Sometimes an international offensive begins with a few shots that draw little notice. So it was last year when Melvin Redick of Harrisburg, Pa., a friendly-looking American with a backward baseball cap and a young daughter, posted on Facebook a link to a brand-new website.
“These guys show hidden truth about Hillary Clinton, George Soros and other leaders of the US,” he wrote on June 8, 2016. “Visit #DCLeaks website. It’s really interesting!”
Mr. Redick turned out to be a remarkably elusive character. No Melvin Redick appears in Pennsylvania records, and his photos seem to be borrowed from an unsuspecting Brazilian. But this fictional concoction has earned a small spot in history: The Redick posts that morning were among the first public signs of an unprecedented foreign intervention in American democracy.
The DCLeaks site had gone live a few days earlier, posting the first samples of material, stolen from prominent Americans by Russian hackers, that would reverberate through the presidential election campaign and into the Trump presidency. The site’s phony promoters were in the vanguard of a cyberarmy of counterfeit Facebook and Twitter accounts, a legion of Russian-controlled impostors whose operations are still being unraveled.
The Russian information attack on the election did not stop with the hacking and leaking of Democratic emails or the fire hose of stories, true, false and in between, that battered Mrs. Clinton on Russian outlets like RT and Sputnik. Far less splashy, and far more difficult to trace, was Russia’s experimentation on Facebook and Twitter, the American companies that essentially invented the tools of social media and, in this case, did not stop them from being turned into engines of deception and propaganda.
An investigation by The New York Times, and new research from the cybersecurity firm FireEye, reveals some of the mechanisms by which suspected Russian operators used Twitter and Facebook to spread anti-Clinton messages and promote the hacked material they had leaked. On Wednesday, Facebook officials disclosed that they had shut down several hundred accounts that they believe were created by a Russian company linked to the Kremlin and used to buy $100,000 in ads pushing divisive issues during and after the American election campaign.
On Twitter, as on Facebook, Russian fingerprints are on hundreds or thousands of fake accounts that regularly posted anti-Clinton messages. Many were automated Twitter accounts, called bots, that sometimes fired off identical messages seconds apart — and in the exact alphabetical order of their made-up names, according to the FireEye researchers. On Election Day, for instance, they found that one group of Twitter bots sent out the hashtag #WarAgainstDemocrats more than 1,700 times.
The Russian efforts were sometimes crude or off-key, with a trial-and-error feel, and many of the suspect posts were not widely shared. The fakery may have added only modestly to the din of genuine American voices in the pre-election melee, but it helped fuel a fire of anger and suspicion in a polarized country.
Given the powerful role of social media in political contests, understanding the Russian efforts will be crucial in preventing or blunting similar, or more sophisticated, attacks in the 2018 congressional races and the 2020 presidential election. Multiple government agencies have investigated the Russian attack, though it remains unclear whether any agency is focused specifically on tracking foreign intervention in social media. Both Facebook and Twitter say they are studying the 2016 experience and how to defend against such meddling.
“We know we have to stay vigilant to keep ahead of people who try to misuse our platform,” Alex Stamos, Facebook’s chief security officer, wrote on Wednesday in a post about the Russia-linked fake accounts and ads. “We believe in protecting the integrity of civic discourse.”
Critics say that because shareholders judge the companies partly based on a crucial data point — “monthly active users” — they are reluctant to police their sites too aggressively for fear of reducing that number. The companies use technical tools and teams of analysts to detect bogus accounts, but the scale of the sites — 328 million users on Twitter, nearly two billion on Facebook — means they often remove impostors only in response to complaints.
Though both companies have been slow to grapple with the problem of manipulation, they have stepped up efforts to purge fake accounts. Facebook says it takes down a million accounts a day — including some that were related to the recent French election and upcoming German voting — but struggles to keep up with the illicit activity. Still, the company says the abuse affects only a small fraction of the social network; Facebook officials estimated that of all the “civic content” posted on the site in connection with the United States election, less than one-tenth of one percent resulted from “information operations” like the Russian campaign.
