other

Two weeks ago, LIV Golf did its best to conceal the fact that the Saudi Public Investment Fund would cease to bankroll the league after the current season, only to have LIV CEO Scott O’Neill let the truth slip during a television interview.

This week, the intentions of PIF and consequences to LIV are known by all.

LIV Golf announced Thursday that it has established a new independent board that will attempt to keep the league afloat utilizing a “diversified, multi-partner investment model.” In other words, a model that doesn’t include PIF.

PIF Governor Yasir Al-Rumayyan no longer will serve as LIV Golf chairman, another unmistakable signal that the Saudi sovereign wealth fund worth an estimated $1 trillion is cutting ties with financially troubled LIV.

LIV Golf was supposed to be a key component in Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman’s “Vision 2030” plan to diversify the kingdom’s economy away from oil. PIV lured megastar golfers Phil Mickelson, Jon Rahm, Bryson DeChambeau, Dustin Johnson and others away from the PGA Tour by shoveling hundreds of millions of dollars into their bank accounts.

Al-Rumayyan, Prince bin Salman’s trusted technocrat, was charged with implementing the plan, but LIV Golf has failed to attract significant viewership or commercial sponsors despite innovations such as a 54-hole format and a team model.

When LIV and the PGA Tour came to a short-lived, tentative agreement to end pending litigation and potentially join forces in 2023, Al-Rumayyan was a key figure in the negotiations.

A last-ditch effort to broker a merger between the rival leagues took place in the White House in February 2025 when President Trump hosted Al-Rumayyan, PGA Tour commissioner Jay Monahan and Tiger Woods. No agreement was reached.

Now, apparently, PIF will attempt to turn its attention to initiatives that don’t bleed billions. The fund has invested more than $5 billion into LIV Golf since it was launched in 2022 and is reportedly spending $100 million per month this year.

The wealthy but suddenly unmoored LIV golfers have been left to scramble like a weekend hacker trying to salvage a bogey after chipping into a sand trap.

LIV Golf Louisiana announced that the tournament scheduled for June 25-28 in New Orleans has been postponed. A new date hasn’t been set. However, an official told ESPN on Thursday that next week’s tournament at Trump National Golf Club outside Washington, D.C., will take place as planned.

Six other tournaments remain on the schedule that concludes with LIV team championships on Aug. 27-30 at The Cardinal at Saint John’s in Michigan. Tournaments outside the United States are scheduled for South Korea, Spain and Great Britain.

Hired Thursday to come up with a financial model to keep LIV afloat sans PIF are Gene Davis and Jon Zinman, described in a LIV statement as “seasoned experts with proven track records of navigating complex situations and unlocking value for global organizations.”
 
LIV Golf’s contorted spin on acknowledging that PIF will no longer subsidize the league was a statement saying it will focus on ”securing long-term financial partners to support its transition from a foundational launch phase to a diversified, multi-partner investment model.”

Davis, the newly appointed chairman of the LIV Independent Directors Committee, sees opportunity in the face of a PIF-less future.

“LIV Golf has built something truly differentiated — a global league with passionate fans, world-class talent, and demonstrated commercial momentum,” he said in a statement. “The executive leadership team, along with Jon and I, see a clear opportunity to help the league formalize its structure, attract and secure long-term capital, and position the business for growth while continuing to promote the game across the world.

“ We look forward to positioning LIV Golf for future success.” 

BOISE, Idaho — Former Idaho Gov. and U.S. Interior Secretary Dirk Kempthorne has died at age 74, his family said in a written statement Saturday.

Kempthorne died Friday evening in Boise, the statement said. No cause was given. He had been diagnosed with colon cancer last year.

“Beyond his public service, he was a devoted husband, father, and grandfather whose greatest joy came from time spent with family and the people he met along the way,” his family said. “He had a rare gift for truly seeing others — remembering names, stories, and the small details that made each person feel known and valued.”

Kempthorne, a moderate Republican, was elected mayor of Boise in 1985 at age 34, and he was credited with revitalizing the downtown by securing an agreement to build a convention center and promoting other development. He served seven years before winning the U.S. Senate seat vacated by Sen. Steve Symms in 1992.

During his time in Washington, he authored legislation — signed by Democratic President Clinton — to end unfunded federal mandates on state and local governments.

Rather than run for reelection in 1998, he entered an open election for governor, trouncing his Democratic opponent by garnering more than two-thirds of the vote.

