In a development that has sent shockwaves through the already shaky foundations of American political theatre, California’s very own Governor Gavin Newsom has accused the US Justice Department of engaging in a targeted campaign of harassment against his wife and staff. Yes, you heard it here first, from the man whose blood is 40% gin and 60% righteous indignation, the Justice Department is apparently too busy shadowing the First Lady of California to bother with actual crime. I can only imagine the scene: a squad of FBI agents in dark suits, tails following Jennifer Siebel Newsom to the grocery store, peering over her shoulder as she selects avocados, muttering into their sleeves about the audacity of her organic choices.
Newsom, in a press conference that was part temper tantrum, part theatrical monologue, declared that the Justice Department’s investigation into his administration’s COVID-19 contracts was nothing more than a witch hunt, a political vendetta against him and his family. Because nothing says 'I’m innocent' like accusing the people investigating you of being petty and vengeful. The governor’s indignation was palpable, almost as palpable as the desperate need for a stiff drink that I suspect many of his aides are currently experiencing.
Let us not forget the backdrop to this melodrama: the snail-paced federal investigation into California’s pandemic-related spending, where millions of dollars were flung at various programmes with the precision of a drunken sailor on shore leave. No one is saying Newsom did anything illegal, but the optics are about as flattering as a blood orange in a fruit bowl. The Justice Department, in its infinite wisdom, has reportedly been interviewing staffers and subpoenaing documents, presumably looking for the smoking gun that will either vindicate or damn the governor.
But Newsom’s gambit here is to shift the narrative from corruption to persecution. He’s playing the victim card with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer to a walnut. ‘They’re going after my wife,’ he cried, as if the Justice Department had nothing better to do than to ruin the day of a documentary filmmaker. One would think that with the rampant homelessness, the ever-present wildfires, and the occasional catastrophic mudslide, the governor might have more pressing matters to attend to than feuding with federal agents.
The irony, of course, is thicker than a London fog. Newsom, who has built his political career on being the moral compass of the left, is now accusing others of dirty tricks. It’s like watching a fox complain about the cunning of chickens. I half-expected him to pull out a white handkerchief and claim the villains were trying to steal his phone.
In the grand tradition of political theatre, this is a masterful move. It distracts from any substantive questions about where the money went, and instead focuses on the pathetic spectacle of a powerful man claiming his wife is being bullied. But for those of us who follow the absurdity of modern life with the dedication of a botanist cataloguing rare orchids, this is just another chapter in the grand farce of American governance.
What next, Governor? Will you accuse the Justice Department of poisoning your kombucha? Of tampering with your yoga mat? The sheer chutzpah is almost admirable, if it weren’t so entirely predictable. In the end, this story is less about corruption and more about the eternal human need to feel important and aggrieved. And Newsom, bless his heart, is nothing if not important and aggrieved.
So raise a glass of airport gin to the governor, to his wife, and to the beleaguered staffers who now live in fear of federal subpoenas. Because in this fever dream of a world, the only thing more absurd than the accusations is the earnestness with which they are delivered. And as always, I remain your faithful correspondent on the edge of sanity, Barnaby 'Biff' Thistlethwaite, reporting from the bar, where the gin flows and the truth is always just a little bit blurry.
