motherjones--2020-10-16--People Keep Asking Who Trump Owes $400 Million To. That’s Not the Real Problem.

Last month , in the first installment of its series on Trump ’ s taxes , the New York Times noted—as Mother Jones had previously reported—that Donald Trump has more than $ 400 million in debt coming due over the next four years .
Seizing on this data point , commentators and politicos have demanded he reveal his creditors .
Kamala Harris raised the issue during last week ’ s vice presidential debate , saying , “ it ’ d be really good to know who the President of the United States , the commander-in-chief owes money to because the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ what is influencing the President ’ s decisions.
” At last night ’ s NBC town hall , Savannah Guthrie also pressed Trump on his debts .
“ Who do you owe $ 421 million to ?
” she asked .
Trump , for his part , obfuscated .
But the controversy over Trump ’ s creditors misses the point .
It is known—mostly—who has him on the hook .
The real issue is this : How does Trump—whose businesses were faltering before the coronavirus pandemic and have been battered since then—plan to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ what we know about Trump ’ s liabilities based on the personal financial disclosure forms he ’ s filed annually since 2015 and other public records : he has at least fourteen loans through seven lenders .
According to Trump ’ s disclosures ( where assets and debts are reported in ranges ) , these loans could total more than $ 650 million .
There is , of course , a big caveat here : We are assuming that Trump has been truthful in these filings .
It ’ s illegal to lie @ @ @ @ @ @ @ audited .
The amount of money Trump owes and to whom is important because , as Mother Jones has been reporting since before Trump took office , these debts pose an unprecedented conflict of interest .
They are a point of leverage over a serving president , and intelligence experts say Trump ’ s debts are not only an ethical problem but a national security one .
Last night , when Guthrie questioned Trump about the New York Times ‘ recent revelations about his taxes and and finances , she asked him whether @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ Not that I know of , ” Trump replied .
It was a surprising—and glaringly false—claim .
His biggest ( and over the past decade primary ) lender is German financial giant Deutsche Bank , which has lent him at least $ 320 million .
And all of this debt is coming due in the early years of a theoretical second Trump term .
In June , Mother Jones reported on these and other loans that Trump will need to pay off or refinance in the next four years .
Based @ @ @ @ @ @ @ estimated the outstanding amount at $ 479 million .
The Times , using Trump ’ s tax returns , pegged the figured at $ 421 million .
These are Trump ’ s maturing debts : • Deutsche Bank ( $ 125 million ) : In 2012 , Trump took out two loans from the German bank worth a combined $ 125 million to purchase the aging and recently bankrupted Doral golf course near Miami .
They come due in 2023 .
Both are floating-rate loans , meaning the interest-rate fluctuates based on the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Jones this also means they are likely interest-only loans .
He likely owes the full amount ( or close ) on them .
• Deutsche Bank ( $ 170 million ) : In 2014 , Trump borrowed $ 170 million from Deutsche to develop his luxury DC hotel .
The loan is due in 2024 .
• Deutsche Bank ( $ 25 to $ 50 million ) : Trump has a loan tied to his Chicago hotel and tower that he has slowly been paying off since 2014 .
The remainder is due @ @ @ @ @ @ @ $ 100 million ) : In 2012 , Trump refinanced a previous mortgage on his beloved Trump Tower and took out a new $ 100 million interest-only loan with Ladder Capital , a Wall Street firm that specializes in securitizing debt .
• Ladder Capital ( $ 13 million ) : Trump owes Ladder another $ 13 million on his Trump Plaza building .
So we know who Trump owes and about how much he ’ s responsible for ( again , see the caveat above ) .
The big unknown is how @ @ @ @ @ @ @ It ’ s an issue because as wealthy as Trump may be—he does own some valuable assets—he doesn ’ t necessarily have much cash .
The Times story , based on an analysis of his tax returns , portrayed a man who gets cash windfalls—from his father ’ s estate , from his work on the Apprentice , and from various endorsement and licensing deals—and then immediately blows it and needs to go searching for money .
A number of Trump ’ s properties are far from profitable and some , like his @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Paying the loans off , in other words , doesn ’ t seem like an option .
His last financial disclosure shows that at the end of 2019 Trump had anywhere between $ 46.7 million and $ 156.6 million available in checking or money-market accounts .
He does of course have assets he could sell .
Indeed , prior to the pandemic , the Trump Organization was floating the sale of its DC hotel , and , more recently , Trump ’ s company has talked of selling a Westchester estate that Trump @ @ @ @ @ @ @ course .
If Trump can ’ t pay off the debts , he needs to refinance them .
But banks were not keen on dealing with Trump before he became president .
Who on Earth would lend Trump money now ?
As we reported this summer : Deutsche Bank has reportedly already told Trump it will not do business with him while he is in politics .
And he has not been a good partner to work with .
Non-bank lenders like Ladder Capital , which typically charge higher interest and aren ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be an option for Trump .
But these type of firms tend to operate purely on numbers .
Because they securitize loans , they ’ re not terribly interested in who you are or your history .
They simply want to ensure that these loans will produce a profit for investors .
On at least some of Trump properties—his golf courses in particular—the numbers don ’ t work , experts say .
Kevin Riordan , a longtime real estate finance executive and director of Rutgers University ’ s Center for Real Estate , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ dealings with Trump—but he notes that the economics have changed .
Ladder and its competitors in the commercial mortgage-backed securities ( CMBS ) industry can only lend if there ’ s a market for real estate bonds , which could dry up during a financial crisis .
“ This is a whole different ballgame today , ” he says .
He adds that in recent years the CMBS industry largely ceased financing golf courses—because they are seasonal businesses , they are not considered a safe bet .
“ The world has changed a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the Trump Organization is ill-suited for this new world , ” [ Nancy ] Wallace says .
“ That ’ s not to say there ’ s not some private equity firm out there that would be very tempted if he was willing to pay a very high coupon.
” And that ’ s exactly what Trump may be left with—turning to the private equity world or to more “ opportunistic lenders , ” as one former Trump banker put it .
When it comes down to it , there are no shortage @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , sovereign wealth funds—who would be willing , perhaps even eager to help Trump out of a refinancing jam .
Of course , that raises the troubling question at the heart of the issue : what might Trump ’ s financial savior want in return ?

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Last month, in the first installment of its series on Trump’s taxes, the New York Times noted—as Mother Jones had previously reported—that Donald Trump has more than $400 million in debt coming due over the next four years. Seizing on this data point, commentators and politicos have demanded he reveal his creditors. Kamala Harris raised the issue during last week’s vice presidential debate, saying, “it’d be really good to know who the President of the United States, the commander-in-chief owes money to because the American people have a right to know what is influencing the President’s decisions.” At last night’s NBC town hall, Savannah Guthrie also pressed Trump on his debts. “Who do you owe $421 million to?” she asked. Trump, for his part, obfuscated.
But the controversy over Trump’s creditors misses the point. It is known—mostly—who has him on the hook. The real issue is this: How does Trump—whose businesses were faltering before the coronavirus pandemic and have been battered since then—plan to handle these soon-to-be-due debts?
This is what we know about Trump’s liabilities based on the personal financial disclosure forms he’s filed annually since 2015 and other public records: he has at least fourteen loans through seven lenders. According to Trump’s disclosures (where assets and debts are reported in ranges), these loans could total more than $650 million. There is, of course, a big caveat here: We are assuming that Trump has been truthful in these filings. It’s illegal to lie on them, but they are not audited.
The amount of money Trump owes and to whom is important because, as Mother Jones has been reporting since before Trump took office, these debts pose an unprecedented conflict of interest. They are a point of leverage over a serving president, and intelligence experts say Trump’s debts are not only an ethical problem but a national security one.
Last night, when Guthrie questioned Trump about the New York Times‘ recent revelations about his taxes and and finances, she asked him whether he owed money to any foreign banks. “Not that I know of,” Trump replied. It was a surprising—and glaringly false—claim. His biggest (and over the past decade primary) lender is German financial giant Deutsche Bank, which has lent him at least $320 million. And all of this debt is coming due in the early years of a theoretical second Trump term.