President George W. Bush appointed him Interior secretary in 2006, a position he held until the end of Bush’s presidency — and during which he lived on a houseboat docked in the Potomac River.

“Dirk was one of the finest public servants I ever knew because he was one of the finest men,” former President George W. Bush said in a written statement Saturday. “He was considerate, smart, and capable. Dirk loved our lands and waters, and as Secretary of the Interior, he was an effective steward of our natural resources.”

He protected polar bears

Environmentalists often found Kempthorne too accommodating to industry, citing his efforts to push oil and gas development in the Gulf of Mexico and off Alaska. More than 100 conservation groups opposed his nomination as Interior secretary, saying that as a senator he had voted to eliminate federal money for recovery of the endangered wolf, to open the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge to oil and gas exploration, and to sell off federal public lands.

Yet in 2008, he bucked other advisers in the White House by insisting that the polar bear should be listed as a threatened species under the Endangered Species Act because of the loss of sea ice in the Arctic. He was prepared to resign over it when Bush decided to back him.

“As Governor, Dirk left an enduring mark on our state,” Idaho Gov. Brad Little said in a written statement. With the partnership of his wife, Patricia, Kempthorne “championed children and families, strengthened public education, and led transformational investments in our transportation system that will benefit Idahoans for generations.”

After leaving the federal government, he became the chief executive of a trade association of life insurance companies.

He helped Afghan refugees

In a 2023 question-and-answer session with the George W. Bush Presidential Center, Kempthorne recalled helping evacuate nearly 400 U.S. citizens and Afghan allies from Afghanistan two years earlier, as many were being sought by the Taliban following the U.S. military’s chaotic withdrawal. Kempthorne and others worked frantically for months to raise money and garner the support of diplomatic channels to charter buses and an Airbus A340 to help resettle the evacuees in the U.S. and Canada.

At one point, with the flight fully booked, the organizers received a list of more people who needed to leave urgently.

“That night, at a total loss for answers, alone, I knelt in prayer,” Kempthorne recalled. “I said, ‘Dear God, we cannot leave these people behind, please give a path forward.’”

He said he then had a vision of Mother Mary holding the infant Jesus. It gave him an idea: The babies on the flight didn’t need their own seats, as their parents could hold them. The organizers confirmed that with the airline and were able to add an additional 50 people to the flight, Kempthorne said.

Kempthorne was born in San Diego and grew up in Spokane, Wash. His father was a regional representative for Maytag, the appliance company. His mother, a homemaker, once worked as a secretary for the Legislature in Nebraska, her home state.

Kempthorne attended San Bernardino Valley College in California before transferring to the University of Idaho, where he served as student body president and met Patricia, his future wife. After graduation he worked as executive assistant to the director of the Idaho Department of Lands before joining the Idaho Home Builders Assn. as the executive vice president.

Kempthorne is survived by his wife, as well as their children Heather and Jeff and their families.

Johnson writes for the Associated Press. Johnson reported from Seattle.

A weekend in the desert is a go-to getaway for Southern Californians — even if you’re a beloved neon sign.

Nearly two years after the Hollywood Arby’s closed, its cowboy hat shone again this weekend at the Stagecoach Music Festival in Indio.

The restored sign showed up more than 130 miles away from its original home as part of the roast beef chain’s pop-up at the festival at the Empire Polo Club, where it became one of the event’s go-to photo spots.

“As you can see, everyone’s loving it. Everyone’s getting a photo op standing in front of it,” Arby’s franchisee Roger Amaya said.

Over the three days, people moseyed by the pop-up near Diplo’s Honky Tonk, sometimes lining up to wait their turn to take a photo in front of the sign. Some climbed on the surrounding hay bales for a better pose, asking others in line to snap their photo in front of the cowboy hat emblazoned with the words “Arby’s roast beef sandwich is delicious.”

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A number of people we talked to taking photos weren’t from L.A. and didn’t know the lore of the Hollywood Arby’s sign — they just liked the visual.

The sign’s original location was the Arby’s at 5920 Sunset Blvd. in Hollywood, which had been open for more than 55 years when it shuttered in June 2024.

The family that owned the location said at the time that rising food costs, the post-pandemic changes in the neighborhood and a law that raised minimum wage contributed to the closure.

Amaya said that Amir Siddiqi, head of a group of Arby’s franchises, was able to get the sign from the Hollywood location and have it restored.

“We were able to bring it back to life here and bring it to all the fans of Arby’s out there,” Amaya said.

Now that Stagecoach is over, where will the sign go next?

