Trump Intervenes as Bass Faces Scandal Over Wildfire Report Edits

Paul Riverbank, 2/5/2026Mayor Bass faces scandal over wildfire report edits as Trump intervenes in rebuilding delays.

But the real blaze now isn’t on the hillsides. It’s in the corridors of City Hall.

Only weeks ago, a dense web of emails and “working drafts” of an official city report began leaking out. And with them, rumors. Some city hall staffers—tired, maybe a bit jaded after months of tension—quietly suggested that Mayor Karen Bass’s team didn’t just review the after-action report on the wildfires. According to two officials ready to go on record, the mayor personally ordered key changes.

Specifically, they say, Bass directed that sections outlining LAFD’s missteps—failure to get enough firefighters on the lines, not moving equipment early—be softened or cut entirely. "She wanted the city to look less liable," one said, “especially with lawsuits multiplying by the day.”

For her part, the mayor stayed firm. Standing outside the battered Westchester command post, she brushed aside “anonymous sources.” Bass said her only concern was accuracy—weather facts, precise costs, that sort of thing. “No one from my team edited or hid anything. We pressed the department to get the basics right, then insisted on an outside review. That’s why we changed the fire chief,” she pointed out, tapping the report with a forefinger.

Yet, when the final version hit the city website, longtime fire advocates—those who’d spent sleepless nights watching live scanner feeds—noticed what was missing. Gone were the pages spelling out how, despite dire red-flag warnings, certain engines never deployed. Where the draft had been critical, the final report was… almost congratulatory. “The department responded above and beyond,” read one line, curiously at odds with scattered accounts from fire captains who’d felt unsupported and outgunned.

Amid the sniping and statements, the situation for survivors hasn’t really changed. In the temporary offices set up near PCH, the mood is grim. With over a thousand permits still sitting unanswered in the county bureaucracy, rebuilding feels less like a process and more like a waiting game. Some families—exhausted, bitter—have simply left. A few stick around, making the trek to City Hall, propping up protest signs next to the “modernization” banners on the lawn.

It hasn’t gone unnoticed in Washington. President Donald Trump, from his new press room podium, recently leaned into the microphone: “No more endless red tape. My order lets fire families start rebuilding—skip the delays if agencies don’t act fast enough.” His point man, EPA’s Lee Zeldin, didn’t mince words either: “It’s inexcusable. If they want to get back to normal, federal government has to clear the way.”

Through that executive order, fire victims now have a path—self-certify compliance and tap into federal recovery money if permit offices drag their feet. The Small Business Administration, too, has already opened up new channels.

City leaders, for their part, reject the notion that bureaucracy is to blame. “We need more state funding before anything else,” insisted a weary planning officer, waving a stack of paperwork over his head at a recent council meeting. Bass herself bristled at suggestions the city was prioritizing luxury developments—“There’s no queue jumping.”

Still, if you spend an afternoon at the burned edges of Altadena or the ragged lots near the Pacific, the cynicism is palpable. “Funny how they can get a high-rise up in twenty months, but my rebuild hasn’t seen daylight,” muttered one resident at a community meeting last week. Out in the open, Republican Senators Rick Scott and Ron Johnson have launched a probe. They want every document, every deleted paragraph, and every private memo that passed between the mayor’s office and the fire department.

As for Bass, she faces a political reckoning. With a re-election looming and each headline casting fresh doubt, the stakes have never felt higher.

Yet the big stories, the back-and-forth between local and federal authorities, play out somewhere above the heads of the people who lost their homes. At ground level, what matters is simpler—less about records and more about return. “Sometimes we just drive out and sit in the car, looking at the empty lot,” one resident told me, voice thick with weariness. “We just want to come home.”

And that, no matter the swirl of politics, is what every official, at every level, is being measured against.

No one who remembers those nights will soon forget the wind’s roar or the sudden red horizon over the Palisades. Fire leaped fences, skipped the freeways, and clawed right to the doors of homes that had stood for decades. When dawn finally broke over the smoldering remains, the full toll came clear: entire blocks reduced to bones, families with nothing but bags in their hands, and a city with much to answer for.But the real blaze now isn’t on the hillsides. It’s in the corridors of City Hall.Only weeks ago, a dense web of emails and “working drafts” of an official city report began leaking out. And with them, rumors. Some city hall staffers—tired, maybe a bit jaded after months of tension—quietly suggested that Mayor Karen Bass’s team didn’t just review the after-action report on the wildfires. According to two officials ready to go on record, the mayor personally ordered key changes.Specifically, they say, Bass directed that sections outlining LAFD’s missteps—failure to get enough firefighters on the lines, not moving equipment early—be softened or cut entirely. "She wanted the city to look less liable," one said, “especially with lawsuits multiplying by the day.”For her part, the mayor stayed firm. Standing outside the battered Westchester command post, she brushed aside “anonymous sources.” Bass said her only concern was accuracy—weather facts, precise costs, that sort of thing. “No one from my team edited or hid anything. We pressed the department to get the basics right, then insisted on an outside review. That’s why we changed the fire chief,” she pointed out, tapping the report with a forefinger.Yet, when the final version hit the city website, longtime fire advocates—those who’d spent sleepless nights watching live scanner feeds—noticed what was missing. Gone were the pages spelling out how, despite dire red-flag warnings, certain engines never deployed. Where the draft had been critical, the final report was… almost congratulatory. “The department responded above and beyond,” read one line, curiously at odds with scattered accounts from fire captains who’d felt unsupported and outgunned.Amid the sniping and statements, the situation for survivors hasn’t really changed. In the temporary offices set up near PCH, the mood is grim. With over a thousand permits still sitting unanswered in the county bureaucracy, rebuilding feels less like a process and more like a waiting game. Some families—exhausted, bitter—have simply left. A few stick around, making the trek to City Hall, propping up protest signs next to the “modernization” banners on the lawn.It hasn’t gone unnoticed in Washington. President Donald Trump, from his new press room podium, recently leaned into the microphone: “No more endless red tape. My order lets fire families start rebuilding—skip the delays if agencies don’t act fast enough.” His point man, EPA’s Lee Zeldin, didn’t mince words either: “It’s inexcusable. If they want to get back to normal, federal government has to clear the way.”Through that executive order, fire victims now have a path—self-certify compliance and tap into federal recovery money if permit offices drag their feet. The Small Business Administration, too, has already opened up new channels.City leaders, for their part, reject the notion that bureaucracy is to blame. “We need more state funding before anything else,” insisted a weary planning officer, waving a stack of paperwork over his head at a recent council meeting. Bass herself bristled at suggestions the city was prioritizing luxury developments—“There’s no queue jumping.”Still, if you spend an afternoon at the burned edges of Altadena or the ragged lots near the Pacific, the cynicism is palpable. “Funny how they can get a high-rise up in twenty months, but my rebuild hasn’t seen daylight,” muttered one resident at a community meeting last week. Out in the open, Republican Senators Rick Scott and Ron Johnson have launched a probe. They want every document, every deleted paragraph, and every private memo that passed between the mayor’s office and the fire department.As for Bass, she faces a political reckoning. With a re-election looming and each headline casting fresh doubt, the stakes have never felt higher.Yet the big stories, the back-and-forth between local and federal authorities, play out somewhere above the heads of the people who lost their homes. At ground level, what matters is simpler—less about records and more about return. “Sometimes we just drive out and sit in the car, looking at the empty lot,” one resident told me, voice thick with weariness. “We just want to come home.”And that, no matter the swirl of politics, is what every official, at every level, is being measured against.