As the series grew, we aimed to highlight the roles people play in their communities, explore the issues shaping their lives and pair those stories with portraits. 

I photographed this project on medium-format film using a 1950s-era Yashica-D camera that produced square images — an approach that slowed the portrait process and helped me connect with each person I photographed. Pairing these images with the concept of meeting people where they gather and build community inspired the project’s name. 

Over the last two years, this project has come to reflect Wisconsin Watch’s evolving mission: using journalism to help make Wisconsin communities stronger, more informed and more connected. As we report on the issues shaping people’s lives, we hope our work not only holds power to account but also helps people feel seen, better understand their neighbors and engage more deeply in civic life.

On Saturday, June 6, Wisconsin Watch will host a free, live outdoor exhibition and community conversation in Green Bay’s St. James Park. Large-format photography prints from Public Square will be displayed throughout the park alongside excerpts from reporting that provide context and insight into each story. I’ll moderate a panel discussion featuring local residents highlighted in the project’s images, with a Q&A to follow. Attendees will receive a free zine, and the installation will remain in the public park for three weeks following the event. You can sign up here. 

If you’re in the area, I hope you’ll attend and spend some time reflecting on how you connect with your own communities. I’m excited to see you there.

Wisconsin Watch to bring Public Square photography exhibit to Green Bay is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: 4 minutes

Women and girls find refuge from trafficking inside a nondescript building on Morrow Street in Green Bay.

They can attend support groups, eat a warm meal, take a shower, get new clothes or access community resources. 

But whatever they do, it’s their choice. 

“(Case management) is designed to make sure that every single woman and girl reaches independence. It’s their way. It’s on their terms,” said Carly McClure, operations director for HER Alliance. “We are just here to offer the support needed along that way to help them become the best version of themselves.”

The nonprofit organization formerly known as Awaken has served 251 women and girls since June 2022, according to the organization’s most recent Impact Report. In addition to directly supporting survivors, HER Alliance offers education sessions for the community about the dangers of human trafficking. 

‘Uphill battle’

Trafficking is abuse, McClure said, and the survivors who seek help at HER Alliance make several attempts to leave their situations for good, similar to people in domestic violence situations. 

“The uphill battle that everybody is facing in this position is, first of all, societal stigma,” McClure said. 

In 2025, the organization provided 4,908 units of service. A unit of service, for example, could be a meal, a call to the warmline or a referral to a community resource, among others, McClure said. 

Community members in general tend to think trafficking starts with a stranger kidnapping someone, and while that does happen, it’s not common, McClure said. 

“Trafficking begins with the grooming process. It’s happening to our children online more often than not now, and a trafficker is typically targeting someone that already trusts them,” she said. “So familial trafficking in Wisconsin is one of the highest forms of trafficking that we see.”

The intake process at HER Alliance happens in a quiet, private room with cozy furniture. The conversation is different for every person because needs vary, McClure said. 

Generally, staff ask questions to learn if a person’s basic needs are being met: 

• Do they have safe housing?
• Do they have access to food? Clothing?
• Are they employed?
• Are they in school?

Each person decides what support – if any – the person wants from HER Alliance, McClure said. Staff can connect people to community organizations to meet their specific needs, though local nonprofits also refer people to HER Alliance. 

The Brown County Jail refers many clients. HER Alliance has a full-time outreach case manager who spends most of her time working with women and girls at the jail, McClure said. 

Varying degrees of help

The organization operates what it calls a warmline – a 24/7 phone line staffed by a HER Alliance case manager. An important distinction, McClure said: The warmline is not a crisis line. 

“The warmline is available for people to call if they need (nonemergency) help, or if they’re already in contact with us and have already had an intake (session) – that number is for their use,” she said. 

Some people call the warmline just once, seeking advice or resources. 

Others seek additional help. HER Alliance offers weekly peer-to-peer support groups in a space that looks like a living room. There are couches, comfortable chairs, a TV, plants, a bookshelf and more. 

Clients can schedule one-on-one appointments with a case manager, or drop in during designated hours depending on their needs. 

