Rev. K.W. Tulloss, Western Regional Director, MPAC LA
Statewide — For years, I have watched Governor Gavin Newsom stand tall on national stages, often in the face of Donald Trump’s divisive politics. His bold words and confident posture made many of us believe he was a fighter for justice. But when it comes to standing up for Black Californians, I’m left wondering—where is that same fire?
When the idea of reparations moved from dream to reality, thanks to the work of California’s historic Reparations Task Force, many of us dared to hope. Finally, the state was confronting its own legacy of racial injustice. The task force issued more than 1,000 pages of recommendations that could begin repairing generations of harm. The Legislature did its job—introducing bills that translated those recommendations into action. But one by one, the Governor’s pen turned that hope into disappointment.
Take Assembly Bill 7 (AB 7)—a simple, forward-thinking proposal to allow California’s public universities to consider admissions preferences for descendants of enslaved people. It didn’t demand quotas or guaranteed seats, just acknowledgment. The Legislature passed it. But Governor Newsom vetoed it, calling it “unnecessary.”
Then came AB 57, which would have dedicated 10% of the “Dream for All” first-time homebuyer program to descendants of enslaved people. Imagine what that could have meant for Black families shut out of homeownership for generations. Again, the bill reached his desk—and again, he vetoed it, citing “legal risk.”
AB 62 sought to compensate families whose land was unjustly taken through racially motivated eminent domain. AB 742 would have helped descendants of slavery receive professional licenses more efficiently, opening doors to jobs and entrepreneurship. Both were vetoed, dismissed as “too complicated” or beyond the state’s capacity.
At the same time, the Governor proudly signed one symbolic bill—SB 518, creating a Bureau for Descendants of American Slavery. A bureau sounds nice, but it’s a bureaucratic promise without power. California doesn’t need another office; it needs action.
Black’s are the backbone of the Democratic Party. Our votes drive the party to victory time after time. We did it for the state with Proposition 50—but what do we get in return?
Let’s not forget the pressure Governor Newsom faced when Vice President Kamala Harris’s U.S. Senate seat became vacant. Black leaders across the state called for a Black woman to replace her. Instead, he chose a candidate with little community support. Later, when Senator Dianne Feinstein’s seat opened, he appointed a powerful Black woman, Laphonza Butler—but only after she agreed not to seek the seat permanently. Even when we win, it seems the victory comes with a ceiling attached.
Each veto, each missed opportunity, each backroom political deal sends a clear message: when it comes to real, tangible repair for Black Californians, the Governor’s courage seems to fade. He’ll sign a press release. He’ll celebrate “equity” in a tweet. But when it’s time to make structural change—he finds a reason not to.
Reparations aren’t about charity. They’re about justice. And justice delayed is justice denied.
Governor Newsom has demonstrated his ability to stand up to Donald Trump. He can defy Republican governors in red states. But can he stand up for the descendants of enslaved people who helped build this state? Can he use his power to right the wrongs that California once sanctioned?
The answer, right now, remains uncertain.
Can Black’s really trust Gavin Newsom?
About the Author:
Rev. K.W. Tulloss serves as the Western Regional Director of MPAC LA, a prominent national civil rights and faith-based organization that unites clergy and community leaders to advance justice, equality, and civic engagement across the country. He is also the Senior Pastor of Weller Street Missionary Baptist Church in Los Angeles. Rev. Tulloss is a highly respected national leader who fights for social justice while dedicating himself to a more equitable, empowered, and informed community.