“That’s the big question, so you gotta stay tuned,” Amaya said.

WASHINGTON — Directly outside the Washington Hilton ballroom, as the yearly White House Correspondents’ Assn. dinner got underway Saturday, a Times reporter had just entered the men’s room when he heard a handful of loud pops ring out.

“Shooter!” someone shouted. “Get down! Shots fired!”

Inside the ballroom, thousands of journalists and politicians began to duck for cover as the event devolved from a celebration of free speech to a scene of fear.

The Times had six reporters at the dinner, seated at a table near the right side of the stage.

The Times reporter in the restroom, Gavin Quinton, heard the gunfire around 8:30 p.m. He had left The Times’ table minutes earlier, moving past the TV cameras and up toward the raised terrace near the ballroom’s security entrance. He crossed paths with CNN anchor Wolf Blitzer.

Outside the restroom, Cole Tomas Allen, 31, had broken into a sprint through the metal detectors, security footage would later show, getting within feet of the ballroom entrance.

Five or six shots fired by Secret Service agents missed Allen before agents brought him down near a staircase leading to the main floor, where Trump sat prominently in view.

A federal agent was hit in the chest in the exchange of gunfire but was wearing a bullet-proof vest and not seriously injured.

Inside the restroom, Quinton crouched near a corner. Others rushed into the room, including three hotel security guards who flung themselves in so quickly their backs slammed against the tiled wall. Within moments, a Secret Service agent positioned himself at the bathroom entrance, his pistol drawn.

“Head count?” he asked.

“A dozen — no, 15!” someone shouted back.

People stayed locked in bathroom stalls. Some tried to overcome the poor cellphone service to call loved ones. Confused, the mix of tuxedo-clad attendees, uniformed hotel guards and waitstaff tried to piece together what had happened.

“He had a gun,” one of the hotel guards said.

Another witness told Quinton that he initially thought Blitzer had been the shooter’s target.

“I look around and I hear shots as I’m opening the door. And I turn and I see him,” the man said of the gunman. “I look again and I’m like, ‘Oh, they just shot someone.’ ”

Blitzer, who was tackled to the floor by officers during the incident, would later say that “the first thing that went through my mind was whether he was going to shoot me.”

As the group speculated over whether the shooter had died in the volley, one man wondered aloud whether the event would continue. Initially thinking the gunman must have been killed, Quinton replied no.

“Why not?” the man asked. “It’s a bad guy who’s dead. It was a good f— ending. Seriously.”

The Washington Hilton has hosted the annual correspondents’ dinner for decades. The event, referred to locally as “Nerd Prom,” now comes with a slate of pre-parties and after-parties.

This was the president’s first appearance at the dinner since 2015; he had skipped it during his entire first term.

Questions now surround the security protocols. Guests faced little screening to enter the hotel on Saturday — a quick flash of a paper ticket — before heading down escalators to the only area with magnetometers, where bags were also searched.

Trump had entered the ballroom at 8:15 p.m. as the Marine band played “Hail to the Chief.”

Twenty minutes later, videos show, Secret Service officers with ballistic vests and long guns barked instructions to clear a path as they rushed into the ballroom and onto the stage.

One agent pulled Vice President JD Vance away. Another escorted Trump, who appeared to trip, but later explained he had been urged to drop to the floor.

Other officials — Secretary of State Marco Rubio, Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth, FBI Director Kash Patel, Homeland Security advisor Stephen Miller — were quickly whisked away too.

At The Times’ table in the ballroom, nothing appeared amiss at first.

Waiters had just begun to clear plates of spring pea and burrata salad. The reporters did not hear the gunshots, but watched as the room fell silent and others began to drop from their seats and duck under the floor-length white tablecloths.

One reporter lost a shoe in the process and then feared a gunman would spot it. She dragged it under the table.

They stayed in place for several minutes, texting loved ones and waiting for an all-clear, but none came.

From under the tablecloth, reporters heard someone yell out, “God bless America! USA!” They feared that was the shooter.

It turned out to be Dan Scavino, White House deputy chief of staff. The chant did not catch on.

Eventually, others could be heard speaking loudly and dishes clanking. Guests began to peek out from under their tables and warily stand up. Uneasy laughter flickered about the ballroom.

Cellphone service inside the ballroom was spotty. There was confusion at first about whether a shooting had occurred or whether plates dropping to the floor had been mistaken for gunshots.

“I thought it was a tray going down,” Trump said later.

