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As Governor, Burgum Promised to Manage Conflicts. They Still Cropped Up.
On the day after Doug Burgum became governor of North Dakota in 2016, he addressed questions about what he would do about all of his wealthy investments.
They included extensive real estate developments benefiting from state programs that he was suddenly in a position to oversee. His answer was that he would “manage” his conflicts of interest, but he would not divest from his holdings in the state.
“The issue here is to make sure that I have no conflict of interest relative to many state programs and decisions,” he said at the time in an interview with a local newspaper.
Since then, however, his range of holdings, which include extensive urban real estate development in the state, tens of millions in technology investments as well as oil and gas leases, intersected with his policy decisions as governor, a New York Times review has found.
That is particularly true for extensive development efforts in downtown Fargo that have been the beneficiaries of targeted state and federal tax benefits. But at the time, he did not disclose the specifics of any potential conflicts or how he managed them.
Now, as Donald J. Trump’s pick for secretary of the interior, Mr. Burgum could face questions about how he plans to avoid conflicts in leading an agency with vast influence over the use of public lands in ways that reverberate for landholders, energy producers and others.
Rob Lockwood, a spokesman for Mr. Burgum, said in an email to The New York Times: “Everyone who knows Doug Burgum knows that he is a man of outstanding character and ethics who complied with all guidelines as governor.”
Mr. Burgum, whose confirmation hearing is scheduled for Thursday, said in an agreement with the Office of Government Ethics that he would divest from a few holdings that include oil and gas and mineral leases that could pose conflicts.
But he also said he would hold on to other investments that he had been advised might be financially affected by particular matters that could come before the interior secretary. These investments include a range of venture capital funds and some of his Fargo real estate developments, though he will resign from managerial duties in his companies. In those cases, he said, the ethics office had determined that he would be able to recuse himself from decisions that had an impact on those entities or get a waiver.
The Interior Department has long been susceptible to ethical concerns. It has influence over how vast tracts of mineral-rich federal land can be used. During Mr. Trump’s first term, the department became a center of allegations and investigations about conflicts of interest involving high-ranking officials, including the two men who served as its secretary.
Federal law has much stricter disclosure and recusal standards than Mr. Burgum operated under as North Dakota’s governor. It also has criminal prohibitions against officials becoming involved in decisions that could personally benefit themselves or family members.
Mr. Burgum previously disclosed his detailed financial assets for the first time in 2023 as a presidential candidate. An updated version he submitted recently was released by the government ethics office on Wednesday ahead of his hearing, showing a range of assets that could puts his net worth well over $100 million.
While Mr. Burgum was governor, his policies included expanding a state tax program targeted narrowly at real estate development firms like his own that were seeking to revitalize aging downtowns.
His firm, called Kilbourne after his mother’s maiden name, was one of a handful of developers in the state relying in a significant way on such tax breaks and by far the largest in Fargo, according to local officials. He also gave final approval to the zones that benefited from a federal tax credit program, which included areas with his company’s projects in them.
Mr. Burgum was not paid a salary by Kilbourne and “had zero operational authority,” Mr. Lockwood said.
Still, Mr. Burgum continued to have investments in the company’s projects and maintained formal positions in their entities, financial disclosure forms show.
While Mr. Burgum was in office, questions about other ethical choices emerged, including his use of a luxury box at the Super Bowl provided by a regional electricity utility.
After the tickets were reported by The Associated Press, Mr. Burgum said he accepted them to have “quality time” with company executives and he repaid the utility $37,000.
The controversy prompted the governor’s office to enact an ethics policy stating that office officials should “take great care to avoid conflicts of interest or even the perception of a conflict of interest,” including in cases of overseeing policies that involve personal business interests. But the guidelines did not state what actions should be taken when an appearance of a conflict arose.
More enforceable state ethics rules requiring disclosures of potential conflicts of interest did not go into effect until 2022, the result of a 2018 ballot initiative.
Ethics experts in North Dakota and outside the state say that under generally understood norms, Mr. Burgum probably should have made more disclosures about potential conflicts and how he would mitigate them.
“Even a small appearance is enough to trigger an obligation to be open to the public,” said Kedric Payne, a government ethics expert with the Campaign Legal Center.
