At the time of their accidents, Jeremy Lewis was 27, Josh Potter 25. 
 
 The men lived within 75 miles of each other. Both were married with two children about the same age. Both even had tattoos of their children’s names. 
 
 Share Your Workers’ Comp Story As part of our ongoing investigation, we invite you to tell us about your experience navigating the workers’ comp system. Have something we should look into? Share Your Story The Demolition of Workers’ Comp Over the past decade, states have slashed workers’ compensation benefits, denying injured workers help when they need it most and shifting the costs of workplace accidents to taxpayers. Read the Story The Fallout of Workers’ Comp ‘Reforms’: 5 Tales of Harm Injured workers share their stories, revealing the real-life impact of rollbacks that have been spreading across the country. Read the Story 
 
 Their injuries, suffered on the job at Southern industrial plants, were remarkably similar, too. Each man lost a portion of his left arm in a machinery accident. 
 
 After that, though, their paths couldn’t have diverged more sharply: Lewis received just $45,000 in workers’ compensation for the loss of his arm. Potter was awarded benefits that could surpass $740,000 over his lifetime. 
 
 The reason: Lewis lived and worked in Alabama, which has the nation’s lowest workers’ comp benefits for amputations. Potter had the comparative good fortune of losing his arm across the border in Georgia, which is far more generous when it comes to such catastrophic injuries. 
 
 This disparity grimly illustrates the geographic lottery that governs compensation for workplace injuries in America. Congress allows each state to determine its own benefits, with no federal minimums, so workers who live across state lines from each other can experience entirely different outcomes for identical injuries. 
 
 Nearly every state has what’s known as a “schedule of benefits” that divides up the body like an Angus beef chart. 
 
 Workers are awarded a portion of their wages up to the state maximum for the specified number of weeks assigned to each body part. But depending on those numbers, the final amounts can vary widely. 
 
 The loss of an arm, for example, is worth up to $48,840 in Alabama, $193,950 in Ohio and $439,858 in Illinois. The big toe ranges from $6,090 in California to $90,401.88 in Oregon. Some states even put a value on the loss of a testicle. 
 
 While these benefit tables are just one part of a larger workers’ comp system, they provide a vivid picture of the wildly divergent, sometimes nonsensical patchwork of laws that enrages employers and employees alike. 
 
 “What’s the difference? You lose your leg, it don’t matter where you lose it,” said Eric Bennett, whose insurer says he’s only entitled to the Alabama max of $44,000 for the leg he lost at a fertilizer mill. “It should be the same. A leg is a leg.” 
 
 The calculus of such losses can be dehumanizing. One worker at a Jasper, Alabama, sawmill lost her thumb and every finger save her pinkie when her hand was dragged through the rusty gears of a scrap wood conveyor. But instead of paying the larger sum for her entire hand, the mill’s insurer has offered her only the benefits for each individual finger. 
 
 Top: Jeremy Lewis smokes a cigarette outside of his parents’ home in Albertville, Alabama, less than 50 miles from the Georgia state line. If he had been injured in Georgia he would have been entitled to far more than the $45,000 he received under Alabama’s workers’ comp system. Bottom: Josh Potter lost his arm when he fell under a machine at this auto plant in LaFayette, Ga., just 15 miles from the Alabama state line. “It was like dust,” he said of his injury. “There was no fixing the bone.” Under Georgia law, workers who lose a hand on the job receive benefits until they return to work or as long as they live. (Dustin Chambers for ProPublica) 
 
 Given their profound impact on people’s lives, how much compensation workers get for traumatic injuries seems like it would be the product of years of study, combining medical wisdom and economic analysis. But in reality, the amounts are often the result of political expediency, sometimes based on bargains struck decades ago. 
 
 Such decisions are part of a greater rollback in protections for injured workers nationwide. Over the past decade, a ProPublica and NPR investigation found, state after state has slashed workers’ comp benefits, driven by calls from employers and insurers to lower costs. 
 
 In fact, employers are now paying the lowest rates for workers’ comp than at any time since the 1970s. Nonetheless, dozens of legislatures have changed their workers’ comp laws, often citing the need to compete with neighboring states and be more attractive to business. 
 
 The changes have forced injured workers’ families and taxpayers “to subsidize the vast majority of the lost income and medical care costs generated by these conditions,” the Occupational Safety and Health Administration said in a report issued Wednesday that echoed several of ProPublica and NPR’s findings. 
 
 Alabama’s amputation benefit, long among the nation’s stingiest, sent Lewis into just the kind of downward spiral workers’ comp was intended to prevent. 
 
 “I mean, I done lost everything I owned,” said Lewis. “I lost my house, three brand new vehicles. There wasn’t no way that that amount of money was going to replace what I’d lost.” 
 
 After foreclosure, Lewis and his family moved from their three-bedroom stucco home in a new development in Albertville to a rundown singlewide trailer on the outskirts of town. 
 
 The Value of a Body Part Depends on Where You Work Workers’ compensation benefits for arms, legs, or other parts of the body differ dramatically from state to state. Select a state below to see how much it pays. The maximum compensation for one in is In individual states, it's valued at: Workers’ Comp Benefits: How Much is a Limb Worth? See the full interactive for more details on the maximum states pay out for each limb, as well as notes and sources. 
 
 On the other side of the Alabama-Georgia border, Potter has been able to maintain some semblance of his former life. 
 
 The Georgia maximum for a lost arm is $118,125, more than double that of Alabama. More importantly, workers who lose a limb in Georgia are entitled to two-thirds of their wages until they return to work or, if they can’t, for as long as they live. 
 
 While Potter’s hardly getting rich off workers’ comp, the $285 a week he receives has prevented his family from going under. 
 
 “I’m lucky,” he said, upon hearing what happened to Lewis. “As of right now, we’ve lost one vehicle and one’s falling apart. But we’re making it work. I can’t imagine if I had to go through what he has went through.” 
 
 Origin in Hammurabi’s Code 
 
 The idea of assigning a value to the loss of a body part dates back to Mesopotamia. Around 2100 B.C., King Ur-Nammu of Ur decreed that a man should pay a certain amount of silver for causing the loss of a foot (10 shekels) or a smashed limb (one mina). 
 
 The same concepts run through the better-known Code of Hammurabi and on throughout history. 
 
 When the first workers’ comp laws were adopted in America in the early 1900s, legislators inserted similar language as a way of bringing some uniformity to the uniquely harrowing circumstances of individual injuries. 
 
 Typically, under workers’ comp, employers are required to buy insurance that covers medical bills and part of workers’ wages until they’re able return to work, a benefit called “temporary total disability.” For the most severe injuries, after which people can no longer work, the insurance covers ongoing lost wages under a benefit called “permanent total disability.” 
 
 What’s the difference? You lose your leg, it don’t matter where you lose it … A leg is a leg. Eric Bennett 
 
 In between is a large gray area known as “permanent partial disability,” where workers are deemed able to work in some capacity but have suffered serious injuries that will affect them for the rest of their lives. 
 
 Outside of medical costs, permanent partial disability is the most expensive and therefore most controversial part of workers’ comp. Nearly 40 percent of injured workers with lost-time claims receive “permanent partial” benefits, according to the National Academy of Social Insurance, a nonpartisan organization that studies programs such as Social Security, unemployment insurance and workers’ comp. 
 
 The benefits are meant to compensate workers for their loss of function as well as for future lost wages, but economists have found they don’t come close, falling short even in states far more generous than Alabama. 
 
 A 2004 study by the W.E. Upjohn Institute for Employment Research in Kalamazoo, Michigan, noted that 10 years after their injuries, workers awarded permanent partial benefits had lost about 55 percent to 70 percent of their earnings. 
 
 In part, this reflects that many workers who receive benefits for partial disabilities under workers’ comp never return to work. Some, like Lewis, are eventually deemed permanently disabled by the Social Security Administration and receive monthly checks from the federal government. 
 
 A Bargaining Chip 
 
 One of the things that makes Alabama’s approach to permanent partial disability benefits so perplexing is that almost everyone seems to agree that it’s unfair. 
 
 The amount of lost wages covered — capped at $220 a week — was set by the legislature in 1985. But unlike other parts of Alabama’s workers’ comp law, it was never tied to inflation. 
 
 The amount is now the lowest in the country. Providing just $11,440 a year, it is below the poverty line for a single person and not even half the poverty line for a family of four. And benefits for arm amputations, for example, end after four years. 
 
 “I think it’s ridiculous,” said Sister Lynn McKenzie, a Catholic nun who used to be a workers’ comp attorney and state mediator. “There’s no way you can feed a family on that, much less have a roof over your head.” 
 
 Even the head of the Alabama Defense Lawyers Association — a group that typically represents big employers and insurance companies — agrees. 
 
 “It’s an injustice what they’re doing,” said Dudley Motlow. “It’s just too low. How much money do you have to make to be considered poor folks in this country?” 
 
