The Brief

When Gov. Gavin Newsom launched his new podcast last month, he touted it as an opportunity to understand the MAGA movement’s motivations and figure out a path forward for Democrats after the party’s bruising losses in the 2024 election.

But the early response has predominantly been bewilderment — from supporters, critics and the public alike — as listeners struggle to make sense of Newsom’s intentions, his political evolution and what the show signals for his leadership of California.

The governor’s about-face from leading critic of President Donald Trump to MAGA-curious pundit comes at a critical moment for the state, as California launches legal battles against Trump administration policies and faces potentially hundreds of billions of dollars in federal funding cuts.

Republicans have dismissed Newsom’s concerted shift to the center on some issues as disingenuous and roasted him for diverting his attention away from solving the state’s problems. Even many allies who applaud Newsom for reaching across the ideological aisle were troubled by his early guests and how the governor boosted their ultraconservative views.

And in Sacramento, legislators and advocates are scratching their heads. If the podcast is, as insiders widely suspect, Newsom’s attempt to redefine himself ahead of a long-anticipated presidential bid, then what does a renewed focus on the national stage mean for the remaining two years of his governorship?

“Quite frankly, we’re all asking those questions,” said state Sen. Ben Allen, a Santa Monica Democrat.

Allen pushed for a limit on single-use plastics in California that Newsom signed into law in 2022 — before scrapping rules to put the law into effect right before the final deadline this month, citing cost concerns, and telling regulators to start over. Environmentalists fumed that the governor was bowing to industry pressure after an election in which affordability was at the forefront of voters’ minds.

“I think people are trying to figure out what’s going on,” Allen said.

The governor’s mixed messages

Newsom gave nearly all his attention in the first part of the year to the response and recovery from the devastating wildfires that burned through Los Angeles County in early January. Despite initially proclaiming last fall that he would again lead the resistance to Trump, national politics took a backseat as the governor navigated their complex relationship to lobby for federal disaster aid, which California has not yet secured.

But Newsom seemed to flip a switch in late February with the podcast launch. Since then, the governor has not held any public events or press conferences, allowing the four episodes of his show released so far to drive his messaging almost completely, though he has also waded back into denouncing federal Republicans on social media.

That has created a conundrum for those trying to understand how what Newsom says in these casual conversations may translate to his day job running the biggest state in the country. When his remarks generate headlines — as they did during the controversial first episode featuring the Trump-aligned activist Charlie Kirk, where Newsom called it “deeply unfair” for transgender athletes to participate in girls’ sports — his office refuses to clarify his positions.

Speaking to far-right former Trump adviser Steve Bannon on the third episode last week about the president’s foreign trade strategy, Newsom said he was “not an absolutist as it relates to being against tariffs,” just days after the governor put out a statement that “tariffs are nothing more than a tax on hardworking American families.” Spokesperson Izzy Gardon would not explain when Newsom supported the use of tariffs, directing CalMatters back to his comments on the podcast.

Cornered by reporters at the Capitol this week, Newsom dodged questions about whether he supported Republican-led legislation that would ban transgender women and girls from competitive sports in California. “I haven’t seen any bills,” he repeatedly said.

The shifting tone and positions without explanation has undermined Democrats’ trust, said Anthony Rendon, who was Assembly speaker when Newsom took office during Trump’s first term promising to make California a bulwark against the president.

Rendon, who termed out of the Legislature last year, said he talks to former colleagues who now wonder whether they should strategically shift their priorities so that they don’t waste time on measures that Newsom will simply veto.

“They’re mystified,” he said. “‘WTF’ is the most common text message I get.”

Uncertainty in Sacramento

Many lawmakers, not wanting to damage their relationships with the man who ultimately decides the fate of their agendas, are loath to speak publicly about the governor’s podcast. Those who will can be painstakingly diplomatic, emphasizing that they remain committed to their own work.

“We just have to remain focused. The outside noise to me is neither here nor there,” said Sen. Lena Gonzalez, a Long Beach Democrat who serves as the Senate majority leader. “Sometimes words are just words, and I’m hoping that that’s where it stays.”

Some of the most progressive lawmakers at the Capitol have spoken out against Newsom’s choice of guests and his comments about transgender athletes, but they have largely separated those complaints from the governor himself, whom they characterize as an ally.

Assemblymember Ash Kalra, a San Jose Democrat, said there is too much focus on what the governor is doing as the Trump administration challenges democracy itself. He said it was not helpful for Democrats to go after each other when they should be fighting the Republicans in Washington, D.C.

