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SACRAMENTO — Gavin Newsom writes in his upcoming memoir about San Francisco’s highborn Getty family fitting him in Brioni suits “appropriate to meet a king” when he was 20 years old. Then he flew aboard their private “Jetty” to Spain for a royal princess’s debutante-style party.

Back home, real life wasn’t as grand.

In an annual performance for their single mom, Newsom and his sister would pretend to find problems with the fancy clothes his dad’s friends, the heirs of ruthless oil baron J. Paul Getty, sent for Christmas. Poor fit. Wrong color. Not my style. The ritual gave her an excuse to return the gifts and use the store credit on presents for her children she placed under the tree.

California’s 41st governor, a possible suitor for the White House, opens up about the duality of his upbringing in his new book. Newsom details the everyday struggle living with his mom after his parents divorced and occasional interludes into his father’s life charmed by the Gettys’ affluence, including that day when the Gettys outfitted him in designer clothes at a luxury department store.

“I walked out understanding that this was the split personality of my life,” Newsom writes in “Young Man in a Hurry.”

For years, Newsom asserted that his “one-dimensional” public image as a slick, privileged politician on a path to power paved with Getty oil money fails to tell the whole story.

“I’m not trying to be something I’m not,” Newsom said in a recent interview. “I’m not trying to talk about, you know, ‘I was born in a town called Hope with no running water.’ That’s not what this book is about. But it’s a very different portrayal than the one I think 9 out of 10 people believe.”

As he explores a 2028 presidential run and basks in the limelight as one of President Trump’s most vociferous critics, the book offers the Democratic politician a chance to write his own narrative and address the skeletons in his closet before opponents begin to exploit his past.

A book tour, which is set to begin Feb. 21 in Nashville, also gives Newsom a reason to travel the country, meet voters and promote his life story without officially entering the race. He’s expected to make additional stops in Georgia, South Carolina, New York, San Francisco and Los Angeles.

The governor describes the book as a “memoir of discovery” that sent him interviewing family members and friends and digging through troves of old documents about his lineage that his mother never spoke about and his father smoothed over. Learning about his family history, the good and the bad, Newsom said, helped him understand and accept himself. Mark Arax, an author and former Los Angeles Times journalist, was his ghostwriter.

“I’ve changed the opinion of myself,” Newsom said when asked if he believed the book would revise his glossy public image. “It kind of rocked so many parts of my life, and kind of cracked things open. And I started to understand where my anxieties come from and why I’m overcompensating in certain areas.”

Newsom writes that his interest in politics brought him and his father, William, closer. His mother, Tessa, on the other hand, didn’t share his father’s enthusiasm.

She warned him to get out while he still could, worried her only son would eschew his true self.

“My mother did not want that world for me: the shrewd marriage of tall husbands and tall wives that kept each year’s Cotillion Debutante Ball stocked with children of the same; the gritted teeth behind the social smiles; the spectator sport of who was in and who was out based on so-and-so’s dinner party guest list,” Newsom wrote.

At the heart of her concern was her belief that Newsom’s “obsessive drive” into business and politics was in response to his upbringing and an effort to solve “the riddle” of his identity from his learning disorder, dyslexia, and the two different worlds he inhabited.

“As I grew up trying to grasp which of these worlds, if either, suited me best, she had worried about the persona I was constructing to cover up what she considered a crack at my core,” Newsom writes. “If my remaking was skim plaster, she feared, it would crumble. It would not hold me into adulthood.”

Newsom’s mother was 19 years old when she married his father, then 32. He learned through writing the book that his mother hailed from a “family of brilliant and daring misfits who had carved new paths in botany and medicine and left-wing politics,” he writes.

There was also secret pain and struggles with mental health. His maternal grandfather, a World War II POW, turned to the bottle after returning home. One night he told his three young daughters to line up in front of the fireplace so he could shoot them, but stopped when his wife walked in the door and took the gun from his hand. He committed suicide years later.

Newsom’s father’s family was full of more traditional Democrats and Irish Catholic storytellers who worked in banking, homebuilding, law enforcement and law. Newsom describes his paternal grandfather as one of the “thinkers behind the throne” for former California Gov. Edmund “Pat” Brown, but his family never held public office despite his dad’s bids for the San Francisco Board of Supervisors and the California Legislature.

The failed campaigns left his father in financial and emotional turmoil that crippled his marriage when Newsom was a small boy. A divorce set the stage for an unusual contrasting existence for the would-be governor, offering him brief exposures to the wealth and power of the Gettys through his dad.

Newsom said he moved casually between the rich and poor neighborhoods of San Francisco as a boy.