Just before 9 p.m., Weijia Jiang, a senior White House correspondent for CBS News who is president of the White House Correspondents’ Assn., told guests the program would “resume momentarily.”

A half hour later, Jiang returned to the stage and announced that law enforcement had requested guests leave the premises. She said Trump had told her no one was hurt and that he, the first lady and members of the Cabinet were safe.

In closing remarks, Jiang said journalism is a public service “because when there is an emergency, we run to the crisis — not away from it.”

“And on a night when we are thinking about the freedoms of the 1st Amendment, we must also think about how fragile they are,” she said. “I saw all of you reporting, and that’s what we do.”

Law enforcement and media leaders offered conflicting guidance. Quinton was among the first to evacuate the building, though the vast majority of guests waited inside for longer.

On his way out, he noticed a metal detector had already partially been dismantled when the shooter ran through.

Quinton passed the grounded shooter, restrained on his stomach, near the staircase just 20 or so feet from the bathroom entrance. He lifted his phone and recorded a brief, shaky video of the scene before security forced him out of the hotel and onto the street.

The entire spectrum of emotion was on display when security finally ordered everyone to evacuate. Women in gowns ran in fear. One man sobbed into the sleeves of his evening jacket.

Photos on social media showed others stopping to take selfies. Some drank wine straight form the bottle.

Quinton spotted the presidential motorcade outside of the hotel lobby at about 8:45 p.m. Around the same time, an ambulance arrived as about 100 event attendees were escorted out of the secured event perimeter.

More law enforcement was inside the hotel as guests exited the building, including agents from the Secret Service, ATF, FBI and the Department of Homeland Security. National Guard soldiers replaced celebrities and politicians at the red carpet entrance.

Outside, Metropolitan police ushered people north on Columbia Road NW. Hungry guests in tuxedos filed into a nearby 7-Eleven. The dinner’s main course — prime beef and Maine lobster — had not been served.

At the White House afterward, Trump said the event would be rescheduled.

“We’re not going to let anybody take over our society,” he told reporters who had rushed to the news conference still dressed in gowns and black tie. “We’re not going to cancel things out because we can’t do that.”

Meanwhile, the night’s after-parties continued, though organizers attempted a more somber tone. MS NOW, for instance, told those who had RSVP’d that their “Democracy After Hours” party would be a “space for friends and colleagues to be together.”

Independent journalist Tara Palmeri posted a photo on the social media site X of a full party with blue mood lighting.

“People were still partying, still hitting WHCD afterparties last night,” she wrote. “Epstein corruption, an escalating Iran conflict, and an active shooter— and Washington just… kept going. The cognitive dissonance is the system.”

On Sunday morning, the Washington Hilton appeared back to normal, except for the presence of journalists using the hotel as a backdrop for their live shots.

The Trump administration’s historic move to reclassify state-licensed medical marijuana as a less-dangerous drug was cheered by some advocates but for others, it fell far short for the thousands still incarcerated on federal cannabis-related convictions.

The executive order, which acting Atty. Gen. Todd Blanche signed Thursday, does not address current penalties for possessing and selling marijuana or those jailed with yearslong sentences.

“While this is a victory, the fight is far from over,” said Jason Ortiz, director of strategic initiatives for the Last Prisoner Project, a nonprofit focused on cannabis criminal justice reform.

Proponents of legalizing marijuana as well as overhauling prison sentencing say this order, which does not completely decriminalize the drug, benefits only cannabis researchers, growers and others in Big Weed. Meanwhile, thousands — many of whom are people of color — are stuck serving harsh sentences for marijuana-related offenses. Or they have served their time but having a conviction on their record has made life difficult.

Now, advocates are calling on Congress and state lawmakers to take concrete steps to ensure those with marijuana-related convictions receive fair treatment or be forgiven altogether.

Prisoners and their families look for hope

Blanche’s order reclassifies state-licensed medical marijuana as a less-dangerous drug. The major policy shift, which both Presidents Obama and Joe Biden had considered, means cannabis won’t be grouped with drugs like heroin.

But it does not legalize marijuana for medical or recreational use. It shifts licensed medical marijuana from Schedule I — reserved for drugs without medical use and with high potential for abuse — to the less strictly regulated Schedule III. This will likely give licensed medical marijuana operators and cannabis researchers a major tax break and less stringent barriers to doing normal business.

Virtually no one imprisoned at the federal level is there solely for marijuana possession. But many are there for large-scale possession, trafficking offenses or both.