In June, Mother Jones reported on these and other loans that Trump will need to pay off or refinance in the next four years. Based on Trump’s disclosures, we estimated the outstanding amount at $479 million. The Times, using Trump’s tax returns, pegged the figured at $421 million. These are Trump’s maturing debts:
Deutsche Bank ($125 million): In 2012, Trump took out two loans from the German bank worth a combined $125 million to purchase the aging and recently bankrupted Doral golf course near Miami. They come due in 2023. Both are floating-rate loans, meaning the interest-rate fluctuates based on the market. Commercial finance experts told Mother Jones this also means they are likely interest-only loans. He likely owes the full amount (or close) on them.
Deutsche Bank ($170 million): In 2014, Trump borrowed $170 million from Deutsche to develop his luxury DC hotel. The loan is due in 2024.
Deutsche Bank ($25 to $50 million): Trump has a loan tied to his Chicago hotel and tower that he has slowly been paying off since 2014. The remainder is due in 2024.
Ladder Capital ($100 million): In 2012, Trump refinanced a previous mortgage on his beloved Trump Tower and took out a new $100 million interest-only loan with Ladder Capital, a Wall Street firm that specializes in securitizing debt.
Ladder Capital ($13 million): Trump owes Ladder another $13 million on his Trump Plaza building.
So we know who Trump owes and about how much he’s responsible for (again, see the caveat above). The big unknown is how Trump plans to handle these debts. It’s an issue because as wealthy as Trump may be—he does own some valuable assets—he doesn’t necessarily have much cash. The Times story, based on an analysis of his tax returns, portrayed a man who gets cash windfalls—from his father’s estate, from his work on the Apprentice, and from various endorsement and licensing deals—and then immediately blows it and needs to go searching for money. A number of Trump’s properties are far from profitable and some, like his Scottish resorts, are hemorrhaging cash.
Paying the loans off, in other words, doesn’t seem like an option. His last financial disclosure shows that at the end of 2019 Trump had anywhere between $46.7 million and $156.6 million available in checking or money-market accounts. He does of course have assets he could sell. Indeed, prior to the pandemic, the Trump Organization was floating the sale of its DC hotel, and, more recently, Trump’s company has talked of selling a Westchester estate that Trump unsuccessfully tried to turn into a golf course.
If Trump can’t pay off the debts, he needs to refinance them. But banks were not keen on dealing with Trump before he became president. Who on Earth would lend Trump money now? As we reported this summer:
Nancy Wallace, a real estate finance professor at University of California, Berkeley’s Haas School of Business, says the scrutiny that Deutsche Bank has faced may scare off other banks. “I think any bank I can think of in the United States would have exactly the same response: He is toxic. Exposing yourself to that kind of oversight under the current regulatory reality, for lenders who are large enough to provide capital to him, is just a nonstarter.”
Deutsche Bank has reportedly already told Trump it will not do business with him while he is in politics. And he has not been a good partner to work with.
Although Trump and the Frankfurt-based bank pulled off several profitable deals, eventually Deutsche’s commercial lending division learned the hard way one reason why other banks considered him persona non grata: If pushed by his creditors on payments, Trump shoves back. In 2008, after he defaulted on a loan for his Chicago hotel and condo development, he filed a multibillion-dollar suit accusing Deutsche Bank and others of contributing to the recent financial meltdown, which he blamed for his inability to repay the loan.
Non-bank lenders like Ladder Capital, which typically charge higher interest and aren’t as flexible about repayment, could be an option for Trump. But these type of firms tend to operate purely on numbers. Because they securitize loans, they’re not terribly interested in who you are or your history. They simply want to ensure that these loans will produce a profit for investors. On at least some of Trump properties—his golf courses in particular—the numbers don’t work, experts say.
Kevin Riordan, a longtime real estate finance executive and director of Rutgers University’s Center for Real Estate, says that Ladder prospered in its previous dealings with Trump—but he notes that the economics have changed. Ladder and its competitors in the commercial mortgage-backed securities (CMBS) industry can only lend if there’s a market for real estate bonds, which could dry up during a financial crisis. “This is a whole different ballgame today,” he says. He adds that in recent years the CMBS industry largely ceased financing golf courses—because they are seasonal businesses, they are not considered a safe bet. “The world has changed a lot since 2012, and I think the Trump Organization is ill-suited for this new world,” [Nancy] Wallace says. “That’s not to say there’s not some private equity firm out there that would be very tempted if he was willing to pay a very high coupon.”
And that’s exactly what Trump may be left with—turning to the private equity world or to more “opportunistic lenders,” as one former Trump banker put it. When it comes down to it, there are no shortage of financial players—conservative billionaires, foreign banks, sovereign wealth funds—who would be willing, perhaps even eager to help Trump out of a refinancing jam. Of course, that raises the troubling question at the heart of the issue: what might Trump’s financial savior want in return?


motherjones--2020-10-16--The Next Fight Over the Soul of the Democratic Party? Biden’s Chief of Staff.

If Joe Biden prevails against Donald Trump on November 3 , his victory will set in motion a massive transition operation that Biden allies have been quietly building for months .
Of the more than 4,000 positions a Biden administration would need to fill , the very first will likely be a chief of staff .
And while Democrats are rising above their differences to push Biden over the finish line , liberal activists are already waging a behind-the-scenes fight over Biden ’ s contenders for that post .
If he chooses who lefties fear , they vow it would @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , intraparty battle over the would-be president ’ s appointees .
No member of the Biden campaign or transition has made any public statements about potential high-ranking picks , but two names circulating among the DC rumor mill have set off alarm bells among Beltway progressives : Bruce Reed , who served as Biden ’ s chief of staff from 2011 to 2013 , and Steve Ricchetti , who succeeded him .
Both have been senior advisers to the former vice president ’ s campaign .
Many of these warnings are coming from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ . )
, whose mantra of “ personnel is policy ” informs their opposition to any appointees who give off corporate-friendly or revolving door vibes .
“ It would be a huge mistake for Biden to choose a longtime Pharma lobbyist or someone who led the Simpson-Bowles commission that called for Social Security cuts , ” Stephanie Taylor , co-founder of the Progressive Change Campaign Committee , an organization closely allied with Warren , said in a statement , referring to Ricchetti and Reed , respectively .
“ That would send an opposite @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he has campaigned on.
” Adds another Warren ally , “ Nothing will have more impact on whether the party stays united or immediately fractures after the election as the question of whether he ’ s going to choose Steve Ricchetti or Bruce Reed.
” There ’ s some evidence to suggest their concern is misplaced .
Biden is running on the most progressive platform of any Democratic nominee in recent history , and it was crafted in consultation with not only aides like Reed and Ricchetti , but also a wide array @ @ @ @ @ @ @ left wing .
But activists worry that campaign platforms might just be smokescreen that would disappear once he enters the White House .
“ If one of them [ Reed or Ricchetti ] is chosen and chosen quickly , I think it will be a really strong signal to activists about the broader tenor of the administration , ” David Segal , the executive director of Demand Progress , said .
Progressives reject Reed on ideological grounds .
Reed led President Bill Clinton ’ s Domestic Policy Council and was the architect of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that ultimately deepened the hardship of impoverished Americans .
He also worked closely with then-Sen. Joe Biden to craft and pass the 1994 crime bill , which is blamed for ushering in the era of mass incarceration .
Reed served as policy director and later CEO for the Democratic Leadership Council , a centrist think tank that developed the ideological cornerstones of the business- and market-friendly “ New Democrats.
” A year before he joined the White House as Biden ’ s chief of staff in 2011 , he served as the staff @ @ @ @ @ @ @ bipartisan team led by former Sens .
Al Simpson ( R-Wy . )
and Erskine Bowles ( D-N.C. ) .
that studied how to balance the federal budget in the midst of the Great Recession .
Its recommendations to curtail Social Security and Medicare benefits irked progressives—as did its overarching goal of reducing the deficit at a time when the stimulus spending Congress had passed was deemed insufficient to help struggling Americans .
Their complaints with Ricchetti , meanwhile , are of the revolving door variety .
A fellow Clinton administration alum , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ brother , Jeff , and represented clients such as AT & T and United Technologies .
Much of the work was focused on health care : Ricchetti personally represented the American Hospital Association , a Pennsylvania subsidiary of Blue Cross Blue Shield , and drug manufacturers Eli Lilly , Novartis , and Sanofi-Aventis , according to his 2012 White House financial disclosure .
His return to the White House to serve as a counselor to Biden in 2012 caused tension given President Barack Obama ’ s vow to ban lobbyists from serving in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ two years removed from their lobbying work .
Progressive activists have their backs up because chiefs of staff are key counselors , often the last stop for any major policy or political decision a president makes .
