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  • How Democrats plan to reshape California’s congressional delegation and thwart Trump

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    A decade and a half after California voters stripped lawmakers of the ability to draw the boundaries of congressional districts, Gov. Gavin Newsom and fellow Democrats are pushing to take that partisan power back.

    The redistricting plan taking shape in Sacramento and headed toward voters in November could shift the Golden State’s political landscape for at least six years, if not longer. The outcome could also sway which party controls the U.S. House of Representatives after the 2026 midterm elections, which will be pivotal to the fate of President Trump’s political agenda.

    What Golden State voters choose to do will reverberate nationwide, killing some political careers and launching others, provoking other states to reconfigure their own congressional districts and boosting Newsom’s profile as a top Trump nemesis and leader of the nation’s Democratic resistance.

    The new maps, drawn by Democratic strategists and lawmakers behind closed doors, were submitted Friday to legislative leaders by the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee, the group that works to elect House Democrats.

    The maps are expected to appear on a Nov. 4 special election ballot, along with a constitutional amendment that would override the state’s voter-approved, independent redistricting commission.

    The changes would ripple across more than 1,000 miles of California, from the forests near the Oregon state line through the deserts of Death Valley and Palm Springs to the U.S.-Mexico border, expanding Democrats’ grip on California and further isolating Republicans.

    The proposed map would concentrate Republican voters in a handful of deep-red districts and eliminate an Inland Empire congressional seat represented by the longest-serving member of California’s GOP delegation. For Democrats, the plans would boost the fortunes of up-and-coming politicians and shore up vulnerable incumbents, including two new lawmakers who won election by fewer than 1,000 votes last fall.

    Under the proposal, Democrats could pick up five seats currently held by Republicans while bolstering vulnerable Democratic incumbent Reps. Adam Gray, Josh Harder, George Whitesides, Derek Tran and Dave Min, which would save the party millions of dollars in costly reelection fights.

    In a letter to the state Legislature, Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee director Julie Merz said the map “serves the best interest of California voters, while also attempting to push back against the corrupt scheme occurring in Texas and other Republican-majority states.”

    The National Republican Congressional Committee, the group that works to elect House Republicans, said they are “prepared to fight this illegal power grab in the courts and at the ballot box to stop Newsom in his tracks.”

    “This is the final declaration of political war between California and the Trump administration,” said Thad Kousser, a political science professor at UC San Diego.

    How will the ballot measure work?

    For the state to reverse the independent redistricting process that the electorate approved in 2010, a majority of California voters would have to approve the measure, which backers are calling the “Election Rigging Response Act.”

    The state Legislature, where Democrats hold a supermajority in both the Assembly and Senate, will consider the ballot language next week when lawmakers return from summer recess. Both chambers would need to pass the ballot language by a two-thirds majority and get the bill to Newsom’s desk by Aug. 22, leaving just enough time for voter guides to be mailed and ballots to be printed.

    Approving the new map would be up to the state’s electorate, which backed independent redistricting in 2010 by more than 61%. Registered Democrats outnumber Republican voters by almost a two-to-one margin in California.

    Newsom has said that the measure would include a “trigger,” meaning the state’s maps would only take effect if a Republican state — such as Texas, Florida or Indiana — approve new mid-decade maps.

    “There’s still an exit ramp,” Newsom said. “We’re hopeful they don’t move forward.”

    Explaining the esoteric concept of redistricting and getting voters to participate in an off-year election will require that Newsom and his allies, including organized labor, launch what is expected to be an expensive campaign very quickly.

    “It’s summer in California,” Kousser said. “People are not focused on this.”

    California has no limit on campaign contributions for ballot measures, and a measure that pits Democrats against Trump, and Republicans against Newsom, could become a high-stakes, high-cost national brawl.

    “It’s tens of millions of dollars, and it’s going to be determined on the basis of what an opposition looks like as well,” Newsom said Thursday. The fundraising effort, he said, is “not insignificant… considering the 90-day sprint.”

    The ballot measure’s campaign website mentions three major funding sources thus far: Newsom’s gubernatorial campaign, the main political action committee for House Democrats in Washington, and Manhattan Beach businessman Bill Bloomfield, a longtime donor to California Democrats.

    The opposition is also expected to be well-funded. A representative of a coalition fighting the effort said that Charles Munger Jr., who bankrolled the 2010 ballot measure that created the independent commission, is committed to defending the electoral reform.

    What’s at stake?

    Control of the U.S. House of Representatives hangs in the balance.