 Until the last decade, lawyers for injured workers used various loopholes to get courts to consider extenuating circumstances and obtain higher benefits. But since 2002, the Alabama Supreme Court and the Court of Civil Appeals have made it increasingly difficult for workers with traumatic limb injuries to get anything more than what’s outlined in the schedule of benefits. 
 
 “I Try to Forget” Paralyzed in a warehouse accident, Joel Ramirez has battled California’s workers’ comp system. View Photos 
 
 Judges in many states can take into account a worker’s age or education when determining compensation for such injuries. Not in Alabama. There, a worker with a crushed hand who’s only done manual labor his entire life — and may be permanently out of work — receives no more compensation than a worker whose hand is less important to his job. 
 
 “What you’re doing is saying, ‘We don’t give a damn if you’re a brain surgeon or a hobo on the side of the railroad tracks — you’re going to get the same amount of money,’ ” Motlow said. 
 
 Some Alabama judges have decried the state’s paltry remedy for life-altering injuries, even as they’ve acknowledged there’s little they can do about it. 
 
 “The trial courts of Alabama see these workers leave our courtrooms week after week, without the ability to support themselves or their families, because of their on-the-job permanent injuries,” wrote Judge J. Scott Vowell of the Jefferson County Circuit Court in Birmingham in a lengthy 2008 ruling. “They leave our courthouses with relatively small ‘lump sum’ checks in their pockets and after that is spent for their necessities, who knows or cares what becomes of them?” 
 
 Vowell called the $220 cap “manifestly inadequate,” but said it was up to legislators, not courts, to fix it, though he noted that injured workers “have no effective lobbying group to speak for them.” 
 
 “Perhaps,” he wrote, “if the public were made aware of the unfairness of the present system, reform could be accomplished.” 
 
 But Vowell’s call has gone unheeded by Democratic and Republican political leaders alike. 
 
 Attempts to raise the cap have been met with demands from the business community to reduce benefits elsewhere. Employers complain that Alabama’s workers’ comp system covers certain medical costs more generously than other states and guarantees lifetime benefits to workers deemed permanently and totally disabled even if they live to 100. 
 
 Lifetime benefits remain the norm in the vast majority of the country, but several states, including Florida and North Carolina, have passed laws in recent years cutting off workers’ comp benefits at or near retirement age. Others, such as Mississippi, have long limited permanently disabled workers to no more than nine years of benefits. 
 
 “I could give you a list of some other things that in Alabama are unfair to the employer,” said Charles Carr, whose firm Carr Allison represents Walmart, Tyson Foods and Liberty Mutual Insurance, among others. “I say that what we should do is we should fix both sides of those inequities.” 
 
 We don’t give a damn if you’re a brain surgeon or a hobo on the side of the railroad tracks — you’re going to get the same amount of money. Dudley Motlow 
 
 Carr contends that increasing one workers’ comp benefit without addressing others would make doing business in Alabama more expensive than in other states in the Southeast. 
 
 “This state has got to remain competitive,” said Carr, who is also executive director of the Alabama Self-Insurers Association, a group of companies large enough to pay their own claims without buying policies from insurance companies. “We’re not going to be able to attract industry if our overall workers’ compensation costs are out of control.” 
 
 Currently, Alabama’s average premium costs rank in the middle of the pack, workers’ comp data shows. Arkansas and Mississippi are cheaper, while Louisiana and South Carolina are more expensive. Georgia’s rate is about the same. 
 
 The only way to fix the problem, Carr said, is to get all the special interest groups to stop fighting. He called on Alabama Gov. Robert Bentley to form a “blue-ribbon” committee made up of representatives for workers, employers and the medical community to come up with a compromise. 
 
 But McKenzie said the notion that injured workers should have to give something up to raise the $220 cap is “fixing it on the backs of those who are hurt the most.” 
 
 “That’s what I think is morally wrong.” 
 
 A Tale of Two Arms 
 
 The aroma of fried chicken drifts from the Pilgrim’s Pride poultry plant on the shores of Lake Guntersville. Day and night, trucks rumble in and out of the front gates through white wisps of smoke that emanate from the plant. 
 
 Lewis got his start there in 1999, when it was still owned by Gold Kist, following the path of his mother, who worked there as a meat grader for 32 years. 
 
 “If you weren’t working there, you pretty much weren’t making any money,” Lewis said, referring to the region’s limited job opportunities. 
 
 Before his injury, Lewis earned an average of $870 a week including overtime. His wife also worked at the plant, and their combined income supported a middle-class home and life for them and their two children. 
 
 Jeremy Lewis sits on the porch of his parents’ home, wearing his electronic prosthesis in December. His nephew, Kolby, plays with a toy pistol behind him. (Dustin Chambers for ProPublica) 
 
 Lewis worked at the feed mill next to the processing plant, loading trucks with chicken feed for the company’s various poultry farms nearby. Corn and soybeans would pour out of the towering concrete silos through a downspout, and run along a conveyor, known as a chain auger, to be made into feed. 
 
 One of Lewis’ main jobs was to make sure the corn and soybeans didn’t clog the spout and stop production. When that happened, Lewis had to use a long metal rod to try to unjam it. 
 
 The day after Thanksgiving in 2006, Lewis was at the tail end of a 20-hour day that started at 3 a.m. and kept going when another worker called in sick. He’d been jabbing at a clog for about 25 minutes around 10:30 p.m., he said, when he decided to do what he and others usually did when clogs were really tough: He climbed up on the chain augers to get a better angle. 
 
 But this time, he said, one of the metal covers on the auger hadn’t been bolted down. His boot slipped, and Lewis fell hands first into the auger. 
 
 He hung there about 4 to 5 feet off the ground, he said, until the auger tore his left arm off and he came crashing down in the mud. 
 
 The emergency medical technician told him that he would likely bleed to death before they reached the hospital. Lewis survived, but his arm had to be amputated first below his elbow and later two inches above due to infections. 
 
 At first, Gold Kist refused to pay workers’ comp, claiming that methamphetamine use caused the accident. Lewis denied the accusation and a judge quickly dismissed the company’s argument, saying it had failed to present enough evidence to even bring the allegation to trial. 
 
 Lewis was awarded temporary wage-replacement benefits while he was out of work and coverage for two prosthetic arms — a standard one with a metal hook and an advanced one with an electronic hand that could be controlled with the remaining muscles in his amputated arm. 
 
 After nearly a year of recovery, Lewis’ doctors said his condition had stabilized, and he went back to work in a light-duty job. The assignment didn’t last long, though, and Lewis soon found himself back out at the feed mill. 
 
 Meanwhile, the dispute over the permanent partial disability benefits to compensate him for the loss of his arm dragged on. Gold Kist was acquired by Pilgrim’s Pride, which filed for bankruptcy a couple of years later. Pilgrim’s Pride then sold a majority stake to a Brazilian meat company as part of its plan to exit bankruptcy. This delayed Lewis’ case. 
 
 Pilgrim’s Pride did not respond to numerous requests for comment, and the attorney who handled the claim for the company said he couldn’t discuss it without his client’s permission. 
 
 Back at the feed mill, Lewis said, he did a series of jobs with one arm — pulling ropes, climbing ladders and turning a heavy wheel to control the flow of chicken feed. One day in March 2009, Lewis lost control of this wheel and the force tore the rotator cuff in his right shoulder. 
 
 Lewis filed a second workers’ comp claim for the new injury, even as he awaited payment for his first. 
 
 Finally, in March 2013 — six-and-a-half years after his injury — the claim for his arm was settled. A doctor determined he had lost 95 percent of his arm, which under the law is worth 211 weeks of pay at $220 per week, or $46,420. Tired of waiting, Lewis decided to take the money upfront and agreed to a lump sum payment of $45,000. Minus attorney’s fees and costs, he was left with roughly $33,500, about nine months’ salary. 
 
 Jeremy lost his arm when he fell into a machine while unclogging chicken feed at a poultry plant in November 2006. His family lost its three-bedroom home and had to move into a trailer on the outskirts of town because his workers’ comp benefits were so low. (Dustin Chambers for ProPublica) 
 
 Five months later, the company settled the claim for his torn rotator cuff. Though that injury was far less significant, Alabama considers injuries to the shoulder as affecting the body as a whole. That meant Lewis could get out of the draconian benefit schedule and obtain higher compensation under a different part of the law. His settlement: $47,500. 
 
 “It blowed my mind,” said Lewis, now 35. “I mean, I got awarded more for a rotator cuff than I did losing a whole arm. It’s messed up.” 
 
 Lewis and his family now survive on his wife’s wages at Walmart and his monthly Social Security disability check. 
 
 ‘Complete and Total Garbage’ 
 
 About a month after Lewis’ case settled, less than 15 miles over the state line in the northwest Georgia town of LaFayette, Josh Potter was working at Unique Fabricating, an automotive supplier that made sound buffers and other insulation materials for the throng of foreign automakers that had come to the South. 
 
