West
Kamala Harris' legal, political career kicked off with failed bar exam
Vice President Kamala Harris is placing her experience as a “top cop” front and center as she looks to “prosecute” her GOP opponent and press her case for why she should win the presidency in November – but the legal career she’s leaning on is “devoid” of achievement, critics say, and she owes much of her success to networking.
Her nearly three-decade rise up the ranks has included numerous bumps along the way – including failing her bar exam on the first try in 1989.
Civil rights attorney Leo Terrell, who passed the California bar the same year on his first try, described Harris as a “political opportunist” who was in “the right position, the right place” at the right time. By making calculated moves, she was able to leap from district attorney to attorney general to senator to vice president – and perhaps beyond.
“Networking,” Terrell said, is what catapulted Harris’ career. “Let’s face it, she got to her position not on academic achievement. She got to her position as San Francisco district attorney, California attorney general, U.S. senator and vice president, because of networking.”
THE MEDIA’S SUDDEN REJECTION OF KAMALA HARRIS’ ‘BORDER CZAR’ LABEL
Vice President Kamala Harris’ rise up the ranks has included numerous bumps along the way – including failing her bar exam on the first try in 1989. (AP Photo/Morry Gash)
Terrell added that the guidance of former San Francisco Mayor Willie Brown, who has openly discussed his extramarital relationship with Harris during the 1990s, also aided Harris’ political rise.
“She has no outstanding achievement as a lawyer, as a trial lawyer, her record is devoid,” Terrell said. “… From my perspective, listening to her speak, listening to her approach to matters of public concerns… I don’t think she’s an academic heavyweight. I just don’t see what’s propelling her to this current political status. It’s pure networking and politics and being in the right place, at the right time.”
Harris has leaned on her experience as the Golden State’s “top cop” after announcing her candidacy for president in the aftermath of President Biden dropping out of the race.
“As a tough prosecutor, Kamala Harris dealt with men like Trump all the time: Rapists, con men, frauds, criminals – she’s used to guys like Trump, used to putting them in their place,” a narrator for a pro-Harris ad released this week states.
Following Biden’s exit from the race, Democrats have begun to push the narrative that the election is now pitting a “Prosecutor vs. the Felon,” referring to former President Trump, who was found guilty in a New York criminal case earlier this year.
“The contrast in this race could not be clearer – a prosecutor versus a convicted felon. A champion for American’s fundamental freedoms versus a man who has tried to rip them away at every turn. Let’s get to work,” Rep. Greg Stanton, D-Ariz., wrote on X.
OBAMA’S INNER CIRCLE SIGNALS 44TH PRESIDENT FIRMLY BEHIND HARRIS DESPITE NOT SAYING SO PUBLICLY
“November 5: the Prosecutor vs. the Felon,” Rep. Daniel Goldman, D-N.Y., also chimed in.
Supreme Court nominee Amy Coney Barrett testifies during the third day of her confirmation hearings on Capitol Hill, Oct. 14, 2020. (Anna Moneymaker/The New York Times via AP, Pool)
Harris, who will turn 60 in October, spent 27 years in the legal world, which kicked off with her failing the bar exam.
Harris’ failure made national news in 2020, when she was running on the Biden ticket for the White House while simultaneously juggling her Senate duties, most notably serving on the Senate Judiciary Committee. In that capacity, Harris questioned Supreme Court nominee Amy Coney Barrett, who was selected by Trump to fill the seat of the late Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg.
“Republicans are scrambling to confirm this nominee as fast as possible because they need one more Trump judge on the bench before Nov. 10 to win and strike down the entire Affordable Care Act,” said Harris during the nomination hearing. “This is not hyperbole. This is not a hypothetical.”
Harris’ questions and exchanges with Coney Barrett were not nearly as fiery as her demeanor during previous hearings, including the battle surrounding Brett Kavanaugh’s nomination in 2018. As the 2020 election cycle loomed over the hearings, social media commenters pointed out that the then-vice presidential nominee had failed her bar exam, while Coney Barrett finished first in her class while attending Notre Dame Law School.
“Kamala Harris failed the bar 1st time. Amy Coney Barrett 1st in her class,” one social media post at the time read. “I rest.”
The social media comments spurred outlets such as USA Today to publish fact checks that revealed Harris did in fact fail the bar exam on her first try, while Coney Barrett graduated top of her class. While the New York Times reported in a 2016 profile on Harris that she failed the exam, and had recently consoled a young law student who also failed the test, telling her: “It’s not a measure of your capacity.”