    The party that holds the White House tends to lose House seats during the midterm election. Republicans hold a razor-thin majority in the House, and Democrats taking control of chamber in 2026 would stymie Trump’s controversial, right-wing agenda in his final two years in office.

    Redistricting typically only happens once a decade, after the U.S. Census. But Trump has been prodding Republican states, starting with Texas, to redraw their lines in the middle of the decade to boost the GOP’s chances in the midterms.

    At Trump’s encouragement, Texas Gov. Greg Abbott called a special legislative session to redraw the Texas congressional map to favor five more Republicans. In response, Newsom and other California Democrats have called for their own maps that would favor five more Democrats.

    Texas Democratic lawmakers fled the state to deny the legislature a quorum and stop the vote. They faced daily fines, death threats and calls to be removed from office. They agreed to return to Austin after the special session ended on Friday, with one condition being that California Democrats moved forward with their redistricting plan.

    The situation has the potential to spiral into an all-out redistricting arms race, with Trump leaning on Indiana, Florida, Ohio and Missouri to redraw their maps, while Newsom is asking the same of blue states including New York and Illinois.

    California Republicans in the crosshairs

    The California gerrymandering plan targets five of California’s nine Republican members of Congress: Reps. Kevin Kiley and Doug LaMalfa in Northern California, Rep. David Valadao in the Central Valley, and Reps. Ken Calvert and Darrell Issa in Southern California.

    The map consolidates Republican voters into a smaller number of ruby-red districts known as “vote sinks.” Some conservative and rural areas would be shifted into districts where Republican voters would be diluted by high voter registration advantage for Democrats.

    The biggest change would be for Calvert, who would see his Inland Empire district eliminated.

    Calvert has been in Congress since 1992 and represents a sprawling Riverside County district that includes Lake Elsinore, Menifee, Palm Springs and his home base of Corona. Calvert, who oversees defense spending on the powerful House Appropriations Committee, comfortably won reelection last year despite a well-funded national campaign by Democrats.

    Under the proposed map, the Inland Empire district would be carved up and redistributed, parceled out to a district represented by Rep. Young Kim (R-Anaheim Hills). Liberal Palm Springs would be shifted into the district represented by Rep. Darrell Issa (R-Bonsall), which would help tilt the district from Republican to a narrowly divided swing seat.

    Members of Congress are not required to live in their districts, but there would not be an obvious seat for Calvert to run for, unless he ran against Kim or Issa.

    Leaked screenshots of the map began to circulate Friday afternoon, prompting fierce and immediate pushback from California Republicans. The lines are “third-world dictator stuff,” Orange County GOP chair Will O’Neill said on X, and the “slicing and dicing of Orange County cities is obscene.”

    In Northern California, the boundaries of Kiley’s district would shrink and dogleg into the Sacramento suburbs to add registered Democrats. Kiley said in a post on X that he expected his district to stay the same because voters would “defeat Newsom’s sham initiative and vindicate the will of California voters.”

    LaMalfa’s district would shift south, away from the rural and conservative areas along the Oregon border, and pick up more liberal areas in parts of Sonoma County. Democrat Audrey Denney, who lost to LaMalfa in 2018 and 2020, said Friday that if voters approve the new map, she would run again.

    In Central California, boundaries would shift to shore up Harder and Gray, who won election last year by 187 votes, the narrowest margin in the country.

    Valadao, a perennial target for Democrats, would see the northern boundary of his district stretch into the bluer suburbs of Fresno. Democrats have tried for years to unseat Valadao, who represents a district that has a strong Democratic voter registration advantage on paper, but where turnout among blue voters is lackluster.

    Democrats eye open seats

    Eight of the state’s 52 congressional districts would be left unchanged under the new map, including the three historic Black districts in Los Angeles and Oakland. Three districts with the highest number of Asian American voters would be preserved, while a Latino lawmaker would likely be elected from a new Los Angeles-area seat.

    That new congressional seat in Los Angeles County that would stretch through the southeast cities of Downey, Santa Fe Springs, Whittier and Lakewood. An open seat in Congress is a rare opportunity for politicians, especially in deep-blue Los Angeles County, where incumbent lawmakers can keep their jobs for decades.

    Portions of that district were once represented by retired U.S. Rep. Lucille Roybal-Allard, the first Mexican American woman elected to Congress. That seat was eliminated in the 2021 redistricting cycle, when California lost a congressional seat for the first time in its history.

    Los Angeles County Supervisor Hilda Solis has told members of the California Congressional delegation that she is thinking about running for the new seat.