During the early years of the Obama administration , President Barack Obama ’ s choice of then-Illinois congressman Rahm Emmanuel , a devotee of centrist Democratic thought , had been seen as a major barrier to pushing the Obama White House to the left as it navigated its response to the Great Recession .
With Biden @ @ @ @ @ @ @ economic crisis , progressives fear history will repeat itself .
“ Either Steve Ricchetti or Bruce Reed as Chief of Staff would send a terrible signal , ” says Jeff Hauser , the director of the Revolving Door Project .
He is leading an effort to organize progressives around pressuring the Biden transition on its political appointments .
Of the names circulating in the rumor mill , progressives would prefer Biden choose Ron Klain , another top campaign aide who served as his first White House chief of staff and whose resume they @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s or Ricchetti ’ s .
A longtime Democratic operative who also served as chief of staff to former vice president Al Gore , Klain is praised for aptly managing the White House ’ s implementation of the 2009 stimulus bill under Biden and the Obama administration ’ s 2014 ebola response .
But apart from a handful of vocal activists , these conversations are not happening in public .
Several progressive activists Mother Jones reached out to would not comment on the record about either Ricchetti or Reed as potential chief @ @ @ @ @ @ @ not only rupture the veil of unity as Election Day approaches but could also jeopardize the delicate relationships outsider activists are trying to build with a would-be new Democratic administration .
So far , the Biden transition has not taken kindly to public jockeying around administration posts .
A Biden-Harris administration will be tasked with developing its own ethics guidelines if the ticket wins on November 3 .
But the transition team has taken steps to avoid the sorts of conflicts of interest that alarm progressives .
In late September , the transition @ @ @ @ @ @ @ from working on policy issues that might present a financial conflict of interest for them : This includes matters on which they have lobbied in the past year , or will resume lobbying on once the transition is complete .
It does not impose a blanket ban on lobbyists , which isn ’ t necessarily something the left is seeking .
So far , the transition has granted a handful of exceptions to “ individuals with expertise in pandemic response who recently advocated on behalf of their public interest , nonprofit employers , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Street Journal .
A Biden transition spokesperson did not offer comment on either Reed or Ricchetti , but said that the transition team “ is not making any personnel decisions pre-election.
” But the window for registering discontent is rapidly closing .
If past is prologue , the chief of staff decision could be made very quickly .
Barack Obama announced he ’ d chosen Rahm Emmanuel as his chief of staff two days after Election Day ; Donald Trump selected Reince Priebus for the role five days after defeating Hillary Clinton .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ would-be high-ranking appointees , picks to this post do not require Senate confirmation .

Fight disinformation: Sign up for the free Mother Jones Daily newsletter and follow the news that matters.
If Joe Biden prevails against Donald Trump on November 3, his victory will set in motion a massive transition operation that Biden allies have been quietly building for months. Of the more than 4,000 positions a Biden administration would need to fill, the very first will likely be a chief of staff. And while Democrats are rising above their differences to push Biden over the finish line, liberal activists are already waging a behind-the-scenes fight over Biden’s contenders for that post. If he chooses who lefties fear, they vow it would be the starting gun on a public, intraparty battle over the would-be president’s appointees.
No member of the Biden campaign or transition has made any public statements about potential high-ranking picks, but two names circulating among the DC rumor mill have set off alarm bells among Beltway progressives: Bruce Reed, who served as Biden’s chief of staff from 2011 to 2013, and Steve Ricchetti, who succeeded him. Both have been senior advisers to the former vice president’s campaign.
Many of these warnings are coming from allies of Sen. Elizabeth Warren (D-Mass.), whose mantra of “personnel is policy” informs their opposition to any appointees who give off corporate-friendly or revolving door vibes. “It would be a huge mistake for Biden to choose a longtime Pharma lobbyist or someone who led the Simpson-Bowles commission that called for Social Security cuts,” Stephanie Taylor, co-founder of the Progressive Change Campaign Committee, an organization closely allied with Warren, said in a statement, referring to Ricchetti and Reed, respectively. “That would send an opposite message from the ambitious, forward-looking agenda he has campaigned on.” Adds another Warren ally, “Nothing will have more impact on whether the party stays united or immediately fractures after the election as the question of whether he’s going to choose Steve Ricchetti or Bruce Reed.”
There’s some evidence to suggest their concern is misplaced. Biden is running on the most progressive platform of any Democratic nominee in recent history, and it was crafted in consultation with not only aides like Reed and Ricchetti, but also a wide array of voices from the party’s left wing. But activists worry that campaign platforms might just be smokescreen that would disappear once he enters the White House. “If one of them [Reed or Ricchetti] is chosen and chosen quickly, I think it will be a really strong signal to activists about the broader tenor of the administration,” David Segal, the executive director of Demand Progress, said.
Progressives reject Reed on ideological grounds. Reed led President Bill Clinton’s Domestic Policy Council and was the architect of Clinton’s 1996 welfare reform bill that ultimately deepened the hardship of impoverished Americans. He also worked closely with then-Sen. Joe Biden to craft and pass the 1994 crime bill, which is blamed for ushering in the era of mass incarceration. Reed served as policy director and later CEO for the Democratic Leadership Council, a centrist think tank that developed the ideological cornerstones of the business- and market-friendly “New Democrats.”
A year before he joined the White House as Biden’s chief of staff in 2011, he served as the staff director for the Simpson-Bowles Commission, a bipartisan team led by former Sens. Al Simpson (R-Wy.) and Erskine Bowles (D-N.C.). that studied how to balance the federal budget in the midst of the Great Recession. Its recommendations to curtail Social Security and Medicare benefits irked progressives—as did its overarching goal of reducing the deficit at a time when the stimulus spending Congress had passed was deemed insufficient to help struggling Americans.
Their complaints with Ricchetti, meanwhile, are of the revolving door variety. A fellow Clinton administration alum, Ricchetti co-founded a lobbying firm with his brother, Jeff, and represented clients such as AT&T and United Technologies. Much of the work was focused on health care: Ricchetti personally represented the American Hospital Association, a Pennsylvania subsidiary of Blue Cross Blue Shield, and drug manufacturers Eli Lilly, Novartis, and Sanofi-Aventis, according to his 2012 White House financial disclosure. His return to the White House to serve as a counselor to Biden in 2012 caused tension given President Barack Obama’s vow to ban lobbyists from serving in key White House posts until they were two years removed from their lobbying work.
Progressive activists have their backs up because chiefs of staff are key counselors, often the last stop for any major policy or political decision a president makes. During the early years of the Obama administration, President Barack Obama’s choice of then-Illinois congressman Rahm Emmanuel, a devotee of centrist Democratic thought, had been seen as a major barrier to pushing the Obama White House to the left as it navigated its response to the Great Recession. With Biden poised to take the helm of another economic crisis, progressives fear history will repeat itself.
“Either Steve Ricchetti or Bruce Reed as Chief of Staff would send a terrible signal,” says Jeff Hauser, the director of the Revolving Door Project. He is leading an effort to organize progressives around pressuring the Biden transition on its political appointments.
Of the names circulating in the rumor mill, progressives would prefer Biden choose Ron Klain, another top campaign aide who served as his first White House chief of staff and whose resume they see as less tainted than either Reed’s or Ricchetti’s. A longtime Democratic operative who also served as chief of staff to former vice president Al Gore, Klain is praised for aptly managing the White House’s implementation of the 2009 stimulus bill under Biden and the Obama administration’s 2014 ebola response.
But apart from a handful of vocal activists, these conversations are not happening in public. Several progressive activists Mother Jones reached out to would not comment on the record about either Ricchetti or Reed as potential chief of staff picks. Doing so would not only rupture the veil of unity as Election Day approaches but could also jeopardize the delicate relationships outsider activists are trying to build with a would-be new Democratic administration. So far, the Biden transition has not taken kindly to public jockeying around administration posts.
A Biden-Harris administration will be tasked with developing its own ethics guidelines if the ticket wins on November 3. But the transition team has taken steps to avoid the sorts of conflicts of interest that alarm progressives. In late September, the transition released ethics rules that bar transition staffers from working on policy issues that might present a financial conflict of interest for them: This includes matters on which they have lobbied in the past year, or will resume lobbying on once the transition is complete. It does not impose a blanket ban on lobbyists, which isn’t necessarily something the left is seeking. So far, the transition has granted a handful of exceptions to “individuals with expertise in pandemic response who recently advocated on behalf of their public interest, nonprofit employers,” a transition official told the Wall Street Journal.