A small kitchenette with a coffee station, a toaster oven and a refrigerator sits in the back of the building. Volunteers supply meals weekly, and frozen meals are always available. 

Clients can take a shower in one of the facility’s two restrooms, or “shop” a small boutique filled with gently used clothing, outerwear and shoes. Women and girls who complete an intake session and receive services get a punch card to shop the boutique, McClure said. 

“So if they have an interview coming up, or they’re going to school, or they just need new clothes, or they need new shoes, this is available to them throughout the year,” she said. 

Getting involved

Carmen Van Schyndel first learned about HER Alliance in 2024, during a TAT Freedom Drivers Project event co-hosted by her employer, Breakthrough. She remembers walking through an exhibit in a semi-trailer focused on the stories of trafficking survivors and their experiences. 

Prior to that, Van Schyndel thought human trafficking was something that happened in big cities like Chicago, not around Green Bay. 

But the experience “hit home,” she said. 

Van Schyndel spoke with HER Alliance staff at the event and started learning more. She joined the organization’s Advisory Board and later its Board of Directors. She now serves as the board secretary. 

She hopes to one day measure success by seeing the number of people HER Alliance serves decline. That will be a signal that the organization’s education, advocacy and community outreach efforts are making a difference.

“There’s still a need. There are still people that are not getting help who need it,” Van Schyndel said. “We still need to grow, but I think over time, as we really watch those numbers, I hope that those numbers go down, and those will be really good signs we’re making an impact in the community.”

What’s next?

HER Alliance acquired space next to its office in 2025, and it has big plans for it, McClure said. 

The programming area that looks like a living room will move as a result of the expansion, and McClure said they plan to add a full kitchen with an oven – an upgrade from the kitchenette and the toaster oven they currently use. 

“Now we’re kind of waiting on some grants to finish developing this space,” she said. 

Find resources

If you or someone you know is a victim of human trafficking, contact HER Alliance: 

• HER Alliance warmline: (920) 333-1701
• Email HER Alliance through the “Get Help” page on its website.

How to help

Want to raise awareness about human trafficking, volunteer your time or donate to HER Alliance? Here’s how: 

• HER Alliance holds education sessions on human trafficking throughout the year, though they take a break in the summer. Email info@heralliance.org to learn when the sessions will start in the fall, or keep an eye on the HER Alliance events calendar. 
• Volunteer with the organization: Fill out an interest form online. 
• Donate to HER Alliance through its website here. 

This story is part of Community at Work, an ongoing feature series focused on community organizations that make a difference in northeast Wisconsin. Who should we feature next? Email jzvandenhouten@wisconsinwatch.org.

HER Alliance combats human trafficking one person at a time is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: 5 minutes

Click here to read highlights from the story

• Oshkosh resident Nikolas DeGroot started Groundfloor Democracy after seeking an informal place where community members could gather to discuss politics and local issues. 

• Run entirely by volunteers, Groundfloor Democracy hosts Politics in the Park events several times per month. 

• Organizers focus on fostering respectful discussions in person, which they say helps people connect with their neighbors and find what they have in common. 

• However, it’s been a struggle to attract participants to their gatherings. 

• The group plans to become a nonprofit organization and hopes to eventually host events in more Wisconsin cities.

On a late April evening, in an Oshkosh park bordering the shores of Lake Winnebago, Nikolas DeGroot and Elaine Koch arranged four fabric lawn chairs in a circle. They unfolded a small table and used it to prop up posterboard reading “POLITICS IN THE PARK” in bubble letters. Then they sat down and waited for curious passersby to notice. 

During a time when Americans are increasingly polarized and politics can feel too tense a topic to broach in conversation, Oshkosh resident DeGroot wants to inspire his neighbors to tackle the topic head on — and handle disagreements thoughtfully. 

“There’s a disconnect in the way that we relate to one another, on many different levels. I think that the internet has kind of become the public commons, and it does it really badly,” DeGroot said. “We all know it’s terrible. We all hate it, and yet that’s still like the place where the most discussion is happening.”

