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The FBI says Arizona father–son duo made $280M with a ‘lie' meant to ‘exploit' investors. Here's how it worked

The FBI says Arizona father–son duo made $280M with a ‘lie' meant to ‘exploit' investors. Here's how it worked

Yahoo21-04-2025
Arizona father and son, Randy and Chad Miller, have reportedly been indicted in an alleged scheme that targeted investors looking to fund a sports complex.
The elaborate plot, which resulted in more than $280 million in defrauded funds, involved municipal bonds linked to a large sports complex in the city of Mesa.
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Federal prosecutors allege the pair deceived investors about prospective interest in the use of Legacy Park (formerly Bell Bank Park). The Millers used forged documents to sell what were essentially worthless bonds, according to prosecutors.
The father–son duo now face four major charges, with victims ranging from individuals to organizations, including one that promotes athletes living with disabilities.
According to federal investigators, the Millers orchestrated an elaborate fraud centered on Legacy Park, a massive sports venue near Mesa Gateway Airport.
The pair reportedly created fake demand by forging "binding" letters of intent from sports groups and customers, falsely claiming that the venue would be fully occupied and generate more than $100 million in its first year — more than enough to cover bond payments.
In some instances, prosecutors allege that the Millers directed others to sign letters without permission or copied forged signatures onto fabricated documents.
'Essentially, the Millers made solicitations … particularly through bonds that were based on false statements and misrepresentations,' criminal defense attorney Jason Lamm told AZ Family.
The fraudulent documents misled investors into believing the project had significant, credible backing. However, the project began unraveling soon after opening in 2022.
By October of that year, the park had defaulted on its bond payments and filed for bankruptcy the following spring. Despite the estimated $284 million raised, federal officials say less than $2.5 million was ultimately used to repay bondholders. The complex was eventually sold for less than $26 million.
The FBI's assistant director in charge, Christopher G. Raia, remarked to AZ Family: 'Randy and Chad Miller allegedly chose to use a planned sports complex as a means to exploit and defraud investors … the FBI will continue to ensure a level playing field by holding fraudsters accountable.'
Prosecutors said the money was allegedly used to enrich the Millers personally, with things like a home, SUVs and inflated salaries.
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The father-son duo has been charged with conspiracy to commit wire fraud and securities fraud, one count of securities fraud, one count of wire fraud and one count of aggravated identity theft.
'The Millers allegedly executed the scheme using fraudulent documents to lie about the status of the proposed project in order to raise hundreds of millions of dollars which they used to enrich themselves,' Raia said.
Investment scams involving municipal bonds or large development projects often prey on good intentions, especially when tied to community efforts.
Awareness and skepticism are your best defense. Here are some red flags and practical tips to avoid being deceived.
Lack of transparency. If financial documents, contracts or project plans aren't readily available, that's a warning sign.
Pressure to act quickly. Scammers often create a sense of urgency to discourage due diligence.
Unrealistic returns or projections. Promises of high or guaranteed returns, especially on municipal bonds, should raise suspicion.
Missing independent verification. If third-party audits or evaluations are unavailable, it may signal fraudulent intent.
Follow these tips to protect yourself:
Verify bond issuers. Check with the Municipal Securities Rulemaking Board and Electronic Municipal Market Access database to confirm a bond offering's legitimacy.
Consult financial advisors. Before investing significant sums, especially in unfamiliar financial products, speak with a licensed investment advisor or securities attorney.
Research the project thoroughly. Look for third-party confirmations, such as news reports, planning commission documents or business filings.
Don't rely on just the pitch. If the only source of information is the promoter, it's time to ask questions and dig deeper.
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This article provides information only and should not be construed as advice. It is provided without warranty of any kind.
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Elevance Health (NYSE:ELV) Is Reinvesting At Lower Rates Of Return
Elevance Health (NYSE:ELV) Is Reinvesting At Lower Rates Of Return