NEW YORK TIMES SPINS KAMALA HARRIS’ PAST WORD SALADS AS ‘CELEBRATORY ARTIFACTS’ WITH CANDIDACY UNDERWAY
Ashley Williams, Montel Williams and Kamala Harris attend Eighth Annual Race To Erase Multiple Sclerosis Benefit at the Century Plaza Hotel in Century City, California on May 18, 2001. (Ron Galella, Ltd./Ron Galella Collection via Getty Images)
Harris ultimately passed one year later, with the bar admitting her in 1990, Fox News Digital found on the California Bar’s website.
DEMS HYPE HARRIS AS TRUMP ‘PROSECUTOR’ IN ELECTION, BUT CRITICS SLAM HER LEGAL CAREER
Harris attended historically Black college Howard University as an undergraduate, and earned her law degree from the University of California, Hastings College of the Law, which Terrell noted is an excellent law school – making it “kind of odd” for a student to fail the bar exam on their first try.
District Attorney Kamala Harris walks into a courtroom on April 29, 2004, in San Francisco. (Paul Chinn/The San Francisco Chronicle via Getty Images)
After passing the bar, she launched her career in the Alameda County District Attorney’s Office as a deputy DA in 1990. In the late 1990s, she moved over to the San Francisco District Attorney’s Office as assistant DA, then to the San Francisco city attorney’s office, before running in 2004 to become San Francisco’s top cop. She was elected as San Francisco DA and served in the role for about seven years, in that time building a friendship with then-Illinois Sen. Barack Obama and rubbing elbows with fellow Californian, Rep. Nancy Pelosi.
HOW DOES KAMALA HARRIS POLL AGAINST DONALD TRUMP?
San Francisco District Attorney Kamala Harris speaks to supporters before a press conference on Oct. 29, 2008. (Justin Sullivan/Getty Images)
Her meteoric rise in politics only grew from there, clinching the California attorney general position in 2011, when Gov. Jerry Brown led the state, then winning her Senate run in 2016 after longtime Sen. Barbara Boxer announced her retirement from politics.
HARRIS OUTPERFORMS BIDEN IN 2024 SHOWDOWN WITH TRUMP: POLL
Days after Obama endorsed Biden for president in August 2020, Biden announced Harris would join him on the ticket. Harris, who has been called “the Female Obama,” has had a long friendship with the 44th president, including being among the first elected Democrats in the nation to endorse his first run for president in the 2008 election – snubbing Hillary Clinton in favor of the then-Illinois senator.
Vice President Kamala Harris and former President Barack Obama attend an event in the East Room of the White House on April 5, 2022. (Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images)
“We did it, Joe,” Harris famously said in a phone call with Biden after polls showed the pair won the election.
Harris is now the presumptive Democratic nominee for the 2024 election, after Biden bowed out of the race, which was shortly followed by him endorsing his veep.
VP HARRIS FINALLY REACTS TO DC VIOLENCE, HOURS AFTER FLAG BURNING BY ANTI-ISRAEL AGITATORS
“My very first decision as the party nominee in 2020 was to pick Kamala Harris as my Vice President. And it’s been the best decision I’ve made,” Biden said in an X post following his withdrawal from the race. “Today I want to offer my full support and endorsement for Kamala to be the nominee of our party this year. Democrats – it’s time to come together and beat Trump. Let’s do this.”
Vice President Kamala Harris delivers remarks alongside President Biden in the Rose Garden of the White House on July 26, 2021. (Anna Moneymaker/Getty Images)
The 46th president had faced mounting pressure from his Democrat allies and legacy media outlets to bow out of the race since June 27, when he delivered a botched debate performance against Trump that was riddled with garbled remarks and where the president lost his train of thought and appeared more subdued than during other recent public events.
The debate reignited concern among conservatives and critics that Biden’s mental acuity had slipped, while it marked the beginning of a pressure campaign among Democrats to oust Biden.
Get the latest updates from the 2024 campaign trail, exclusive interviews and more at our Fox News Digital election hub.
Fox News Digital’s Jamie Joseph contributed to this report.
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ANCHORAGE, Alaska (KTUU) – A musician with Alaska Native roots recorded an hour-long live set in Interior Alaska beneath the aurora.
