Trump’s LA Wildfire Takeover: Slams City and State ‘Failure’ in Rebuild Crisis

Paul Riverbank, 1/28/2026Trump bypasses LA bureaucracy after wildfires, sparking political friction and desperate hopes for rebuilding.

If you drive through neighborhoods like hers, what you see is more than soot and empty lots. You sense waiting—an entire community caught somewhere between disaster and recovery, worry and hope. Rebuilding? It feels as if the starting gun never sounded. Permits trickle in slowly, and most lots remain barren, outlined by half-fallen fences and the ghosts of former lives.

It was into this uncertainty that President Trump, now wading through the challenges of his second term, stepped up with a controversial executive order. Sitting behind the storied desk in the Oval Office, he declared war—not just on physical devastation, but, as he put it, on “bureaucratic malaise.” The heart of the order: if you’re trying to rebuild with federal aid, you’re no longer at the mercy of city or state approval. Washington, for better or worse, is pushing in.

For some residents, like Mike Furnari, this isn’t just political maneuvering; it’s a lifeline—one that was missing when his family’s house became ash. “We need a plan that actually delivers,” he told me. “The only thing worse than losing your home is standing in limbo for years trying to get it back.” Mike didn’t have words for his youngest daughter when she asked if she’d ever get her old room back.

In fairness, plenty did move quickly. The EPA swept in, clearing hazardous debris in less than a month. The Army Corps worked with almost military efficiency to haul away the mess. The Small Business Administration wasted little time on the first round of loans. Yet when it came to actually letting people break ground, well, that’s where the friction turned painful—for many, the process stalled out at the permitting desk.

Mayor Karen Bass and Governor Gavin Newsom, both visibly frustrated during recent press conferences, insist progress is being made. Permit numbers tick upward, albeit at “faster than before” speeds few would call speedy. In LA terms, construction remains a crawl—you could set out with blueprints and still be waiting in the same spot come the next rainy season. And all of this while getting hit with permit fees that sometimes stretch into six figures, as if fate decided the fire wasn’t enough.

Meanwhile, the White House made no effort to hide its disapproval, labeling the state and city’s response “one of the greatest failures of elected political leadership in American history.” The president’s order took it a notch further, letting contractors self-certify their projects and yanking inspection duties out of the hands of city officials. Nearly $3 billion in disaster funds are now under Washington’s microscope, and the implication is clear: People want to know where the money has gone, because very little seems to have made it into wood, concrete, or nails.

Naturally, pushback came fast. Tara Gallegos, the governor’s spokeswoman, dismissed the federal intervention as “clueless,” laced with a jab about water policies and bureaucratic know-how. Others in city government pointed the finger right back, suggesting federal involvement might only slow things down—a “bull in a china shop” approach, one city planner called it in an unguarded moment.

Around backyard fire pits and neighborhood recovery meetings, skepticism festers. Some neighbors whisper that the city’s real motives involve reshaping entire communities, perhaps favoring denser or more affordable housing projects over restoring what was lost. Measure ULA, the city’s recently approved transfer tax, has only made high-end property deals more tortured, indirectly choking off funds for any kind of new residential construction.

“There’s this irony,” Jeremy Padawer, another fire victim and a lifelong Los Angeles resident, remarked to me. “The city can run new water lines in days or slap up government trailers overnight—no permits, no delays. But ordinary folks are told to sit tight, pay through the nose, and wait.” He paused, shaking his head. “You start wondering if you’re rebuilding your own life or just someone else’s idea of a different city.”

The bitterness is real. Lawsuits, both threatened and filed, are stacking up faster than new homes. For many families, each delay in the courts is a day further from normalcy. In sun-bleached driveways from Eaton Canyon to the Palisades, the only sure thing is uncertainty. Even now, nobody knows whether Washington’s new order will break the impasse, spark yet another legal brawl, or simply leave residents as stuck as ever.

Destruction tests not only defenses, but faith in public servants. “Competence, accountability, commitment,” Padawer sighed, “we’re still waiting for all three.”

Sometimes, these testaments are delivered in lawsuit filings and official statements; other times, they’re just scribbled on the back of a family photo recovered from a ruined attic. If Los Angeles can’t find a way forward, it’s not just homes that will stay unbuilt, but hope itself.