Yahoo

time35 minutes ago

  • Yahoo

Elevance Health (NYSE:ELV) Is Reinvesting At Lower Rates Of Return

If we want to find a stock that could multiply over the long term, what are the underlying trends we should look for? Amongst other things, we'll want to see two things; firstly, a growing return on capital employed (ROCE) and secondly, an expansion in the company's amount of capital employed. If you see this, it typically means it's a company with a great business model and plenty of profitable reinvestment opportunities. Having said that, from a first glance at Elevance Health (NYSE:ELV) we aren't jumping out of our chairs at how returns are trending, but let's have a deeper look. Trump has pledged to "unleash" American oil and gas and these 15 US stocks have developments that are poised to benefit. What Is Return On Capital Employed (ROCE)? For those who don't know, ROCE is a measure of a company's yearly pre-tax profit (its return), relative to the capital employed in the business. To calculate this metric for Elevance Health, this is the formula: Return on Capital Employed = Earnings Before Interest and Tax (EBIT) ÷ (Total Assets - Current Liabilities) 0.11 = US$8.7b ÷ (US$122b - US$44b) (Based on the trailing twelve months to June 2025). So, Elevance Health has an ROCE of 11%. By itself that's a normal return on capital and it's in line with the industry's average returns of 11%. See our latest analysis for Elevance Health In the above chart we have measured Elevance Health's prior ROCE against its prior performance, but the future is arguably more important. If you'd like, you can check out the forecasts from the analysts covering Elevance Health for free. What Does the ROCE Trend For Elevance Health Tell Us? In terms of Elevance Health's historical ROCE movements, the trend isn't fantastic. Around five years ago the returns on capital were 14%, but since then they've fallen to 11%. Although, given both revenue and the amount of assets employed in the business have increased, it could suggest the company is investing in growth, and the extra capital has led to a short-term reduction in ROCE. And if the increased capital generates additional returns, the business, and thus shareholders, will benefit in the long run. The Bottom Line While returns have fallen for Elevance Health in recent times, we're encouraged to see that sales are growing and that the business is reinvesting in its operations. These trends are starting to be recognized by investors since the stock has delivered a 16% gain to shareholders who've held over the last five years. Therefore we'd recommend looking further into this stock to confirm if it has the makings of a good investment. Elevance Health could be trading at an attractive price in other respects, so you might find our on our platform quite valuable. For those who like to invest in solid companies, check out this free list of companies with solid balance sheets and high returns on equity. Have feedback on this article? Concerned about the content? Get in touch with us directly. Alternatively, email editorial-team (at) article by Simply Wall St is general in nature. We provide commentary based on historical data and analyst forecasts only using an unbiased methodology and our articles are not intended to be financial advice. It does not constitute a recommendation to buy or sell any stock, and does not take account of your objectives, or your financial situation. We aim to bring you long-term focused analysis driven by fundamental data. Note that our analysis may not factor in the latest price-sensitive company announcements or qualitative material. Simply Wall St has no position in any stocks mentioned. Error in retrieving data Sign in to access your portfolio Error in retrieving data Error in retrieving data Error in retrieving data Error in retrieving data

Can a new chief fix one of the Bay Area's most corrupt police departments?
Can a new chief fix one of the Bay Area's most corrupt police departments?

San Francisco Chronicle​

time36 minutes ago

  • San Francisco Chronicle​

Can a new chief fix one of the Bay Area's most corrupt police departments?