Chastity Ashley, a drummer, vocalist and DJ who performs under the name Neon Pony, celebrated a year since she traveled to Nenana to record a live music set beneath the northern lights for her series Beats and Hidden Retreats.
Ashley, who has Indigenous roots in New Mexico, said she was drawn to Alaska in part because of the role drums play in Alaska Native culture. A handmade Alaskan hand drum, brought to her by a man from just outside Anchorage, was incorporated into the performance in February 2025.
Recording in the cold
The team spent eight days in Nenana waiting for the aurora to appear. Ashley said the lights did not come out until around 4 a.m., and she performed a continuous, uninterrupted hour-long set in 17-degree weather without gloves.
“It was freezing. I couldn’t wear gloves because I’m actually playing, yeah, hand drums and holding drumsticks. And there was ice underneath my feet,” Ashley said.
“So, I had to really utilize my balance and my willpower and my ability to just really immerse in the music and let go and make it about the celebration of what I was doing as opposed to worrying about all the other elements or what could go wrong.”
She said she performed in a leotard to allow full range of motion while drumming, DJing and singing.
Filming on Nenana tribal land
Ashley said she did not initially know the filming location was on indigenous land. After local authorities told her the decision was not theirs to make, she contacted the Nenana tribe directly for permission.
“I went into it kind of starting to tell them who I was and that I too was a part of a native background,” Ashley said. “And they just did not even care. They’re like, listen, we’re about to have a party for one of our friends here. Go and do what you like.”
Ashley said the tribe gave her full permission to film on the reservation, and that the aurora footage seen in the episode was captured there.
Seeing the aurora for the first time
Ashley said the Nenana performance marked her first time seeing the northern lights in person.
“It felt as if I were awake in a dream,” she said. “It really doesn’t seem real.”
She said she felt humbled and blessed to perform beneath the aurora and to celebrate its beauty and grandeur through her music.
“I feel incredibly humbled and blessed that not only did I get to take part in seeing something like that, but to play underneath it and celebrate its beauty and its grandeur.”
The Alaska episode is the second installment of Beats and Hidden Retreats, which is available on YouTube at @NeonPony. Ashley said two additional episodes are in production and she hopes to make it back up to Alaska in the future.
See a spelling or grammar error? Report it to web@ktuu.com
Copyright 2026 KTUU. All rights reserved.
Odds of winning the Powerball and Mega Millions are NOT in your favor
Odds of hitting the jackpot in Mega Millions or Powerball are around 1-in-292 million. Here are things that you’re more likely to land than big bucks.
The Arizona Lottery offers multiple draw games for those aiming to win big.
Here’s a look at Friday, Feb. 27, 2026 results for each game:
Winning Mega Millions numbers
11-18-39-43-67, Mega Ball: 23
Check Mega Millions payouts and previous drawings here.
Winning Pick 3 numbers
7-7-0
Check Pick 3 payouts and previous drawings here.
Winning Fantasy 5 numbers
16-19-20-26-37
Check Fantasy 5 payouts and previous drawings here.
Winning Triple Twist numbers
11-15-24-25-28-30
Check Triple Twist payouts and previous drawings here.
Feeling lucky? Explore the latest lottery news and results
What time is the Powerball drawing?
Powerball drawings are at 7:59 p.m. Arizona time on Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays.
How much is a Powerball lottery ticket today?
In Arizona, Powerball tickets cost $2 per game, according to the Arizona Lottery.
How to play the Powerball
To play, select five numbers from 1 to 69 for the white balls, then select one number from 1 to 26 for the red Powerball.
You can choose your lucky numbers on a play slip or let the lottery terminal randomly pick your numbers.
To win, match one of the 9 Ways to Win:
- 5 white balls + 1 red Powerball = Grand prize.
- 5 white balls = $1 million.
- 4 white balls + 1 red Powerball = $50,000.
- 4 white balls = $100.
- 3 white balls + 1 red Powerball = $100.
- 3 white balls = $7.
- 2 white balls + 1 red Powerball = $7.
- 1 white ball + 1 red Powerball = $4.
- 1 red Powerball = $4.
There’s a chance to have your winnings increased two, three, four, five and 10 times through the Power Play for an additional $1 per play. Players can multiply non-jackpot wins up to 10 times when the jackpot is $150 million or less.