A Biden transition spokesperson did not offer comment on either Reed or Ricchetti, but said that the transition team “is not making any personnel decisions pre-election.”
But the window for registering discontent is rapidly closing. If past is prologue, the chief of staff decision could be made very quickly. Barack Obama announced he’d chosen Rahm Emmanuel as his chief of staff two days after Election Day; Donald Trump selected Reince Priebus for the role five days after defeating Hillary Clinton. And unlike most of Biden’s would-be high-ranking appointees, picks to this post do not require Senate confirmation.


motherjones--2020-10-17--Scott Atlas Downplays Coronavirus and Rails Against Masks

Seven months into the pandemic , the White House is still hampering efforts to get the spread of the virus under control and provide aid to the people facing economic disaster caused by the necessary public health restrictions .
On Friday , the New York Times reported yet another complication in the ongoing stimulus talks between Congress and the Trump administration : White House officials don ’ t want to expand coronavirus testing .
Negotiations over another aid package have stalled for months , with Donald Trump calling for an end until after the election and then quickly reversing course @ @ @ @ @ @ @ bill immediately .
But Speaker Nancy Pelosi and other Democrats have been trying to include a nationwide testing strategy in the package .
For months , public health experts have been saying that the best way to control the spread of COVID-19 is by implementing social distancing measures , wearing masks , and large scale testing and isolating of the sick .
But the Republicans think testing should be left up to the states .
And Dr. Scott Atlas , who is not an infectious disease expert but was picked to advise the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Fox News , insists on ignoring science .
“ The overwhelming majority of people who get this infection are not at high risk , ” Dr. Atlas told the New York Times .
“ And when you start seeking out and testing asymptomatic people , you are destroying the workforce.
” He also said a federal test-and-isolate program would infringe on civil liberties , and he falsely claimed that “ herd immunity ” can be achieved once 20 to 40 percent of Americans are infected .
On Saturday morning , he continued to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ aren ’ t effective .
At the end of the tweet , Atlas links to a piece by the libertarian think tank American Institution for Economic Research , which earlier this month drew the attention of the White House when it released a roadmap for ending the pandemic .
Called the Great Barrington Plan , the document purports to lay out a plan for a return to normal life but was widely criticized as bogus , as my colleague Kiera Butler reported earlier this month : The vast majority of infectious disease physicians @ @ @ @ @ @ @ t support it—and in fact , most of the scientific community believes that this approach will actively hurt vulnerable people rather than protecting them .
“ The authors are well known people in public health , but they don ’ t represent anything like a consensus view about how to approach COVID , ” Yale University epidemiologist Gregg Gonsalves told me .
“ The rest of the people in their field are looking at them aghast.
” Indeed , the public health community has swarmed to point out the many problems with the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ also called out Jacobin for promoting it .
Gonsalves , who wrote a critique of the document in The Nation , noted that the document starts with a flawed premise—that we ’ d only need to isolate a select few elderly and at-risk members of society .
The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention estimate that 40 percent of Americans have a condition that puts them at risk for severe COVID-19 .
Despite the approximately 219,000 deaths and the 8 million people plunged into poverty since July , when the last relief bill @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Republicans seem hellbent on ignoring the science and denying the help that Americans desperately need—all but ensuring that the crisis will continue unabated .

Seven months into the pandemic, the White House is still hampering efforts to get the spread of the virus under control and provide aid to the people facing economic disaster caused by the necessary public health restrictions. On Friday, the New York Times reported yet another complication in the ongoing stimulus talks between Congress and the Trump administration: White House officials don’t want to expand coronavirus testing.
Negotiations over another aid package have stalled for months, with Donald Trump calling for an end until after the election and then quickly reversing course and calling on Congress to sign a bill immediately. But Speaker Nancy Pelosi and other Democrats have been trying to include a nationwide testing strategy in the package. For months, public health experts have been saying that the best way to control the spread of COVID-19 is by implementing social distancing measures, wearing masks, and large scale testing and isolating of the sick. But the Republicans think testing should be left up to the states. And Dr. Scott Atlas, who is not an infectious disease expert but was picked to advise the president on the coronavirus after appearing on Fox News, insists on ignoring science.
“The overwhelming majority of people who get this infection are not at high risk,” Dr. Atlas told the New York Times. “And when you start seeking out and testing asymptomatic people, you are destroying the workforce.” He also said a federal test-and-isolate program would infringe on civil liberties, and he falsely claimed that “herd immunity” can be achieved once 20 to 40 percent of Americans are infected. On Saturday morning, he continued to spew debunked science, claiming that masks aren’t effective.
Masks work? NO: LA, Miami, Hawaii, Alabama, France, Phlippnes, UK, Spain, Israel. WHO:"widesprd use not supported" + many harms; Heneghan/Oxf CEBM:"despite decades, considerble uncertainty re value"; CDC rvw May:"no sig red'n in inflnz transm'n"; learn why https://t.co/1hRFHsxe59 — Scott W. Atlas (@SWAtlasHoover) October 17, 2020
At the end of the tweet, Atlas links to a piece by the libertarian think tank American Institution for Economic Research, which earlier this month drew the attention of the White House when it released a roadmap for ending the pandemic. Called the Great Barrington Plan, the document purports to lay out a plan for a return to normal life but was widely criticized as bogus, as my colleague Kiera Butler reported earlier this month:
The vast majority of infectious disease physicians, virologists, and epidemiologists don’t support it—and in fact, most of the scientific community believes that this approach will actively hurt vulnerable people rather than protecting them. “The authors are well known people in public health, but they don’t represent anything like a consensus view about how to approach COVID,” Yale University epidemiologist Gregg Gonsalves told me. “The rest of the people in their field are looking at them aghast.” Indeed, the public health community has swarmed to point out the many problems with the Great Barrington plan, and many have also called out Jacobin for promoting it. Gonsalves, who wrote a critique of the document in The Nation, noted that the document starts with a flawed premise—that we’d only need to isolate a select few elderly and at-risk members of society. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention estimate that 40 percent of Americans have a condition that puts them at risk for severe COVID-19.
Despite the approximately 219,000 deaths and the 8 million people plunged into poverty since July, when the last relief bill expired, the White House and other Republicans seem hellbent on ignoring the science and denying the help that Americans desperately need—all but ensuring that the crisis will continue unabated.


motherjones--2020-10-17--Republicans Are Trying to Rebrand the GOP—and Trump Is Not Happy

On Saturday morning , Donald Trump launched a Twitter attack on Sen. Ben Sasse ( R-Neb . )
after the Senator ’ s telephone town hall comments criticizing the president were reported in the media .
Sasse excoriated Trump over his handling of the coronavirus , his foreign policy , and his sexist remarks .
“ I ’ m now looking at the possibility of a Republican blood bath in the Senate , and that ’ s why I ’ ve never been on the Trump train , ” he said .
In response on Twitter , the president called @ @ @ @ @ @ @ senator painting him as a “ stupid and obnoxious ” RINO .
The president is known to get riled up about even the smallest of criticisms , so his comments lashing out at Sasse are to be expected .
And Sasse ’ s attempt to cast himself as a moderate , anti-Trump Republican is part of a broader rebranding effort ahead of what many in the GOP assume will be a bloodbath in the general election .
But will they be able to distance themselves from Trumpism after spending four years watching as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ public ’ s faith in government ?
It ’ s hard to see Sasse ’ s comments as anything but a political tactic , as opposed to genuine concern for the hell the Trump presidency has unleashed .
In 2016 , Sasse emerged as a vocal Trump critic—he once compared the president to David Duke , a former grand wizard of the Ku Klux Klan .
But when he was facing a primary challenger , he toned down the anti-Trump talk and earned himself an endorsement from the president last year .
Sasse @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Majority Leader Mitch McConnell sought to distance himself from the president , couching his criticism is pandemic safety .
Earlier this month at an event he mentioned that hadn ’ t been to the White House since August 6 because their public health protocols were too lax .
“ My impression was their approach to how to handle this is different from mine and what I insisted that we do in the Senate , ” McConnell said , “ which is to wear a mask and practice social distancing.
” Maryland Gov .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ be considering a run for president in 2024 , has always been a vocal critic of Trump .
On Friday , he took it a step further by writing in Ronald Reagan for president on his ballot .
