Governor Rick Snyder stood at the podium with what looked like a blank stare. It was early October, 2015. For the previous eighteen months, his administration and Flint city officials had fielded complaints from residents worried about the brown and smelly water coming out of their taps.

The governor and his top officials had responded to residents’ concerns with grade-A government gaslighting. “Don’t believe your eyes” was the basic message from Snyder and company. Disregard the brown water, the foul smell, your skin breaking out in rashes, or hair rapidly falling out of your scalp. “Your water is safe to drink,” residents were repeatedly assured since April of 2014.

To be more exact, it was April 25, 2014 — that is when city officials flipped the switch to the Flint River.

That event diverted Flint away from Detroit’s water pipeline, from which Flint had been getting its drinking water for fifty years, over to the heavily polluted Flint River. Most residents weren’t even aware the changeover occurred. It was supposed to be a temporary move, while a new regional water system Flint had signed on to was built. The problems were immediate, and it didn’t take long for angry residents to show up at city hall hoisting jugs of brown water.

The mayor and city council members initially told residents the water was safe. According to the powers that be, the discoloration and smell were just kinks being worked out at the city water plant. But the people of Flint weren’t buying it. At first there were a few groups showing up at city hall. Small crowds grew to large protests. Some residents even contacted the US Environmental Protection Agency (EPA).

Yet government officials remained steadfast in the “official” story. They upheld a united front across federal, state, and local levels: Flint’s drinking water is meeting federal requirements, and that’s the story we’re sticking to. The officials cited citywide testing as proof of their assurances.

The residents knew they were lying, but they had little recourse.

A local pediatrician didn’t buy what the government was selling, either. Dr. Mona Hanna-Attisha, a children’s doctor at Flint’s Hurley Hospital, had been tipped off to potential problems with the city’s water. Her friend, a drinking water expert, shared concerns that the Flint River, from which the city was getting its drinking water, wasn’t being treated properly.
To investigate, Dr. Mona combed through data on the blood lead levels of children in Flint. She looked at the period before the April 2014 water switch and afterward. Very quickly, the spike was clear. When she contacted Michigan state health officials, they angrily accused Dr. Mona of cherry-picking the data. They even insisted her numbers were wrong. The cognitive dissonance was alarming — considering there is no safe level of lead for children to consume. Even small amounts of lead can damage physical and mental development. It dawned on Dr. Mona that she might not be dealing with good-faith government officials who were prioritizing the health of Flint children.

Most doctors wouldn’t directly challenge the state, much less the governor. After all, top donors and foundations that generously fund hospitals like hers also shower politicians with cash. But Hanna-Attisha felt there was no time to waste digging through the muck of state-level bureaucracy and politics. So in September of 2015, she held a press conference.

“These results are concerning,” she warned. She also advised that Flint switch off the Flint River and go back to Detroit’s water system. The response from the Snyder administration was swift, accusing Dr. Mona of “causing near hysteria” and “slicing and dicing” data.

But weeks later, the governor was forced to admit Dr. Mona was right. Standing at the lectern in Flint at a crisis-level press conference, the governor admitted what his administration had been denying for a year and a half. Flint’s water was toxic. Snyder laid out the frightening facts: the water was teeming with lead levels well over the “allowable” federal safe drinking water level. Simply put, tap water was a danger to Flint residents.

Although residents had already been living through the crisis for eighteen months, the governor’s announcement officially sparked the Flint water crisis in the eyes of local and national media. In Flint, tainted water became the top story and the game of who-knew-what-when began in earnest.

Two months after blood tests showed high lead levels, officials from the Michigan Department of Environmental Quality (MDEQ) finally got around to testing the water in the home of a family named Murphy.