As Joe Vigil inspected a gutted former retail space in one of Antioch's highest-crime corridors, the newly appointed police chief let out an exasperated sigh. That empty storefront at the center of Sycamore Square, a graffiti-tagged shopping center known for frequent shootings, was supposed to be reopening soon as the Antioch Police Department's new satellite office. But, as Vigil surveyed the building's interior in early July, he saw wires dangling where lights once hung, cracked floor tiles and dirty walls with white space outlining where a cash register once stood. 'This is worse than I expected,' said Vigil, a tall, bearded man with a stout build. 'It's going to require some serious work to get this place up to par.' The same goes for Antioch's entire police department. During the four months since Vigil was elevated from acting chief to the permanent job, he has overseen one of the bigger resurrections in Bay Area law enforcement. In spring 2023, a high-profile texting scandal left this commuter city 45 miles east of San Francisco down nearly half of its police force, cratered public trust and exposed use-of-force incidents that included making dogs attack people for the officers' own entertainment. Almost 2½ years later, Vigil, 48, is restocking patrol troops, overhauling the department's attitudes and behavior, and restoring residents' confidence in its officers — all while the U.S. Department of Justice scrutinizes his every decision. Many city leaders in Antioch's situation would have brought in an established police chief well-versed in post-scandal revamps. After all, the texting debacle had included thousands of racist, misogynistic and homophobic messages exchanged among dozens of cops spanning entry-level to supervisory positions. In its aftermath, six of those officers were federally indicted. One is serving a seven-year prison sentence for his role in the dog attacks and a pay-raise scam involving fraudulent college degrees. Another, who's set to stand trial next month, faces up to 30 years for illegal steroid distribution and excessive force. But rather than tabbing an experienced chief, new Antioch City Manager Bessie Scott hired Vigil, who just two years earlier was the department's most junior lieutenant. At a time when police-corruption scandals were roiling communities throughout the country, Scott viewed Vigil as the rare internal candidate capable of fixing a rotten police force. 'Make no mistake: Chief Vigil has his work cut out for him,' said Porsche Taylor, chairperson of the Antioch Police Oversight Commission, a civilian advisory group established last year to help keep the department accountable. 'The problems here run deep.' Vigil is the son of a first-generation Black Panamanian immigrant and a half-Mexican, half-Native American U.S. Navy veteran. During his two stints as acting chief, he convinced Scott that he had something the outside options couldn't tout: a deep understanding of the city's systematic needs. The big unknown now is whether that will be enough. Back in 2021, before Antioch became one of the final Bay Area police departments to start using body cameras, Vigil was part of the leadership team that reviewed use-of-force incidents. After the texting scandal, a federal grand jury determined that some of the same incidents Vigil had justified during internal audits constituted civil rights violations. Many residents wonder: Did his promotion signal more of the same old cronyism? And, if so, what would that mean for this East Bay city's nearly 120,000 residents? In a Bay Area loaded with multimillion-dollar mansions and ritzy downtowns, Antioch is an outlier — a place that never fully recovered from the housing-market crash of 2008. It has no youth sports leagues, no top-rated schools and nowhere to see a first-run movie. Its poverty and eviction rates hover far above region-wide averages. And, with few sizable employers in town beyond the local hospitals and schools, Antioch workers have one of the nation's longest average commutes: 43 minutes. Like many other suburbs grappling with big-city problems such as gun violence, homelessness and racial strife, this oft-overlooked community surrounded by cherry orchards and vineyards also faces a significant budget deficit. Yet, unless Vigil eases public-safety concerns, Antioch likely won't attract the businesses and foot traffic it needs to avoid further cuts to essential city services. Asked whether he felt any pressure, he clenched his jaw as he tried to find the right words. Finally, after a couple of moments, Vigil admitted that he is keenly aware of everything at stake. 'If Joe can't make people trust our police department again,' Council Member Don Freitas later told the Chronicle, 'Antioch can't really move forward.' While guiding his black Ford Expedition down a trash-strewn street on the west side of town, Vigil peered out his window at a weatherworn apartment complex with boarded-up windows. A Black, elementary-school-age girl wearing a backpack half her size grabbed her father's hand as she skipped toward a bus stop. In many of Antioch's children, Vigil sees his younger self. While growing up about 40 miles away in Fairfield, he assumed he'd join the military like his dad, in part because he knew his family couldn't afford to send him to college. What drew Vigil to law enforcement instead was the chance to serve other people who might be struggling to get by. Once considered the 'unofficial foreclosure capital of the Bay Area,' Antioch could surely use the help. Founded in 1849 as a shipping port, and named after the ancient Syrian city where Christ's followers were first called Christians, Contra Costa County's oldest community has spent decades enduring what experts dub the 'flip side of gentrification.' According to the 1980 census, only about 10% of the city's roughly 43,000 residents were people of color. Real estate booms pushed many Blacks and Latinos to flee rising costs in San Francisco and Oakland for cheaper rent or first-time home ownership in Antioch. By the time 76% of the city's roughly 117,000 residents were people of color in early 2023, news of racist texts among officers was confirming what many had long suspected about the Antioch Police Department's ethos. In the years leading up to that scandal, cops there were at the center of several highly publicized incidents with Black residents and other minorities, including two that drew parallels to George Floyd's death because they involved officers allegedly kneeling on victims' necks. 