Republican politicians ’ sudden desire to distance themselves from the president comes as Trump ’ s poll numbers continue to trail far behind former Vice President Joe Biden .
With the election just weeks away , the president still hasn ’ t been able to articulate any policy goals for a second term .
Instead @ @ @ @ @ @ @ about the course of the pandemic , attack his political opponents , and engage in racism on the campaign trail .
The result is that more and more Republicans are planning for a post-Trump future .
It ’ s obvious that Republicans and conservatives are preparing to insist that they were on the right side of history .
It ’ s what they always do .
We already saw a glimpse of this time-honored tactic with the passing of Jown Lewis , Georgia congressman and longtime civil rights icon .
McConnell and other @ @ @ @ @ @ @ life project of ensuring voting rights for all were suddenly praising Lewis ’ work in their statements after his death , as I wrote in July : I realized I was watching the time-honored practice of whitewashing of history .
Over and over again , people who are attacked while fighting for the rights of the marginalized are embraced by the group that did the attacking .
The duplicity was inevitable , but also useful : We witnessed the rewriting of history that has taken place with other great Civil Rights leaders by @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to oppose what they fought for in real time , unlike what happened with Rev .
Martin Luther King , Jr. , which took place over years .
Their effort to distance themselves from Trump is not unlike what happened in the post civil rights era .
Though Martin Luther King , Jr. and the civil rights movement was largely unpopular during the 1960s , today many politicians claim to have supported the movement in its heyday and frequently cite MLK when talking about racial justice .
If Republicans are successful in rewriting @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , don ’ t be surprised if they claim to be the ones who actually stood up to Trump .

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On Saturday morning, Donald Trump launched a Twitter attack on Sen. Ben Sasse (R-Neb.) after the Senator’s telephone town hall comments criticizing the president were reported in the media. Sasse excoriated Trump over his handling of the coronavirus, his foreign policy, and his sexist remarks. “I’m now looking at the possibility of a Republican blood bath in the Senate, and that’s why I’ve never been on the Trump train,” he said. In response on Twitter, the president called Sasse the “least effective” Republican senator painting him as a “stupid and obnoxious” RINO.
…Nomination to run for a second term. Then he went back to his rather stupid and obnoxious ways. Must feel he can’t lose to a Dem. Little Ben is a liability to the Republican Party, and an embarrassment to the Great State of Nebraska. Other than that, he’s just a wonderful guy! — Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) October 17, 2020
The president is known to get riled up about even the smallest of criticisms, so his comments lashing out at Sasse are to be expected. And Sasse’s attempt to cast himself as a moderate, anti-Trump Republican is part of a broader rebranding effort ahead of what many in the GOP assume will be a bloodbath in the general election. But will they be able to distance themselves from Trumpism after spending four years watching as Trump damaged democratic institutions and eroded the public’s faith in government?
It’s hard to see Sasse’s comments as anything but a political tactic, as opposed to genuine concern for the hell the Trump presidency has unleashed. In 2016, Sasse emerged as a vocal Trump critic—he once compared the president to David Duke, a former grand wizard of the Ku Klux Klan. But when he was facing a primary challenger, he toned down the anti-Trump talk and earned himself an endorsement from the president last year.
Senator Ben Sasse has done a wonderful job representing the people of Nebraska. He is great with our Vets, the Military, and your very important Second Amendment. Strong on Crime and the Border, Ben has my Complete and Total Endorsement! — Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) September 11, 2019
Sasse isn’t alone. Even Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell sought to distance himself from the president, couching his criticism is pandemic safety. Earlier this month at an event he mentioned that hadn’t been to the White House since August 6 because their public health protocols were too lax. “My impression was their approach to how to handle this is different from mine and what I insisted that we do in the Senate, ” McConnell said, “which is to wear a mask and practice social distancing.” Maryland Gov. Larry Hogan, who is rumored to be considering a run for president in 2024, has always been a vocal critic of Trump. On Friday, he took it a step further by writing in Ronald Reagan for president on his ballot.
Republican politicians’ sudden desire to distance themselves from the president comes as Trump’s poll numbers continue to trail far behind former Vice President Joe Biden. With the election just weeks away, the president still hasn’t been able to articulate any policy goals for a second term. Instead, he has chosen to repeatedly lie about the course of the pandemic, attack his political opponents, and engage in racism on the campaign trail. The result is that more and more Republicans are planning for a post-Trump future.
It’s obvious that Republicans and conservatives are preparing to insist that they were on the right side of history. It’s what they always do. We already saw a glimpse of this time-honored tactic with the passing of John Lewis, Georgia congressman and longtime civil rights icon. McConnell and other Republicans who fought hard against Lewis’ life project of ensuring voting rights for all were suddenly praising Lewis’ work in their statements after his death, as I wrote in July:
I realized I was watching the time-honored practice of whitewashing of history. Over and over again, people who are attacked while fighting for the rights of the marginalized are embraced by the group that did the attacking. The duplicity was inevitable, but also useful: We witnessed the rewriting of history that has taken place with other great Civil Rights leaders by those who have done everything they can to oppose what they fought for in real time, unlike what happened with Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., which took place over years.
Their effort to distance themselves from Trump is not unlike what happened in the post civil rights era. Though Martin Luther King, Jr. and the civil rights movement was largely unpopular during the 1960s, today many politicians claim to have supported the movement in its heyday and frequently cite MLK when talking about racial justice. If Republicans are successful in rewriting history once again, in 20 years, don’t be surprised if they claim to be the ones who actually stood up to Trump.


motherjones--2020-10-19--Carroll Fife Is in the House. Now She Wants to Burn it Down.

As a girl , Carroll Fife never quite knew what her grandfather James did for a living , but she knew he was a somebody .
James was a factory worker , like most everybody else in Muskegon Heights , Michigan , but it was the way people gravitated toward him that suggested he was also something more .
Once , when Fife was working at Sears as a teen , she saw him walk into the store .
She saw how her colleagues , who didn ’ t know he was her grandfather , clamored around him : “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ?
… Wan na use my employee discount ?
” Same thing happened at the grocery store .
What Fife knew with certainty about her grandfather was that he believed in people having homes .
He ’ d built houses for all of his children , and Fife remembers tagging along with him and her father as they put in insulation and subfloor and drywall .
“ This is what I wan na do , ” Fife thought .
“ I want to build.
” “ I guess ultimately I ’ ve done @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shoulder-length locs and a penetrating stare tells me as we sit in a West Oakland park in August .
“ Just without a hammer and nails.
” In the fall of 2019 , not far from where we meet , Fife organized the takeover of a vacant house for a group of homeless and housing-insecure mothers and their children .
As one of the key architects of the movement that came to be known as Moms 4 Housing , Fife could clearly and emphatically explain the economic forces that were upending Black communities @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she could put a human face and story to every number .
“ That ’ s what ’ s criminal about this housing crisis .
There are actually places where people can live , ” Fife told Democracy Now !
as the occupation entered its eighth week in January .
“ This is starting a movement where people who are also experiencing housing insecurity… are waking up… and saying , ‘ We deserve housing for all.
’ ” In the middle of that live on-camera interview , Fife got word that sheriff ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on the house , forcibly evicting the moms .
Six months later , in July , Fife launched a campaign to represent West Oakland on the Oakland City Council .
She ’ s again following in the footsteps of her grandfather , who she later learned was one of Muskegon Heights ’ first Black city councilors .
Yet her run is also quite radical .
As a perpetual thorn in the side of moderate progressives on the council , Fife is very clear about one thing : She does not believe that institutions @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ It ’ s like those people who go and say , ‘ I ’ m going to go become a cop , and I ’ m going to change the culture , ’ ” she scoffs .
“ Shut the fuck up .
No , you ’ re not.
” On its face , Fife ’ s pitch to her would-be constituents seems contradictory .
She does not believe in the system—but that is why , she argues , she is most equipped to transform it .
It ’ s a pursuit @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Panther Party , whose cultural and political legacy still shapes much of Oakland ’ s politics more than 50 years after its founding .
Specifically , it ’ s the idea of self-determination—that Black people must rely on themselves and one another to build structures that truly serve them—that permeates much of Fife ’ s adult life and work .
Dig a bit deeper , though , and you ’ ll see Fife ’ s decision to run for office is simply the latest iteration of a dilemma that ’ s been at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ : Can a democratic system built specifically to exclude Black power be adapted to work in favor of it ?
Fife , at least , is going to try .