‘Nobody Really Cared’
In his first State of the State address, in 2017, Mr. Burgum laid out an unusual plan for a state that was one of the most sparsely populated in the country: Go urban.
“It takes safe, healthy cities with vibrant, walkable main streets and downtowns to attract and retain a skilled work force,” he said.
In Mr. Burgum’s vision — built upon his mother’s reverence for historic buildings — North Dakota towns would grow upward rather than outward.
His dream also aligned with his business strategy.
For more than a decade, he had been focusing his development interests in downtown Fargo, eventually becoming one of the state’s biggest urban developers. He also became one of the most reliant on a government tax incentive program called Renaissance Zones.
The program gave state tax incentives for companies that invested in neglected neighborhoods. Mr. Burgum quickly made use of them as well as other similar tax break programs, through acquiring and renovating a turn-of-the-century manufacturing building that was scheduled for demolition, and then turning it over to the local university.
The program allows for state income tax exemption for five years, offering investors in big projects to save up to hundreds of thousands of dollars a year per project in property tax savings.
Twenty Kilbourne projects worth about $300 million have received the Renaissance designation, Jim Gilmour, the city’s director of strategic planning and research, said in an interview. Each of the Kilbourne Renaissance projects was approved individually by a number of city and county entities, with the state’s Commerce Department overseeing the program.
As governor, Mr. Burgum eventually made an expansion of the program a plank in his economic agenda. In his State of the State speech in 2023, he proposed a “Renaissance Zone 2.0.” Among the changes, which were enacted by the Legislature and signed by Mr. Burgum, was a provision to allow for the tax benefits to last an extra three years.
(Kilbourne has not added any new Renaissance Zone projects since then, and Fargo’s county government so far has not agreed to adopt the expansion in benefits.)
Dustin Gawrylow, a longtime Republican critic of the program who unsuccessfully lobbied against the bill, said the perception of a conflict from Mr. Burgum’s status as a top Renaissance developer who could potentially benefit from the expansion was sometimes discussed behind closed doors around the State Capitol.
“It was brought up, but nobody really cared,” Mr. Gawrylow said.
Mr. Lockwood said that “local leaders, the media, and Fargoans are very aware of Doug’s decades-long efforts to revitalize the city.”
Managing Conflicts
While Mr. Burgum was running for governor in 2016, a different state tax break program he used became a subject of discussion on the campaign trail.
Mr. Burgum had founded in 2008 a firm called Arthur Ventures with his nephew, James Burgum, that had invested about $65 million in technology startups up to that point. The firm had taken advantage of a state angel investment tax break program, which provided benefits for certain funds that put money into small startups.
Two funds managed by Arthur Ventures earned investors $800,000 in tax benefits. But the program came under fire from Republican lawmakers for sending a large portion of the investments into out of state startups.
In March 2016, while Mr. Burgum was campaigning, James Burgum testified before the Legislature to try to help save the program that was under attack. The campaign of Doug Burgum’s Republican opponent called him the “poster child” for the problems with the program.
Mr. Lockwood said in his statement to The Times that “job creators being attacked by career-politician opponents for using a law designed to encourage economic investment, innovation and entrepreneurship in North Dakota was a ‘water is wet’ moment.”
Later in the campaign, after Mr. Burgum’s Democratic opponent raised concerns about his ability to manage conflicts of interest, Mr. Burgum said he would “take all the appropriate steps to assure North Dakotans that I’m fully focused on serving them with integrity and transparency.”
After taking office, he explained that meant that he gave up his day-to-day management positions while maintaining his investments under the leadership of others.
But the federal disclosure Mr. Burgum filed to run for president in 2023 revealed that he did not entirely step away. He was listed in various positions ranging from manager and president for various Kilbourne-affiliated limited liability companies and maintained investments of around $15 million to $60 million in several dozen Kilbourne-related entities and funds.
Kilbourne’s managers downplayed his role in the firm, even as they highlighted his affiliation as helping to attract other investors. In an interview with a local publication, Lauris Molbert, Kilbourne’s executive chairman of the board, said the governor’s hefty investments were an important signal to other investors to get on board.
“He personally put his balance sheet to work,” Mr. Molbert said.