Hector Ruben McGurk, 66, has been serving life without the possibility of parole since 2007 for transporting thousands of pounds of marijuana and money laundering. He is currently imprisoned in Beaumont, Texas, over 800 miles from his son’s El Paso home. His incarceration has been hard on his son, said McGurk’s daughter-in-law, Ferna Anguiano. And the distance makes visits logistically difficult.

So it’s tempting to see this order as a glimmer of hope, given that the family believes McGurk’s punishment far outweighs his crimes. But Anguiano has no idea how to navigate lobbying for his release.

“His release date is death,” Anguiano said. “I mean, we see all this stuff on the news — bigger cases, fatal cases — and people are going in and out of prison and coming out to their families.”

They try to keep in touch through phone calls and a prison texting service. They’re concerned about McGurk’s health and his diabetes management. It would be a dream come true for him to come home.

“He deserves a second chance,” Anguiano said. “Yes, it was a poor decision he did in his lifetime. He was younger. But he is not a bad person. I think it’s fair to say he has served enough time for it.”

It’s not clear whether punishments would be different had marijuana always been scheduled differently, drug policy experts say.

“In addition to schedule-specific penalties, there are marijuana-specific penalties that have nothing to do with the schedule,” said Cat Packer, director of drug markets and legal regulation at the nonprofit Drug Policy Alliance. “Even if marijuana were to be moved to Schedule V, those criminal penalties would still exist and there are mandatory minimums for simple possession.”

Racial disparities exist in convictions and Big Weed

Destigmatizing marijuana has long been an issue for both political parties. Obama commuted the sentences of about 1,900 federal prisoners, almost all of whom were incarcerated for nonviolent drug crimes. Biden pardoned 6,500 people convicted of use and simple possession of marijuana on federal lands and in the District of Columbia. President Trump’s administration has taken far fewer drug clemency actions and does not have an overarching policy directing such actions.

“What many people on the right and the left would like is to move marijuana from this ‘just as bad as heroin’ category and to just sort of de-schedule it entirely,” said Marta Nelson, director of sentencing reform at the Vera Institute of Justice. “Regulate it like you do alcohol or tobacco.”

Studies show Black Americans are roughly 3.7 to 4 times more likely to be arrested for marijuana possession than white Americans, despite usage rates being roughly the same across racial groups. Federal-level marijuana cases are pretty small today, but those serving sentences for federal drug offenses are overwhelmingly Hispanic and Black, according to Justice Department and Bureau of Justice Statistics data.

The racial disparity with drug convictions is reminiscent of 2010 legislation Obama signed reducing the gap between mandatory sentences for crack cocaine versus powder cocaine. In 2018, Trump made it apply retroactively.

Because business owners with state medical marijuana licenses are predominantly white, the tax relief created by the rescheduling will also likely give a leg up to mostly white businesses, Packer said. A lot of equity programs won’t apply.

“This is going to, in my mind, widen the gap, the financial disparities, the business disparities that currently exist between Black and brown, Latino and white owners in the cannabis industry because licenses were not distributed equitably,” Packer said.

Possible next steps for marijuana convictions

In theory, Trump could issue a blanket pardon like he did for Jan. 6 rioters. But Nelson thinks that is highly doubtful.

“Having marijuana convictions on the record for things like mass immigration enforcement is helpful to the administration,” Nelson said.

An impactful next step would be for Congress to outline very comprehensive legislation addressing existing marijuana-related convictions, expungements and industry regulations, she added.

The Last Prisoner Project and other organizations are planning to renew a dialogue with federal lawmakers, including the Congressional Cannabis Caucus, which includes Democratic Rep. Ilhan Omar of Minnesota and Republican Rep. David Joyce of Ohio. They will also continue to lobby for Trump to conduct a large-scale act of commutation and clemency.

Advocates are also hoping Trump’s order will prompt every state to rethink their marijuana classification and penalties.

“It is imperative that every state review their situation, as a lot of their controlled substances at the state level are tied to the federal government,” Ortiz said. “We’re gonna see other states that are going to need a little help from the public to remind them what the right thing to do is.”

Tang writes for the Associated Press.

As many as a dozen letters — including one from the NBA — were submitted by the attorney for Aspiration Partners co-founder Joe Sanberg ahead of his sentencing Monday in an effort to persuade the judge to trim the 17 years prosecutors have requested for each of the two counts of fraud.

Sanberg pleaded guilty in October to the federal charges of conspiring to bilk investors out of $248 million for portraying the now-defunct Aspiration as a “socially-conscious and sustainable banking services and investment products” firm.