 Potter operated a die press, boxing up the parts it stamped out and pulling off the waste material. He was standing on a platform with a mat on it when he lost his balance and fell face first. 
 
 Instinctively, Potter put out his hands to catch his fall. 
 
 “I didn’t even realize my hand had went under the head of the machine,” he said. 
 
 The machine crushed his hand. There was nothing doctors could do but amputate it. 
 
 “It was like dust,” Potter said. “There was no fixing the bone.” 
 
 Unique Fabricating declined to comment; its insurer is paying Potter’s claim. 
 
 Like Lewis, Potter was fitted with two prostheses — a standard one with a hook and an advanced electronic one with a movable hand that makes him look sort of like Robocop. 
 
 While Georgia has cut benefits to less seriously disabled workers, it has created a designation called “catastrophic” for amputees like Potter and others who suffer devastating injuries. The state ensures these workers aren’t left without any income. 
 
 Before his injury, Potter was earning between $400 and $500 a week — about half of what Lewis was making. He and his family lived with his wife’s father, who was ill. They had plans to build a house on the property one day. 
 
 The accident caused them to shelve those plans for now and readjust their finances. With workers’ comp, they’re still able to cover their half of the mortgage and pay their bills. But with less money coming in, Potter’s wife can’t afford to miss a day at her convenience store job. And they can’t go on family outings to the zoo or amusement park anymore. 
 
 “It might just be $60 to $80,” Potter said. “But that’s a big thing for someone who’s low-income already. I’m not rich, but I don’t feel like I’m poor.” 
 
 After hearing what Lewis received in Alabama, Potter said, “I’m thankful for what I’ve got now. 
 
 “I mean, he lost a part of his life for a company, and they’re not even going to make it where he can live maybe not comfortably, but decent,” he said. “To me, that’s complete and total garbage.” 
 
 This story was co-produced with NPR. 
 
 Michael Grabell covers economic and labor issues for ProPublica and has previously reported on temp agencies, the stimulus, and the TSA. 
 
 Howard Berkes is a correspondent for the NPR Investigations Unit who has reported on coal mine and workplace safety. 
 
 ProPublica researchers Cynthia Cotts and Abbie Nehring contributed to this report. ||||| Otis Nash works six days a week at two jobs, as a security guard and a pest control technician, but still struggles to make the $190.69 monthly Geico car insurance payment for his 2012 Honda Civic LX. 
 
 “I’m on the edge of homelessness,” said Nash, a 26-year-old Chicagoan who supports his wife and 7-year-old daughter. But “without a car, I can’t get to work, and then I can’t pay my rent.” 
 
 Across town, Ryan Hedges has a similar insurance policy with Geico. Both drivers receive a good driver discount from the company. 
 
 Chicago Area Disparities in Car Insurance Premiums Some car insurers charge higher premiums in Chicago’s minority neighborhoods than in predominantly white neighborhoods with similar risk of accidents. See the map. 
 
 Yet Hedges, who is a 34-year-old advertising executive, pays only $54.67 a month to insure his 2015 Audi Q5 Quattro sports utility vehicle. Nash pays almost four times as much as Hedges even though his run-down neighborhood, East Garfield Park, with its vacant lots and high crime rate, is actually safer from an auto insurance perspective than Hedges’ fancier Lake View neighborhood near Wrigley Field. 
 
 On average, from 2012 through 2014, Illinois insurers paid out 20 percent less for bodily injury and property damage claims in Nash’s predominantly minority zip code than in Hedges’ largely white one, according to data collected by the state’s insurance commission. But Nash pays 51 percent more for that portion of his coverage than Hedges does. 
 
 For decades, auto insurers have been observed to charge higher average premiums to drivers living in predominantly minority urban neighborhoods than to drivers with similar safety records living in majority white neighborhoods. Insurers have long defended their pricing by saying that the risk of accidents is greater in those neighborhoods, even for motorists who have never had one. 
 
 But a first-of-its-kind analysis by ProPublica and Consumer Reports, which examined auto insurance premiums and payouts in California, Illinois, Texas and Missouri, has found that many of the disparities in auto insurance prices between minority and white neighborhoods are wider than differences in risk can explain. In some cases, insurers such as Allstate, Geico and Liberty Mutual were charging premiums that were on average 30 percent higher in zip codes where most residents are minorities than in whiter neighborhoods with similar accident costs. 
 
 Our findings document what consumer advocates have long suspected: Despite laws in almost every state banning discriminatory rate-setting, some minority neighborhoods pay higher auto insurance premiums than do white areas with similar payouts on claims. This disparity may amount to a subtler form of redlining, a term that traditionally refers to denial of services or products to minority areas. And, since minorities tend to lag behind whites in income, they may be hard-pressed to afford the higher payments. 
 
 Rachel Goodman, staff attorney in the American Civil Liberties Union’s racial justice program, said ProPublica’s findings were distressingly familiar. “These results fit within a pattern that we see all too often — racial disparities allegedly result from differences in risk, but that justification falls apart when we drill down into the data,” she said. 
 
 “We already know that zip code matters far too much in our segregated society,” Goodman said. “It is dispiriting to see that, in addition to limiting economic opportunity, living in the wrong zip code can mean that you pay more for car insurance regardless of whether you and your neighbors are safe drivers.” 
 
 The Insurance Information Institute, a trade group representing many insurers, contested ProPublica’s findings. “Insurance companies do not collect any information regarding the race or ethnicity of the people they sell policies to. They do not discriminate on the basis of race,” said James Lynch, chief actuary of the institute. 
 
 Look Up Your Premium vs. Your Risk If you live in California, Illinois, Missouri or Texas, search for your zip code to see quotes from different insurers for liability coverage for a 30-year-old woman who is a safe driver. 
 
 The impact of the disparity in insurance prices can be devastating, a roadblock to upward mobility or even getting by. Auto insurance coverage is required by law in almost all states. If a driver can’t pay for insurance, she can face fines for driving without insurance, have her license suspended and eventually end up in jail for driving with a suspended license. Higher prices also increase the burden on those least able to bear it, forcing low-income consumers to opt for cheaper fly-by-night providers, or forego other necessities to pay their car insurance bills. 
 
 Otis Nash, 26, struggles to pay his $190 monthly premium to insure his Honda Civic in the East Garfield Park neighborhood of Chicago. But, he says, “without a car, I can’t get to work, and then I can’t pay my rent.” (Alyssa Schukar, special to ProPublica) 
 
 It isn’t completely clear why some major auto insurers persist in treating minority neighborhoods differently. It may in part be a vestige of longstanding practices dating back to an era when American businesses routinely discriminated against non-white customers. It’s also possible that the proprietary algorithms used by insurers may inadvertently favor white over minority neighborhoods. 
 
 We have limited our analysis to the four states that release the type of data needed to compare insurance payouts by geography. Still, these states represent the spectrum of government oversight of the insurance industry. California is the most highly regulated insurance market in the U.S.; Illinois, one of the least regulated. In addition, some insurers whose prices appear to vary by neighborhood demographics operate nationally. That raises the prospect that many minority neighborhoods across the country may be paying too much for auto insurance, or white neighborhoods, too little. 
 
 This investigation marks the first use of industry payout data to measure racial disparities in car insurance premiums across states. It’s part of ProPublica’s examination of the hidden power of algorithms in our lives — from the equations that determine Amazon’s top sellers to the calculations used to predict an individual’s likelihood of committing future crimes. 
 
 Read the Methodology Here's how we examined racial discrimination in auto insurance prices. Read more. You can also download the data and code underlying the project. 
 
 Our analysis examined more than 100,000 premiums charged for liability insurance — the combination of bodily injury and property damage that represents the minimum coverage drivers buy in each of the states. To equalize driver-related variables such as age and accident history, we limited our study to one type of customer: a 30-year-old woman with a safe driving record. We then compared those premiums, which were provided by Quadrant Information Services, to the average amounts paid out by insurers for liability claims in each zip code. 
 
 In California, Texas and Missouri, our analysis is based on state data that covers insurance claims received, and payouts by, the state’s insurers over the most recent five-year period for which data was available. In Illinois, the data covers a three-year period. We defined minority zip codes as having greater than 66 percent non-white population in California and Texas. In Missouri and Illinois, we defined it as greater than 50 percent, in order to have a sufficiently large sample size. 
 
 In all four states, we found insurers with significant gaps between the premiums charged in minority and non-minority neighborhoods with the same average risk. In Illinois, of the 34 companies we analyzed, 33 of them were charging at least 10 percent more, on average, for the same safe driver in minority zip codes than in comparably risky white zip codes. (The exception was USAA’s Garrison Property & Casualty subsidiary, which charged 9 percent more.) Six Illinois insurers, including Allstate, which is the second largest insurer in the state, had average disparities higher than 30 percent. 
 