With local economies gutted and as many as 40 million people facing eviction , more Americans—in particular more Black Americans—will be living with the type of desperation that drove the moms in West Oakland .
So Fife ’ s mission will be urgent , and it will be blunt : Extract the system ’ s resources and redistribute them .
She wants to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ budget and spend it on community programs , violence prevention , and land trusts that could provide affordable housing .
“ I want to create , ” she tells me , “ a real transparent process where I try to engage democracy.
” Fife grew up the middle of three children and attended an all-white Christian school .
Her white friends always said that she was different , but could never articulate why .
“ I ’ m so glad my dad let you come over , ” she remembers a classmate saying @ @ @ @ @ @ @ The racism , Fife recalls , “ was never congruent.
” When George H.W .
Bush ’ s infamous Willie Horton ad aired in 1988 , a white classmate asked Fife , “ Are you related to him ?
” Shortly after finishing high school , Fife had a child and moved to California—joining a friend on a three-day Amtrak ride , on something of a whim , heading toward Los Angeles .
But Fife didn ’ t take to the city very well .
She recalls meeting people who told her they @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she would naively ask , “ Oh , plastics ?
Automotive ?
” “ It was so superficial , ” she says now .
“ I was just searching for something bigger and deeper.
” She soon found it , settling in with a group of young Black organizers in Pasadena , just north of downtown .
They lived cooperatively and congregated at a bookstore called Art & Soul , where they held study groups and read works by Afrocentric heavyweights .
Importantly , the works were not concerned with integration , white @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ; they focused on Black history before the transatlantic slave trade , and often argued in favor of Black racial superiority .
A few years later , in 1999 , Fife and a few friends headed for Oakland , where she created a small school , Shule Vista Academy , that ran for four years .
But the steadiest job she had was the one she did for free : community organizing .
She showed up at City Hall so often that residents thought she worked there .
She met her partner , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ degree in psychology , and worked as a paralegal before joining the staff of the Alliance of Californians for Community Empowerment ( ACCE ) , a community-based activist organization .
Since then , she has become something of an unassuming powerhouse .
On that sunny Wednesday morning in mid-August , she walks toward me in DeFremery Park , an oversized black bag slung over her shoulder .
Somewhere deep inside that bag is a device connected to a livestream feed of the California Assembly session , where lawmakers are debating a bill that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ She takes off her mask and greets me with a warm smile .
When I ask her about the hearing , she offers a dismissive wave of her hand .
She wants to get down to business .
Nobody actually calls this park , a rolling green expanse nestled in the middle of the neighborhood , by it real name .
It ’ s known to locals as “ Lil Bobby Hutton Park , ” after a 17-year-old who was among the first young people to join the Black Panther Party and became @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a confrontation with police in 1968 .
The space is just one of many holdovers from the Panther era in a city full of them .
The Black Panther Party for Self-Defense was founded by Huey P. Newton and Bobby Seale in Oakland in 1966 .
While Elaine Brown , who served as chair of the Black Panthers , lost her races for City Council in 1973 and 1975 , and Seale lost his race for mayor in 1973 , several longtime local officials owe their careers to the Panthers .
Ron Dellums @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , would likely not have won his elections without the Panthers .
Rep. Barbara Lee , who represents Oakland in DC , volunteered with the group while attending Mills College on the city ’ s east side ; she noted in a livestreamed conversation with me over the summer how instrumental that early activism was in shaping her political trajectory .
Even Sen. Kamala Harris , the moderate Democrat who is vying to be VP and is arguably the antithesis of a Panther radical , was raised in Oakland by parents whose college @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Kwanzaa and Black Studies , and were reportedly instrumental in the formation of the Panthers .
“ Our basic objective becomes this : politics is organizing and unifying the people around their basic desires and needs .
… [ T ] hey want a change , and they want their basic desires and needs answered , ” Seale told a reporter during his mayoral campaign .
“ I ’ m saying politics is organizing people around this , and teaching them through organization to control those institutions that control their very lives .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ other agency of government that has been institutionalized , is not responsive to the needs of the people , then the people are going to have to learn how to control them.
” Seale ’ s remarks offer a direct line to Fife ’ s work today .
Fife in fact serves as the secretary for the chair of the Black Panther Party Cubs , a grassroots activist group led by Fred Hampton , Jr. , the son and namesake of the Chicago activist who was killed in a police raid in 1969 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cry from being as culturally and politically influential as its predecessor ; it ’ s a small , mostly political education–centered group .
Its similarities , though , are crucial , according to Fife .
“ Self-determination programs are part of who we are , and what our purpose is , to make sure that our community has what it needs to thrive , ” she tells me about the group .
“ Because if you don ’ t have basic necessities , say safety and survival necessities , then you can ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ activity.
” Fife ’ s particular belief in radical transformation is likely to best land with younger progressives , but she argues it is also geared toward addressing older Black residents and those who came before her .
“ My case is that the conditions that [ they ] experienced years ago , that has led to the disinvestment in your West Oakland community , shouldn ’ t exist 50 years later , ” she says .
“ We ’ re building a movement to ensure that we end those conditions now .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ Fife quickly identified housing as a central issue for Oakland ’ s Black community , which had shrunk 23 percent in the previous decade as housing prices in the city had skyrocketed .
Like her grandfather , Fife has long considered housing a fundamental human right , but recognizes , as Princeton professor Keeanga-Yamahtta Taylor wrote in the New Yorker , “ [ t ] here is an inherent conflict between the human right to housing and making housing available based on what the market will provide and at the highest price it @ @ @ @ @ @ @ housing need and costs has been a constant feature of the U.S. economy , with shortages driven by the basic reality that there is little to no money to be made in housing for working-class or poor people .
The dynamic is especially acute for African-Americans , ” Taylor wrote in the New Yorker in May .
“ The real-estate market has been lauded as a race-neutral space , guided only by supply and demand , but more than a century of racial discrimination and residential segregation , rooted in the government-inspired perceptions @ @ @ @ @ @ @ property values , belies that myth.
” Before the pandemic , there were an average of four vacant homes for every unhoused person in Oakland .
Since the 2008 financial crisis , many homes have been scooped up at dirt cheap prices from families facing foreclosure by speculators that then flipped them for a sizable profit .
An ad aimed at the tech workers fueling the Bay Area ’ s gentrification crisis dubbed West Oakland “ the new edge of Silicon Valley.
” Fife launched the Black Housing Union at ACCE , where @ @ @ @ @ @ @ had jobs , cars , and families , but were living on the street because they couldn ’ t afford rent .
Still , it hit home when last year one of her own staffers , a single mom named Dominique Walker , told her that she and her children had been evicted .
“ I was homeless with my children , ” says Walker .
“ Another ACCE staffer was homeless , and there were moms coming to [ Fife ] from outside the community who were having trouble finding housing.
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ were fully employed , often with multiple jobs .
That ’ s when Fife , Walker , and a few other mothers turned to the empty house at 2928 Magnolia Street .
Built in 1908 , it cycled through generations of Oaklanders until 2019 , when a subsidiary of the corporate real estate speculator Wedgewood snapped it up for half a million dollars .
Zillow lists the house as being worth nearly $ 800,000 , though it doesn ’ t look like it .
The paint on the sky blue concrete stairs is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and weeds are poking up through broken concrete in the driveway .
It had mostly been vacant until last November , when it became “ Moms ’ House.
” The occupation wasn ’ t a fly-by-night operation .
Squatting is a time-tested organizing tactic , but what separated what Fife and Walker were doing was zeroing in specifically on homes that were owned by corporate speculators .
In doing so , the group was taking direct action—and drawing a direct line between skyrocketing rents in the area and absentee corporate overlords who @ @ @ @ @ @ @ tactic also reframed the common misconception of gentrification as an individually driven phenomenon .
Yes , wealthy and whiter residents were moving in .
But the welcome mats had been laid out years , if not decades before by lax government regulation that allowed companies like Wedgewood to swoop in in the first place .
As Walker told Mother Jones at the time , the occupation “ was an answer to a desperate need .
It should be illegal to have vacant houses and have people sleeping on the streets.
” Over the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to evict them , at least three moms and four children lived in the house at all times .
Fife visited every day , raised money , coordinated media coverage , and organized volunteers to protect and support the moms .
Then , that January morning , deputies in riot gear toting AR-15s broke down the front door with a battering ram and sent a robot into the residence to search for weapons while an armored vehicle sat out front .