“It was a wonder how effortlessly I glided because the two realms of my life, the characters of my mother’s world and the characters of my father’s world, did not fit together in the least,” Newsom writes.

Mayor Gavin Newsom and his dad, Judge William Newsom, have lunch at the Balboa Cafe in San Francisco.

(Christina Koci Hernandez / San Francisco Chronicle via Getty Images)

Though William Alfred Newsom III went on to become an appellate court justice, Newsom’s father was best known for his role delivering ransom money to the kidnappers of J. Paul Getty’s grandson. He served as an adviser to the family without pay and a paid administrator of the $4 billion family trust.

The governor wrote in the book that the ties between the two families go back three generations. His father was close friends with Getty’s sons John Paul Jr. and Gordon since childhood when they became like his sixth and seventh siblings at Newsom’s grandparents’ house.

Gordon Getty in particular considered Newsom’s father his “best-best friend.” Newsom’s dad helped connect the eccentric music composer “to the outside world,” the governor wrote.

“My father had this way of creating a safe space for Gordon to open up,” Newsom writes. “He became Gordon’s whisperer, his interpreter and translator, a bridge to their friends, a bridge to Gordon’s own children.”

San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom and his sister, Hilary Newsom, in a promotional portrait for the Search for the Cause campaign, which raises funds for cancer research, on Nov. 21, 2025.

(Caroline Schiff/Getty Images)

His father’s friendship with Gordon Getty exposed Newsom and his younger sister, Hillary, to a world far beyond their family’s own means. Gordon’s wife, Ann, and Newsom’s father organized elaborate adventures for the Gettys’ four sons and the Newsom children.

Newsom describes fishing on the Rogue River and riding in a helicopter while studying polar bears on the shores of the Hudson Bay in Canada. He recalled donning tuxedos and carrying toy guns pretending to be James Bond on a European yacht vacation and soaring over the Serengeti in a hot air balloon during an East African safari.

Throughout his travels, Newsom often blended in with the Gettys’ brown-haired sons. He wrote that the actor Jack Nicholson once mistakenly called him one of the “Getty boys” at a party in a 16th-century palazzo in Venice where guests arrived via gondola. Newsom didn’t correct him.

“Had I shared this encounter with my mother, she likely would have asked me if deception was something I practiced whenever I hobnobbed with the Gettys,” Newsom said in the book. “Fact is, I was always aware of the line that separated us from the Gettys. Not because they went out of their way to make us aware of it but because we, as good Newsoms, paid constant mind to the distinction.”

Newsom wrote that his mother seemed to begrudge the excursions when her children returned home. She raised them in a much more ordinary existence. Newsom describes his father’s presence as “episodic.”

“For a day or two, she’d give us the silent treatment, and then we’d all fall back into the form of a life trying to make ends meet,” he wrote. “After enough vacations came and went, a cone of silence took hold.”

Newsom’s mother worked as an assistant retail buyer, a bookkeeper, a waitress at a Mexican restaurant, a development director for a nonprofit and a real estate agent — holding as many as three jobs at once — to provide for her children. His mother’s sister and brother-in-law helped care for them when they could, but he likened himself to a latchkey kid because of the amount of time he and his sister spent alone.

They moved five times in 10 years in search of a “better house in a better neighborhood” with good schools, taking the family from San Francisco to the Marin County suburbs. Though his mother owned a home, she often rented out rooms to bring in extra money.

Tired of his mother complaining about finances and his father not coming through, Newsom wrote that he took on a paper route.

In the book, Newsom describes his struggles with dyslexia and how the learning disorder undercut his self-esteem when he was an emotionally vulnerable child.

Eager to make himself something more than an awkward kid with sweaty palms and a bowl haircut who couldn’t read, Newsom mimicked Remington Steele, the suave character on the popular 1980s detective show. He chugged down glassfuls of raw eggs like Sylvester Stallone in “Rocky” and ran across town and back like a prizefighter in training.

He found confidence in high school sports, but his struggle to find himself continued into young adulthood. Newsom wrote that he watched tapes of motivational guru Tony Robbins and heeded his advice to remake yourself in the image of someone you admire. For Newsom, that became Robbins himself.

“Find a person who embodies all of the outward traits of personality, bearing, charisma, language, and power lacking in yourself,” Newsom described the philosophy in the book. “Study that person. Copy that person. The borrowed traits may fit awkwardly at first, but don’t fret. You’ll be surprised by how fast the pose becomes you, and you the pose.”

His father scoffed at the self-help gurus and nurtured his interest in business.

More than a half-dozen friends and family members, including Gordon Getty, invested equal shares to help him launch a wine shop in San Francisco. Newsom named the business, which expanded to include restaurants, hotels and wineries, “PlumpJack,” the nickname of Shakespeare’s fictional character Sir John Falstaff and the title of Gordon Getty’s opera.