The antidote, he thinks, is simple: bring conversation about shared issues back in the flesh, in a public place neighbors frequent, and make sure it stays respectful. 

That’s the gist of “Politics in the Park,” an event series where DeGroot and several helpers invite people to have civil conversations about politics and local issues at a public park. Through this, he hopes his neighbors can learn to connect again and chip away at the polarization driving people away from each other. 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, getting people to take part in the initiative has proven difficult. Still in its infancy, the twice-weekly events this spring mark the series’ second year. Turnout has been sparse — typically, a handful of people stop by each event. The group, dubbed Groundfloor Democracy, hosted about 10 attendees at once at its peak. 

But the conversations they’ve had have been encouraging, and they hope it’ll catch on soon. 

“I want people to see that there is a big difference between debate and just regular conversation, and that we can get back to conversation,” said Emmy Carrick, who helps put on the events. “We want people to take away that regular conversation without yelling, without debate, without cameras — it’s possible.”

‘We’ll pull up some chairs, and we’ll just see’

As a political science student at the University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh, DeGroot was eager to attend political and academic events on campus. But when he looked around the room at donors, university administrators, professors or students required to be present for a class, he felt out of place. 

“As somebody who comes from a working-class background, I don’t see any people like me at events like this,” said DeGroot, who works two part-time jobs.  

He started looking for other community organizations he’d be more aligned with. But he didn’t see any addressing his biggest concern: “How do we get people off of their devices and speaking in person again?” 

He decided to take matters into his own hands. 

“I was taking my son to the park every day after school anyway, for like two hours. So I was like, … ‘We’ll just set up a sign, we’ll pull up some chairs, and we’ll just see. We’ll just see what happens,’” he said. 

He made Facebook posts to tell people when he was going to be outside and wanted to facilitate conversation. He let people talk about what was on their minds. A few visitors came the first couple times, but they sometimes struggled with what to discuss. 

He started asking questions to guide discussion: 

“If you could change one thing about your government (local, state or federal), what would it be?”

“What’s something you think we could fix if we just talked about it more honestly?”

“What’s one thing you’d like politicians to stop doing?”

“What gives you hope when it comes to politics or your community?”

“What do you think people get wrong about folks who vote differently than them?”

Meanwhile, DeGroot posted a callout for people to help him with the endeavor. Four board members now help him organize events, post on social media and try to grow Groundfloor Democracy’s turnout. 

That includes Carrick, who discovered the project while surfing Reddit. She wanted to get involved because she feels like “we’ve never been more disconnected from our neighbors.”

“I like the premise of it because it was just something so low-stakes,” Carrick said. “With how polarized things are, it feels like any political conversation that you have is very high-stakes. I liked that this was just informal and welcoming.” 

By the end of last spring, they’d had enough turnout to feel encouraged to continue. This year, the events are guided by a one-word prompt, such as “local,” “education” or “justice.” They ask participants what topics the words bring to mind and let attendees steer the conversation.

Continuing the conversation

Carrick’s favorite Politics in the Park event took place on an early April evening, when about 10 people attended. Two teens on their way to the bus stopped briefly to learn about the initiative. Another man wanted to discuss the Trump administration’s policies — an exchange that ended with him and Koch praying together. 

“Nobody ever said whether they were a Democrat or Republican. We just talked,” Carrick said. “That was so refreshing to me. We didn’t talk about parties at all. We just talked about us and our lives and local issues and more of what brought us together.”

While discussion at the events has stayed civil to date, conversations about politics can often slide off the rails. 

Their goal isn’t to avoid debate, but to encourage handling disagreements respectfully. For that reason, DeGroot took a 40-hour mediation training at the Winnebago Conflict Resolution Center to learn how to handle and dissolve conflict. 

“A big part of that training was getting from the thing that somebody is saying to the underlying feeling that’s connected to what they’re saying,” DeGroot said. “It’s just trying to get to that little crumb at the center of like, why does this person feel so strongly about this particular thing?”