Twitter, unlike Facebook, does not require the use of a real name and does not prohibit automated accounts, arguing that it seeks to be a forum for open debate. But it constantly updates a “trends” list of most-discussed topics or hashtags, and it says it tries to foil attempts to use bots to create fake trends. However, FireEye found that the suspected Russian bots sometimes managed to do just that, in one case causing the hashtag #HillaryDown to be listed as a trend.
Clinton Watts, a former F.B.I. agent who has closely tracked Russian activity online, said that Facebook and Twitter suffered from a “bot cancer eroding trust on their platforms.” But he added that while Facebook “has begun cutting out the tumors by deleting false accounts and fighting fake news,” Twitter has done little and as a result, “bots have only spread since the election.”
Asked to comment, Twitter referred to a blog post in June in which it said it was “doubling down” on efforts to prevent manipulation but could not reveal details for fear of tipping off those trying to evade the company’s measures. But it declared that Twitter’s “open and real-time nature is a powerful antidote” to falsehoods.
“This is important because we cannot distinguish whether every single Tweet from every person is truthful or not,” the statement said. “We, as a company, should not be the arbiter of truth.”
Leaks and Counterfeit Profiles
Read more in: nytimes
In Cambridge, Mass., a woman named Kristin sits down on a stone bench to talk about a common but rarely discussed injury that’s starting to grow along with the opioid epidemic: rape.
We’ve agreed to use just Kristin’s first name because she’s a victim of this crime. Kristin says she, like many women who live on the streets, cope with the daily fear of an attack that they are too sedated to fend off, or of waking up to find their pants pulled down, bruises, and other signs of an assault.
It’s an assault active drug users often don’t report out of shame, distrust of police, or fear they’ll be labeled a “cop caller” and have trouble buying heroin. It’s an injury women say they can’t figure out how to prevent. And it’s one few doctors think to ask about, and thus rarely treat.
The road to trouble starts many mornings, says Kristin, when she wakes up, sick and desperate for heroin but afraid to shoplift, sell the goods, and seek a dealer on her own. So she finds a male buddy, someone she calls a running partner.
“It’s just safer. People are less likely to beat you, rob you, sell you fake drugs if you’ve got a strong, well-known man with a reputation — a good reputation —you know,” says Kristin, 32, who still has the lanky body of a high school backstroke champion. She’s been addicted to opioids since she was 13 when they were prescribed to relieve pain after a shoulder surgery.
But sometimes that strong man with a good reputation turns out to be another danger. Kristin cringes at the memory of falling into a drug-induced sleep near a running partner she’d come to trust.
“I woke up to him on top of me, with my pants off, pretty much demanding that we have sex,” Kristin says, the emotion draining from her voice. “I’m weak because of the drugs I’ve taken, so I’m trying to push him off. I can’t do it. I grab my phone and just kind of barrel roll off the bed, pull my pants up, and run outside.”
That time Kristin got away. In two other attacks, she did not. She has story after story of unwanted kissing and groping. She says that for many women, there is steady pressure from those they partner with to perform sexual favors. After the attempted rape, Kristin pressed charges. Shortly before trial, the man died of a drug-related heart infection.
Other women interviewed for this story say they rarely seek help from police because they are worried investigators will turn on them and seek drug charges. Sometimes women are alert and recognize or can recall their assailant. Other times they only realize they’ve been raped because their clothes are torn, they have cuts or bruises and a sore vagina.
To prevent attacks, some women travel in pairs, but some say that doesn’t protect them from gang rape. They may arrange to ride out a high in view of a security camera, hoping someone would see and stop an assault.
After each assault, Kristin would try going solo on the streets. But then she’d get robbed or sold fake drugs and decide to find a new running partner. Kristin says she still attaches herself to men she knows are not safe. The drug addiction, she says, overpowers fear and common sense warnings.
“In hindsight, it’s like crazy, you look back and you’re like, ‘red flag, red flag, red flag,’ ” Kristin says. “I’m even noticing it in real time and pushing it aside because there’s a high waiting for me at the end.”