 While in Illinois the disparities remained about the same from the safest to the most dangerous zip codes, in the other three states the disparities were confined to the riskiest neighborhoods. In those instances, prices in whiter neighborhoods stayed about the same as risk increased, while premiums in minority neighborhoods went up. 
 
 In Missouri and Texas, at least half of the insurers we studied charged higher premiums for a safe driver in high-risk minority communities than in comparably risky non-minority communities. And even in highly regulated California, we found eight insurers whose prices in risky minority neighborhoods were more than 10 percent above similar risky zip codes where more residents were white. 
 
 Chicago’s East Garfield Park neighborhood is safer from an auto insurance perspective than the more affluent Lake View neighborhood. But a ProPublica analysis shows that a safe driver here is likely to pay more than in Lake View. (Alyssa Schukar, special to ProPublica) 
 
 Judging by how much insurers have had to pay out for accident claims in their Chicago neighborhoods, Nash should be paying less than Hedges, not more. 
 
 Over a three-year-period, Illinois insurers have paid out about $172 per car each year in bodily injury and property damage claims in Nash’s zip code, 60612, according to data collected by the state insurance commission. That’s 20 percent less than the $216 per car that insurers paid out for similar claims in Hedges’ zip code, 60657. 
 
 But the liability premiums charged by Nash’s insurer, Geico Casualty, in those two neighborhoods actually give a discount to the riskier white neighborhood. In Nash’s neighborhood, Geico charges $409 for annual liability coverage for a 30-year-old woman who is a safe driver, according to insurance quotes provided by Quadrant. In Lake View, Geico charges $338 for the same coverage for the same driver. 
 
 For the liability portion of their Geico coverages, Nash is paying $831.34 annually, while Hedges is paying just $549.58, according to their records. Hedges pays less even though he bought higher coverage limits for bodily injury, and his Audi is worth about three times as much as Nash’s Honda. A Geico filing in Illinois indicates that it charges more to insure an expensive car than a cheap one. 
 
 Nash said he is accustomed to seeing his neighborhood shortchanged. “When you go to the richer neighborhoods, the red light cameras kind of go away,” he said. “That system is kind of designed for you to fail.” 
 
 Geico did not respond to repeated requests for comment. 
 
 The disparities persist even in affluent minority neighborhoods. Consider Pernell Cox, a Los Angeles businessman who lives in a wealthy enclave in South Los Angeles sometimes referred to as the “Black Beverly Hills.” His insurer Safeco, a subsidiary of Liberty Mutual, charges 13 percent more for a 30-year-old female safe driver in his neighborhood than in a zip code with comparable risk in Woodland Hills, a predominantly white suburb in north Los Angeles. 
 
 “I was surprised by the magnitude” of the price difference, Cox said. 
 
 Cox then shopped around and realized he could save nearly $400 a year by switching to Allstate for his two Mercedes-Benzes. 
 
 Liberty Mutual, the parent company of Safeco, told ProPublica it is committed to offering drivers “competitively priced car insurance coverage options.” 
 
 Individual insurers don’t publicly release their losses on a zip-code level, and have long resisted demands for that level of transparency. As a result, our analysis is based on aggregated losses experienced by almost all insurers in a given zip code in California, Illinois and Missouri, and by 70 percent of insurers in Texas. 
 
 The California Department of Insurance criticized this approach. It disputed ProPublica’s analysis and findings on the grounds that an individual insurer’s losses in a given zip code may vary significantly from the industry average. “The study’s flawed methodology results in a flawed conclusion” that some insurers discriminate in setting rates, it said. 
 
 To be sure, it’s possible that some insurers have proprietary data that justifies the higher premiums we found in minority neighborhoods. Moreover, in any given zip code, an individual insurer’s losses could differ from the average losses experienced by insurers. But it is unlikely that those differences would result in a consistent pattern of higher prices for minority neighborhoods. 
 
 Consider the internal losses that Nationwide disclosed in a 2015 rate filing in California. We compared Nationwide’s premiums charged by Nationwide’s Allied subsidiary to Nationwide’s losses and found that minority zip codes were being charged 21 percent more than similarly risky non-minority zip codes — a greater disparity than the 14 percent we found when comparing Allied premiums to overall state risk data. 
 
 The Illinois Department of Insurance also criticized ProPublica’s report. “We believe the methodology used in this report is incomplete and oversimplifies the comparison of rates in minority vs. non-minority neighborhoods,” said department spokesman Michael Batkins. 
 
 The Texas Department of Insurance said that it was reviewing ProPublica’s analysis. “It’s important to us that rates are fair to all consumers,” said department spokesman Jerry Hagins. The Missouri Department of Insurance did not respond to repeated inquiries. 
 
 Many insurers did not respond to our questions. Those that did generally disputed our results and said that they do not discriminate by race in rate setting. Eric Hardgrove, director of public relations at Nationwide, said it uses “nondiscriminatory rating factors in compliance with each state’s ratemaking laws.” He did not respond to inquiries about our analysis of Nationwide’s internal losses in California. 
 
 Roger Wildermuth, spokesman for USAA, said that its premiums reflect neighborhood conditions. “Some areas may have slightly higher rates due to factors such as congestion that lead to more accidents or higher crime rates that lead to higher auto thefts,” he said. 
 
 Insurers have long cited neighborhood congestion as a factor in their decision-making. In 1940, a young lawyer named Thurgood Marshall wrote to a friend that he had been denied auto insurance by Travelers. When Marshall complained to the company, he was told that “the refusal was on the basis of the fact that I live in a ‘congested area,’ meaning Harlem, and ‘not’ because I am a Negro.” 
 
 Marshall, who later argued and won the landmark school desegregation case Brown v. Board of Education and went on to become a Supreme Court justice, concluded, according to his letter, that, “it is practically impossible to work out a court case because the insurance is usually refused on some technical ground.” 
 
 In Marshall’s day, redlining was often defined by refusal to provide loans, insurance or other services in minority neighborhoods. But as those practices became public and controversial — due in part to Marshall’s activism as an attorney for the NAACP — insurers stopped asking applicants to identify their race. 
 
 In the 1940s, as part of a bargain to win an exemption from federal antitrust laws, the insurance industry agreed to be regulated by state laws that included prohibitions against discriminatory rate setting. Soon after, following model legislation recommended by the National Association of Insurance Commissioners, most states passed laws stating “rates should not be inadequate, excessive or unfairly discriminatory.” The legislation defines discrimination as “price differentials” that “fail to reflect equitably the differences in expected losses and expenses.” 
 
 Of course, the laws didn’t immediately stop discrimination. In a thorough examination of MetLife’s history released in 2002, New York state insurance regulators catalogued all of the ways that the company discriminated against black applicants for life insurance — dating back to the 1880s when it refused to insure them at all, to the first half of the 20th century when it required minorities to submit to additional medical exams and sold them substandard plans. 
 
 In the 1960s, as insurers stopped asking applicants to declare their race, MetLife began dividing cities into areas. In minority areas, applicants were subject to more stringent criteria, according to the report. In 2002, MetLife agreed to pay as much as $160 million to compensate minorities who were sold substandard policies. 
 
 In the auto insurance industry, similar practices occurred. To this day, most auto insurers base premiums in part on “territorial ratings,” derived from the risk of the area where the car is garaged. 
 
 The territorial ratings are “a way of taking into account the conditions under which you are driving,” said David Snyder, a vice president at the Property Casualty Insurers Association of America. 
 
 This geographic pricing means that the same driver may be charged different rates depending on the part of town in which he or she lives. 
 
 In 1978, Los Angeles County Supervisor Kenneth Hahn pleaded with Congress to rectify the stark inequities of territorial ratings. He said the same good driver would pay over $900 if he lived in Watts, a poor black neighborhood, and just $385 if he lived in predominantly white San Diego County. 
 
 “They are being ripped off by the biggest companies in America,” Hahn testified. 
 
 But Congress didn’t act. 
 
 View Park, sometimes called the "Black Beverly Hills," is an affluent neighborhood in South L.A. ProPublica's analysis shows that some auto insurers charge more in predominantly minority View Park than in the largely white suburb of Woodland Hills, even though the neighborhoods have similar accident costs. (Kendrick Brinson for ProPublica) 
 
 Bill Corley, who is African American, started his career as a Farmers Insurance agent in West Los Angeles in 1977. He said the discrimination wasn’t obvious on the surface. “Officially, you could write insurance anywhere you wanted to write insurance,” he recalled. But, Corley said, if you had too many clients in low-income areas, Farmers executives “would tell you all the problems that could be associated with that, and you were scared off and intimidated from doing so.” 
 
 When he sold insurance in minority neighborhoods, Corley said, the Farmers managers “would nitpick it. They would ask you questions about people’s income levels and questions about neighboring properties — which I don’t really recall ever having to address when I was writing policies in other neighborhoods in the city.” Farmers did not respond to repeated inquiries. 
 