“I do think that every Democrat right now should be ringing the alarm as to the constitutional crisis that we’re having, and anything that detracts from that I think minimizes the dangerous place we’re in as a nation,” Kalra said.

Like many Democrats, Allen complimented Newsom for “talking to people from different perspectives in different parts of the country” as the party tries to make sense of Trump’s victory in November. But Allen said he didn’t want Democrats to take the wrong lessons from the 2024 election and be afraid to assert their values.

“I do think that some of the people who have been on his show have been a little fringe,” Allen said. “I worry that they may be anchoring the conversation in a way that’s counterproductive.”

Gov. Gavin Newsom addresses media after signing legislation in Los Angeles on Sept. 28, 2023.

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Alisha Jucevic

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CalMatters

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Listeners confused and distraught

Listeners have been equally perplexed. Voter data expert Paul Mitchell surveyed 1,000 Californians before and after the first episode of the podcast dropped and found a tangle of conflicting responses.

Asked to watch three snippets of Newsom’s conversation with Kirk, nearly a quarter of respondents said they viewed the governor as more moderate, but twice as many people said the podcast harmed their perception of Newsom as improved it.

“In the short-term, wow, Republicans are not convinced and Democrats are not pleased,” Mitchell said, pointing to hundreds of open-ended comments from the survey in which conservatives largely expressed suspicion of Newsom’s intentions and liberals felt betrayed.

Mitchell also tracked a drop in the governor’s approval rating, from 52% to 47%. But since the launch, positive and negative sentiments about the podcast have dropped while neutral sentiment has nearly doubled — with political independents seeming more receptive.

“That could be voters kind of cracking the door open,” Mitchell said. “If he’s trying to get away from the Gavin Newsom caricature, then that might be something he’s doing.”

Yet a true political reinvention, one that could reshape the arc of his career, is a long-term project, for better or worse.

Liberal donors and activists who backed Newsom in the past were shaken by the early episodes, which also saw the governor brush past comments that the 2020 election was stolen from Trump without any debate as he cozied up to figures who have been accused of antisemitism and doing a Nazi salute. Movie star Jane Fonda compared Newsom to the former UK Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, known for appeasing Adolf Hilter’s early territorial annexations to avoid war.

Ludovic Blain, executive director of the progressive donor network California Donor Table, slammed Newsom for “capitulating to authoritarians,” even as he expressed hope that the governor would grow a stronger backbone and defend civil rights as the podcast continues.

“He’s turning the Democratic Party into one that stands for nothing,” Blain said. “We do expect Gavin to be better.”

‘I don’t think this podcast is gonna help him’

And if Newsom is going to persuade the public that he’s got bipartisan appeal and is electable in purple states, that day still looked far away at the recent California Republican Party convention in Sacramento. Attendees — even the young men whose drift to Trump in 2024 has convinced Democrats that podcasts are the future — were not buying the governor’s transformation.

“He hasn’t done anything to build any trust. And I don’t think this podcast is gonna help him,” said Topher Hall, a 25-year-old college student from El Dorado County wearing a Make America Great Again Again sweatshirt.

Hall said he had watched clips from the podcast on Kirk’s social media and felt that Newsom was merely trying to use the large established audiences of his conservative guests to build his own platform.

After growing up apolitical in the liberal Bay Area, Hall said he was drawn to the Republican Party in recent years by its stances in favor of gun rights and against transgender athletes. But Newsom’s comments about the latter had struck him as opportunistic flip-flopping.

“He’s kind of a slick politician. I think he’s like the used car salesman of politics. I think he’s just Hollywood,” Hall said. “He’s just a sellout.”

Jessica Rutan, a 60-year-old retired educator from Fullerton, said Newsom lost her completely with his dictatorial lockdowns during the coronavirus pandemic. But she listened to his conversations with Kirk and Bannon, curious what they would say to him — and whether the governor would actually take their advice.

She was frustrated that he had not, calling Newsom’s engagement with the conservative activists “so disingenuous” and the “wrong priority” following the Los Angeles fires.

“Your place is the governor. You have a job to do and now you just want to sit on a chair and act like you’re buddies with people?” said Rutan, who sported a bedazzled red-white-and-blue elephant pin. “You have people in the state you need to take care of. Why aren’t you doing your job? And that’s what I’m most annoyed with.”

Topline:

Why now: Making, Keeping, and Losing Friends author McCabe joined LAist’s AirTalk with Larry Mantle to share her friend-making advice with listeners, and we heard from listeners on how they make friends.