The results were alarming. Water coming from the basement tested at 7,324 parts per billion (ppb), a stunning 488 times the EPA’s “allowable” limit of 15 ppb. After running the water, the number improved but was still at 22 ppb. Test results for the water coming into the house tested at 125 ppb, over eight times more than the limit. The results freaked out Christina Murphy. She was six months pregnant. Beyond the physical and mental strain of pregnancy, she felt a sense of impending doom that her son would be born with physical defects because she unknowingly drank toxic water. Meanwhile, the Snyder administration was entrenched in damage-control mode. Top officials prioritized putting out political fires. They also tried to kill news stories that might expose the magnitude of danger coming from Flint’s water. As Snyder waged a game of political survival in the fall of 2015, President Barack Obama and the federal government had not offered help to Flint.

With the Murphys’ home inundated with dangerous water, the state replaced the severely corroded pipes inside their home. They also replaced the lead service line that delivered water from the city into the house. Even with brand-new pipes, tests still showed elevated lead levels.

Despite the state addressing their home’s pipe issues, the Murphys’ family life was falling apart. Lily, a jovial and playful child, started exhibiting volatile mood swings. Skye, their other daughter, shrieked with inexplicable pain in her abdomen. In February of 2016, Christina gave birth to a baby boy. She named him Declan. Sadly, her fears were confirmed; Declan was born with high levels of lead and other heavy metals in his blood.

Making matters worse, Christina’s husband’s health began to deteriorate. Debilitating fatigue took over his body. Muscles and other body parts became so weak that he inexplicably began dropping things. The physical symptoms were compounded by brain fog and memory loss. There were incidents while he drove. Not far from home, Adam Murphy would pull over . . . lost. Confused, he would call Christina, frustrated he couldn’t remember the way home despite being just a few blocks away. Then the seizures began. At thirty-six years old, Adam’s failing health left him unable to work or care for the kids. With five kids and an ailing husband, Christina was sinking in a sea of unpaid bills. They were behind on the mortgage. Calls from debt collectors wouldn’t stop.

Compounding the stress, performing daily chores in a Flint home became much harder. Christina was using a staggering amount of bottled water to cook, wash dishes, clean clothes, brush teeth, bathe, and care for five children. She knew this was an alien lifestyle to Americans who took clean water for granted. If you don’t live it, you don’t understand how many times a day you use water — or what it’s like to not be able to just turn on the tap.

At this point, not nearly enough had been done to expedite relief for the Murphys and the residents of Flint. Water filters had been provided along with free bottled water stations. In spite of the inconvenience, residents were lined up for water around the city. Flint residents were smart; it was obvious to them that their water was still not safe. Pamphlets were mailed to residents by the government depicting a supposedly improving situation. The reality: it was just “blue skies” public relations.

As the ball dropped in 2017, the Murphys were in crisis. In the second week of the new year, local Flint officials and members of the Snyder administration held a town hall in Flint. The event was billed as an update on the water crisis and what action the government was supposedly taking. As ill as he felt, Adam wasn’t going to miss the meeting. Christina knew how sick her husband was and how frustrated he could get. She sent their oldest son with him in hopes of keeping Adam somewhat in check.

The plan failed.

“People have died from this damn water and all you guys can [do is] sit up there and just pretend that it’s no big deal!” he yelled. Other residents broke out in applause.

“Shame on you guys!” Murphy screamed at government officials. Other equally enraged and sick residents clapped and yelled along with him. Adam also condemned the fact that only 150 homes in the city had their water tested for lead despite the EPA granting hundreds of thousands of dollars for testing. “You’re wasting our time and we’re dying!” Politicians stood lifeless in front of furious residents, seeming indifferent to their verbal lashings.

As Adam grew louder, a police officer pulled him by the arm and removed him from the crowd.

The officer calmed him down. She claimed she knew someone high up in the governor’s office who might be able to help him. Murphy didn’t believe the officer and thought he was being muzzled. But he had said his piece, so he left the town hall.

His passionate outburst spread beyond the room. Local media in Detroit and Flint covered the town hall and featured video of Murphy’s shout-fest on the evening news.

Red alert! Flares went up among Snyder’s political generals. They had to prepare a response. Throughout the water crisis, the administration had swiftly reacted to neutralize activists and residents who broke through in the media and threatened their version of events. Controlling the narrative and minimizing the damage were imperative for Governor Snyder. This meant Adam Murphy had to be dealt with.