 Corley persisted, and eventually established a network of independent minority insurance brokers who worked together to persuade leading insurers to make them agents and sell policies through them. Corley, who now works as an independent insurance agent with offices in San Diego and San Jose, said the increased diversity of agents has improved the business. “Agents and brokers were complicit, and helped to perpetuate redlining, by not making an effort to write policies in those areas,” he said. 
 
 Today, some insurers consider other factors beyond the risk of accident payouts in setting rates. Such criteria as credit score and occupation have been shown to result in higher prices for minorities. 
 
 Allstate is implementing a new method for tailoring rates to “micro-segments” that appear to be as small as an individual policyholder — a method referred to in the industry as price optimization. 
 
 More than a dozen states have set limits on insurers’ use of price optimization, expressing concerns that the technique allows insurers to raise premiums on customers who don’t shop around for better rates. In 2014, for instance, the Maryland Insurance Administration banned price optimization, saying it results in rates that are “unfairly discriminatory.” (In this context, discrimination refers to any pricing that is not related to risk; the effect on minority neighborhoods has not been studied.) 
 
 Allstate has disclosed in filings that it is using price optimization in at least 24 states, including Illinois, Missouri and Texas. Allstate spokesman Justin Herndon said the company “uses the likelihood of loss to price insurance which is required by law and specific prices are approved by state regulators.” 
 
 In California, when insurers set rates for sparsely populated rural zip codes, which tend to be whiter, they are allowed to consider risk in contiguous zip codes of their own choosing. Often, the companies group these zip codes with similar areas that also have few policy-holders, according to insurers’ rate filings. They then assign lower risk to the entire region than appears to be warranted by the state’s accident data. 
 
 However rates are calculated, auto insurance remains unaffordable in many predominantly minority areas of the nation, according to an analysis by ProPublica of U.S. Census data and 30 million auto insurance quotes. 
 
 We found that households in minority-majority zip codes spent more than twice as much of their household income on auto insurance (11 percent), compared with households in majority white neighborhoods (5 percent). The U.S. Treasury Department has defined auto insurance as affordable if it costs 2 percent or less of household income. 
 
 Consider Kelley Jenkins, a 39-year-old mother of three who lives on Chicago’s South Side. When she was laid off from an office job last summer, she tried to make ends meet by driving for Uber and Lyft. But after two months of sporadic driving, when she was sometimes making only $100 or $200 a week, she couldn’t afford to keep up her $112 monthly auto insurance payments. “I was in a major struggle,” she said. 
 
 When she gave up her auto insurance, she lost her driving gigs. Luckily, she soon found a job as a security guard. But she still can barely afford auto insurance, so she bought a bare bones plan from a low-cost insurer. 
 
 Jenkins said she would love to get insurance from one of the brand-name companies, but every time she calls for a quote, she realizes, “Oh no, I can’t afford it.” 
 
 Over the years, efforts to investigate redlining in car insurance have repeatedly been stymied by the same barrier: the industry’s refusal to make crucial data available. 
 
 After the Rodney King riots in Los Angeles in 1992, when people took to the streets to protest the acquittal of policemen who had been filmed beating a black driver, it turned out that about half of an estimated $1 billion in losses from destroyed businesses and homes were not covered by insurance. 
 
 California Insurance Commissioner John Garamendi blamed discriminatory practices by the nation’s insurance companies. Touring the battered ruins of the city a month after the riots, he told a New York Times reporter, “I am convinced redlining exists. The bottom line is either you can’t get or can’t afford it.” 
 
 Garamendi subsequently approved rules that required insurers to report their market share by zip code. But insurers argued that the data was a trade secret that couldn’t be released to the public. It wasn’t until 2004, after years of legal battles, that insurers lost their case in California Supreme Court. 
 
 GEICO Casualty Company Premiums in Illinois Plots showing a the average difference for GEICO Casualty Company premiums for minority zip codes compared to white zip codes in Illinois at increasing levels of risk. 
 
 Also spurred by the Los Angeles riots, several Congressional committees held hearings and began studying the issue of redlining, but were stymied by lack of data. The U.S. General Accounting Office, now known as the U.S. Government Accountability Office, reported in 1994 that an analysis of insurance availability would require insurance companies to begin reporting data at zip code or census tract level nationwide. “Currently available data are insufficient to determine the extent of current problems,” the report stated. 
 
 The National Association of Insurance Commissioners also set up a committee to investigate redlining. It didn’t get the necessary data, either. 
 
 Robert Klein, who was researching the issue for the association, said in an interview that “the insurance industry opposed the idea of collecting loss and claims data and the NAIC committee sided with the industry and not with me on this point.” 
 
 Without data about insurers’ losses, Klein’s report could not determine why premiums were higher in minority neighborhoods — whether the difference was truly because of greater risk there. “Researchers were unable to draw definitive conclusions about the causes of these market conditions,” the report stated. 
 
 Insurers say they set prices based on risk but are reluctant to share the data underlying their risk analyses, such as losses per zip code. Publishing data publicly about losses means “you’re creating something that is valuable and you are essentially giving it away,” said Lynch of the Insurance Information Institute. 
 
 Texas consumer advocate Birny Birnbaum won a rare victory when, through a public-records request, he obtained data collected by the state insurance commission at a zip-code level. 
 
 GEICO Casualty Company Premiums in Missouri Plots showing a the average difference for GEICO Casualty Company premiums for minority zip codes compared to white zip codes in Missouri at increasing levels of risk. 
 
 In 1997, using the information about each insurer’s number of policies, premiums and losses by zip code, Birnbaum published a fiery report naming Nationwide, Safeco, State Farm, USAA and Farm Bureau as among the “worst redliners” in the state because they had much smaller market share in minority neighborhoods than in other neighborhoods. 
 
 The insurers sued the Texas Department of Insurance and Birnbaum, contending that the information was a trade secret and making it public had damaged their business. A Travis County district court judge ruled in the insurers’ favor, saying they would “suffer irreparable harm in the absence of a temporary injunction.” 
 
 “There were roughly 200 insurance companies in the state. They all sued,” recalled D.J. Powers, who was Birnbaum’s pro bono attorney. “It was the entire auto insurance industry versus me and Birny.” 
 
 Since then, Birnbaum has continued to advocate for insurance commissions to collect and publicly release data that can be used for analysis of redlining and other issues. However, to this day, very few states do so. ProPublica filed public-records requests in all 50 states and the District of Columbia seeking zip-code level data about liability claims payouts. Only four states said they collected such data and provided it. 
 
 “Regulators are no better equipped to analyze or address these problems than they were 20 or 30 years ago,” Birnbaum said. “If you can’t even monitor the market to identify the problem, you’re certainly not going to be in a position to address the problem.” 
 
 On a redlining map of Chicago created by a federal housing agency in 1940, Otis Nash’s neighborhood, East Garfield Park, is colored red for “hazardous.” 
 
 “This is a mediocre district threatened with negro encroachment,” the map states. “Most properties are obsolete and the section is very congested.” 
 
 The term redlining is sometimes thought to have originated with these maps, which were created for many American cities by the federal Home Owners’ Loan Corporation between 1935 and 1940. The maps were used to assist loan officers in deciding which properties were worth financing. 
 
 On this federal Home Owners’ Loan Corporation map from 1940, areas in Chicago were graded on their desirability — from green for “best,” to red for “hazardous.” Source: “Mapping Inequality: Redlining in New Deal America,” by Robert K. Nelson, LaDale Winling, Richard Marciano, Nathan Connolly, et al. 
 
 East Garfield Park was built as a community of townhouses for factory workers. Like much of Chicago’s West and South Sides, it became a predominantly minority neighborhood in the ‘50s and ‘60s as redlining discouraged investment and the city built an expressway and low-income housing projects in the area. Whites fled for the suburbs. 
 
 In 1970, East Garfield Park was among the many Chicago neighborhoods swept up in a wave of auto insurance redlining. In an experiment, Illinois had switched in 1969 from traditional auto insurance regulation — in which rates were approved by state regulators before being issued — to a so-called “open rating system” in which companies could issue rates without regulatory permission. 
 
 Illinois insurers soon divided Chicago into four territories for rate setting, a scheme that led to higher premiums in black neighborhoods. A group of black insurance brokers banded together to protest what they called a “color tax” that was being levied on black neighborhoods in Chicago. 
 
 The issue was severe enough that the U.S. Senate Antitrust and Monopoly subcommittee held a hearing in Chicago to examine it. One witness, undertaker Charles Childs, said the premiums on his two cars for personal use, a Cadillac and a Mercury, had risen from $450 in 1970 to $950 in 1971 and he had to drop coverage for his fleet of undertaker vehicles. 
 