    Another possible contender, former Assembly speaker Anthony Rendon of Lakewood, launched a campaign for state superintendent of schools in late July and said he is not interested in vying to represent the new district.

    Other lawmakers who represent the area or areas nearby include State Sen. Blanca Rubio (D-Baldwin Park), state Sen. Bob Archuleta (D-Pico Rivera) and state Assemblywoman Lisa Calderon (D-Whittier).

    In Northern California, the southern tip of LaMalfa’s district would stretch south into the Sonoma County cities of Santa Rosa and Healdsberg, home to Senate Pro Tem Mike McGuire. McGuire will be termed out of the state Senate next year, and the new seat might present a prime opportunity for him to go to Washington.

    Times staff writer Taryn Luna in Sacramento contributed to this report.

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    Laura J. Nelson, Seema Mehta

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  • A fiery lawyer's longshot bid to put Donald Trump in the hot seat goes cold

    A fiery lawyer's longshot bid to put Donald Trump in the hot seat goes cold

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    The named defendant in the federal lawsuit was California Secretary of State Shirley Weber, but there was never a doubt that the target was Donald J. Trump.

    For a time, as the legal maneuvering proceeded through the fall, it appeared that Los Angeles could be treated to another of its celebrated courtroom dramas, this one a constitutional showdown pitting a colorful civil rights attorney against a volcanic former president in the courtroom of a judge known for his fiery judicial flair.

    The case sought an order prohibiting Weber from placing the Republican presidential front-runner on the California ballot, based on the 14th Amendment’s insurrection clause.

    It was also intended to be a trap. If Trump’s legal team took the bait and joined the case, then the former president could be forced to face a grilling under oath on his role in the Jan. 6, 2021, attack on the Capitol.

    At least that was the theory of Stephen Yagman, an attorney both admired and reviled in local lore for his history of toppling sacred cows.

    Over a span of two decades, Yagman broke legal ground in cases against the LAPD and the U.S. government, establishing that Los Angeles Police Department officers and their leaders can be held personally liable for civil rights violations and that prisoners at the Guantanamo Bay detention center had a right to due process. Then he suffered an ignominious fall with a 2007 federal conviction for tax evasion and bankruptcy fraud. In his 70s, more than a decade after serving 29 months in prison, Yagman regained his law license and resumed fighting for indigent victims of government abuse.

    U.S. District Judge David O. Carter, a no less colorful figure than Yagman, has built a reputation for judicial unorothodoxy bordering on heavy-handedness. He’s held court on Skid Row and summoned mayors and supervisors to answer for their ineffective responses to homelessness. In two cases that were active at the time, Carter was holding L.A. County officials’ feet to the fire to extract a commitment for thousands of mental health beds and rebuffing efforts of the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs to wiggle out of a lawsuit over veterans housing.

    More to the point of Yagman’s case, Carter had found in a 2022 ruling that stripped Trump legal adviser John Eastman’s attorney-client privilege that the two had “more likely than not” attempted to illegally obstruct Congress, calling it “a coup in search of a legal theory.”

    Would Carter, who drew Yagman’s case because it was related to the earlier one, follow through with that reasoning? Yagman hoped so.

    When Trump’s lawyers took the bait and petitioned Carter to intervene, Yagman virtually frothed with anticipation.

    “This court, right here and now, has a unique opportunity to prevent a truly deranged and dangerous fool, Donald Trump, who perpetrated an assault on American Democracy, from again being president of the United States,” he wrote in a motion, noting that Trump “improvidently (for him) has intervened to make himself a party-defendant to the instant action.”

    He buttressed his ever eccentric legalese with a flight of literary allusion invoking both Socrates and The Rolling Stones.

    “Trump is a vile man. He has no virtue whatsoever,” Yagman wrote, appending a long footnote on the Greek philosopher’s concept of civic virtue.

    “And contrary to what the Rolling Stones’ Mick Jagger sings … Trump, as today’s embodiment of the devil … deserves no sympathy….”

    But it was to no avail. Not once, but twice in the months that followed, Trump’s lawyers raised legal technicalities to knock down Yagman’s flaming rhetoric.

    The first was based on standing, a slippery legal concept meaning something akin to skin in the game.

    Yagman’s case made the tortuous argument that his client, a Republican voter who planned to vote for Trump, would be disenfranchised if, after the March California primary, Trump was ruled ineligible to be president.

    Carter dismissed the case in November, finding his client did not have standing because “the harm he alleges is too generalized.”

