Newsom Backpedals After Staff Calls ICE Shooting ‘State-Sponsored Terrorism’

Paul Riverbank, 1/16/2026Newsom publicly walks back staff’s ICE statement, revealing political pressures and leadership challenges.

Perhaps that’s why the moment Ben Shapiro, ever a sharp interrogator, pressed the California governor about the incident on Newsom’s own podcast, it didn’t feel like a routine Q&A. Shapiro didn’t dance around the issue. He put Newsom directly on the spot: “Your press office tweeted out that it was state-sponsored terrorism.” It could have gone one of two ways—deflection, or directness. Newsom chose the latter, admitting, with a visible wince, that the staff statement had been “too much.” He drew a clear line: ICE officers, he agreed, are not terrorists. It might have surprised loyalists used to unwavering messaging, or perhaps they saw it as Newsom simply keeping options open, especially with those ever-lingering rumors about national ambitions.

What was notable was that Newsom didn’t double down. For high-profile players, especially those rumored to be eyeing the White House, retreating from a staff line in public isn’t just uncommon—it’s risky. Leadership advisers generally urge their clients to hold the course in such moments, at least until the news cycle spins on. Yet in this case, Newsom stepped back. The internet, never known for subtlety, noticed immediately. Clips of the exchange were everywhere within hours.

Commentators weighed in—some with grudging respect for what they saw as rare political flexibility, others accusing Newsom of sliding with the political winds to avoid misfortune later. In the charged atmosphere of campaign season, even a measured walk-back becomes a Rorschach test for observers: does it show growth, cynicism, or simply survival instinct?

But for every flashpoint around ICE, there’s an undercurrent few ignore: what’s happening on Newsom’s home turf. California has no shortage of troubles, and Newsom faces the full brunt of them in the public square. His opponents—Benny Johnson especially vocal among them—tick off the list with dramatic flair. “Number one in homelessness, retail crime, high gas prices, and the list goes on and on,” Johnson rattles off as if reciting painful poetry. What’s worse for Newsom, their attacks rarely lack ammunition: social media is a minefield of footage showing tent encampments, broken storefronts, and skies turned hazy by wildfires. Johnson, never shy, accused the governor of squandering billions—“Where did all the money go?” He claims fraud, and in today’s environment, that word sticks differently.

Newsom, for his part, doesn’t shrink from these barbs. He countered Shapiro’s ICE challenge with data: “We’ve transferred more than 10,000 people to federal authorities—more than any other state.” He references his veto of a bill that would have hamstrung ICE operations in California, and distances himself from calls to abolish the agency altogether—a gentle swerve away from his party’s most radical flank.

Those distinctions matter, and not just to Californians. In the digital era, state-level policy becomes national fodder almost overnight. The implication, amplified by Johnson and others, is direct: be wary, because what’s happening in Sacramento might one day play out in Washington.

Defenders of Newsom—yes, he has them—argue that moments like the podcast flap show a willingness to correct course. That’s uncommon, they note, especially among governors surrounded by tight inner circles and comms strategists. Even so, detractors see a larger pattern: Newsom, they say, is forever recalibrating to keep ambitions alive, more navigator than captain.

In truth, the lines are rarely so clear. Every word, every tweet, becomes a potential flashpoint; every stumble, real or perceived, is fodder for both outrage and praise. The broader challenge for today’s would-be leaders is as simple as it is daunting: stand by your convictions—or bend just enough to survive.

That leaves the rest of us—voters, pundits, and skeptical viewers—watching closely, replaying the tape, and trying to determine which way the wind, and their leaders, will shift next.

Gavin Newsom knows that a single word, in today’s political climate, can ricochet across the country in under an hour. So when his own staff called a deadly ICE shooting in Minneapolis "state-sponsored terrorism," the reaction was almost immediate. Critics pounced, some decrying the language as over the top—others, more pointedly, painted it as a tactical play for favor among progressives. Whether Newsom himself anticipated the blowback seems, at best, uncertain.Perhaps that’s why the moment Ben Shapiro, ever a sharp interrogator, pressed the California governor about the incident on Newsom’s own podcast, it didn’t feel like a routine Q&A. Shapiro didn’t dance around the issue. He put Newsom directly on the spot: “Your press office tweeted out that it was state-sponsored terrorism.” It could have gone one of two ways—deflection, or directness. Newsom chose the latter, admitting, with a visible wince, that the staff statement had been “too much.” He drew a clear line: ICE officers, he agreed, are not terrorists. It might have surprised loyalists used to unwavering messaging, or perhaps they saw it as Newsom simply keeping options open, especially with those ever-lingering rumors about national ambitions.What was notable was that Newsom didn’t double down. For high-profile players, especially those rumored to be eyeing the White House, retreating from a staff line in public isn’t just uncommon—it’s risky. Leadership advisers generally urge their clients to hold the course in such moments, at least until the news cycle spins on. Yet in this case, Newsom stepped back. The internet, never known for subtlety, noticed immediately. Clips of the exchange were everywhere within hours.Commentators weighed in—some with grudging respect for what they saw as rare political flexibility, others accusing Newsom of sliding with the political winds to avoid misfortune later. In the charged atmosphere of campaign season, even a measured walk-back becomes a Rorschach test for observers: does it show growth, cynicism, or simply survival instinct?But for every flashpoint around ICE, there’s an undercurrent few ignore: what’s happening on Newsom’s home turf. California has no shortage of troubles, and Newsom faces the full brunt of them in the public square. His opponents—Benny Johnson especially vocal among them—tick off the list with dramatic flair. “Number one in homelessness, retail crime, high gas prices, and the list goes on and on,” Johnson rattles off as if reciting painful poetry. What’s worse for Newsom, their attacks rarely lack ammunition: social media is a minefield of footage showing tent encampments, broken storefronts, and skies turned hazy by wildfires. Johnson, never shy, accused the governor of squandering billions—“Where did all the money go?” He claims fraud, and in today’s environment, that word sticks differently.Newsom, for his part, doesn’t shrink from these barbs. He countered Shapiro’s ICE challenge with data: “We’ve transferred more than 10,000 people to federal authorities—more than any other state.” He references his veto of a bill that would have hamstrung ICE operations in California, and distances himself from calls to abolish the agency altogether—a gentle swerve away from his party’s most radical flank.Those distinctions matter, and not just to Californians. In the digital era, state-level policy becomes national fodder almost overnight. The implication, amplified by Johnson and others, is direct: be wary, because what’s happening in Sacramento might one day play out in Washington.Defenders of Newsom—yes, he has them—argue that moments like the podcast flap show a willingness to correct course. That’s uncommon, they note, especially among governors surrounded by tight inner circles and comms strategists. Even so, detractors see a larger pattern: Newsom, they say, is forever recalibrating to keep ambitions alive, more navigator than captain.In truth, the lines are rarely so clear. Every word, every tweet, becomes a potential flashpoint; every stumble, real or perceived, is fodder for both outrage and praise. The broader challenge for today’s would-be leaders is as simple as it is daunting: stand by your convictions—or bend just enough to survive.That leaves the rest of us—voters, pundits, and skeptical viewers—watching closely, replaying the tape, and trying to determine which way the wind, and their leaders, will shift next.