Two women who were sitting with Kristin and nodding while she spoke have drifted away. She glances over her shoulder when I ask if her experience is unusual.
“Between the other two women that were sitting here with me and the few that are across the street, combined, we probably have about 20 to 25 assaults or rapes,” Kristin says, her voice rising in anger. “It’s almost become normalized, and that’s messed up.”
While there’s lots of data on the connections between substance abuse and sexual violence in general, there’s little information about sexual assault stemming from the opioid epidemic.
Gina Scaramella, director of the Boston Area Rape Crisis Center, says she isn’t surprised by Kristin’s account. “I would almost be surprised if that wasn’t the case, to be 100 percent honest,” Scaramella says.
That’s because some assailants actually seek women and men whom they expect will be unconscious or semiconscious. Drug users may already be hiding from public view, and many have lost connections that might offer protection, “[l]ike a job, stable housing — people that know where they are and care where they are,” Scaramella says. “The isolation piece is a huge vulnerability for sexual violence because the offender will see that as an opportunity.”
One of Scaramella’s staff members is taking a course in substance use intervention as the center tries to address rape during the opioid epidemic.
Researchers are just beginning to document the problem. One study, published two years ago, asked 164 young adults in New York with an addiction to opioids about their experience with sexual violence. Forty-one percent of women and 11 percent of men said they had been forced to have sex while using drugs.
Authors urge more focus on prevention, but not just for potential victims.
“A lot of the focus is on telling people how to be safer when they are using or not impairing their judgment, but what we found was that there were people who were actively seeking out drug users, and more focus needs to be on them,” says study author Lauren Jessell.
One Boston physician says virtually all of her patients, mostly homeless women, have stories about sexual assaults.
“I wasn’t aware of this until more recently but I’m just struck by how common it is. In fact, it seems ubiquitous,” says Dr. Jessie Gaeta, medical director at the Boston Health Care for the Homeless Program.
Gaeta oversees the only clinic in the state where drug users can ride out a high in comfortable chairs with medical staff monitoring their conditions and safety.
Gaeta says women often pull her aside as they return to full consciousness, to ask if she’ll look at infections, cuts or swelling around their genitals.
“The stories are just so heart wrenching about the worst possible kind of sexual trauma,” Gaeta says.
Few emergency room doctors routinely ask overdose patients if they’ve been raped. Gaeta says this is understandable in the chaos of trying to save a life, stabilize the person, and persuade them to consider treatment.
But she says screening must become routine, because there are many reasons to worry about a patient who’s been raped.
“There’s unintended pregnancy, sexually transmitted illness, even physical injuries, lacerations we’ve seen around the rectum or around the vagina,” Gaeta says.
Doctors could be prescribing drugs to help patients avoid HIV and antibiotics to stop infections and treat wounds, but this rarely happens.
And there are the mental injuries that fester with rape. Kristin still blames herself for the attempted assault.
“I can’t believe that I put myself in that situation, I know better,” she wails as friends rub her back.
After the assault, Kristin checked in to detox and then rehab for the first time. She didn’t finish the program.
“I was like, ‘Oh my God, my life’s gotten out of control,’ ” she says, hands gripping her head. “I am getting raped, I’m overdosing on the regular, something’s got to change.”
Kristin pauses and looks up, her face calms.
“I have these moments of clarity … like, this has got to stop. I know better, I’m smarter than this, I’m going to die. But then there’s this very apathetic, I don’t care attitude to what happens to me. And I think the reason I’m able to get up and go on is … ” Kristin doesn’t finish the sentence.
She struggles for words and then begins again.
“I didn’t let the rape define me. For me it’s easier to completely detach myself from it, put it in a box, throw it away, don’t think about it,” Kristin says in a firm tone.
Except, she acknowledges, the sexual assaults, and fear of more, become one more pain she numbs with heroin, one more reason she clings to the drug for escape.
This story is part of a reporting partnership with NPR, WBUR and Kaiser Health News.