Are you a winner? Here’s how to claim your lottery prize
All Arizona Lottery retailers will redeem prizes up to $100 and may redeem winnings up to $599. For prizes over $599, winners can submit winning tickets through the mail or in person at Arizona Lottery offices. By mail, send a winner claim form, winning lottery ticket and a copy of a government-issued ID to P.O. Box 2913, Phoenix, AZ 85062.
To submit in person, sign the back of your ticket, fill out a winner claim form and deliver the form, along with the ticket and government-issued ID to any of these locations:
Phoenix Arizona Lottery Office: 4740 E. University Drive, Phoenix, AZ 85034, 480-921-4400. Hours: 7:30 a.m. to 5 p.m. Monday through Friday, closed holidays. This office can cash prizes of any amount.
Tucson Arizona Lottery Office: 2955 E. Grant Road, Tucson, AZ 85716, 520-628-5107. Hours: 7:30 a.m. to 5 p.m. Monday through Friday, closed holidays. This office can cash prizes of any amount.
Phoenix Sky Harbor Lottery Office: Terminal 4 Baggage Claim, 3400 E. Sky Harbor Blvd., Phoenix, AZ 85034, 480-921-4424. Hours: 8:30 a.m. to 5 p.m. Monday through Sunday, closed holidays. This office can cash prizes up to $49,999.
Kingman Arizona Lottery Office: Inside Walmart, 3396 Stockton Hill Road, Kingman, AZ 86409, 928-753-8808. Hours: 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. Monday through Friday, 8:30 a.m. to 5 p.m. Saturday and Sunday, closed holidays. This office can cash prizes up to $49,999.
Check previous winning numbers and payouts at https://www.arizonalottery.com/.
This results page was generated automatically using information from TinBu and a template written and reviewed by an Arizona Republic editor. You can send feedback using this form.
California
‘Trump’s not enough. And he knows he’s not enough’: California governor Gavin Newsom on populism, ‘purity tests’ and whether he’ll run for the presidency
When you think of the politician Donald Trump isn’t, when you think of the norm he broke, the archetype he shattered, you might well picture a man who looks a lot like Gavin Newsom. Tall and handsome, hair coiffed just so, with a blond wife and four photogenic kids at his side, Newsom, who has been the governor of California since 2019 and is often described as the frontrunner to be the Democratic nominee for the White House in 2028, looks the way professional politicians, and especially presidential candidates, look in the movies.
It’s dogged Newsom for years, that look of his, perennially suggesting that he is, in the words of one California newspaper, “too ambitious, too slickly handsome, and too patrician-seeming”, especially for a populist age that cherishes the authentic and has no truck with anything either phoney or “elite”. The elite tag especially has hung around Newsom’s neck for decades, thanks to the fact that his ascent to the top of California politics has seemed smooth and unbroken, apparently eased by a childhood spent in the orbit of the Getty family, when that name was a byword for astronomical wealth.
Now Newsom is bent on busting those myths, laying out in a new memoir a reality that confounds the public image. Sceptics will of course assume that this is just another classic politician move: the book that precedes a campaign for national office. Even so, few readers of Young Man in a Hurry will come away thinking of its author as the “Prince Gavin” of his rivals’ caricature. Instead they will see a man, now 58, whose story is far more complex, and interesting, than the haircut and smile would have you believe – one whose life might just have equipped him to win the most powerful office in the world.
When we speak, in a conversation that will range from a devastating family history to his knack for a stunt – handing out kneepads at Davos to those politicians and corporate titans he accuses of abasing themselves before Trump – he makes his interest in the US presidency clearer than ever, even if he doesn’t quite say outright that he’s running. If there was so much as a scintilla of doubt about his intentions before we talk, not a trace of it is left afterwards. What’s more, Gavin Newsom leaves some valuable clues pointing not only to how he would seek the presidency of the United States – but why.
Via a videocall from his office in Sacramento – the same office, he points out, where “Governor Reagan, not president yet, Ronald Reagan used to reside” – he tells me that the new book “wasn’t done cynically”, that it “wasn’t done intentionally” as a political ploy; that, in fact, it came out of a rejection. In his telling, he had submitted a more conventional politician’s memoir – detailing his handling of California’s wildfires, the pandemic and “Trump 1.0” – with just one chapter on his own upbringing. The publisher read that chapter and said, “Hold on. I didn’t know anything about this.” What she had read ran so “completely counter” to what she had previously thought – the Newsom born with a presumed silver spoon in his mouth – that she demanded more.