The local angle: With geography, jobs and traffic all making the act of “hanging out” a challenge, listeners shared their friend-catching tips.

Matt in Eagle Rock said, “It takes two people to make that friendship work; you have to put the effort into it. That is the harder part as you get older. I started in an adult dodgeball league, which I had never done in my life. Now I’ve been doing comedy, it's really about getting to know the people.”

Priyanka in Orange chimed in, "As I have grown older and moved from college in training for so-called adult life, it’s become harder to find friends that you find relatable and who are as invested in the friendship as you yourself are. The new thing I have discovered is Bumble for friends… and so far it's been a good experience.”

Sydney in Koreatown said, “Transitioning from a gay male to a transwoman, I have lost some friends from transitioning, but I have also gained some deeper friendships. It has been a profound and absolutely amazing experience finding common ground, and finding other gay males that support my transition, and finding other trans women that I have a deepening relationship with too.”

Raul in Long Beach also weighed in, saying, “You don't need social media. No matter what anyone says, it really is not necessary to meet new people. When you’re not on it, it motivates you to talk to people in person, it commits your attention to them face to face.”

Listen to the full segment to hear McCabe’s advice on finding and maintaining friends.

Laura Terry dreamed of having kids — a family she could call her own. But there was one challenge: She wasn't interested in dating, marriage, or partnering up.

So, she came up with an idea for an unusual present to give herself.

"For my 39th birthday, I bought a vial of donor sperm," says Terry, who lives in Nashville, Tenn., and works at a top management consulting firm.

She started the process of having a baby via in vitro fertilization, or IVF, soon after. This path hadn't occurred to her initially, even though she has a Ph.D. in cell and developmental biology. There just wasn't anyone in her orbit who had done it. Her epiphany came from a book in which the author described her own journey with IVF.

"I had never heard of being a single mom by choice before that," says Terry, who is now 44. "It was like a light bulb went off."

That light bulb is going off for a lot of single women. Today, 44% of women in America are unpartnered; finding someone and settling down has become less of a priority when they're in their 20s or even 30s. And when some of them are ready to have kids, they aren't letting singlehood deter them.

Who gets to be a parent is being reshaped by increased access to IVF

The nation's first IVF baby was born in 1981, when the process was such a novelty that she was referred to as a "test tube baby." Since then, its use has surged in the United States, and today, IVF accounts for almost 100,000 births each year. That's up 50% from 10 years ago.

With IVF, which accounts for around 2% of births in America, a woman's eggs are retrieved from her body and fertilized with sperm in a lab. The resulting embryo is then implanted in her uterus, with the hope it will lead to a pregnancy.

This process has opened the door for many people who couldn't otherwise conceive children and reshaped who gets to be a parent, including more LGBTQ+ couples.

It has also become a big driver in the number of older single mothers in the U.S. at a time when the country's overall birth rate is declining. The number of unmarried women in their 40s who are having babies has grown by 250% in the last 30 years, according to data from the government. A portion of these women have partners, but many don't.

There are many reasons for this rise, says Rosanna Hertz, author of the book Single By Chance, Mothers by Choice. Increasingly, she says, young women are pursuing higher education, focusing on their careers, or fulfilling personal goals such as traveling around the world or buying homes.

And when they're ready to partner up in their mid-30s, "there's no one to settle down with," says Hertz, a sociologist with a focus on gender and family at Wellesley College. "So, am I going to spend my time waiting for somebody to come along?"

Hertz says her research shows most women who want a family would rather do it with a partner. For them, IVF is Plan B. But as their reproductive windows narrow with age, some decide to move forward by themselves.

A framed photo of Laura Terry with her mother, Jo, holding baby Eleanor.

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Jessica Ingram

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Becoming a mother is a marker of adulthood for them, Hertz says.

"There is a sense that I'm now ready to do something that is selfless, that involves the care and nurture of another human being and be part of a broader community," she says. "What a child does is tie you into a community."

Do I really want to have a baby? How do I choose a donor?

Terry saw that care and community in her own sister's family, when it drew her to Nashville to spend time with her nephews.

Once she knew she wanted to be a mom, she started mapping out her path through the language she understood, which is spreadsheets and PowerPoints.

"I made a decision tree," she says.

The root of that tree was a fundamental question: Did she really want a child? It branched from there to examine how she would become a mother and which path would give her the best chance of having a baby. It led her to IVF.