 “As rates have been increased in the inner city, they have substantially decreased in essentially white areas,” Millard D. Robbins Jr., the head of the Insurance Brokers Association of Chicago, said at a press conference. “This creates a surtax on blackness and a discount for being Caucasian.” 
 
 With black Chicagoans in rebellion, the Illinois legislature declined to renew the experimental open competition law in 1971. But they couldn’t agree on a new law to replace it — so they just allowed the statute regulating auto insurance rate setting and prohibiting discrimination to expire. 
 
 Since then, Illinois, home to the corporate headquarters of State Farm and Allstate, has been the only state without legislation explicitly barring excessive or discriminatory rates in car insurance. Illinois does prohibit auto insurers from charging higher premiums to a customer because of his or her physical disability, race, color, religion or national origin. 
 
 To address complaints of discrimination from Chicago, lawmakers in 1971 proposed a compromise: They would ban insurers from using the four rating territories in the city. 
 
 “The question is: Shall we give the blacks in Chicago a fair break on insurance rates?” said Illinois state Sen. Egbert Groen during the statehouse debate. 
 
 In 1972, they passed a law requiring insurers to use a single territorial rate within the city of Chicago for bodily injury coverage. “No one will be helped more than those in the inner city,” predicted Illinois State Rep. Bernard Epton. 
 
 But the reality has turned out differently. For many insurers we examined, premiums were high for everyone within the city of Chicago, regardless of risk, compared to the rest of the state. This means that, since Chicago contains one-third of the state’s minority neighborhoods, they are still being overcharged. 
 
 And even within Chicago, the law has not prohibited insurers from differentiating prices by neighborhood. That’s because the single-territory rule is limited to bodily injury coverage; rates for property damage can still vary. (Both bodily injury and property damage coverage are mandatory for drivers to purchase in Illinois.) 
 
 Consider the premiums that Geico charges to Otis Nash and Ryan Hedges. 
 
 In Nash’s zip code, 60612, Geico has set the base rate for property damage insurance at $753 a year, according to the company’s December 2016 rate filing in Illinois. 
 
 That’s eight times higher than what Illinois insurers have paid out in property damage claims in that zip code — an average of $91.57 per car in the three years ending in 2014, according to data from the state insurance commission. 
 
 Otis Nash, who lives in East Garfield Park, Chicago, says he is used to seeing his neighorhood get shortchanged. (Alyssa Schukar, special to ProPublica) 
 
 By comparison, in Hedges’ neighborhood, 60657, Geico has set the base rate for property damage insurance at $376 a year, according to the same filing. 
 
 That’s half of the Geico base rate in Nash’s neighborhood. It’s also only about four times higher than what Illinois insurers have paid out in property damage claims in Hedges’ zip code — an average of $104.45 per car over the same period. 
 
 Of course, Geico’s calculations could reflect the unique risk of the insurer’s own clientele that is somehow not reflected in the state averages. But it could also reflect a disparity, unrelated to risk, that punishes a minority neighborhood. 
 
 Either way, the $377 disparity between property damage base rates accounts for the majority of the difference in liability premiums paid by Nash and Hedges. The base rate is adjusted by other factors such as age and driving record. 
 
 Both Nash and Hedges have about the same amount of property damage coverage for their vehicles. 
 
 Despite scraping to make ends meet, Nash bought collision, comprehensive and liability, as well as rental reimbursement, emergency road service and uninsured motorist coverage. “I got everything,” he said, “because you hear so many horror stories.” 
 
 He’s dependent on his car. He needs it to go to work, to shop for groceries now that the local pharmacy closed in his neighborhood and the dollar store burned down, and to take his 7-year-old daughter out to the suburbs where she can ride her bicycle in a park that is safe from crime. 
 
 “I don’t even walk up and down the block with my daughter,” Nash said, adding that it’s not unusual in the summer to “hear gunshots during the day.” 
 
 Nash said he is working with a financial adviser to cut back his expenses so he can make his rent payments. Still, he’s reluctant to give up any of his car insurance. “I would choose the rent over my car, but that would be playing with fire,” he said. 
 
 Hedges has even more coverage than Nash, but it is not a financial burden for him. 
 
 Hedges’ premium recently went up after his husband got into an accident. But even after the incident, their combined price of $115.37 a month for two cars is lower than the $190.69 a month that Nash pays for just one car. When told about the difference in prices, Hedges said it seemed unfair. 
 
 “It’s an unfortunate reflection of where we are in the corporate world and how we treat each other,” Hedges said. 
 
 Nash agreed: “Why would you go to the most poor communities and charge more?” 
 
 This story is not subject to our Creative Commons license. 
 
 Julia Angwin is a senior reporter at ProPublica. From 2000 to 2013, she was a reporter at The Wall Street Journal, where she led a privacy investigative team that was a finalist for a Pulitzer Prize in Explanatory Reporting in 2011 and won a Gerald Loeb Award in 2010. 
 
 Lauren Kirchner is a senior reporting fellow at ProPublica. She has covered digital security and press freedom issues for the Columbia Journalism Review, and crime and criminal justice for Pacific Standard magazine. ||||| Brain Wars How the Military Is Failing Its Wounded 
 
 A version of this story was co-produced with NPR and aired on All Things Considered. (Check here for local listings.) 
 
 In 2007, with roadside bombs exploding across Iraq, Congress moved to improve care for soldiers who had suffered one of the war's signature wounds, traumatic brain injury. 
 
 Lawmakers passed a measure requiring the military to test soldiers' brain function before they deployed and again when they returned. The test was supposed to ensure that soldiers received proper treatment. 
 
 Instead, an investigation by ProPublica and NPR has found, the testing program has failed to deliver on its promise, offering soldiers the appearance of help, but not the reality. 
 
 Racing to satisfy Congress' mandate, the military chose a test that wasn't actually proven to detect TBI: the Automated Neuropsychological Assessment Metric, or ANAM. 
 
 Four years later, more than a million troops have taken the test at a cost of more than $42 million to taxpayers, yet the military still has no reliable way to catch brain injuries. When such injuries are left undetected, it can delay healing and put soldiers at risk for further mental damage. 
 
 Based on corporate and government records, confidential documents, scores of interviews and emails obtained under the Freedom of Information Act, our investigation found: 
 
 The people who invented ANAM and stood to make money from it were involved in the military's decision to use it, prompting questions about the impartiality of the selection process. No other tests received serious consideration. A report by the Army's top neuropsychologist circulated last year to key members of Congress labeled the selection process "nepotistic." 
 
 The Pentagon's civilian leadership has ignored years of warnings, public and private, that there was insufficient scientific evidence the ANAM can screen for or diagnose traumatic brain injury. The military's highest-ranking medical official said the test was "fraught with problems." Another high-ranking officer said it could yield misleading results. 
 
 Compounding flaws in the ANAM's design, the military has not administered the test as recommended and has rarely used its results. The Army has so little confidence in the test that its top medical officer issued an explicit order that soldiers whose scores indicated cognitive problems should not be sent for further medical evaluation. 
 
 Top Pentagon officials have misrepresented the cost of the test, indicating that because the Army invented the ANAM, the military could use it for free. In fact, because the military licensed its invention to outside contractors, it has paid millions of dollars to use its own technology. 
 
 The military has not conducted a long-promised head-to-head study to make sure the ANAM is the best available test, delaying it for years. Instead, a series of committees have given lukewarm approval to continue using the ANAM, largely to avoid losing the data gathered so far. 
 
 Several current and former military medical officials criticized the Defense Department's embrace of a scientifically unproven tool to use on hundreds of thousands of soldiers with TBIs. 
 
 "The test was not developed for the purposes of identifying the kinds of problems that we see in concussions," said Dr. Stephen Xenakis, a retired brigadier general and former adviser on mental health issues to the chairman of the joint chiefs of staff. The test was picked "without asking ourselves the questions: what are we trying to achieve here and what are we going to use the screenings for?" 
 
 Army Surgeon General Eric Schoomaker acknowledged there have been problems with the testing program and called it a "first step." 
 
 "The Army recognized all along that it was not an optimal test," Schoomaker said in a written statement to ProPublica and NPR. He added that the Army has tried to improve the ANAM test and is comparing it to alternatives. 
 
 Many experts in the field say Congress' mandate for testing went beyond what science can provide. There is no computerized test that, on its own, allows doctors to diagnose TBI. 
 
 Yet studies have indicated the ANAM shows promise when used immediately after a blast, helping doctors determine if soldiers are sharp enough to return to duty. Other studies, as yet unpublished, show the test may also be able to detect certain cognitive problems months after a brain injury. 
 
 Those most familiar with the ANAM program insist that testing can be of significant value if used properly -- and that this is where the military has gone wrong. 
 
 "We have failed soldiers," says retired Col. Mary Lopez, who used to manage the Army's testing program. "It is incredibly frustrating because I can see first-hand the soldiers that we've missed, the soldiers that have not been treated, not been identified, [or] misdiagnosed. And then they struggle." 
 