Two of the moms were arrested , but the district attorney declined @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the action helped some of the families find housing elsewhere in the city , though they , with help from Mayor Libby Schaaf and California Gov .
Gavin Newsom , were able to push Wedgewood to sell the property to a community land trust that would rent it back to them .
The trust is now in the process of renovating the house so the moms can eventually live in it .
Moms 4 Housing inspired copycats first in Los Angeles and Philadelphia , and later in San Francisco and Minneapolis .
All @ @ @ @ @ @ @ She gave media tours of the homeless encampments dotting Oakland , spoke about housing as a human right before packed auditoriums at the University of California , Berkeley , and presented the moms ’ story to the National Homelessness Law Center .
Then the coronavirus hit .
In April , Fife and a coalition of local Black-led groups released a proposal called the Black New Deal , which demanded immediate action to manage the spread of COVID-19 as it disproportionately sickened and killed Black people .
When the plan was shared with the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ no one , including West Oakland ’ s Lynette Gibson McElhaney and the two other Black councilmembers , responded .
Instead , the council created an Equity Caucus , leaving Fife and her peers feeling they ’ d been left out of the process entirely .
( McElhaney disputes this version of events , telling me that the email got “ buried ” in the midst of the pandemic .
She adds , “ Our vision was to strengthen the network of responsive community groups , not to discredit their work , but @ @ @ @ @ @ @ had initially laughed when people encouraged her to run for McElhaney ’ s seat .
Yet the apparent snub from the council was the tipping point .
“ I ’ m doing it because this is some trash how our Black elected officials in particular , who are the status quo gatekeepers of white power , are engaging us , ” she tells me .
“ They all ignored us.
” Fife considers herself an introvert , but in mid-July there she was , standing in the bed of a black pickup with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ case to West Oakland residents .
Most of the city was still shut down , so instead of a conventional rally , her supporters organized a car caravan they called the People ’ s Procession , another nod to the spirit of the Panthers .
But in that legacy , Fife also recognizes the limits of Black political representation .
If she ’ s elected , she won ’ t expect rapid institutional change .
She believes she can break the mold in another way , to “ enact policy that changes budgets @ @ @ @ @ @ @ them into places where they should be.
” When I ask what this might look like , Fife surprises me with a reference to an episode of Futurama in which a robot has a spiritual awakening and talks to God .
“ God was like , ‘ When you do something right , people won ’ t know that you ’ ve done anything at all , ’ ” Fife recounts , smiling .
“ I love that because it ’ s lifting up people ’ s voices and energies and power.
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in one city , yet her run is indicative of our moment of upheaval and reckoning .
Can people like Carroll Fife , who do not trust a system to fix its own problems , find a place within it ?

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As a girl, Carroll Fife never quite knew what her grandfather James did for a living, but she knew he was a somebody.
James was a factory worker, like most everybody else in Muskegon Heights, Michigan, but it was the way people gravitated toward him that suggested he was also something more. Once, when Fife was working at Sears as a teen, she saw him walk into the store. She saw how her colleagues, who didn’t know he was her grandfather, clamored around him: “Hey Mr. Fife… Do you need anything?… Wanna use my employee discount?” Same thing happened at the grocery store.
What Fife knew with certainty about her grandfather was that he believed in people having homes. He’d built houses for all of his children, and Fife remembers tagging along with him and her father as they put in insulation and subfloor and drywall. “This is what I wanna do,” Fife thought. “I want to build.”
“It’s like those people who go and say, ‘I’m going to go become a cop, and I’m going to change the culture.’ Shut the fuck up. No, you’re not.”
“I guess ultimately I’ve done that,” the diminutive 44-year-old with shoulder-length locs and a penetrating stare tells me as we sit in a West Oakland park in August. “Just without a hammer and nails.”
In the fall of 2019, not far from where we meet, Fife organized the takeover of a vacant house for a group of homeless and housing-insecure mothers and their children. As one of the key architects of the movement that came to be known as Moms 4 Housing, Fife could clearly and emphatically explain the economic forces that were upending Black communities across the country; more importantly, she could put a human face and story to every number. “That’s what’s criminal about this housing crisis. There are actually places where people can live,” Fife told Democracy Now! as the occupation entered its eighth week in January. “This is starting a movement where people who are also experiencing housing insecurity… are waking up… and saying, ‘We deserve housing for all.’” In the middle of that live on-camera interview, Fife got word that sheriff’s deputies were executing a predawn raid on the house, forcibly evicting the moms.
Six months later, in July, Fife launched a campaign to represent West Oakland on the Oakland City Council. She’s again following in the footsteps of her grandfather, who she later learned was one of Muskegon Heights’ first Black city councilors. Yet her run is also quite radical. As a perpetual thorn in the side of moderate progressives on the council, Fife is very clear about one thing: She does not believe that institutions can be changed from the inside. “It’s like those people who go and say, ‘I’m going to go become a cop, and I’m going to change the culture,’” she scoffs. “Shut the fuck up. No, you’re not.”
On its face, Fife’s pitch to her would-be constituents seems contradictory. She does not believe in the system—but that is why, she argues, she is most equipped to transform it. It’s a pursuit in the radical tradition of the Black Panther Party, whose cultural and political legacy still shapes much of Oakland’s politics more than 50 years after its founding. Specifically, it’s the idea of self-determination—that Black people must rely on themselves and one another to build structures that truly serve them—that permeates much of Fife’s adult life and work.
Dig a bit deeper, though, and you’ll see Fife’s decision to run for office is simply the latest iteration of a dilemma that’s been at the heart of Black leadership since Reconstruction: Can a democratic system built specifically to exclude Black power be adapted to work in favor of it?
Fife, at least, is going to try. With local economies gutted and as many as 40 million people facing eviction, more Americans—in particular more Black Americans—will be living with the type of desperation that drove the moms in West Oakland. So Fife’s mission will be urgent, and it will be blunt: Extract the system’s resources and redistribute them. She wants to take $150 million from the police budget and spend it on community programs, violence prevention, and land trusts that could provide affordable housing.
“I want to create,” she tells me, “a real transparent process where I try to engage democracy.”
Fife grew up the middle of three children and attended an all-white Christian school. Her white friends always said that she was different, but could never articulate why.
“I’m so glad my dad let you come over,” she remembers a classmate saying. “He really hates niggers.” The racism, Fife recalls, “was never congruent.” When George H.W. Bush’s infamous Willie Horton ad aired in 1988, a white classmate asked Fife, “Are you related to him?”
Shortly after finishing high school, Fife had a child and moved to California—joining a friend on a three-day Amtrak ride, on something of a whim, heading toward Los Angeles. But Fife didn’t take to the city very well. She recalls meeting people who told her they worked in the “industry”—and she would naively ask, “Oh, plastics? Automotive?”
“It was so superficial,” she says now. “I was just searching for something bigger and deeper.”
She soon found it, settling in with a group of young Black organizers in Pasadena, just north of downtown. They lived cooperatively and congregated at a bookstore called Art & Soul, where they held study groups and read works by Afrocentric heavyweights. Importantly, the works were not concerned with integration, white racism or white people much at all; they focused on Black history before the transatlantic slave trade, and often argued in favor of Black racial superiority.
A few years later, in 1999, Fife and a few friends headed for Oakland, where she created a small school, Shule Vista Academy, that ran for four years. But the steadiest job she had was the one she did for free: community organizing. She showed up at City Hall so often that residents thought she worked there. She met her partner, had two more kids, earned a degree in psychology, and worked as a paralegal before joining the staff of the Alliance of Californians for Community Empowerment (ACCE), a community-based activist organization.
Since then, she has become something of an unassuming powerhouse. On that sunny Wednesday morning in mid-August, she walks toward me in DeFremery Park, an oversized black bag slung over her shoulder. Somewhere deep inside that bag is a device connected to a livestream feed of the California Assembly session, where lawmakers are debating a bill that could impact her work with ACCE. She takes off her mask and greets me with a warm smile. When I ask her about the hearing, she offers a dismissive wave of her hand. She wants to get down to business.
Nobody actually calls this park, a rolling green expanse nestled in the middle of the neighborhood, by it real name. It’s known to locals as “Lil Bobby Hutton Park,” after a 17-year-old who was among the first young people to join the Black Panther Party and became the first member to be killed in a confrontation with police in 1968. The space is just one of many holdovers from the Panther era in a city full of them.