The wildfires that hit Los Angeles left more than blackened hillsides in their wake—they altered family histories, soured trust in institutions, and tested the stamina of a city renowned for its resilience. People like Jessica Rogers, who had only the clothes on her back as she watched her family home crumble in the Pacific Palisades fire, still haven’t found their footing all these months later. And she isn’t alone.If you drive through neighborhoods like hers, what you see is more than soot and empty lots. You sense waiting—an entire community caught somewhere between disaster and recovery, worry and hope. Rebuilding? It feels as if the starting gun never sounded. Permits trickle in slowly, and most lots remain barren, outlined by half-fallen fences and the ghosts of former lives.It was into this uncertainty that President Trump, now wading through the challenges of his second term, stepped up with a controversial executive order. Sitting behind the storied desk in the Oval Office, he declared war—not just on physical devastation, but, as he put it, on “bureaucratic malaise.” The heart of the order: if you’re trying to rebuild with federal aid, you’re no longer at the mercy of city or state approval. Washington, for better or worse, is pushing in.For some residents, like Mike Furnari, this isn’t just political maneuvering; it’s a lifeline—one that was missing when his family’s house became ash. “We need a plan that actually delivers,” he told me. “The only thing worse than losing your home is standing in limbo for years trying to get it back.” Mike didn’t have words for his youngest daughter when she asked if she’d ever get her old room back.In fairness, plenty did move quickly. The EPA swept in, clearing hazardous debris in less than a month. The Army Corps worked with almost military efficiency to haul away the mess. The Small Business Administration wasted little time on the first round of loans. Yet when it came to actually letting people break ground, well, that’s where the friction turned painful—for many, the process stalled out at the permitting desk.Mayor Karen Bass and Governor Gavin Newsom, both visibly frustrated during recent press conferences, insist progress is being made. Permit numbers tick upward, albeit at “faster than before” speeds few would call speedy. In LA terms, construction remains a crawl—you could set out with blueprints and still be waiting in the same spot come the next rainy season. And all of this while getting hit with permit fees that sometimes stretch into six figures, as if fate decided the fire wasn’t enough.Meanwhile, the White House made no effort to hide its disapproval, labeling the state and city’s response “one of the greatest failures of elected political leadership in American history.” The president’s order took it a notch further, letting contractors self-certify their projects and yanking inspection duties out of the hands of city officials. Nearly $3 billion in disaster funds are now under Washington’s microscope, and the implication is clear: People want to know where the money has gone, because very little seems to have made it into wood, concrete, or nails.Naturally, pushback came fast. Tara Gallegos, the governor’s spokeswoman, dismissed the federal intervention as “clueless,” laced with a jab about water policies and bureaucratic know-how. Others in city government pointed the finger right back, suggesting federal involvement might only slow things down—a “bull in a china shop” approach, one city planner called it in an unguarded moment.Around backyard fire pits and neighborhood recovery meetings, skepticism festers. Some neighbors whisper that the city’s real motives involve reshaping entire communities, perhaps favoring denser or more affordable housing projects over restoring what was lost. Measure ULA, the city’s recently approved transfer tax, has only made high-end property deals more tortured, indirectly choking off funds for any kind of new residential construction.“There’s this irony,” Jeremy Padawer, another fire victim and a lifelong Los Angeles resident, remarked to me. “The city can run new water lines in days or slap up government trailers overnight—no permits, no delays. But ordinary folks are told to sit tight, pay through the nose, and wait.” He paused, shaking his head. “You start wondering if you’re rebuilding your own life or just someone else’s idea of a different city.”The bitterness is real. Lawsuits, both threatened and filed, are stacking up faster than new homes. For many families, each delay in the courts is a day further from normalcy. In sun-bleached driveways from Eaton Canyon to the Palisades, the only sure thing is uncertainty. Even now, nobody knows whether Washington’s new order will break the impasse, spark yet another legal brawl, or simply leave residents as stuck as ever.Destruction tests not only defenses, but faith in public servants. “Competence, accountability, commitment,” Padawer sighed, “we’re still waiting for all three.”Sometimes, these testaments are delivered in lawsuit filings and official statements; other times, they’re just scribbled on the back of a family photo recovered from a ruined attic. If Los Angeles can’t find a way forward, it’s not just homes that will stay unbuilt, but hope itself.