“Gordon’s really inspired me to be bolder and more audacious. He’s inspired me to be more authentic,” Newsom said. “The risks I take in business … just trying to march to the beat of a different drummer and to be a little bolder. That’s my politics. But I also think he played a huge role in that, in terms of shaping me in that respect as well.”

Newsom described Gordon and Ann Getty as like family. The Gettys also became the biggest investors in his wineries and among his largest political donors.

In an interview, Newsom said there are many days when he feels his mother “absolutely” was right to worry about the facade of politics and the mold her son stuffed himself into.

Gavin Newsom heads for his home neighborhood on Nov. 3, 2003, to cast hisvote for San Francisco mayor.

(Mike Kepka / San Francisco Chronicle via Getty Images)

He described the day the recall against him qualified for the ballot amid the COVID-19 pandemic as humbling and humiliating, though it later failed by a wide margin. Still today, he said, there’s a voice in his head constantly questioning why he’s in politics, what he’s exposing his wife and children to and doing with his life.

By choosing a career as an elected official despite his mother’s warnings, Newsom ultimately picked his father’s world and accomplished his father’s dream of taking office. But he said the book taught him that so much of his own more gutsy positions, such as his early support for gay marriage, and his hustle were from his mother.

Newsom said he’s accepted that he can’t control which version of himself people choose to see. Writing the book felt cathartic, he said, and left him more comfortable taking off his mask.

“It allowed me to understand better my motivations, my purpose, my meaning, my mission… who my mom and dad were and who I am as a consequence of them and what truly motivates me,” Newsom said. “There’s a freedom. There’s a real freedom. And it’s nice. It’s just so much nicer than the plaster of the past.”

Deir el-Balah and Khan Younis, Gaza – For the past two years, Khitam Hameed has clung to the hope of a single sliver of news that could fundamentally change the fate of her entire family.

The reopening of the Rafah crossing, shut and controlled by Israel as part of its genocidal war on Gaza in spite of a ceasefire agreement, would allow her family to travel and reunite with her husband outside Gaza.

But for this family, the reopening is not just about freedom of movement. It represents both a chance for reunion after a long separation, and an opportunity to secure treatment for their son, whose life, schooling, and normal childhood have all been destroyed by the two-year Israel-Palestine war.

With the United States pushing a deeply intransigent Israel to progress to phase two of the ceasefire that began on October 10, the reopening of the Rafah crossing was directly tied by the far-right government to the recovery of the remains of the final Israeli captive, and only partially for pedestrian use under strict military supervision.

On Monday, the retrieval of the last Israeli captive’s body appeared to open that locked door, with thousands in urgent need of treatment or family reunification in a state of anxious anticipation.

From her family’s displacement site in the Nuseirat refugee camp near Deir el-Balah in central Gaza, Khitam, 50, a mother of six, sits trying to organise her thoughts as news circulates about Rafah.

Next to her is her 14-year-old son, Yousef, unable to walk, suffering from a rare genetic disorder called Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS), a painful condition primarily affecting his bone development, with potential cardiac complications.

“Yousef has been undergoing treatment for this syndrome since he was very young … he has had around 16 surgeries,” Khitam tells Al Jazeera.

“We got used to hospitals, but before the war, there was some monitoring and a little hope.”

Since long before October 2023, the Rafah crossing between Gaza and Egypt has been a lifeline for Palestinians, not only as a natural exit and entry point, but also as a symbol of connection with the outside world.

Before the war, the crossing was heavily used by patients seeking medical treatment, families visiting relatives abroad, and the movement of goods and supplies that helped ease Gaza’s economic pressure under Israeli blockade.

Its closure, beginning in May 2024 after Israeli forces took control, marked a dramatic turning point in the humanitarian crisis.

The shutdown affected not just the movement of people, but also significantly reduced the flow of medical aid and essential supplies, impacting thousands of patients waiting for treatment outside Gaza, including children and the wounded, amid a severe shortage of health services and medical equipment.

‘Opening the crossing shouldn’t be a miracle’

Before the war, Khitam and her family monitored Yousef’s condition regularly, and he could walk and move.

But the war halted everything. Hospitals were routinely bombed by Israel, and most ceased functioning. Medics were killed by the hundreds, medications ran out, and medical checkups became nearly impossible.

“Since the war, Yousef’s condition has deteriorated. His legs are weaker, walking is harder, he uses crutches,” Khitam pauses before continuing: “He falls often… and my heart is in my throat every time.”

The mother no longer knows the full extent of her son’s health. “I don’t know if he has heart complications, or if his spine has worsened … we are living with him with no answers.”