 A Test to Identify Invisible Wounds 
 
 On a crisp morning in early September, about 40 uniformed soldiers mill around outside a squat rectangular building on the Fort Lewis-McChord military base near Tacoma, Wash. 
 
 They are scheduled to ship out to Afghanistan in a matter of weeks and must take the ANAM before they go. Filing into the testing facility, they take seats in front of computers. 
 
 ANAM proctor Felix Rios, a former first sergeant who served in Iraq and Afghanistan, does a quick Power Point presentation on the test. There will be 20 minutes of questions covering basic math, memory and reaction time. 
 
 Taking the ANAM is the first step in protecting soldiers from the effects of brain injuries, Rios tells the group. 
 
 "One of the best ways to tell if something's affecting you is to know how you were before it happened. That's what you do here with ANAM," Rios says. 
 
 The soldiers leave feeling comforted. 
 
 "I felt reassured," Lt. Benjamin Lewis Westman said after completing the test. It was good, "knowing that the Army is taking steps to ensure people are taken care of." 
 
 The military's foray into cognitive testing reflects the types of wounds troops have sustained fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan. 
 
 Soldiers have suffered an epidemic of concussions, also known as mild traumatic brain injuries, in bombings by insurgents. While most troops recovered quickly, some developed long-term cognitive problems. They couldn't think, read, write or remember the way they had. 
 
 Too often, their injuries were missed on the battlefield and, even after they returned home, eluded more sophisticated scanning technology: Studies showed that up to 40 percent of troops who sustained concussions went undiagnosed. 
 
 After a 2007 Washington Post series exposed the grim condition of soldiers with brain injuries at Walter Reed Army Medical Center, Congress pushed to create a program to screen soldiers for such wounds. 
 
 It's not surprising that the military, under pressure to act quickly, looked to the ANAM. There's no scientific consensus supporting one computerized neurocognitive test among the half-dozen or so available. 
 
 ANAM had been developed in-house. Starting in the early 1980s, scientists at Fort Detrick, the military's primary research base, conceived the test as a way to measure pilots' reflexes or to see if a paratrooper could think clearly after a rough landing. 
 
 The fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan spurred researchers to re-envision the test: Could ANAM help doctors assess cognitive damage from concussions? In the summer of 2007, as Congress pressed the military for a testing solution, the ANAM was administered to thousands of soldiers from the 101st Airborne at Fort Campbell in Kentucky as part of a pilot program. 
 
 "We had developed it ...and we owned it," said Lopez, who helped launch the pilot project, of the ANAM. "We pushed it and we ran as fast as possible because we knew we had a huge problem with TBI." 
 
 The Inside Track 
 
 Other factors also tilted the selection process in ANAM's favor, sparking a lingering debate over whether the interests of the test's developers trumped those of soldiers. 
 
 In February 2007, researchers at Fort Detrick paid the publisher of the Archives of Clinical Neuropsychology to release a supplemental issue on ANAM, including several articles that endorsed its use in detecting traumatic brain injury. Some of the authors had a financial stake in the test, owning patents or trademarks on it, and others received military contracts and funding to help develop the ANAM, but the details of their interests weren't disclosed. 
 
 Dr. Robert Kane, the ANAM researcher hired by the military lab to edit the journal issue, said that the journal didn't require such financial disclosures, but "in retrospect, patent information could have been provided." 
 
 In October 2007, when the military convened a panel of experts to weigh the ANAM's pros and cons, the journal issue was among its primary sources of information, according to internal emails between panel members and senior military medical officials. In addition, several ANAM developers testified at the panel's sole meeting and one even sat on the committee. 
 
 "It just screams conflict of interest," said Professor Marcia Angell, a former editor of the New England Journal of Medicine who is now a senior lecturer on social medicine at Harvard Medical School. "I mean here you have a situation where the same people are sellers, buyers and evaluators." 
 
 The ANAM patent and trademark owners interviewed for this article, including Col. Karl Friedl who helped develop the ANAM and was listed as a member of the scientific advisory panel, described their involvement in the deliberations as peripheral and said their financial interest in the test was small and had no bearing on their remarks. 
 
 "Any inference that the government inventors would make money from DoD's use of the product and would recommend it for financial reasons are completely erroneous," said Kathryn Winter, one of the ANAM researchers who attended the meeting. Winter said she had made less than $5,000 in royalties from ANAM sales so far, though she could receive more in the future. 
 
 Panel members were hardly blind to the ANAM's flaws. In their report, they noted there was no scientific proof that the test could work in the field and acknowledged that it hadn't been subjected to rigorous peer review. 
 
 The committee recommended ANAM anyway. 
 
 "Nobody was enamored of it, but there was a decision made to use it," said former Navy Capt. Morgan Sammons, a psychologist who served as a co-chairman of the panel. 
 
 In May 2008, S. Ward Casscells, then the senior civilian Pentagon official in charge of health affairs, issued an order to use the ANAM across the military. 
 
 Competitors who pitched other testing software maintain the playing field was slanted and that soldiers have been ill-served. 
 
 "It remains unfathomable why the procurement process at the top was maneuvered so that soldiers were denied useful and usable screening tools for the signature injuries of these wars," said Don Comrie, chief executive of PanMedix, Inc., which markets a competitive test. "As a result we still don't know who was exposed to a blast and what, if anything, is wrong with them." 
 
 Casscells and Schoomaker say the selection process was comprehensive and fair. 
 
 But some researchers, including retired Lt. Col. Michael Russell, the head of the Army's testing program, say the National Hockey League managed to pick a better test than the Pentagon did. 
 
 The NHL evaluated five tests, looking for the option that was most accurate, best supported by research, and easiest to use for trainers and players, many of whom were not English speakers. 
 
 It chose the ImPact, a 20-minute computerized test that requires the athlete to remember and then reconstruct a series of designs and patterns. By the beginning of 2007, every player had taken a baseline test. 
 
 Several NFL teams also use the ImPact, as does Army Special Forces, which said it based its decision on a review of scientific literature. 
 
 Russell, the military's leading civilian neuropsychologist, called the ANAM a poor choice. 
 
 "If they had said, would you like to use something else, I probably would have said, yes, I'd like to use something else," he said. 
 
 Internal Skeptics Hobble Testing Effort 
 
 During and after the selection process, the testing program was met with deep skepticism from top military medical officers, internal correspondence obtained by ProPublica and NPR shows. 
 
 In a series of emails, Col. Charles Hoge, a leading Army psychiatrist, warned senior members of the medical command that the evidence supporting the ANAM, or any tool like it, was flimsy and that using it to screen soldiers for brain injuries could lead to misdiagnoses. 
 
 "Rolling out ANY diagnostic or clinical test on a population level ... without objective and reliable criteria for how the data will be interpreted and used is malpractice," Hoge wrote in November 2007 to several senior medical officials. 
 
 Lt. Col. Mike Jaffee -- a neurologist then in charge of the military's premier brain injury center and a member of the panel that recommended the ANAM -- responded that the military didn't have a better option. "There are currently no instruments that have been validated for blast or combat TBI," he wrote. 
 
 The decision to use the ANAM was based on politics, not science, Jaffee acknowledged to Hoge. 
 
 "The bottom line is because of the political situation we have been told that studying the situation before acting is not an acceptable option" to the Defense Department, he wrote. 
 
 "Congress can mandate till the cows come home," Hoge shot back. "The right thing to do is to go back and help Congress to understand what is feasible and achievable." 
 
 When Casscells issued the order to administer the ANAM to all troops before deployment, the Army's top medical officer pushed back. 
 
 In a confidential email obtained by ProPublica and NPR, then Army Surgeon General Eric Schoomaker told Casscells that more than 30 military and civilian neuropsychologists, researchers and other experts had reviewed the ANAM at an Army symposium in June 2008. 
 
 "All were very cautious about the application of this technology -- it is not FDA-approved for screening for a mild TBI/concussion and has not been evaluated for sensitivity/specificity in this setting," Schoomaker wrote. "Its use in this regard is fraught with problems." 
 
 Three minutes later, Casscells dashed off a two-sentence reply -- "Thanks for these wise caveats. Your scholarly standards!" -- but his order stood. In a recent interview, Casscells said he and Schoomaker came to an understanding on the ANAM "that half a loaf was better than none." 
 
 Schoomaker subsequently issued an order mandating the use of the ANAM across the Army, prompting another round of internal protests. In a November 2008 email, one senior adviser sent Schoomaker a Power Point presentation saying that ANAM test results were "misleading" and that using them could jeopardize the credibility of the military medical establishment. 
 
 Faced with the backlash, Schoomaker modified his order, issuing a follow-up that limited the test's use in critical ways. 
 
 He decided that soldiers would not have to take the test upon their return to the U.S. from the battlefield, though Congress required post-deployment testing by law. 
 
