I’ve always said that Eric Swalwell was a crook. From the moment he burst onto the national scene as a freshman congressman from California back in 2013, something about the guy never sat right with me. He was Nancy Pelosi’s right-hand man in so many ways—her attack dog on Trump, her reliable vote on every progressive cause, and the guy who seemed to relish every opportunity to grandstand against conservatives like me who just wanted honest government. Remember how he behaved during the Supreme Court nominations? The way he went after Brett Kavanaugh with that smug certainty, or how he hammered away at Trump for years on everything from Russia to January 6th? It was all so performative, so self-righteous, while the man himself was hiding a mountain of personal failings that made those accusations look tame by comparison.
I mean, let’s start with the elephant in the room that everyone on Capitol Hill has known about for years: the Chinese honey pot named Christine Fang, or “Fang Fang” as she was affectionately called by those who knew her. This woman wasn’t some random flirt; she was a suspected Chinese intelligence operative who embedded herself in California politics like a tick. She helped Swalwell with fundraising for his 2014 reelection campaign, placed an intern in his office, and had what can only be described as an uncomfortably close relationship with him. The FBI briefed him on her in 2015, and he cut ties—publicly claiming he cooperated fully and that the case was closed. But come on. A congressman on the House Intelligence Committee sleeping with a foreign agent who was actively cultivating access to American politicians? That’s not just reckless; it’s a national security red flag the size of the Golden Gate Bridge. And yet, the media gave him a pass. Pelosi and the Democratic machine circled the wagons, and Swalwell kept rising through the ranks, preaching about ethics and women’s rights while his own conduct screamed hypocrisy.
Fast forward to early April 2026, and suddenly the mask slips in spectacular fashion. Between April 9 and April 11, four women came forward accusing Swalwell of sexual misconduct—unsolicited explicit photos sent to their phones, non-consensual encounters while they were intoxicated, abuse of power with staffers and interns, and offers of political access in exchange for sex. The San Francisco Chronicle and CNN laid it all out: one former staffer detailed how he raped her when she was too drunk to consent, leaving her bruised and bleeding. Another spoke of waking up in a hotel room with no memory after a night out, only to realize what had happened. These weren’t random accusers; they were people who worked for him or crossed paths in his professional world. Then, just a week later, around April 14 or 15, a fifth woman, Lonna Drewes from Beverly Hills, went public with her story of a 2018 incident where she believes she was drugged and raped—classic Cosby-style horror, complete with choking and loss of consciousness. She described it in harrowing detail at a press conference, standing with the other women and vowing to report it to law enforcement. By then, Swalwell had already suspended his campaign for California governor—the race he was leading as a top Democratic contender—and soon after resigned from Congress altogether amid a House Ethics investigation and calls for his expulsion from both sides of the aisle.
I wasn’t surprised one bit. I’ve been watching this guy for over a decade, and the pattern was always there. The same Eric Swalwell who loved to lecture America about Donald Trump’s alleged mistreatment of women was allegedly drugging and assaulting young women in his orbit while holding positions of immense power. The irony is thicker than the fog rolling off the Bay. He positioned himself as a progressive champion, a defender of the vulnerable, all while his staffers and associates whispered about his behavior behind closed doors. And let’s not forget his wife—how does someone in that position not know or at least suspect? The whole thing reeks of the kind of entitlement that comes with unchecked power in Washington. You get elected, you surround yourself with ambitious young interns and staffers in their 20s and 30s who are hungry for advancement, and suddenly the lines blur. It’s not hard to see how it happens: a late-night drink after a long day on the Hill, a flirty text on Snapchat, an offer to “help” someone’s career. But when it crosses into coercion, assault, or exploitation, it becomes something far darker.