This is what she had learned from those pages. That, yes, Newsom’s father had served as consigliere to Gordon Getty, whom he had known since high school and, in that capacity, became exceptionally close to the family, to the point where he and his two children, Gavin and sister Hilary, would feel at home at the Getty mansion on San Francisco’s Gold Coast, and would frequently accompany the clan on outrageously lavish trips abroad. Newsom describes it all: the teenage trips on “the Jetty”, the Gettys’ private plane; being kitted out by a tailor with the clothes he would need to be a house guest of the king of Spain; that time in Venice when he arrived by gondola at yet another party in a 16th-century palazzo, only to be greeted by the debauched face of Jack Nicholson. “Well, well,” said the actor, “if it isn’t the Getty boys.” The young Newsom didn’t correct him.
But, the governor now tells me, “To work for them doesn’t make you them.” For all his decades in the Gettys’ service, William Newsom “never made much money”. He was paid a salary, but it was not enormous. “It wasn’t a financial relationship … it opened up the door of privilege and opportunity, but not wealth. My father passed with nothing.”
That, though, is not the half of it. After Newsom’s parents divorced when he was three, he was raised by his mother. She worked three jobs at once, one of them as a waitress, and took in lodgers and foster children for extra cash. Gavin and his sister were latchkey kids who shared a bedroom. “We were home alone for too many hours on too many days,” he writes. “We raised ourselves on giant bowls of mac and cheese and thought nothing of it.”
The timber of his family tree is riddled with alcoholism and depression. His mother chugged wine from a jug, while her own father was so badly damaged by his experience as a prisoner of war, held by the Japanese, that he once pulled a gun on his three children, telling them very calmly, “I am going to shoot all of you right now.” He eventually took his own life.
It can be hard to square all this with the Newsom persona California voters have known for so long. He was still in his 20s when appointed to his first citywide role in San Francisco by legendary mayor Willie Brown, whom Newsom succeeded in 2004. That year, Harper’s Bazaar ran a feature on “the new Kennedys”, which included a photo of Newsom in a tuxedo, lying on a rug alongside his then wife, TV host Kimberly Guilfoyle, also in evening wear, in the Getty mansion. The marriage would break up, Guilfoyle would go on to date Donald Trump Jr, and she is now the US ambassador to Greece, while Newsom would marry Jennifer Siebel, an actor and documentary film-maker from a Republican family. But the image lingered.
For some, the disconnect between that and the upbringing Newsom describes in his book is just too much. One former associate described it to the New Yorker as Newsom’s “I was born a poor Black child” story – a reference to the spoof opening monologue of Steve Martin’s 1979 comedy The Jerk. But Newsom is emphatic that “the press’s one‑dimensional portrait of me” is wrong, that he really did live in a “duality”, moving between two worlds: one of scarcity and struggle; the other of fabulous opulence – and that, if his memoir reads like a strange mashup of The Great Gatsby and Hillbilly Elegy, that’s just how it was.
Even those reluctant to concede Newsom his hardscrabble roots have to allow that he did face one obstacle that, on its own, puts the lie to the notion of his career as a smooth ride. He has what he calls a “learning disability”, in the form of severe dyslexia. At school, he says, “I couldn’t read, I couldn’t spell, I couldn’t write.” (He is upfront that his memoir is ghostwritten.) He was sure he was stupid – “a gimpy geek with a bowl cut” – and he was regularly bullied. (They’d call him “New‑scum”, the same word hurled at him by Trump.) To this day, he can only read laboriously, underlining almost every word, then copying out the underlined passages to a notepad, and then copying those out on index cards, which he keeps in a voluminous filing system. He cannot read from an Autocue, at least not in a way most people would recognise as reading.
“We would never be having this conversation if it wasn’t for the gift of dyslexia,” he tells me. It didn’t feel like a gift at the time, but now he can see the effect it’s had. He is a “politician that doesn’t read speeches. You’ve never seen me read a written text in a speech. I don’t look up and down. I’m off script all the time.” In the age of populism, that’s a boast. Given that authenticity is probably the single most prized quality in politics, and that the opposite of authentic is scripted, Newsom is happy to tell you he is literally incapable of being scripted.