 Schoomaker also ordered that soldiers who scored badly -- or "red" in testing lingo -- on their pre-deployment tests would not be referred for follow-up evaluations to see if they had an undiagnosed brain injury. In a written statement to ProPublica and NPR, Schoomaker said soldiers with symptoms were urged to see doctors, but not based on ANAM scores. "For some people 'red' is their normal score," he said of the test. 
 
 Several neurologists, in and out of the military, said they considered Schoomaker's order to ignore low baseline scores to be unethical. The Navy and Marines, unlike the Army, refer troops for further attention if they score poorly on their pre-deployment ANAM. 
 
 "It's our obligation as medical providers to our patients to try to figure out if there is something going on that needs to be treated," said Navy Commander Jack Tsao, a neurologist who runs the ANAM program for those branches of the service. 
 
 Lopez said that by ignoring poor baseline scores, the Army risked sending soldiers with cognitive problems into war. 
 
 "This is horrible and it goes against our medical ethics and moral responsibilities," she said. "They just lock up these results in a box and never look at them before clearing soldiers to deploy." 
 
 Flaws in Implementation 
 
 Despite the many concerns with the ANAM, many experts say the test could have helped detect brain injuries in soldiers if it had been used properly. 
 
 Instead, the military has implemented the test in ways that have undercut its value, according to interviews and internal emails obtained by ProPublica and NPR. 
 
 One example: Troops take the ANAM just once before deploying, even though some of the test's developers have found that users should take it several times to produce a more accurate baseline score. 
 
 Without a reliable baseline, Russell and other specialists said, it's impossible to measure the change in a soldier's cognitive abilities after a blow to the head. In a 2010 report, one military researcher called the testing effort "fundamentally flawed" because of the lack of accurate baselines. 
 
 More than 1 million soldiers have taken pre-deployment ANAM tests, but medical officials have requested test scores for comparative purposes just 11,000 times since 2008. 
 
 Doctors face substantial obstacles in accessing the information. 
 
 There's still no computer network that collects and stores test results or integrates them with the military's overall medical system. A doctor in Afghanistan who wants an injured soldier's pre-deployment score has to call into a hotline where an employee creates a PDF with the test results, manually deletes private information such as Social Security numbers, and emails or faxes back the file. 
 
 Fewer than 3,000 requests for ANAM test results have been made from the war zones in the last three years, according to recent estimates. Yet more than 90,000 troops suffered traumatic brain injuries during that time, according to the military's official figures. 
 
 Reports from the field indicate that the test is not being used consistently when soldiers sustain possible concussions. 
 
 This summer, Robert Parish, a neuropsychologist treating troops in Afghanistan, sent an email to colleagues saying the ANAM was more useful than some thought but remained little-used. 
 
 "I have corresponded quite a bit with the ANAM staff recently and discovered, quite to my astonishment, I am currently the only one in any combat theater who is actively using the [ANAM] database in evaluations," Parish wrote. 
 
 "Free" Test Costs a Bundle 
 
 When the military chose the ANAM, one of its selling points -- at least, in the eyes of some involved in the decision -- was that it was free. 
 
 "The ANAM, as I understand it, was owned by the Department of Defense. It was developed in conjunction with the Army. So there was no cost to it," said Dr. Paul Hammer, director of the Defense Veterans Brain Injury Center. 
 
 Lt. Col. Jaffee, who sat on the panel that recommended ANAM, has said in emails and slideshow presentations that ANAM was picked in large part because it was "the only tool available free of charge to DoD." 
 
 But even though the ANAM was developed by military researchers, the Defense Department no longer owned the test by the time it went looking for a screening tool. 
 
 This was not unusual: To spur innovation, the agency allows government scientists to license their inventions to outside businesses as long as the military shares in the profits. 
 
 In February 2006, the lab that employed the ANAM researchers licensed the ANAM to the University of Oklahoma, which would help refine the test at its cognitive research lab. The university then struck a deal with Vista Partners, a contractor based in Colorado, to market the test and handle sales. 
 
 So far, the university and Vista have sold the ANAM to a handful of civilian hospitals and researchers, but their biggest customer has been the military. 
 
 The Defense Department pays Vista about $2 million a year in user fees for the ANAM, according to contracting documents and interviews. Oklahoma University gets a 12 percent cut of sales, sending a portion back to the military lab that invented the test. The Defense Department also pays the university $1 million a year for making improvements to the test, Russell said. 
 
 On top of that, the military has paid Eyak Services, an Alaska-based contractor, $30 million over the last four years to give soldiers the ANAM test. An additional $6.8 million has gone to another contractor, Evolvent, to build an electronic system to collect and distribute test results, though this effort remains incomplete. 
 
 The program's total price tag tops $42 million, records show. 
 
 Rep. Bill Pascrell, D-N.J., who helped author the bill to create the program, is disappointed with the way the money has been spent. 
 
 "This is not adequate," said Pascrell in an interview with ProPublica and NPR. "You're doing harm to these veterans and these wonderful warriors and their families, and we're not going to put up with it. This is not what we paid for." 
 
 As Problems Emerge, Little Action 
 
 Military officials openly acknowledged problems with the TBI testing program at two congressional hearings last year. 
 
 In April, Dr. Charles Rice, the president of the Uniformed Services University of the Health Sciences, testified to a House Armed Services subcommittee that the ANAM might not accurately reflect soldiers' cognitive abilities. The next day, Schoomaker was even more blunt, telling lawmakers the test was no more accurate than a "coin flip." 
 
 Following those hearings, Pascrell and two other congressmen requested a comprehensive report on the program. 
 
 In September, Russell delivered a scathing 537-page report that slammed nearly every aspect of the ANAM program. 
 
 The report -- which was obtained by ProPublica and NPR, but has never been released publicly -- begins by saying the "program's history is more troubled than commonly understood." 
 
 Russell went on to lambaste the manner in which the test was chosen: "The selection of ANAM was nepotistic, and the long delay in examining alternative instruments is baffling." 
 
 In the field, Russell said, the test had failed at "a basic level." It was unreliable and soldiers' scores often reflected factors such as fatigue that were unrelated to TBI. 
 
 "This is unacceptable if the ANAM is to be considered a TBI test," Russell wrote. 
 
 There was one bright spot amid Russell's criticism: Though the ANAM could not diagnose TBI, he said, it could help doctors evaluate when soldiers who had suffered concussions were mentally fit to return to duty. 
 
 Overall, however, Russell concluded that the problems with ANAM were so severe that "it appears that we may be doing our soldiers a disservice with the present baseline program." 
 
 Pascrell said he was infuriated by Russell's findings. 
 
 "There is no question in my mind that the Department of Defense violated the very essence of the law that we passed" to require testing, he said. In particular, he said, he was frustrated by the lack of post-deployment testing and the delay in comparing ANAM to other tests. 
 
 There are few signs that the changes Pascrell wants are imminent. 
 
 When the military initiated the testing program in 2008, it also created a panel of civilian experts to monitor it and other TBI-related issues. 
 
 At a meeting in August 2011, the panel discussed whether ANAM should be replaced, expanded, or used routinely post-deployment. Then it endorsed the status quo, partly to preserve the usefulness of data from tests already administered. 
 
 The committee's recommendations could be "expressed in one sentence, which is 'Continue to do what we're doing with the ANAM, but don't do more at this point,'" said Dr. Kurt Kroenke, the Indiana University professor of medicine who led the discussion. 
 
 When S. Ward Casscells, the former head of Pentagon official health affairs, ordered the ANAM into use in May 2008, he depicted it as an interim measure and promised the military would launch a comprehensive study comparing it with other brain-injury tests. 
 
 Emails obtained by ProPublica and NPR show the comparison was supposed to be completed by November 2009, but it remains unfinished. 
 
 A recent report from the Government Accountability Office said the Defense Department doesn't expect the results until 2015 -- two years after the last troops are scheduled to leave Afghanistan.
– Anyone with the misfortune to lose a limb on the job at least gets a decent workers' comp payout, right? Actually, it all depends on where they live, reports ProPublica and NPR. Here's a crazy example of what the joint investigation calls this "geographic lottery": Jeremy Lewis and Josh Potter lived 75 miles from each other when each lost part of his left arm in a machinery accident. Lewis got $45,000, while Potter will collect about $740,000. Reason: Lewis is in Alabama and Potter in Georgia. The figures vary wildly because states set their own payouts without any guidelines. "Given their profound impact on people’s lives, how much compensation workers get for traumatic injuries seems like it would be the product of years of study, combining medical wisdom and economic analysis," write Michael Grabell and Howard Berkes. "But in reality, the amounts are often the result of political expediency, sometimes based on bargains struck decades ago." Which is why a big toe is worth $6,090 in California and $90,401.88 in Oregon. See this chart to compare various body parts in different states, or click here for the full piece.