A Development Opportunity
In the spring of 2018, a state news release announced that Mr. Burgum had designated 25 neighborhoods in North Dakota to be opportunity zones.
Their designation was part of a new federal program similar to Renaissance Zones but devised to limit federal tax liability in order to help direct investment into struggling neighborhoods.
The idea, Mr. Burgum said, was to “help revitalize our low-income areas in North Dakota.”
Left unsaid, however, was that two of the neighborhoods chosen were ones where his firm owned properties it was hoping to develop. In the years that followed, Kilbourne developed five projects in those areas through two investment funds that offered the tax breaks, with Mr. Burgum’s stake valued between $2 million and $10 million, according to his 2023 financial disclosure.
The structure for the opportunity zones was enacted under the Trump administration, and governors were given leeway in selecting the zones as long as they met certain criteria.
Under the system set up in North Dakota, the city and county of Fargo applied to the state’s Commerce Department for opportunity zone status for 11 areas, including the two containing the Kilbourne properties. Of those, Mr. Burgum designated the two with his properties and three others in the region.
Brett Theodos, a senior fellow at the Urban Institute who has studied the federal opportunity zone program, said he had never heard of such a prominent official tasked with designating the areas having a stake in the zones selected.
“A lot of the country qualified, so there were a lot of options for governors to choose from,” he said. “The whole trust-us approach is problematic.”
Tim Mahoney, Fargo’s mayor, said in an interview that initially he had concerns about whether Kilbourne might get favored in its extensive dealings with the city, but he has concluded that the treatment was aboveboard.
The city relies extensively on the approval of state loans and other sources of funding that are under the governor’s purview.
Mr. Mahoney said he had not spoken to Mr. Burgum directly about any of Kilbourne’s business. But, he said, the governor had met with the planning department and pressured him and other city officials repeatedly to make downtown development a major priority, arguing that added properties build a tax base that supports schools, water, the police and city streets.
That fits with Mr. Burgum’s general evangelism for urbanism — and with where he has invested his money.
“The governor was very clear on what his bias was,” Mr. Mahoney said. “His bias is downtown places will make more in taxes for everybody.”
Russ Buettner contributed reporting.
News
In a Quiet Corner of America, Greyhound Racing Hangs On. For Now.
The announcer’s voice broke the silence that had fallen over the racetrack: “Here comes Spunky!”
As a white, fluffy object, supposed to look like a hare, shot past the starting box, a line of eight greyhounds burst out, a blur of canine energy rocketing down the straightaway.
Such races were once a familiar sight across the country, as bettors flocked to tracks in 19 states, from Florida to Massachusetts to California. At its height, in the 1980s and early 1990s, dog racing drew tens of millions of spectators, routinely posting higher yearly attendance figures than hockey or tennis. Spectator bets totaled roughly $3.5 billion every year.
But today only two dog tracks remain, down from more than 60. Both are in West Virginia, the only state where commercial races still take place. Attendance has waned as pressure from animal rights groups led many states to ban dog tracks and as the legalization of sports betting nationwide gave people a bounty of new gambling options.
Now a bill is making its way through Congress that would ban dog racing altogether. Fans and critics agree that the sport is on its final lap.
“I know at some point, it’s going to end,” said Ronald Welch, who was sitting at a picnic table last month at the track in Wheeling, W.Va. “But still I’d be heartbroken if it did.”
Public sentiment about greyhound racing had already started shifting by the early 2000s, due in part to the efforts of Carey Theil and Christine Dorchak.
Through their Boston-based nonprofit, GREY2K USA Worldwide, the couple has led lobbying to end dog racing over concerns about animal welfare.
The industry has faced criticism for killing dogs that could no longer race, though many of the documented cases took place before adoption programs became common in the 2000s. Critics also draw attention to confined living spaces in the kennels where most of the dogs live, along with reports of performance enhancing drugs, and diets of low-quality meat.
The New York Times reached out to five kennels associated with the Wheeling racetrack. They did not respond or declined to comment.
The efforts by GREY2K and other organizations have yielded changes, with 44 states banning greyhound racing. When voters in Florida, once a stronghold, approved a ban in 2018, it was a gut punch to the industry.
“We’ve been in the endgame phase since,” Mr. Theil said.