Another letter was also submitted, however, and it wasn’t intended to assist Sanberg.

Clippers owner Steve Ballmer’s attorney David N. Kelley of O’Melveny and Myers wrote that Ballmer was defrauded of a $60-million investment in Aspiration and that the harm to his reputation is “immeasurable.”

The five-page Victim Impact Statement concludes: “Mr. Ballmer’s losses are not measured solely, or even primarily, on a balance sheet. They are measured in the reputational damage that will take years to remediate, and in the chilling effect on future endeavors intended to do good at scale.

“We ask the court to impose a sentence that accounts for those harms, promotes respect for the law, and deters those who would seek to appropriate the reputations of others to advance fraudulent aims.”

The letter states that the Clippers lost out on a $300 million sponsorship agreement with Sanberg in exchange for the team to wear Aspiration jerseys patches. Also lost was about $20 million the Clippers paid for carbon offset purchases and the $60 million Ballmer invested in the company.

Ballmer, a former long-time CEO of Microsoft, accused Sanberg of targeting him for his well-known interest in environmental sustainability and exaggerating their relationship to convince others to invest in the fraudulent company. In the letter, Ballmer says he met Sanberg only once.

Ballmer was added in November as a defendant in an existing civil lawsuit against Sanberg and several others associated with Aspiration. Ballmer and the other defendants are accused by 11 investors in Aspiration of fraud and aiding and abetting fraud, with the plaintiffs seeking at least $50 million in damages.

The letter dismisses the allegations in the lawsuit as “nonsense,” stating Ballmer was added as a defendant because of his “visibility and resources,” and reiterates that Ballmer himself is a victim of fraud. The action has damaged his reputation, the letter states, “and has further linked Mr. Ballmer to Sanberg’s fraud in the eyes of the public.”

The letter to the court, however, makes no mention of the $28-million contract Clippers star Kawhi Leonard signed with Aspiration for endorsement and marketing work. Players are allowed to have separate endorsement and other business deals, but at issue is whether the Clippers participated in arranging the side deal beyond simply introducing Aspiration executives to Leonard.

Leonard has addressed the accusations only once, denying wrongdoing and saying, “I understand the full contract and services that I had to do. Like I said, I don’t deal with conspiracies or the click-bait analysts or journalism that’s going on.”

The arrangement could be considered circumventing the NBA salary cap, a serious violation of league rules. Ballmer steadfastly denies arranging the deal between Aspiration and Leonard, who by all accounts performed no duties for Aspiration.

The NBA is investigating the complicated relationships between Ballmer, Leonard and Aspiration. One of the letters submitted by Sanberg’s attorney to the judge is from the law firm conducting the probe, and it states that the disgraced executive provided documentation and information helpful to the NBA investigation during two in-person interviews.

“In all our dealings with Mr. Sanberg, both directly and through his counsel, he provided information that was consistent with our review of contemporaneous documents and other evidence,” wrote Dave Anders of Wachtell Lipton. “Mr. Sanberg’s cooperation substantially assisted our investigation, including our ability to develop a more complete understanding of key events.”

Eventually the ledger will include the results of the NBA investigation into the allegations against Ballmer and Leonard. And that finding might impact the reputation of both more than Sanberg’s fraudulent dealings.

Cameron Collins was sick of Joe Biden.

The owner of concert promoter Brew Ha Ha Productions describes himself as a libertarian-leaning conservative who built his career in San Juan Capistrano. He’d kept his personal politics out of his popular SoCal events, like the ska fest OC Super Show and the nationally touring Punk in the Park fest, a staple for bands like Bad Religion and Pennywise.

On May 30, 2024, Collins felt dismayed that Biden had pursued reelection. In a fit of anger, he donated $225 to Donald Trump’s campaign.

“It was just an impulsive thing,” Collins said in an interview. “Biden had said he was going to run again. I was like, nope. He’d said he wasn’t. It was more about that than anything. I don’t post anything political or talk about anything politically. I’ve never donated to anything like that before.”

That donation proved fateful. After a small punk label discovered and decried Collins’ donation, the scene turned on him. Influential bands pulled out of his festivals or said they wouldn’t return.

On Feb. 27, Collins canceled every Punk in the Park date for 2026.

“The current climate surrounding the events has created challenges that make it impossible for us to move forward,” the organizers wrote on Instagram.