If needed, he will intervene to help the person see how those “big feelings” at the root of their argument overlap with the values of the people sitting with them, to help them see the similarities they share. Though he’s prepared, he hasn’t yet needed to interrupt a conversation.

Since it is a nonpartisan organization, DeGroot and other members are careful not to advocate for specific candidates, parties or policy positions. That’ll become especially important as they look to become an official nonprofit. The federal government prohibits these types of organizations from engaging in political campaign activity. 

As time goes on, they also want to grow the initiative by hosting conversations in more Wisconsin cities or partnering with other local civic organizations. 

They also want to find ways to raise funds — right now, everyone who helps out is a volunteer. 

Mostly, though, they want more people to come talk about politics with them in the park. 

“We can’t delete social media from the world, heal our nation’s politics overnight or anything like that,” Carrick said. “But we can set up some lawn chairs in a park and have a couple neighbors come out and just chat and get to know each other more.”

Learn about Groundfloor Democracy’s upcoming events here.

These Oshkosh residents want you to log off and talk politics — in real life is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: < 1 minute

Spoiler alert: There’s no magic formula. 

Wisconsin Watch reporters have to fill out a pitch form for every story. Yes, you read that right – they have to do paperwork. 

The process means they have to do some reporting in advance to make sure the idea is solid, to see if other outlets have reported on the topic and, if so, to determine what will make their story different. 

The goal is for them to have a strong idea about what the story is and who the story is for before they dive in too far. 

Generally, our reporters aren’t covering school board or city council meetings like daily beat reporters. Wisconsin Watch focuses on investigative, enterprise and solutions journalism. Our reporters are looking for trends, sifting through reader tips and finding inspiration in their daily lives.

Miranda Dunlap pitched a story about a Green Bay group that produces a historical podcast about its neighborhood. Do you know where she got the idea? She spotted a QR code advertising the podcast while taking a walk. 

Our journalism strives to live out our mission: using journalism to make Wisconsin communities strong, informed and connected. Every time I read a pitch, I ask myself, “How does this story fit our mission?” 

There are myriad stories we could be chasing, but they’re not all worth our time. The pitch form helps reporters and editors keep our mission in mind and answer key questions before we spend too much energy reporting and editing a story that doesn’t serve our readers.

Sign up for Northeast News, our free email newsletter focused on northeast Wisconsin.

Inside Wisconsin Watch’s story pitch process is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: 2 minutes

Journalists most often cover a specific area – or beat.

When I started in the industry, newsrooms typically had the following: 

• One or two local government reporters – one for county board, one for city hall. 
• An education reporter (like me!). 
• A few prep sports reporters.
• A features reporter. 
• A few photojournalists. 
• A courts reporter. 
• A general assignment reporter. 

Today’s newsrooms employ fewer journalists, which means reporters at daily publications often cover multiple beats. 

Analytics have changed how we measure success for our work, and with it, some beats have shifted altogether. 

I see more environmental coverage now than I did 15 years ago, which reflects growing interest from readers in that area. 

Traditional outdoors coverage – what some call “bullets and hooks” reporting because of its focus on hunting and fishing – seems to be declining. Meanwhile, coverage of outdoor silent sports like biking, hiking and kayaking has grown. 

Here at Wisconsin Watch, our beats are guided by our mission and values. Our journalists cover: 

• State government. 
• Education and employment on what we call the pathways to success beat. 
• Agriculture and the environment. 
• Health and welfare.
• And justice and safety. 

Investigative journalism is in our DNA, and our reporters are some of the best at it. They also report enterprise stories and solutions journalism. 

• Enterprise stories go deeper than something I would have covered as a daily education reporter. Think less about turn-of-the-screw school board coverage and more on trends emerging across the area or state. 
• Solutions journalism is rigorous, evidence-based reporting on responses to social problems. Every solutions story covers four pillars: a response to the problem, evidence that it works (or not), insights and limitations. 

These kinds of journalism, especially investigations, tend to take more time to produce and are therefore more expensive. 

