Pelosi famously declared, “We have to pass the bill so that you can find out what is in it.” Whatever Pelosi meant, that line became shorthand for everything people hate about government. Pass something enormous. Hand power to a bureaucracy and let the public discover the details later. Four months ago, Shuham tried the same play.

If Jack Latvala was your friend, he was your friend. That sounds simple. In politics, it isn't. A tribute to the last of his kind in the Florida Senate, whose power never came from a title — it came from relationships.

There is a rule that has served me well in life: People are who they are. Candidates can change consultants, talking points and even parties. But they rarely change the instincts that drive them.

Saturday night in Tamarac was supposed to belong to Buju Banton. But once 15,000 people packed the Tamarac Sports Complex, the real show became obvious. This was Marlon Bolton's coronation.

Cut property taxes, and maybe the fire department will let your house burn down. That's the threat local governments are recycling from 2008 — and they're betting voters fall for it again. That's hopium.

Broward already lived through one garbage monopoly. Now, the new Solid Waste Authority wants control of the stream again. That's how taxpayers get trapped.

Fort Lauderdale commissioners scolded their city manager for telling the public the true $720 million cost of a new City Hall. When every manager becomes a problem, the manager is not the problem.

The new congressional maps highlight the fatal flaw in the Florida Democrats redistricting strategy. Black leadership should approach this moment from a position of strength, not fear.

Her own letter does the damage. In an undated written statement, Broward County School Board Member Sarah Leonardi lays out exactly how a partisan political ad was bought using government resources.

Plantation Mayor Nick Sortal endorsed both candidates in the same race. A dual endorsement is dilution — everyone gets a piece, no one gets a push. So what's it worth? About $100.

Broward political insiders spent the week giggling at a fundraising flyer from Sheriff Gregory Tony's political committee. The civilian look has insiders calling him 'naked' without his badge — but it's the bank routing numbers plastered on the public ad that have tongues really wagging.

Dale Holness has figured out the ultimate Broward County hustle. The former county mayor is running for Congress while walking the halls of the Governmental Center as a registered lobbyist. It's getting hard to tell where the campaign ends and the payday begins.

In politics, there is a rule that separates the rookies from the grizzled veterans: Not every complaint deserves oxygen. That is especially true for the Broward County Office of the Inspector General.

Politics has a simple rule. If you look overwhelmed, the sharks start circling. Right now, the elected official drawing the most blood in the water across Broward County isn't the embattled sheriff. It's Tax Collector Abbey Ajayi.

West Park City Hall has become one of the most dysfunctional local governments in South Florida. At the center of the conflict are Mayor Felicia Brunson, City Manager Ajibola Balogun and City Attorney Burnadette Norris-Weeks.

Luther 'Uncle Luke' Campbell represents something the old model struggles to contain. Not because he's loud. Not because he's famous. Because he built a public identity without waiting for institutional permission.

The governor is calling a special session on property tax reform. Right on schedule, the panic machine fires up. It's always the same script. Public safety. Parks. Libraries. Feel the pain.

While the consultant class chases the usual 2028 names, a high-profit trade is quietly building around New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani.

A thin line moved, Tallahassee chased the signal, and a tiny buy made a prediction chart look like a surge.

Florida campaign finance records are public, but insiders get dizzy tracking the money. A new committee map clears the fog by revealing shared treasurers, shared chairs, and shared addresses that tie operations together.

BSO has a nickname that refuses to die. The joke started with swinger party photos, but now it's the punchline for a department in chaos where the only thing swinging is the axe.

Political pros know the drill: if you have bad news, release it on a Friday. If you have a total disaster on your hands, release it right before Christmas.