But in West Virginia, a law passed nearly two decades ago has made it harder to land the final blow. In an effort to keep gamblers from taking their betting dollars to neighboring Pennsylvania, which had just legalized slot machines, West Virginia in 2007 said casinos could sweeten the pot by offering table games — so long as they also were operating a track with live racing.
It also diverts a percentage of slot machine and table game revenue to a fund that pays race purses. This provision comes out to roughly $15 million to $22 million a year, accounting for about 95 percent of payouts.
“Without the subsidy, this industry wouldn’t exist,” Mr. Theil said.
A 2017 state bill would have allowed the casinos to operate without a live track, and done away with the subsidy. In a sign that support was fading even in West Virginia, it passed in both the state House and Senate. But then-Gov. Jim Justice vetoed it, saying “eliminating support for the greyhounds is a job killer.”
Mr. Theil has focused on rebutting assertions that the industry benefits the local economy. This year, a study by Ball State University commissioned by GREY2K found that apart from providing minimal low-paying jobs, the industry was buoyed almost entirely by the subsidy and provided nearly nonexistent economic benefit.
The concerns have made their way to Capitol Hill, where a bill being considered by Congress could spell the end of greyhound racing. The Greyhound Protection Act would make it illegal to train or possess greyhounds for racing and to bet on the races in-person or via simulcast.
The legislation was incorporated into the Farm Bill, a huge legislative package, which reauthorizes major food and agriculture programs roughly once every five years. The Farm Bill, which totals $390 billion in proposed spending, passed the House in April and is awaiting a Senate vote.
The act now looks like GREY2K’s best bet.
“Greyhound racing is going to end in the United States,” Mr. Theil said. “The real question is how.”
One hour southwest of Pittsburgh, the Wheeling Island Hotel, Casino & Racetrack sits at the southern tip of the most populated isle in the Ohio River. “The Island,” as locals called it, was once the home of wealthy industrialist families. Now, it is lined with dilapidated Victorian houses and beset by flooding and opioids.
But it is still home to the racetrack, which has welcomed locals and out-of-staters from Ohio, Pennsylvania and even Canada, since 1937.
In the 1940s, when horses raced there, the track was nicknamed “Little Churchill Downs,” after the storied Kentucky venue. The track transitioned to greyhounds in the 1970s.
Nearly 40 years ago, Delaware North, a food service and hospitality company based in Buffalo, purchased the track and added a full casino. Now, the course stages around 500 races a year.
In-person attendance is down about 60 percent over the last decade, according to Delaware North. But many of those who still come are fiercely loyal.
With the third race of the day about to begin, Donna and Dennis Kennedy lounged at a table in the betting area overlooking the track.
The couple, both former teachers from Bridgeport, Ohio, often hit the track together. It wasn’t always that way; for years, she refused to join her husband because of concerns about the dogs’ welfare.
“I’m an animal person,” she said.
But when the track was raffling off a free car, Ms. Kennedy couldn’t resist. “The first thing I did was march up to the adoption center,” she said, referring to a spot at the track where people can take in retired racing dogs. She ended up volunteering for a decade and adopting four dogs of her own.
Mr. Kennedy, 84, had the likeness of one of them, Fancy, inked on his forearm two years ago. It was his first and only tattoo. “If those were my dogs, I’m not going to allow anyone to abuse it because that’s an investment — and we love them,” he said.
Chuck Galloway has been betting at the track since greyhounds started racing there in 1976. On the small screen in front of him, race lineups showed dogs with names like Gonz Megatron, Loyal Duck, Bulldozer Mozer and Venus.
The races are simulcast so patrons in other states and countries can bet remotely — about 95 percent of bets placed on Wheeling races are made this way.
But even with lots of the bets coming from elsewhere, there’s a certain camaraderie at the track, Mr. Galloway said. He likened it to his time campaigning for Barack Obama. “I got to know people that I never would have crossed paths with,” he said.
Several track patrons pointed to what they said was a double standard — horse racing, a sport with a blue-blood pedigree, can still capture a mass audience, while dog racing is on the verge of extinction.
Mr. Welch, 60, the man who was sitting at the picnic table, had a theory.
“Horse racing is like apple pie. Like baseball, the Wild West,” he said. “But the dogs, they aren’t part of that American mystique.”