It’s no surprise that an underground music scene would loathe a Trump-donating promoter. Amid the Iran war, raids by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, and the Epstein files, many Americans want Trump supporters gone from their lives, some viewing any form of support for him as an attack on their and others’ safety and dignity.

Yet until this donation, Collins was a respected promoter whose events sustained hundreds of acts, including progressive bands. Some artists who relied on Collins’ festivals — even if they hate his politics — said the backlash will hurt their livelihoods too.

“It was the worst money I ever spent,” Collins said. “It was not worth this.”

On a March afternoon after canceling his tours, Collins spoke to The Times on a Zoom from his home in Texas. He wore a thick gray beard and the chunky glasses of an aging rocker. His home office was plastered in concert posters from his decades of shows, which include Punk in Drublic (a long-running collaboration with his friends in the left-leaning band NOFX), Silverado Showdown in Orange County and SoCal rock radio station KLOS’ Sabroso Festival.

He expressed bewilderment over the fan revolt that turned him from a scene mogul who gave to pediatric cancer research charities to a villain with a gutted festival business.

“I feel like my reputation with every artist I ever worked with was that they would say, ‘The guy’s got integrity. He treats everyone right. He fights for this scene,’ ” Collins said. “I’m wondering what is happening right now that this has become so polarizing.”

Asked what Trump policies he supported, Collins sighed and said, “A vote for a candidate is not an endorsement of everything they stand for. I am very antiwar. There were promises that Trump made — no more foreign wars, supporting Ukraine by ending that war, lowering prices on gas and on groceries. Dinner table topics.”

Those goals are significantly at odds with the president’s track record. Did Trump deliver on Collins’ donation?

“The way that this whole fiasco has gone down — no one would have voted for that,” he said.

Punk has long struggled with a reactionary streak. British bands in the ‘70s wore swastika armbands for shock value. The Sex Pistols’ Johnny Rotten and the Ramones’ Johnny Ramone turned rightward, and Orange County’s hardcore scene has had neo-Nazi extremists. Gen X punk fans who consider themselves anti-establishment might see online leftists as imposing on their ability to have consequence-free political speech.

Yet the vitality of today’s punk scene is driven by young, racially and sexuality-diverse fans who believe they are in grave danger from Trump’s policies.

Last year, Brandon Lewis, the founder of the Columbus, Ohio-based label Punkerton Records, was poking around on the donor database Open Secrets. He was curious how his scene was donating, and he’d attended Brew Ha Ha events like the Ohio punk festival Camp Anarchy. He checked where Collins put his money and was appalled that it went to Trump.

“We refuse to support, defend, or stay silent about someone who gave money to a man actively destroying everything we care about, deporting our friends and families, erasing the existence of our trans community, stripping away civil liberties, civil rights, and workers’ rights, while dismantling the Constitution itself,” Lewis wrote from Punkerton’s Instagram.

“I’m a combat veteran, and this administration is just pushing everything I believe in about freedom out the window,” Lewis told The Times. “When I would listen to Trump’s rhetoric about ICE — I’ve got friends who are undocumented. Supporting that in a financial way, supporting someone saying my trans friends don’t exist, and to do so coming from a music scene that to me is accepting and kind and certainly not ripping families apart, I couldn’t in good conscience let that go.”

Other bands in the scene, like Dillinger Four, found more donations — around $100 or $200 each — from Collins going to the Trump-supporting political action committees WinRed and Never Surrender and the Trump National Committee. Collins’ support ran deeper than a one-off gesture.

Left-leaning fans demanded that bands drop off Collins’ festival bills.

Dropkick Murphys, a rough-and-ready enemy of Trumpism in punk, had played Collins’ past events. When word of his donations spread, the band came out swinging.

“Punk Rock and Donald Trump just don’t belong together,” they wrote in an Instagram post . “So, upon finding out that Brew Ha Ha promotions donated to the Trump campaign, we will not be playing any more Punk in the Park shows.”

Some acts, like old-guard punks the Adicts and ska group the Aquabats, canceled sets at Collins’ events. Other bands, like Dead Kennedys, said they opposed his beliefs but fulfilled their contracts.

“Dead Kennedys have always stood firmly against authoritarianism, racism, and fascism. That has not changed,” the group wroteon social media. “After these scheduled appearances, we will not be participating in future Punk In the Park events.”

Collins said he understood why bands jumped ship. “There was so much pressure building,” he said. “The bands are a business. You have to say, at what level is the pay worth the headache?”