But you can support journalism that makes a difference in the community. Subscribe to your local news outlet or contribute to Wisconsin Watch.

Breaking down Wisconsin Watch’s beats is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: 3 minutes

April 22, 1970, was no ordinary day in the bustling city of St. Louis. On this first Earth Day, streets filled with rallies, and lecture halls were packed with attendees. Most famously, rows of students marched through the streets wearing gas masks, protesting air pollution.

Around that time, John E. Franz was brewing up something dark in the depths of Monsanto’s St. Louis lab: glyphosate, an herbicide since linked to widespread environmental harm, cancer concerns and more than 100,000 lawsuits. 

While other countries have regulated or limited glyphosate production, the U.S. has largely ignored the problem. In February, President Donald Trump issued Executive Order 14387 to promote the production of glyphosate and security for its producers.

The U.S. is increasingly dependent on glyphosate, and its overuse is becoming a serious concern. Amid the many environmental issues competing for attention, glyphosate deserves a prominent place this Earth Day, especially in Wisconsin.

Why Wisconsin? Glyphosate levels in groundwater aren’t being consistently monitored in the state’s highest-risk areas — its CAFO counties.

From fields to faucets 

Wisconsin farmers apply millions of pounds of glyphosate each year, primarily to fields growing soybeans and corn — the state’s two biggest crops. Those crops are used to feed animals at Wisconsin’s 293 concentrated animal feeding operations, or CAFOs. 

After animals eat glyphosate-treated crops, the chemical can reemerge in their manure. This is a problem, considering that mismanagement of CAFO waste frequently leads to groundwater contamination. 

Seems like something that should be setting off red flags, right?

Monitoring falls short in Wisconsin

The Wisconsin Department of Agriculture, Trade and Consumer Protection (DATCP) oversees groundwater and surface water testing for agrichemicals. The agency monitors pesticides and agricultural runoff through a private well sampling program, a field-edge monitoring program and random well sampling conducted every five to 10 years.

However effective these programs may appear, a closer look at where Wisconsin’s CAFOs are located compared with where monitoring occurs reveals a stark mismatch.

The three counties with the most CAFOs — Manitowoc (25), Brown (22), Kewaunee (19) — are all located in the Northeast Lakeshore region, where none of DATCP’s 22 field-edge monitoring wells are located, according to a 2023 report, the most recent available. The state’s monitoring system misses areas at highest risk for aquifer contamination.

Unfortunately it gets worse. DATCP’s Targeted Sampling Program also does not cover the entire Northeast Lakeshore Watershed, and these sampling panels do not test for glyphosate or its byproducts, the agency’s most recent program report shows.

The solution? Advocacy

Glyphosate usage has increased 15-fold since the 1990s. It will continue to go unchecked if more research and monitoring aren’t conducted to track where this chemical ends up.

What can citizens do? Write, speak and act.

1. Monitor the DNR’s hearing and meetings calendar for groundwater-related meetings you can attend.
   
2. If you’re a private landowner with a well, write to DATCP and volunteer to have your well sampled.
   
3. Universities such as University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh and UW-Green Bay also play a role. DATCP already partners with both on research. Contact leaders of their water-related programs.

Why glyphosate still matters

To be sure, glyphosate is not the only problematic agrichemical. But it is by far the most widely used herbicide in U.S. agriculture, and its scale alone warrants closer monitoring of its spread in aquifers.

Still not convinced? Consider the many other contaminants that can leach into groundwater from CAFO manure — including other agrichemicals, pharmaceuticals, heavy metals and bacteria. Glyphosate is just one of many reasons stronger groundwater monitoring is needed in this region.

We’re not asking for much.

Glyphosate well testing is relatively inexpensive and should not strain government resources. Progress will depend on public pressure: Concerned citizens must keep pushing until stronger monitoring is in place across all at-risk areas of this beautiful state we call home.

Allison Gilmeister is a graduate student at Yale University studying religion and ecology. She grew up in Appleton. 

Opinion: In Wisconsin’s CAFO counties, glyphosate monitoring gaps threaten groundwater is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.