Mr. Welch grew up attending races in Iowa before the state banned the sport. In need of an anchor in his life after his mother passed away, he moved to Wheeling to live near the track.
“When I see them run,” he said, “it’s a spiritual experience.”
In downtown Wheeling, many people seemed to have at least a tangential connection to the racetrack — an uncle who trained dogs, a friend who worked there one summer. But not everyone knew that greyhound racing’s days could be coming to an end. Some said they were ready to see it go.
Outside Coleman’s Fish Market, Mitchell Visnic, 40, was adamant about his distaste for any animal-related sport. “I don’t even like the zoo,” he said.
Others were disappointed but not surprised. Michael Mudrak, 42, who was sitting nearby on his lunch break, said it was emblematic.
“Take another thing away from West Virginia,” he said.
Alain Delaquérière contributed research.
News
Pride celebrations struggle as corporate sponsorships dry up
Lyndsey Sickler, one of Pittsburgh Pride organizers.
Hannah Frances Johansson
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Hannah Frances Johansson
PITTSBURGH, Pa. — Pride celebrations across the country continue to lose out on large sponsorships as corporations, a key source of funding, shrink their affiliation with diversity causes and LGBTQ+ events.
Corporate sponsorships of celebrations in several cities, including New York City, Salt Lake City, Louisville, St. Louis, Orlando, and Pittsburgh are down from previous years, organizers said.
Jordan Braxton, co-president of the United States Association of Prides, which supports Pride celebrations nationwide, said that while some smaller Prides have seen a growth in sponsorships, a majority have seen a reduction.
She said the Trump administration’s dismantling of Diversity, Equity and Inclusion initiatives, has scared corporations away from sponsoring Pride celebrations. “I think that’s why some of the corporations have pulled back, because they don’t want that government scrutiny,” she said.
In his first days in office in 2025, Trump issued presidential actions targeting DEI within the federal government and encouraging the private sector to end what the administration considers “illegal DEI discrimination and preferences.”
In Pittsburgh, Pride organizers are trying to make up for lost sponsorships in time for their festival and parade in early June.
“It takes a lot of money to do this,” said Dena Stanley, director of Pittsburgh Pride. “Permittings costs, security costs, headliners costs, staging costs, cleaning crew costs, insurance costs, all of these are expenses.”
Pittsburgh Pride organizers think it will secure 30-40% of the sponsorship dollars they were able to fundraise a few years ago.
To narrow the gap, the group said they received a state grant and solicited individual donations.
Dena Stanley, director of Pittsburgh Pride.
Hannah Frances Johansson.
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Hannah Frances Johansson.
E Ciszek, who researches advertising and public relations at The University of Texas at Austin, said the downturn in corporate sponsorships is happening amid a movement against Diversity, Equity and Inclusion (DEI) initiatives and the “attack on trans rights, in particular.”
“I think this is not just a matter of budget cuts, right?” Ciszek said. “It’s important to take a step back and see this more as a moment of risk, a moment of political pressure, and looking really at the limits of corporate allyship, particularly when LGBTQ visibility has become really politically costly.”
Corporations, she said, are calculating the risk of public support for Pride, which could expose them to litigation, political retaliation or consumer boycotts.
“What once was [an] organizational asset, has now become an organizational risk,” Ciszek said.
Lyndsey Sickler, another Pittsburgh Pride organizer, described Pride celebrations as empowering for LGBTQ+ people who live in communities where they feel scrutinized for their identity.
For some people, it’s their first time being in, “a space that is actively, loudly celebrating everything that is us,” Sickler said. “Nothing else matters at that point.”
Less sponsorship money can also impact year-round events and resources for the LGBTQ+ community.
“People sometimes look at Pride festivals just as a big party, which they are, but they’re also resource fairs, job fairs, and we also use it as a fundraising event,” said Braxton of the United States Association of Prides.
In Florida, Tampa Pride announced a one-year hiatus after a slew of corporations dropped their sponsorships, said Carrie West, who ran the organization.
“All of a sudden, bingo. Here you have no money, no grant money, no supporting money, to make operations, to plan, to get any kind of anything,” he said. “Oh my gosh, it was, it’s devastating.”
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