The war also separated the family. Weeks before the conflict erupted, Khitam’s 52-year-old husband, Hatim, had left Gaza for Egypt, as an initial step to secure a chance for the family to migrate and access advanced medical care for Yousef.

“Since then, I’ve been alone. Six children, one with a special medical condition, war, displacement, hunger,” Khitam says, her voice exhausted.

“Being displaced alone is so difficult. You don’t know where to go, how to protect your children, how to provide food or safety. The constant anxiety and fear have affected everyone, but Yousef suffers the most.”

“No school, no play, no outings, no treatment … even psychologically, he is exhausted. A child his age should be living his life, not caught between war and illness.”

But, she adds, “just the idea of travelling eases us a bit psychologically. It feels like a door might open” for treatment outside of the besieged enclave.

She still fears how the crossing will operate, even as hope keeps her going.

“Even if the crossing opens, not everyone can leave, and not every case will be approved,” she adds. “Opening the crossing shouldn’t be a miracle… it’s a right.”

Yousef’s story intersects with those of hundreds of families of sick children in Gaza, for whom Rafah is not just a crossing, but a lifeline.

‘The family started a new battle against time’

Local estimates indicate that more than 22,000 patients and injured people, including about 5,200 children, are unable to travel for treatment due to the Israeli closure, with thousands more waiting for approved medical transfers that cannot be executed.

Among them is Hur Qeshta, a newborn girl only 15 days old, born with a large, unusual tumour in her neck, affecting breathing and swallowing.

She requires urgent surgery outside Gaza, according to doctors at Nasser Hospital in Khan Younis, in southern Gaza.

Her mother, Doaa Qeshta, 32 and a mother of five, tells Al Jazeera, “From the first moment she was born, the family started a new battle against time to ensure she could urgently travel for treatment.”

Hur was delivered via Caesarean section and now lies in the Nasser Hospital neonatal ICU, on oxygen and fed via a tube from her abdomen.

“She can’t breastfeed, everything is through a tube, and the mass is growing rapidly … all within 15 days,” says her mother.

Doctors confirmed that surgery inside Gaza is currently impossible due to a lack of facilities.

Doaa links her daughter’s condition to the circumstances during her pregnancy, including displacement in a tent in al-Mawasi, exposure to nearby shelling, smoke, gunpowder, hunger, and lack of nutrition.

“I was pregnant during famine … no food, no vitamins, no safety,” she recalls. “Shelling was nearby, 300 metres (980 feet) away… the tent shook; we thought we were dead.”

“Opening the crossing means saving my daughter’s life,” she says. “I’ve registered the whole family as companions … the most important thing is Hur goes, gets treatment, and survives.”

Of the reopening of the Rafah crossing, Doaa says, “We hear news and live on hope, but we are really in a limbo… we don’t know what’s happening or when. We just pray this is true.”

‘Our lives and futures hang on a hope’

The effects of Rafah’s closure go beyond medical access, affecting an entire generation of youth whose education has been halted at a closed gate.

Among those affected is Rana Bana, a 20-year-old from the Daraj neighbourhood in Gaza City.

She graduated from high school in 2023 with a 98 percent average in the science track, with a focus on pharmacy. Within a single year, she received multiple opportunities abroad, but none materialised due to Rafah’s closure.

“In 2024, I was accepted for a scholarship in Egypt, ready to leave, but the crossing closed. A year later, I got a scholarship to Turkiye, did the online interviews, was accepted, and since then I’ve been stuck,” Rana tells Al Jazeera.

Her Turkish scholarship includes 220 students from Gaza, all from different disciplines, most with high academic grades.

Over the past two years, Rana tried not to stagnate, taking Turkish language courses and exploring alternatives like local universities. But she would hold back each time she heard news of Rafah possibly reopening.

“Every time there’s news the crossing might open, I tell myself, ‘Let me wait a bit’… but it turns out to be just talk, and my hopes are dashed,” she adds. “A lot of our time and life has been wasted waiting … our lives and futures hang on a hope.”

Rana is displaced with her family of eight. They returned briefly to northern Gaza during the first ceasefire, found their home intact, but fled again after fighting resumed, and are now settled in Deir el-Balah.

“My biggest fear is leaving and not being able to come back,” she says. “Before, they [her family] were 100 percent supportive. Now there’s fear because the travel process is unclear, and they don’t know how many will be allowed or registered to travel.”

Many Palestinians fear leaving Rafah would be a one-way ticket as part of an openly touted Israeli plan to permanently expel the population from Gaza.

“We students and youth are the most affected group during the war,” Rana says. “Our years have gone by silently, our studies destroyed by war, and no one talks about us. All we want is education — not travel for tourism or anything else.”