The Black Panther Party for Self-Defense was founded by Huey P. Newton and Bobby Seale in Oakland in 1966. While Elaine Brown, who served as chair of the Black Panthers, lost her races for City Council in 1973 and 1975, and Seale lost his race for mayor in 1973, several longtime local officials owe their careers to the Panthers. Ron Dellums, a former mayor and longtime congressman, would likely not have won his elections without the Panthers. Rep. Barbara Lee, who represents Oakland in DC, volunteered with the group while attending Mills College on the city’s east side; she noted in a livestreamed conversation with me over the summer how instrumental that early activism was in shaping her political trajectory. Even Sen. Kamala Harris, the moderate Democrat who is vying to be VP and is arguably the antithesis of a Panther radical, was raised in Oakland by parents whose college study group alums went on to found Kwanzaa and Black Studies, and were reportedly instrumental in the formation of the Panthers.
“Self-determination programs are part of who we are, and what our purpose is, to make sure that our community has what it needs to thrive.”
“Our basic objective becomes this: politics is organizing and unifying the people around their basic desires and needs. … [T]hey want a change, and they want their basic desires and needs answered,” Seale told a reporter during his mayoral campaign. “I’m saying politics is organizing people around this, and teaching them through organization to control those institutions that control their very lives. If the police department, or any other agency of government that has been institutionalized, is not responsive to the needs of the people, then the people are going to have to learn how to control them.”
“That’s what we’re doing,” he concluded.
Seale’s remarks offer a direct line to Fife’s work today. Fife in fact serves as the secretary for the chair of the Black Panther Party Cubs, a grassroots activist group led by Fred Hampton, Jr., the son and namesake of the Chicago activist who was killed in a police raid in 1969. The new group is a far cry from being as culturally and politically influential as its predecessor; it’s a small, mostly political education–centered group. Its similarities, though, are crucial, according to Fife. “Self-determination programs are part of who we are, and what our purpose is, to make sure that our community has what it needs to thrive,” she tells me about the group. “Because if you don’t have basic necessities, say safety and survival necessities, then you can’t push for any type of revolutionary activity.”
Fife’s particular belief in radical transformation is likely to best land with younger progressives, but she argues it is also geared toward addressing older Black residents and those who came before her. “My case is that the conditions that [they] experienced years ago, that has led to the disinvestment in your West Oakland community, shouldn’t exist 50 years later,” she says. “We’re building a movement to ensure that we end those conditions now. ”
In her work at ACCE, Fife quickly identified housing as a central issue for Oakland’s Black community, which had shrunk 23 percent in the previous decade as housing prices in the city had skyrocketed. Like her grandfather, Fife has long considered housing a fundamental human right, but recognizes, as Princeton professor Keeanga-Yamahtta Taylor wrote in the New Yorker, “[t]here is an inherent conflict between the human right to housing and making housing available based on what the market will provide and at the highest price it can command.”
“The mismatch between housing need and costs has been a constant feature of the U.S. economy, with shortages driven by the basic reality that there is little to no money to be made in housing for working-class or poor people. The dynamic is especially acute for African-Americans,” Taylor wrote in the New Yorker in May. “The real-estate market has been lauded as a race-neutral space, guided only by supply and demand, but more than a century of racial discrimination and residential segregation, rooted in the government-inspired perceptions that African-Americans pose an existential threat to property values, belies that myth.”
Before the pandemic, there were an average of four vacant homes for every unhoused person in Oakland. Since the 2008 financial crisis, many homes have been scooped up at dirt cheap prices from families facing foreclosure by speculators that then flipped them for a sizable profit. An ad aimed at the tech workers fueling the Bay Area’s gentrification crisis dubbed West Oakland “the new edge of Silicon Valley.”
Fife launched the Black Housing Union at ACCE, where she heard firsthand stories from people who had jobs, cars, and families, but were living on the street because they couldn’t afford rent. Still, it hit home when last year one of her own staffers, a single mom named Dominique Walker, told her that she and her children had been evicted.
“I was homeless with my children,” says Walker. “Another ACCE staffer was homeless, and there were moms coming to [Fife] from outside the community who were having trouble finding housing.” Walker notes that all of these women were fully employed, often with multiple jobs.
That’s when Fife, Walker, and a few other mothers turned to the empty house at 2928 Magnolia Street. Built in 1908, it cycled through generations of Oaklanders until 2019, when a subsidiary of the corporate real estate speculator Wedgewood snapped it up for half a million dollars. Zillow lists the house as being worth nearly $800,000, though it doesn’t look like it. The paint on the sky blue concrete stairs is chipped, its eggshell facade is graying, and weeds are poking up through broken concrete in the driveway.
It had mostly been vacant until last November, when it became “Moms’ House.” The occupation wasn’t a fly-by-night operation. Squatting is a time-tested organizing tactic, but what separated what Fife and Walker were doing was zeroing in specifically on homes that were owned by corporate speculators. In doing so, the group was taking direct action—and drawing a direct line between skyrocketing rents in the area and absentee corporate overlords who were steadily whitewashing the neighborhood. The tactic also reframed the common misconception of gentrification as an individually driven phenomenon. Yes, wealthy and whiter residents were moving in. But the welcome mats had been laid out years, if not decades before by lax government regulation that allowed companies like Wedgewood to swoop in in the first place.
As Walker told Mother Jones at the time, the occupation “was an answer to a desperate need. It should be illegal to have vacant houses and have people sleeping on the streets.” Over the next two months, while Wedgewood worked to evict them, at least three moms and four children lived in the house at all times. Fife visited every day, raised money, coordinated media coverage, and organized volunteers to protect and support the moms.
“I’m doing it because this is some trash how our Black elected officials in particular, who are the status quo gatekeepers of white power, are engaging us.”
Then, that January morning, deputies in riot gear toting AR-15s broke down the front door with a battering ram and sent a robot into the residence to search for weapons while an armored vehicle sat out front. Two of the moms were arrested, but the district attorney declined to press charges. The publicity from the action helped some of the families find housing elsewhere in the city, though they, with help from Mayor Libby Schaaf and California Gov. Gavin Newsom, were able to push Wedgewood to sell the property to a community land trust that would rent it back to them. The trust is now in the process of renovating the house so the moms can eventually live in it.
Moms 4 Housing inspired copycats first in Los Angeles and Philadelphia, and later in San Francisco and Minneapolis. All the while, Fife kept working: She gave media tours of the homeless encampments dotting Oakland, spoke about housing as a human right before packed auditoriums at the University of California, Berkeley, and presented the moms’ story to the National Homelessness Law Center. Then the coronavirus hit. In April, Fife and a coalition of local Black-led groups released a proposal called the Black New Deal, which demanded immediate action to manage the spread of COVID-19 as it disproportionately sickened and killed Black people.
When the plan was shared with the Oakland City Council, Fife says that no one, including West Oakland’s Lynette Gibson McElhaney and the two other Black councilmembers, responded. Instead, the council created an Equity Caucus, leaving Fife and her peers feeling they’d been left out of the process entirely. (McElhaney disputes this version of events, telling me that the email got “buried” in the midst of the pandemic. She adds, “Our vision was to strengthen the network of responsive community groups, not to discredit their work, but to enhance their work.”)
Fife had initially laughed when people encouraged her to run for McElhaney’s seat. Yet the apparent snub from the council was the tipping point. “I’m doing it because this is some trash how our Black elected officials in particular, who are the status quo gatekeepers of white power, are engaging us,” she tells me. “They all ignored us.”
Fife considers herself an introvert, but in mid-July there she was, standing in the bed of a black pickup with a microphone in hand, making her case to West Oakland residents. Most of the city was still shut down, so instead of a conventional rally, her supporters organized a car caravan they called the People’s Procession, another nod to the spirit of the Panthers.
But in that legacy, Fife also recognizes the limits of Black political representation. If she’s elected, she won’t expect rapid institutional change. She believes she can break the mold in another way, to “enact policy that changes budgets so we can reroute funds to put them into places where they should be.”
When I ask what this might look like, Fife surprises me with a reference to an episode of Futurama in which a robot has a spiritual awakening and talks to God. “God was like, ‘When you do something right, people won’t know that you’ve done anything at all,’” Fife recounts, smiling. “I love that because it’s lifting up people’s voices and energies and power.”
It’s just one council race in one city, yet her run is indicative of our moment of upheaval and reckoning. Can people like Carroll Fife, who do not trust a system to fix its own problems, find a place within it?