'What I love about this town is it's filled with good, working-class people,' Vigil said, looking out his driver-side window at that little girl clutching her dad's hand. 'They deserve a police department that works as hard as they do and does right by them.' Regaining the public's respect won't be straightforward. When Steven Ford abruptly retired as police chief in August 2023, the fallout from the texting scandal was ravaging the police force. In a matter of days, an already-undermanned department of 75 full-duty officers had plummeted to about 40, plunging large swaths of Antioch into a borderline-lawless state. Cars sped through red lights. Gang-related shootings spiked. Some longtime residents began carrying Tasers with them when they ventured out at night. But more than the lack of law enforcement, many locals fretted about the mindset of the remaining police officers. More than one-fifth of the city's residents identified as African American. For months, they had read about the publicly released texts in which cops referred to Black people as 'gorillas,' 'monkeys' and other racial slurs. Vigil said he was as stunned as anyone. Just as he was struggling to reconcile how he could have been so unaware of the department's bigoted undercurrent, then-acting City Manager Kwame Reed asked Vigil to become acting police chief. His absence from all the text threads suggested that he wasn't part of the problem. 'My wife's Black, and she had seen the text messages,' Vigil said, his voice cracking as he blinked back tears. 'As soon as I told her they wanted me for acting chief, she was just like, 'Absolutely not. You will not. '' But Vigil wasn't one to spurn a challenge. Before coming to Antioch in May 2020 for the opportunity to move up from sergeant to lieutenant, his two-plus decades in law enforcement included stops in two of the Bay Area's most dangerous cities: Vallejo and Richmond. During his 10-year stint in Sacramento, Vigil routinely volunteered for the graveyard shift patrolling high-crime neighborhoods like Del Paso Heights and Oak Park. Along the way, he earned a master's degree from Cal State Long Beach and a certificate from California law enforcement's top leadership development academy. None of that made Vigil's transition to acting chief simple. He needed to learn basic procedures, such as how to place officers on leave. 'The fact that Joe hadn't had much high-level management experience was kind of beside the point,' said Brian Addington, who served as Antioch's interim police chief between Vigil's two stints, and now mentors Vigil in a consulting capacity. 'With the department in crisis mode, he stepped up to the plate when few others in his situation probably would have.' To some outside officers, Antioch's police chief vacancy was a legacy position — a chance to shape a city's future and leave a lasting mark. Sources say several former chiefs applied. Among them: Carmen Best, Seattle's first Black female police chief, who resigned in 2020 amid major budget cuts. So, why would Antioch opt for Vigil? He wasn't only around for Antioch's scandals — to some residents, he enabled the most corrupt officers. In November 2023, the Bay Area News Group reported that Vigil and other high-ranking officers OK'd in internal reviews certain use-of-force incidents, which a federal grand jury later cited as evidence of the Antioch police department's 'scheme' to violate residents' civil rights. When the report prompted community organizers to call for Vigil to resign from his post as acting chief, he refused. What that piece omitted: Antioch officers didn't have body cameras when the incidents in question happened. Due to budgetary issues that caused the City Council to vote down that costly hardware, Vigil's reviews were based almost exclusively on the officers' written description of events. 'To be honest, if I had to do it all over again with the same resources I had at that time, I would've made the same decision,' he told the Chronicle. 'I did the best I could with what I had available.' Scott, Antioch's new city manager, recognized as much. When the City Council hired her in October 2024, it did so based on her experience navigating police misconduct fallout. During her six years helping hold a scandal-prone Seattle Police Department accountable, Scott learned the importance of finding the right cultural fit for chief, not just chasing the biggest possible name. While working with a third-party search firm to vet dozens of national candidates, she kept coming back to Vigil. He began to gain credibility locally by asking for community feedback, bolstering patrol units in the city's highest-crime neighborhoods and publicly admitting the obvious: We have to be better. By the time Scott announced the start of Vigil's second interim tenure this past January at the police station, dozens of people stood and applauded. 'For me, seeing that community trust in him was really pretty impressive,' Scott said. 'It showed me that we were already crossing the threshold of a culture change.' A chaotic schedule affords Vigil little time for decorating. His office remains empty, aside from a family photo on his desk, a motorcycle helmet next to his computer and a Beta Ray Bill action figure on a shelf. Like most police chiefs, Vigil reports to the city manager. What makes Vigil's situation unique is that for the foreseeable future, he must also report to the U.S. Department of Justice, the California Department of Justice and a city-run police oversight commission — all of which became involved with the department because of the sprawling texting scandal. His top priority is to ensure Antioch adheres to the Department of Justice's 25-page memorandum of understanding, which details policies covering everything from use-of-force documentation to community-engagement programs. If Vigil commits even a minor breach of protocol, he risks city officials cycling to their sixth police chief in four years. 