It’s had other effects, too. He can’t easily read words, so, “as a consequence, you have to make up for that. You have to read the room. You have to have some emotional intelligence. You feel things.” Besides, having to stand before audiences without the crutch of a text inevitably brings “anxiety and insecurity. And you try to make up for that. And the only way you can make up for that is hard work and grit. And you got to practise. So there’s this notion of reps and resiliency.”
No one disputes Newsom’s work ethic. As he puts it, “You’re just not going to outwork me. I mean, you may think you’re going to outwork me, but you’re not. I’m going to read 10 times more. It may take me 10 times longer to read … [but] I’m going to have to come prepared because, you know, I can’t fake it. I can’t dial it in, and I can’t dial up someone else’s words that are put on a piece of paper, like so many others in my racket, in politics. And so I’m going to spend 10 hours for 10 minutes.”
The tuxedo photoshoot made him look like a playboy – and his dating life as a divorcee mayor in the 2000s kept the San Francisco gossip columnists busily happy – but he is in fact a swot: studying ahead of every meeting, ploughing through papers on his 90-minute commute, underlining and writing out lines. That’s what he means by reps. For him, taking in information is like lifting weights: it requires repetition.
The result is a wonkishness that, again, hardly fits the show pony image. When he appeared as a guest on New York Times journalist Ezra Klein’s podcast, the two went several rounds on modular construction and the role of off-site manufacture in addressing the housing crisis. Newsom is a politician who feeds on a policy-rich diet.
That habit was shaped thanks to a brief but formative part of his career, one that sets him apart from his likely rivals for the 2028 Democratic nomination. Straight out of college, which he had reached only because he had made himself – through hours and hours of practice – a decent baseball player, a left-arm pitcher, Newsom founded a business. A wine store called PlumpJack, in homage to Falstaff, which he set up in San Francisco and where he put his hands-on work ethic to intense use. (In the book, Newsom is at pains to make clear that though Gordon Getty was an early investor, he was one of seven or eight, each giving a modest $15,000.)
PlumpJack proved a great success. It would eventually become an operation with four wineries, two boutique hotels, seven restaurants and bars, two clothes shops and 700 employees – among them, until her death at age 55 via an assisted suicide, which Newsom concedes was then illegal under California law, Newsom’s mother. Its co-presidents are Newsom’s sister Hilary and their cousin.
Newsom says it was building that business that made him a magpie for the ideas of others, agnostic as to their origin, interested solely in what brought success. “Part of being an entrepreneur,” he tells me, “is always casing other people’s joints, constantly figuring out where your competition is going, what they’re about to do, what are the trend lines … I took that and applied it to politics.”
He’s making a point about policy and the search for best practice, but the political application goes wider than that. For one thing, if Newsom is the nominee in 2028, Republicans will struggle to run what has long been one of their favourite lines against Democratic opponents: that they have never run a business, never created a job, that all they’ve known is politics. His business record is one more way in which Newsom might be able to appeal to red state voters as well as blue state ones. Yes, he is the governor of one of the most liberal states in the union, having been mayor of one of the most liberal cities in the country, the mere words “San Francisco” usually enough to whip up a rightwing crowd. But, as the veteran Democratic strategist James Carville told the New Yorker, Newsom can get around that: “Part of his selling will have to be, I can play in the middle of the country – I can play freshwater and I can play saltwater.”
The family he has today will help. Like so much else about him, it’s a duality. At first glance, it could have been designed to delight a Fox audience: the slim, blond wife alongside four kids, aged 10 to 16 – two daughters, Montana and Brooklynn, and two sons, Hunter and Dutch. But the blue state crowd will warm to the fact that Siebel has chosen to be known as the first partner of California, rather than first lady; that her documentaries interrogate themes that include the under-representation of women in positions of power and American notions of masculinity. (Newsom’s book describes the day Siebel told him about her experience at the hands of Harvey Weinstein: in 2022 she testified in court that, 17 years earlier, Weinstein had raped her in a hotel room.)
Newsom’s record is itself a duality. At one point, he tells me, “You’re talking to one of the most progressive politicians in the United States.” As if addressing the Democratic core voters who will choose a 2028 standard bearer in primaries, he rattles off the evidence, starting with the act that first made him a national figure, when just weeks after becoming mayor in 2004, he authorised the first same-sex marriages in US history, prompting thousands of lesbian and gay couples from across the country to head to City Hall in what became known as the “winter of love”. (John Kerry, his party’s presidential nominee that year, was said to have blamed Newsom’s move for his defeat, by galvanising conservatives and evangelical Christians to vote against him.)
