Oz Targets LA Fraud, Newsom Plays Race Card—Political Firestorm Erupts

Paul Riverbank, 1/30/2026Dr. Oz’s anti-fraud campaign sparks ethnic tensions, political firestorm, and questions of bias in LA.

Oz didn’t mince words as he scanned the surroundings, pointing a finger at storefronts—some with Armenian lettering—and warned of a local “hotbed” for billions in fraudulent hospice and home health operations. He sounded off, “It’s run, quite a bit of it, by the Russian-Armenian mafia; you notice the lettering and language behind me.” To Oz, the proliferation of hospice companies packed into a handful of city blocks told its own story: “In this four-block area in Los Angeles, there are 42 hospices, so, either there are a lot of people dying here, or you got a fraudulent activity that is so good everyone wants to get in on it.”

But rapid blowback followed. Folks familiar with the city’s patchwork of communities saw something different in Dr. Oz’s tone—particularly when he suggested Armenian-owned businesses, some visible in his footage, were central to organized criminal activity. The city flared with indignation.

Stepping quickly into the fray, Governor Gavin Newsom peeled the focus away from the substance of Oz’s fraud claims. He announced his office would review Dr. Oz himself, not just his accusations, stating, “Our office is reviewing reports that Dr. Mehmet Oz targeted the Armenian American community in Southern California recently—making racially charged claims of fraud outside Armenian-owned businesses, including a popular bakery.” Newsom’s appearance of righteous indignation sharpened in his next remarks: “Any and all acts of hate have no place in California.”

For locals, the words carried historical undertones. The scar of the Armenian genocide—a century-old wound stemming from Ottoman Turkey—remains raw for many in Glendale and Van Nuys, neighborhoods where Armenian families have rebuilt for generations. The fact that Dr. Oz’s background is Turkish-American was not lost on some residents, and tension rippled out quickly from the intersection.

In the days that followed, Garen Janbachian of the Armenian National Committee of America said that the community was incensed, fielding calls and seeing social media light up with skepticism and anger. “People felt Oz singled us out—unfairly. They didn’t see these so-called signs of fraud,” Janbachian said. He pointed at several of the hospice offices, describing staff as frustrated by the implication of criminality, noting, “Most just provide home nurses. There’s no smoking gun here.”

Journalists who visited the targeted Van Nuys corridor found a mismatched row of businesses, not what you’d call obvious fronts for a multi-billion-dollar scheme. “Sure, some signs were in Armenian, but the buildings were everyday—some nearly empty, others with a handful of nurses packed into cramped offices, organizing visits to homebound patients,” one neighbor explained.

Still, Dr. Oz didn’t back down. In prepared statements and in a terse social media reply, he doubled down: “When bad actors trick patients into fraudulent hospice care, they don’t just drain taxpayer dollars; they strip people of the medical care that could have helped them live longer.” He left out names, but his intent was clear—fraud, regardless of language on the door, had to end.

CMS officials, for their part, ramped up talk of new oversight. Referencing “payment suspensions” and a crackdown on unusually high billing, one spokesperson stated: “CMS routinely monitors for abnormal billing patterns, beneficiary complaints, and other indicators of potential fraud.”

Meanwhile, Governor Newsom escalated his response, going beyond sharp words. He filed a formal civil rights complaint and, in a public letter, deemed Oz’s statements “baseless and racist.” He warned that “such racially charged and false public statements by anyone involved in administering these critical federal healthcare programs seriously risks chilling participation in those programs by individuals targeted by the statements.”

For many, the episode became bigger than a bureaucratic tussle over Medicare money. It turned into a collision of identity, history, and difficult questions about rooting out crime without adding fuel to old grudges. The drive to stop fraud, especially in the lucrative world of hospice care, isn’t in question. But how that gets done—where attention is paid, and whose voices are heard—remains as tangled as Los Angeles’s own ever-shifting streets.