Soon enough, she was faced with another decision: choosing a sperm donor. Faced with an array of choices, she resorted to another spreadsheet "that was like 30 rows long and 30 columns wide."

In it, she started by listing factors like race, height, ethnicity and education. Then she narrowed it down to a few that really mattered to her: "I cared about some physical attributes to look like me. And I cared about family health history."

Terry was extremely lucky with her IVF process: She got pregnant on her first try. She gave birth to Eleanor in 2021 and Margaret came two years later.

"I should be quite grateful for what my process was," Terry says. "The results were beyond what you statistically expect."

Terry actively tries to find ways to engage her kids. Sometimes she buys a "decoy cucumber" so that when she's prepping dinner, 4-year-old Eleanor can peel it and feel helpful. Terry says, "It's a great use of 75 cents for an extra cucumber."

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Jessica Ingram

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She's right: The odds of conceiving a child with just one try of IVF are below 50% after a woman turns 35. And the chances drop rapidly each year after that. Many women try multiple cycles of IVF with no guarantee that they'll get pregnant.

Pregnancies at an older age can also carry health risks for both mom and child, with a high chance of miscarriage. All of this can take a huge physical and emotional toll.

Women with higher education are the top users of IVF

When Kate Snyder, who lives in northern New Jersey, was ready to have a kid, she looked for the right guy. "And, you know," she says, "it didn't happen."

Snyder was already in her 40s when she started thinking of IVF.

Kate Snyder and her 2-year-old daughter get ready for day care at their home in northern New Jersey. An interior designer and artist, Snyder made the decision to undergo IVF when she was in her 40s.

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Thalia Juarez

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"Once I came to terms with the fact that the father of my child doesn't have to be the person I end up with, and you separate the two, it's very freeing," she says. "And it just took the pressure off."

Now 48, she is the mother of a 2-year-old daughter, who loves to talk and fills their home with chatter. "She comes home from day care with gossip," says Snyder, who is an interior designer and artist. "She's telling me who pooped their pants and how the teacher had a lollipop today and this person got out of her cot."

Snyder says Google, her former employer, covered a small portion of the cost of freezing her eggs. But she paid for the IVF process herself.

Each time a woman tries to get pregnant via IVF, the cost can range from $15,000 to over $30,000. It's why IVF is out of reach for many.

Snyder wasn't prepared in her mid-40s for the amount of carrying her baby needed in the first two years, whether it was up and down the stairs or getting her in and out of the car.

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Thalia Juarez

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It's gotten the attention of President Trump. In October, he announced proposals to help reduce the cost of the drugs necessary for IVF. He also encouraged employers to offer broader infertility coverage directly to workers.

Some people go into debt, while others like Snyder use up their savings. Some women, like Terry, have theirs covered by insurance. Even that is not common — only 1 in 4 companies with more than 200 employees pays for a part of the process.

Women with higher education — especially master's degrees, doctorates or professional degrees — are more likely to use IVF than those with less education, according to the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services.

These women, on average, have higher incomes. All that gives them the agency to start and support their own family.

"My knees hurt"

Both Terry and Snyder were financially comfortable enough to step off the career treadmill and create time and space for their new families. Snyder now works four days a week. Terry took a pay cut for a different role that was less intense — it allowed her to work from home and requires less travel. Neither has qualms about it.

"It's so physical being a mom. I don't think I expected that," says Snyder.

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Thalia Juarez

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Still, parenting in your 40s is hard.

"It's so physical being a mom. I don't think I expected that," says Snyder, thinking back to her first two years of motherhood and carrying her daughter up and down the stairs or getting her in and out the car. "Motherhood in your 40s, you know, my knees hurt and there are things that are starting to fall apart."

For Terry, one of the hardest parts of being a single mom is not being able to take a break. "If I'm tired or had a rough day at work or I'm frustrated, I'm feeling overwhelmed and I want to step away from my kids, I often can't," she says. "I have to meet their needs first and meet my needs later. And that's hard."

And then there is the weight of decision-making. She discusses her choices with her friends and family, "but ultimately all of that rests on me and that feels really heavy," she says.

Saturday mornings are music class days. Being silly with her kids has helped Terry loosen up and relate to them in a different way. They sing all the time. Her kids make up nursery rhymes on their way to day care or bath time or even while brushing their teeth.

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Jessica Ingram

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NPR

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"Was he sorry I didn't have a husband?"

Even though there are more families like Terry's and Snyder's today, they're still rare. And society hasn't quite caught up with them.