But Newsom is just clearing his throat. He ticks off his tally of progressive achievements. “We have universal healthcare in California, regardless of immigration status and regardless of pre-existing conditions or ability to pay. We have the highest minimum wage in the United States of America for healthcare workers: $25. Fast-food workers: $20. $16.90 for everybody else.” He talks about the threat that extreme inequality between rich and poor now poses to the republic; one of his lines is, “We’ve got to democratise our economy to save our democracy.” He says that on so many issues that the New York mayor and progressive pin-up Zohran Mamdani and the left argue for, California has already forged ahead. “We’re being very aggressive calling out Trump and Trumpism, putting a mirror up to this president and punching him back in ways that are very aggressive, not just stylistically.”
He’s referring to Proposition 50, the statewide referendum Newsom pushed last November, urging Californians to agree to a redistricting plan that would give Democrats five more seats in the House of Representatives – to offset the five-seat advantage Republicans had given themselves by redrawing congressional boundaries in Texas. It was a huge gamble. Voters don’t always turn out for what can look like technical, procedural measures, and had Prop 50 lost, Newsom would have been tainted by failure, his electoral pull exposed as weak. Instead, it passed by a walloping 29 points. Overnight, Newsom had established himself as a – if not the – leader of the opposition, a Democrat not looking to split the difference but ready to take the fight to Trump and the Republicans.
And yet, that record sits alongside a résumé as a moderate Democrat, one that goes back just as long. Serving on the equivalent of San Francisco’s city council, in 2002 he antagonised the left with a scheme called Care Not Cash, which slashed payments to homeless people, using the money to fund housing and help with drug addiction and mental illness. He says it worked.
More recently, Newsom has angered the left again. Last year he launched a podcast, This Is Gavin Newsom. He knows it’s a cliche: “You roll your eyes. God, a politician, an American politician, with a podcast and a book.” But that’s not what riled many on his own side. It was his choice of guests. He has featured Steve Bannon and Maga-before-Maga talkshow host Michael Savage, whose longtime mantra was “borders, language, culture”. On his debut show, Newsom interviewed Charlie Kirk.
Naturally, Newsom was denounced for platforming – he puts the word in quotes – hate figures from the right. What’s more, on that first episode, Newsom mused that transgender athletes’ participation in professional women’s sports was “deeply unfair”. The backlash was immediate. Many detected a political calculation, Newsom signalling that he understood the much‑discussed vibe shift revealed by the defeat of Kamala Harris a few months earlier and pointedly breaking from the activist left of his party.
The governor insists it was nothing of the sort. His view was shaped, he says, by practical experience. Two years earlier, “we had some statewide championships in track and field, where there was a trans athlete that was successful in [defeating] another athlete. And there was tremendous controversy. We tried to accommodate for that and address the issue of fairness and some advantages that I think, by any objective standards, existed and persisted. And the difficulty was we couldn’t figure it out.” A year later, the issue recurred and, again, Newsom could not see a fair solution. “And so Charlie Kirk asked me a direct question, and I answered it.”
He says he’s sorry that he hurt the feelings of some on his own side, but he thinks the response he got teaches its own lesson. “Frankly, we were becoming a little too judgmental as a party … this idea that somehow you’re countenancing a point of view or perspective by engaging in conversations, that somehow you’re complicit … There was a purity test” – according to which nothing less than total orthodoxy on key issues is good enough. “I have a difference of opinion with my party on sports for transgender athletes. And there was tremendous judgment and condemnation for that point of view, somehow saying I’ve abandoned the LGBTQ community. I’ve walked away. I’m throwing them under the bus. I think it’s that kind of tonality that pulls people away.”
Newsom says he’s interested in finding those areas where Democrats and Republicans might come together. Just as likely, he wants to see where Democrats might win over former Republicans and gain their votes. He’s back to casing the competing joints, looking for the clues that Republican success in 2024 left behind. He consumes rightwing media, watching more Fox News than he ever watched MSNBC, now rebranded as MS NOW, and is particularly keen to work out how the right cuts through among young men. That’s a trick Democrats need to match.