    Yagman had a backup strategy, an amended complaint changing his case to a class action representing all Republican voters and naming Trump himself as a defendant on a novel theory of negligent infliction of emotional distress.

    His clients, he argued, were “direct victims of Trump’s acts in creating and participating in insurrection,” both on Jan. 6 and in the “innumerable viewings of those acts on television, on the radio and in numerous publications….”

    Reconsidering, Carter set a hearing for Jan. 8. But, over the holidays, Trump’s lawyers convinced the judge that a hearing was not necessary. In a Dec. 22 filing, Shawn E. Cowles of the Dhillon Law Group gave eight reasons why the case had no merit, ranging from presidential immunity and 1st Amendment protection to “reasons to doubt the veracity of Plaintiff’s claim that he is a registered Republican voter in Los Angeles County.”

    The argument that carried the day for the former president was based on the statute of limitations. Ignoring Yagman’s contention that the injury was repeated every time Jan. 6 imagery appeared on TV, radio or in print, Carter ruled the case “time-barred” based on California’s two-year statute for negligent infliction of emotional distress.

    Yagman, whose past victories included establishing that lawyers cannot be sanctioned for making disparaging comments about their judges, showed uncharacteristic magnanimity in defeat.

    Carter, he said, is a good judge and decent human being.

    “I’m happy enough with it because it’s him,” he told The Times. “Part of me is really sorry to see it go, I really wanted to depose Trump. But I’m ashamed of that because it would just be me playing games. I wouldn’t get anything out of that except chuckles.”

    Times researcher Scott Wilson contributed to this story.

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    Doug Smith

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  • The Brutal Things Republican Voters Say About Mike Pence

    The Brutal Things Republican Voters Say About Mike Pence

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    Mike Pence is making little secret of his presidential ambitions. He’s written his book, he’s assembling his team, he’s mastered the art of the coy non-denial when somebody asks (in between trips to Iowa) if he’s running. In early Republican-primary polls, he hovers between 6 and 7 percent—not top-tier numbers, but respectable enough. He seems to think he has at least an outside shot at winning the Republican nomination.

    And yet, ask a Republican voter about the former vice president, and you’re likely to hear some of the most withering commentary you’ve ever encountered about a politician.

    In recent weeks, I was invited to sit in on a series of focus groups conducted over Zoom. Organized by the political consultant Sarah Longwell, the groups consisted of Republican voters who supported Donald Trump in both 2016 and 2020. The participants were all over the country—suburban Atlanta, rural Illinois, San Diego—and they varied in their current opinions of Trump. In some cases, Longwell filtered for voters who should be in Pence’s target demographic. One group consisted entirely of two-time Trump voters who didn’t want him to run again; another was made up of conservative evangelicals, who might presumably appreciate Pence’s roots in the religious right.

    I’ve been covering Pence’s strange Trump-era arc since 2017, when I first profiled him for The Atlantic. By some accounts, he’s wanted to be president since his college-fraternity days. I’ve always been skeptical of his chances, but now that he finally seems ready to run, I wanted to understand the appeal of his prospective candidacy. My goal was to see if I could find at least one Pence supporter.

    Instead, these were some of the quotes I jotted down.

    “I don’t care for him … He’s just middle-of-the-road to me. If there was someone halfway better, I wouldn’t vote for him.”

    “He has alienated every Republican and Democrat … It’s over. It’s retirement time.”

    “He’s only gonna get the vote from his family, and I’m not even sure if they like him.”

    “He just needs to go away.”

    It went on and on like that across four different focus groups. Of the 34 Republicans who participated, I only heard four people say they’d consider Pence for president—and two of them immediately started talking themselves out of it after indicating interest.

    Some of the reasons for Pence’s lack of support were intuitive. Hard-core Trump fans said they were alienated by Pence’s refusal to block the certification of the 2020 electoral votes, as the president was demanding. This break with Trump famously prompted chants of “Hang Mike Pence!” to echo through the U.S. Capitol on January 6.

    Although the sentiment expressed in the focus groups wasn’t quite so violent, the anger was still present. During one session, three people—all of whom had reported “very favorable” views of Trump—took turns trashing Pence for what they saw as his weakness.

    “I’m so mad at Pence that I would never vote for him,” said one man named Matt. “He would be a horrible president … I just don’t think he has the leadership qualities to be president.” (I agreed to quote the participants only by their first name.)

    “That’s exactly it,” a woman named Christine said, nodding eagerly. “He didn’t have the leadership qualities to do what everyone wanted him to do on January 6. He just doesn’t have that spine.”