'Joe is under a microscope,' Freitas said. 'Really, he has no room for error.' Such rigid guidelines haven't stopped Vigil from being resourceful. To restock Antioch's patrol units, he and other department leaders took out ads in magazines and on billboards. They mined police academies in the Central Valley and Sacramento for new cadets. On a handful of occasions, they set up recruiting booths at local gyms. Through it all, the crux of Vigil's pitch didn't change: Earn a starting salary of around $116,000 while helping resuscitate a city. Antioch now has 90 full-time officers. While steering his SUV past a 24 Hour Fitness on the east side of town, Vigil leaned back in the driver's seat and smiled. At some point this fall, he expects the department to have 105 sworn officers. 'We actually just canceled our gym recruiting because our numbers are up so much,' he said. About 80% of Antioch's officers are under 26. As Vigil put it, 'We're starting with a clean slate, and so are they.' Though reports of rape and aggravated assault were up over the first half of this year compared to the same stretch last year, robberies and shootings nose-dived. The two homicides in Antioch so far in 2025 are less than a third of the city's count at this point in 2024. 'Given where the city was, things could only get better (under Vigil), which is what's happening,' said civil rights attorney Ben Nisenbaum, who was among the lawyers representing residents in a federal lawsuit filed in April 2023 — and tentatively settled earlier this year — against Antioch police officers tied to the texting scandal. 'But the trajectory has to be maintained, and there's a lot of work to still be done.' While cruising through a sleepy downtown, Vigil pointed out the beauty of the San Joaquin River peeking over the buildings in the distance. Though some of the barbershops, thrift stores and restaurants had chipped paint or faded signage, the area's early 20th century brick facades, ironwork balconies and Spanish-style bell tower offered quiet reminders of a more vibrant past. Soon enough, Vigil figures, downtown will thrive again. There are fewer 'For Lease' signs in storefront windows than there were a few months ago. In late June, downtown Antioch began hosting the city's first weekly farmers' market. 'To me,' Mayor Ron Bernal said, 'that's as big an indicator as any that the tides are shifting here.' What might matter more is how people perceive crime in their community. For well over a decade, real estate developer Sean McCauley has invested in downtown Antioch in hopes of spearheading a resurgence there reminiscent of the one he helped spur nearby in downtown Brentwood. The big problem was often the lack of police. Now, the same tenants that used to complain to McCauley about officers not responding to break-ins or robberies tell him that officers pull up within 20 minutes of being called. 'It's a night-and-day difference,' said McCauley, who owns more than a dozen buildings downtown. 'Not that long ago, you could go an entire day in Antioch without seeing a single officer.' Families that used to seldom leave their apartments are now running errands without fear, even at night. 'And, when something like a mugging or domestic issue does come up,' local pastor Ruben Herrera said, 'the cops are actually communicating with us directly about what's going on nearby, which never used to happen.' Vigil will need time, though, to repair Antioch's more complex issues. Shagoofa Khan was among the community members named by Antioch police officers in racist and misogynistic text messages. More than two years later, she still has a hard time trusting police. It's not just because some of the same officers who were supposed to protect her neighborhood were sexualizing her and making fun of her ethnicity in those texts. Three months after graduating from Cal State East Bay with a master's degree in public administration, Khan keeps hearing from government agencies that they can't hire her. Online reports related to her activism against Antioch's police department concern managers. Each time Khan opens another rejection email, it feels more and more like a silent penalty for speaking out. 'It's been really hard to deal with,' said Khan, who currently works as a community organizer for an Antioch-based nonprofit. 'I still have some trauma from everything that happened (with the scandal), and now it's like the hardships just won't end.' Vigil doesn't have to look far to see his city's continued struggles. On that July afternoon, after updating a room full of baby-faced officers about the department's improved staffing, Vigil climbed into his Expedition and made the nine-minute drive to Sycamore Square. As he pulled into the parking lot, a dozen men standing in front of La Bonita Market quickly scattered. Just within the past year, that run-down shopping center surrounded by low-income housing has had nearly 1,000 calls to 911, including more than 30 shootings. After stepping out of his SUV, Vigil faced an empty lot across the street from where Antioch police's new satellite office is set to open. For years, city leaders have talked about transforming the space into something worthwhile: maybe a community center, or a massive play structure. As Vigil stood there, all he saw were liquor bottles and drug paraphernalia poking through overgrown grass. 'This place motivates me because it kind of represents what was this town's problem for so long,' he said. 'People talk about change, but don't actually follow through. No more.'