Still, it’s a duality: Newsom simultaneously the most pugnacious Democrat on the playing field – trolling the president with Trump-style social media posts, complete with capital letters and multiple exclamation marks – and the advocate of building bridges that might connect blue and red America. That connection has to happen, he says, because “divorce is not an option”.
Can you be both at once: attack dog and unifier? Newsom thinks so. When I offer a range of apparently competing strategies for opposing Trump, some on the offensive, some aimed at accommodation, asking which he prefers, he answers, “All of them.” He sees no reason to choose.
“I mean, you can stand your ground, be firm, but also have an open hand, not a closed fist in terms of dealing with our common humanity. This notion that it’s got to be one or the other, that’s the tyranny of ‘or’ versus the genius of ‘and’ … I think there’s nuances in life. It’s not black and white. It’s not binary. I think that’s the way we need to approach life.”
He extends that – sort of – even to Trump himself. In the book, he describes an encounter during Trump’s first term, where the governor and the president rode on Air Force One together. The Trump that Newsom saw seemed eager, in private, to win him over, to josh with him, to be liked by him. He looked needy. Is Newsom saying he almost felt sorry for Donald Trump?
“He wants to be loved. He needs to be loved. Yes, he’s a narcissist. He’s desperate for it. He doesn’t care if he’s the heel or the hero, as long as he’s the star … He’s broken in many ways. That’s why he tried to break this country on January 6 … and why he will do more to destroy this republic, today, tomorrow and into the future. It’s a tragic story, but it’s a very human story.
“You know, I think it’s why he desperately needed to become president of the United States again. It’s why he’s trying to rename everything in his image. It’s never enough, because he’s not enough and he knows he’s not enough. And I think the remarkable thing is how easy it is to play on that. How easily our foreign adversaries are able to manipulate him.”
It’s one thing to play him, Newsom says, “but you also have to stand up to him. You’ve got to fight him, you’ve got to fight the bully. I felt like the [Mark] Carney [at Davos] speech represented that … [Emmanuel] Macron began to sort of lean into that. There’s a new tone and tenor.” He wants to see the post-1945 transatlantic alliance survive, he says, and that requires strength in the face of Trump. At Davos, he urged European leaders to realise that “grovelling to Trump’s needs” makes them “look pathetic on the world stage”.
We’ve talked for a while and the subject can be avoided no longer: is Gavin Newsom going to run for president? I remind him that he once said that it’s “better to be candid than be coy”. He laughs, adding, “I shouldn’t have said that” – and so I urge him to be candid now. An easy question first. He doesn’t have to tell me what he’s decided, but has he made up his mind about running?
“Absolutely, I have not.” He says he cannot know now what the moment will require in 2028. But he’s clear that, if he runs, he won’t be doing it to fill a psychic hole, like Trump. It won’t be to make up for a lack of parental love. For all her challenges, his mother “did give me a lot of hugs. And I was loved by my dad, despite the fact he could never say it.” If he does it, it will be because he thinks he can be “a solution to a problem”. He says that for a guy like him, who got a low SAT score of 960 – he urges me to look that up, to see how bad it is – even to be asked such a question is humbling. “And so I’m not going to say no, because I’d be lying by saying that, but I absolutely cannot say yes.”
I push him a bit more. What if the threat to democracy is as sharp in 2028 as he believes it is now?
He says “something shifted in me” at two points in 2025. One was in January, just ahead of Trump’s second term, when, as Newsom saw it, Trump tried to “weaponise” the California wildfires, seeking to extract political advantage from an opponent and a hostile blue state in distress. The second came in the summer, when Trump deployed the National Guard in Los Angeles, along with 700 active duty marines. They “were not sent overseas but were sent to the second largest city in the United States”.
That January, “I was experiencing something I was not prepared for. A president-elect trying to take down an American city, trying to take down an American politician in a way that I, frankly, was not prepared for. Six months later, with the National Guard, I just started to shift tonally, my temperament, my approach.”
He says that he’s on “the other side” of that shift. “There’s a freedom now that I feel. And I’m running around Davos with kneepads, taking shots at folks that I used to admire and respect that I feel have sold their souls. And this is an existential moment that goes to your question. If someone else doesn’t have that fire, that sense of purpose and mission, then, yeah, I could see myself stepping into that void.”
It’s not an announcement, but it’s not far off it. It comes from a man who has never lost an election and who always comes prepared. And he’s preparing right now.
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