    A third participant, Nicholas, chimed in: “He just chose to go along with all the other RINOs and Democrats, not to upset the applecart.”

    Meanwhile, less MAGA-inclined Republicans thought Pence was too Trumpy.

    “The only thing I liked about him was that he actually did stand up to Donald Trump,” a woman named Barbara said. “He’s too a part of Trump. I don’t think Trump has a chance, and I don’t think anybody in that inner circle has a chance either.”

    “I think he put a stain on himself for any normal Republican when he joined the Trump administration,” said another participant, Justin. “And then he put a stain on himself with any Trump Republican on January 6. So I don’t think he has a constituency anywhere. I don’t know if anyone would vote for him.”

    Longwell told me this is how Pence is talked about in every focus group she holds. What to make of that 6 to 7 percent he gets in the primary polls? “I imagine there’s a cohort of GOP voters who are not particularly engaged who don’t want Trump again, and Pence is the only other name they really know,” she speculated. That, or “they’re all from Indiana,” the state where Pence served as governor. A second Republican pollster, who requested anonymity to offer his candid view, told me, “Seven percent is a weak showing for the immediate former VP.”

    Devin O’Malley, an adviser to Pence, responded to a request for comment in an email: “Mike Pence has spent the last two years traveling to more than 30 states, campaigning for dozens of candidates, and listening to potential voters. Those interactions have been incredibly positive and encouraging, and we place more value in those experiences than of a focus group conducted by disgruntled former Republicans like Sarah Longwell and paid for by some shadow organization that The Atlantic won’t disclose.” (Longwell told me the costs for the focus groups are split between The Bulwark and the Republican Accountability Project, two anti-Trump organizations with which she is affiliated.)

    What I found most fascinating about the voters’ digs at Pence was that they were almost always preceded by passing praise of his personal character: He was a “top-of-the-line guy,” a “nice man,” a “super kind, honest, decent” person. Not only did these perceived qualities fail to make him an appealing candidate, but they were also often held against him—treated as evidence that he lacked a certain presidential mettle.

    “I don’t like how Trump was just in your face with everything, but Pence is almost too far in the other direction,” one participant named Judith said.

    Perhaps these voters were identifying a simple lack of charisma. But their casual dismissal of Pence’s wholesome, God-fearing, family-man persona is emblematic of a sea change in conservative politics—and a massive miscalculation by Pence himself.

    When Pence was added to the ticket in 2016, his chief function was to vouch for Trump with mainstream Republicans, especially conservative Christian voters. Pence’s reputation as a devout evangelical gave him a certain moral credibility when he defended Trump amid scandal and outrage. He performed this task exceptionally well. Those adoring eyes, those fawning tributes, that slightly weird fixation on the breadth of his boss’s shoulders—nobody was better at playing the loyalist. And for a certain kind of voter, Pence’s loyalty provided assurance that Trump was worthy of continued support.

    Pence had his own motives, as I reported in my profile. All of this vouching for Trump was supposed to buy Pence goodwill with the base and set him up for a future presidential run. For many in Pence’s camp, the project took on a religious dimension. “If you’re Mike Pence, and you believe what he believes, you know God had a plan,” Ralph Reed, an evangelical power broker, told me back then.

    But in creating a permission structure for voters to excuse Trump’s defective character and flouting of religious values, Pence was unwittingly making himself irrelevant. In effect, he spent four years convincing conservative Christian voters that the very thing he had to offer them didn’t matter.

    In 2011, a poll by the Public Religion Research Institute found that only 30 percent of white evangelicals believed “an elected official who commits an immoral act in their personal life can still behave ethically and fulfill their duties in their public and professional life.” By 2020, that number had risen to 68 percent.

    Pence won the argument. Now he’s reaping the whirlwind.

    In one of the focus groups, a devout Christian named Angie was asked how much she factored in moral rectitude when assessing a presidential candidate. “I try to use my faith to choose someone by character, but it hasn’t always been possible,” she said. Sometimes she had to vote for a candidate who shared her politics but didn’t live her values.

    “Who comes to mind?” the moderator asked.

    “I think Trump falls into that category,” Angie conceded. “But quite honestly, the vast majority of others do as well.” She paused. “I would say Pence actually doesn’t fall into that category. I would say his character probably aligns with biblical values fairly well.”

    But Angie remained uninterested in seeing Pence in the Oval Office. If he had a record to run on, she wasn’t aware of it.

    “Anything he did got overshadowed by all the drama of these last four years,” she said, hastening to add, “Seems like a perfectly nice man.”

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    McKay Coppins

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