Yet he insisted that “anyone that pulled off did not pull out because they were standing for something, but were being pummeled to the ground by everyone that said they’d better do it or else. I don’t want those bands to go through that.”

Many fans say that Collins is seeing the predictable consequences of supporting a politician the scene despises.

Others struggled with what to do in response. Monique Powell, the singer for the Orange County ska band Save Ferris, describes herself as a “queer anarchist anti-Netanyahu Jewish child of a North African immigrant,” and far from a Trump sympathizer. Yet Save Ferris played Collins’ OC Super Show event in spite of the protests and bands pulling out.

She said that, while she opposes MAGA, she “wasn’t willing to disappoint fans and put hundreds of people out of work just because someone had a view I didn’t agree with.”

She said Collins “has been an important part of creating and nurturing this scene. He gave a lot of people work. From onstage, I see all the vendors, the stage crew, all providing jobs for people of all backgrounds. He’s given a place for fans to come together, even if they don’t all believe the same stuff.”

Save Ferris was a breakout act in the ‘90s and is now a working-class band on the ska and punk festival circuit. “I see the midsized, hometown venues that the bands of my ilk play — they’re being bought out or dying,” Powell said. “I’m not about to start getting out pitchforks for someone who did something that’s nothing compared to the effects of larger companies.”

Take, for example, Beverly Hills-based concert giant Live Nation, which was in the news last week after a federal jury in New York ruled against it in an antitrust case. Live Nation’s chief executive, Michael Rapino, has donated to Democrats Kamala Harris, Sens. Jacky Rosen of Nevada, Lisa Blunt Rochester of Delaware and Adam Schiff of California, and the music biz-friendly Texas Republican John Cornyn. Live Nation’s PAC has given to Republican Sens. Marsha Blackburn of Tennessee and Ohio Rep. Jim Jordan, alongside several Democrats. Billionaire Philip Anschutz, whose namesake firm AEG is the parent company of Coachella promoter Goldenvoice, has donated millions to Republican politicians, PACs and party organizations for decades — exponentially more than Collins ever did.

It’s fair for to wonder why music fans who hold the line on supporting a Trump donor like Collins might attend those other shows. Lewis said he struggles with that contradiction too but said it hurt worse coming from a punk promoter.

“Donating to Trump is antithesis of what punk means. Hating people for their sexuality or skin color is not punk in the least bit. People clearly expected better from a punk rock festival,” he said.

“I think Live Nation should be broken in half,” Lewis added. “But it’s no knock on someone who wants to see Social Distortion at a Live Nation venue; they need escape as well. I’m just not going to pretend Live Nation is a beacon for good things.”

Those punk communities are pushing back beyond Collins’ events. The SoCal gothic-cumbia DJ collective Los Goths pulled out of the Orange County festival Los Darks after learning its organizers, Peachtree Entertainment, produced the MAGA-champion Kid Rock’s controversial Rock the Country festival. The Los Angeles crust-punk event C.Y. Fest was scrapped after its organizer, Ignacio “Nacho Corrupted” Rodriguera was accused of sexual misconduct (he called the claims “false allegations and misinformation,” but stepped back from the festival).

Collins’ company produces events outside the punk scene, focused on craft beer and other music genres. He recently revamped his upcoming Me Gusta festival into Sublime Fest after the rap group Cypress Hill pulled out. (Last year, Sublime played at the Trump National Doral golf course for the Saudi-backed LIV Golf tour.)

Collins is not sure how he’ll find his way back into the punk scene or if the fans will want him there again.

“I still go out into the audience because I just want to see, is it real? Do people hate me?” he said. “We have bands up there like the Casualties, who are flying [anti-ICE] flags. People are like, ‘You’re a fascist,’ but I’m paying a band to go on my stage to say whatever they want, and then signing a check and going, ‘Thanks for doing it.’ ”

In America‘s current political climate, left-leaning punk fans may not have patience for Trump sympathizers. Having heterodox beliefs is one thing; financially supporting the president is another. Collins is a free market guy, and the punk market has spoken.

Yet huge companies that donate to Trump and his allies are consolidating the industry. It’s harder for progressive punks who want the scene to reflect their values.

“I feel like we created a sustainable, realistic scene that can keep going for years, and bands can earn the money that they need to anchor those tours,” Collins said. His donation caused this avoidable backlash, but “if you take away festivals that are their anchors, like we have been for so many of these artists over the years, how do they tour? This is what the bands are telling me, that ‘we’re the ones getting killed here.’ ”