Like when Terry moved to her new home in Nashville, she introduced herself and the girls to a neighbor, who asked what her husband did for work. Terry explained that they were a "mom and kids family" with two cats. The response took her aback.

"He said, 'Oh, I'm so sorry,'" she recalls. "Was he sorry I didn't have a husband? I still don't know to this day. But there is very much like a moment of feeling other and different — and that's often an uncomfortable feeling."

Terry worries about how her daughters will handle such questions. She prepares her oldest child by role-playing with her. But even then, sometimes it doesn't quite play out the way they've practiced.

Recently, she recalls, one of her daughter's classmates said, "'Hey, Eleanor, is that your mom?' And she said, 'Yes.' And they said, 'Well, where's your dad?' And Eleanor just froze in that moment."

But more often than not, the tenderness of motherhood triumphs over such unsettling interactions. Terry treasures the sweet moments she shares with her kids, like when they climb onto her bed in the morning to wake her or when they sit next to each other on the couch to read before bedtime.

"I love moments where they say, 'Mama, I need a snuggle.' Just holding them for a minute or two and seeing how that calms them is really, really powerful."
Copyright 2026 NPR

Terry reads to her daughters as they snuggle with her on the couch.

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Jessica Ingram for NPR

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Over his nearly 50-year career, Burbank-based attorney Dennis Block has built a reputation as a fierce advocate for Southern California landlords seeking to evict their tenants.

But disciplinary charges filed against him last month by the California State Bar raise questions about his treatment of clients.

Block faces charges involving a series of clients over a span of years. According to the 10 counts against him, Block allegedly collected payments wrongly described as “non-refundable,” failed to account for his fees and didn’t return a client’s property in a timely manner following termination of his employment.

In one case, Block allegedly failed to pay court sanctions on time. In another, he allegedly created a conflict of interest by representing both a tenant and her landlord.

When LAist asked Block how he responded to the charges, he told us to reach out to his defense attorney Erin Joyce. In a statement, Joyce said, “While we cannot comment on the specifics of the case, we believe the matter will be resolved in Mr. Block’s favor prior to trial at the settlement conference.”

The ultimate penalty in California State Bar Court is disbarment, which would prevent Block from continuing to practice law. Lesser punishments could involve a brief suspension or an order to complete an ethics exam.

Should fees have been ‘non-refundable’?

This isn’t the first time Block has faced repercussions for alleged ethical lapses in recent years.

In 2023, LAist reported on a filing Block’s firm submitted in an eviction case that contained multiple references to fake case law. Legal experts told us the filing, which led to court sanctions, was likely produced through misuse of AI.

Legal ethics experts said the new charges against Block are serious.

“The worst thing a lawyer can do is steal a client's money,” said Scott Cummings, a law professor at UCLA. “This is effectively what the bar is saying Mr. Block has done here in roughly half a dozen cases.”

Many counts involve Block allegedly charging up-front fees described by his firm as “non-refundable.” Bar rules state such fees must constitute a “true retainer,” meaning money paid to reserve an attorney’s availability for a specific case or period of time.

LAist previously reported that former clients have complained about poor communication and a lack of availability from Block and his associates.

Richard Zitrin, an emeritus lecturer with UC Law San Francisco, said the rules may sound esoteric, but the bar takes violations seriously.

“When you get right down to what's going on under the surface, it looks like the accusations are that this guy could not do the work for these various clients,” Zitrin said. “If it's one time, it could just be an honest mistake. But if he's doing it repeatedly, serially, of course that's of more concern.”

Representing both sides?

In one case, Block’s firm is accused of taking on a tenant who was in a dispute with her roommate. A few months later, while still representing the tenant, Block’s firm allegedly took on the tenant’s landlord. Block’s firm then sent a letter threatening to evict his own client, according to the charges.

“Lawyers cannot represent opposite sides of a particular case because they owe their duty of loyalty and confidentiality to each client,” said Laurie Levenson, a law professor at Loyola Law School. “It's very likely that one side or the other will feel that the lawyer sold out to the other client.”

Despite the severity and the number of allegations, UCLA’s Cummings said Block’s disciplinary record — which shows no infractions so far — could help him avoid disbarment.

“Suspension seems like — if these facts were all proven to be true — definitely an appropriate sanction in this particular case,” Cummings said.

It’s not yet clear what the charges could mean for Block’s firm, which prides itself on handling a high volume of cases at any given time. Block once reportedly described himself as “a man who has evicted more tenants than any other human being on the planet Earth.”

A status conference in Block’s case is set for Feb. 9.