Even at 1%, new tax will burden African immigrants who send money back home
Even at 1%, new tax will burden African immigrants who send money back home

NBC News

time37 minutes ago

  • NBC News

Even at 1%, new tax will burden African immigrants who send money back home

A new remittance tax set to begin in the new year has one university student reeling from the implications it will have for her family in Nigeria. Edidiong Chrys, a second-generation Nigerian American, said she thinks the 1% tax passed as part of President Donald Trump's 'big, beautiful bill ' would directly affect the financial lifeline she sends overseas. This tax will be applied to anyone in the U.S. who sends money abroad. 'We regularly send money home to support loved ones, including our elders, children in school, newborns and others in need,' she said. Chrys, 38, said some of the funds sent home have gone to new parents in her family, helping ease the cost of food and traveling to doctors' appointments. The funds also help her uncle, who has a job but also must pay for his five daughters, who are all in school. He and his wife work, but it's still not enough 'to accommodate all the things that need to hold the household down,' Chrys said. And then there's Chrys' 80-year-old grandmother, who was weathering back pain when Chrys visited in January. 'We are paying for the live-in nurse to help her during the week,' she said. 'That's an additional expense that we need to have for her so that she's not bending over.' The tax applies to anyone in the U.S. who sends remittances to their home countries. In 2023, remittances from the U.S. totaled $98 billion, according to the World Bank. Chrys contributes to the $56 billion in remittances sub-Saharan Africa received from people around the world last year. In fact, she said she regularly remits cash — more than 50 times a year — to family and friends. The Center for Global Development, a nonpartisan think tank that focuses on reducing global poverty through economic research, published an analysis last month that listed the tax as yet another financial setback for many nations, given the recent reduction in American aid. Liberia is highly dependent on foreign aid as well as remittances. In 2023, the U.S. accounted for a quarter of the country's foreign aid, and remittances surpassed Liberia's bilateral foreign aid by three times, according to the report. The African Union's outgoing ambassador to the United States, Hilda Suka-Mafudze, said hindering such funding 'threatens to reverse gains in financial inclusion and development across the continent of Africa.' Witney Schneidman, a nonresident senior fellow with the Africa Growth Initiative at the Brookings Institution's Global Economy and Development program, said, 'To put this tax on is just a further constraint on the U.S. effort to work with our partners on the continent.' 'It's not transformational. ... It's just another obstacle to partnership, and it's another obstacle to development,' he said. Schneidman, who also served as deputy assistant secretary of state for African affairs in the Clinton administration, condemned the Trump administration for building barriers and not bridges. 'When you add it up with the visa blockages, with the end of the [African Growth and Opportunity Act] AGOA, with the end of USAID, it's just building a wall,' he said. 'The U.S. is building a wall between itself and the world and certainly between itself and Africa.' Suka-Mafudze, whose focus will turn toward the Southern African Development Community region, said that beyond hurting diplomatic ties, blocking remittances is also 'a human issue, because diaspora remittances are lifelines for millions of African families and these remittances often cover essentials, which are food, school fees, medical care and a lot of things. And to impose a tax on that is deeply unjust.' Chrys said the financial burden of sending money home is already heavy, with some stretching limited resources to make ends meet. 'Some people are not making as much to be able to try to support their family back home,' Chrys said. 'When I do get a chance to send money home, sometimes I'm spending it from my refund check.' Democratic Reps. Sheila Cherfilus-McCormick of Florida and Jonathan L. Jackson of Illinois introduced new legislation called the African Diaspora Investment and Development Act, or AIDA, aimed at reversing the tax's impact. It would also create more transparency in money transfers, among other things. Suka-Mafudze backs the legislation, warning the new tax 'could push people toward informal or unregulated channels, making transactions riskier and less transparent.' Cherfilus-McCormick, the only Haitian American member of Congress right now, warns that a remittance tax would unfairly burden families already struggling to support their loved ones overseas. 'I strongly oppose any effort to tax remittances and will continue fighting for policies that protect immigrant and diaspora communities,' she said in a statement. 'H.R.4586 — AIDA intends to reverse course and instead focus on incentivizing and leveraging on the nearly 100 billion of dollars that Haitian, African and Caribbean Americans send home each year to build sustainable partnerships and strengthen economic development.' Schneidman said the tax has the potential to impact education, health care and families because the bulk of the remittances are family-to-family. That reality is felt most by those sending the money, who see firsthand how even small amounts can make a big difference. 'In the U.S., it might feel like, 'Oh, that's nothing.'' Chrys said. But in Nigeria, 'It's everything because every little money counts.'

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