Calls of rampant health care fraud have set off alarm bells in Los Angeles, but the fallout hasn’t taken the shape many assumed. At the heart of it all is Dr. Mehmet Oz, who, now leading the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services, stood among a clutch of low-rise businesses in Van Nuys and, with a camera rolling, made his case to the country.Oz didn’t mince words as he scanned the surroundings, pointing a finger at storefronts—some with Armenian lettering—and warned of a local “hotbed” for billions in fraudulent hospice and home health operations. He sounded off, “It’s run, quite a bit of it, by the Russian-Armenian mafia; you notice the lettering and language behind me.” To Oz, the proliferation of hospice companies packed into a handful of city blocks told its own story: “In this four-block area in Los Angeles, there are 42 hospices, so, either there are a lot of people dying here, or you got a fraudulent activity that is so good everyone wants to get in on it.”But rapid blowback followed. Folks familiar with the city’s patchwork of communities saw something different in Dr. Oz’s tone—particularly when he suggested Armenian-owned businesses, some visible in his footage, were central to organized criminal activity. The city flared with indignation.Stepping quickly into the fray, Governor Gavin Newsom peeled the focus away from the substance of Oz’s fraud claims. He announced his office would review Dr. Oz himself, not just his accusations, stating, “Our office is reviewing reports that Dr. Mehmet Oz targeted the Armenian American community in Southern California recently—making racially charged claims of fraud outside Armenian-owned businesses, including a popular bakery.” Newsom’s appearance of righteous indignation sharpened in his next remarks: “Any and all acts of hate have no place in California.”For locals, the words carried historical undertones. The scar of the Armenian genocide—a century-old wound stemming from Ottoman Turkey—remains raw for many in Glendale and Van Nuys, neighborhoods where Armenian families have rebuilt for generations. The fact that Dr. Oz’s background is Turkish-American was not lost on some residents, and tension rippled out quickly from the intersection.In the days that followed, Garen Janbachian of the Armenian National Committee of America said that the community was incensed, fielding calls and seeing social media light up with skepticism and anger. “People felt Oz singled us out—unfairly. They didn’t see these so-called signs of fraud,” Janbachian said. He pointed at several of the hospice offices, describing staff as frustrated by the implication of criminality, noting, “Most just provide home nurses. There’s no smoking gun here.”Journalists who visited the targeted Van Nuys corridor found a mismatched row of businesses, not what you’d call obvious fronts for a multi-billion-dollar scheme. “Sure, some signs were in Armenian, but the buildings were everyday—some nearly empty, others with a handful of nurses packed into cramped offices, organizing visits to homebound patients,” one neighbor explained.Still, Dr. Oz didn’t back down. In prepared statements and in a terse social media reply, he doubled down: “When bad actors trick patients into fraudulent hospice care, they don’t just drain taxpayer dollars; they strip people of the medical care that could have helped them live longer.” He left out names, but his intent was clear—fraud, regardless of language on the door, had to end.CMS officials, for their part, ramped up talk of new oversight. Referencing “payment suspensions” and a crackdown on unusually high billing, one spokesperson stated: “CMS routinely monitors for abnormal billing patterns, beneficiary complaints, and other indicators of potential fraud.”Meanwhile, Governor Newsom escalated his response, going beyond sharp words. He filed a formal civil rights complaint and, in a public letter, deemed Oz’s statements “baseless and racist.” He warned that “such racially charged and false public statements by anyone involved in administering these critical federal healthcare programs seriously risks chilling participation in those programs by individuals targeted by the statements.”For many, the episode became bigger than a bureaucratic tussle over Medicare money. It turned into a collision of identity, history, and difficult questions about rooting out crime without adding fuel to old grudges. The drive to stop fraud, especially in the lucrative world of hospice care, isn’t in question. But how that gets done—where attention is paid, and whose voices are heard—remains as tangled as Los Angeles’s own ever-shifting streets.