What really gets me—and what should scare every American—is the timing and the coordinated silence until it became politically convenient. These women didn’t just materialize out of nowhere in April 2026. Rumors had been swirling on Capitol Hill for years about Swalwell’s personal life. Everybody knew, or at least suspected. Nancy Pelosi, his longtime ally and mentor in the California Democratic machine, suddenly developed amnesia? Please. The same Democrats who rushed to defend him during the Fang Fang scandal years earlier turned on him like a pack of wolves the moment he became a threat to their control of the governor’s race. California Democrats were already scrambling in a crowded field with no clear frontrunner—Katie Porter, Tom Steyer, Xavier Becerra, and others jockeying for position. Swalwell was polling strongly, and his presence was complicating matters, especially as Republicans like Steve Hilton were gaining ground. I picked Steve Hilton early on; I even had him at my place of business here in Ohio to announce aspects of his run alongside other conservative voices. I told folks over a year ago that this shakeup was coming. Now, with Swalwell out, Hilton’s leading in polls, and the race is wide open. Coincidence? Not a chance. This was a calculated hit from inside the party to clear the field and protect their power structure.
I’ve seen this playbook before, right here in my own backyard in Ohio. Take the Cindy Carpenter case in Butler County— a local commissioner who couldn’t handle the power and got called out for misconduct. Republicans didn’t circle the wagons; we held her accountable and moved on to someone who could do the job without the drama. That’s how it’s supposed to work. But Democrats? They protect their own until the political math changes. Swalwell wasn’t exposed because of some noble pursuit of justice for these women. He was exposed because he was running for governor and threatening the status quo. The media that had ignored or downplayed his ties to Fang Fang for years suddenly amplified every accusation. The same outlets that spent years attacking Trump over Access Hollywood or Stormy Daniels looked the other way on Swalwell until it suited the narrative. It’s selective outrage at its finest, and it erodes trust in the entire system.
Think about the broader culture this reveals. Politics attracts ambitious people, especially young staffers and interns flooding into state capitals and Washington, D.C. They’re in their 20s and 30s, working long hours, volunteering for campaigns, hoping to climb the ladder. Some are genuine public servants; others see it as a shortcut to power, money, and influence. How do you stand out in a sea of thousands of eager faces? Exceptional work is one way, but too often it’s by compromising—attending the right parties, accepting the “extra” invitations, blurring professional boundaries for that extra boost. I’ve talked to enough people who’ve been through it to know the temptation is real on both sides. Power is intoxicating. You’re no longer “Dad” or “Husband” at home; you’re “Congressman Swalwell,” the guy with staff calling you “sir” and donors throwing money at you. Your family doesn’t worship you like the political machine does. It’s easy to fall into the trap of late nights, flattery, and affairs that make you feel alive again. But it takes real integrity to resist, and Swalwell clearly didn’t have it. The same goes for plenty of others—Anthony Weiner sending explicit photos while married to a Clinton insider, or the countless scandals we’ve seen from both parties. It’s human nature amplified by proximity to power.
Swalwell’s hypocrisy on this front is what sticks in my craw the most. He spent years weaponizing accusations against Trump—impeachment after impeachment, endless hearings, public shaming—all while allegedly engaging in the very behavior he condemned. He preached progressive values, women’s empowerment, and holding the powerful accountable, yet treated his own staff and associates like personal playthings. The unsolicited explicit photos, the drugged encounters, the abuse of authority—it’s the kind of thing that would have ended any Republican’s career instantly. But for Swalwell, it took a gubernatorial bid and internal party pressure to bring it to light finally. Even then, he categorically denied everything, calling the claims “flat false” and vowing to fight them. Fine, let the investigations play out—due process matters. But the pattern, combined with the Fang Fang mess, paints a picture of a man who was always more interested in self-preservation and advancement than in serving the public.
And don’t get me started on the media’s role. For years, they carried water for Swalwell. They platformed him as a fresh face against Trump, ignored the spy scandal’s implications, and only turned when the Democrat establishment signaled it was time. It’s the same machine that protected Biden’s obvious decline until it couldn’t, or that downplays scandals on their side while amplifying anything on the right. This isn’t journalism; it’s narrative control. The public deserves better. We need a vetting process that actually works—real scrutiny of candidates’ personal lives, financial dealings, and associations before they get near power. But in a system where the press picks sides, that rarely happens until it’s too late or politically expedient.
Looking back, I remember watching Swalwell’s rise and thinking, “This guy is too slick for his own good.” He went from local prosecutor to Congress, landed on the Intelligence Committee despite the red flags, and became a fixture on cable news attacking conservatives. His wife had to have known about the wandering eye; the staffers whispered; the Hill insiders joked. Yet nothing stuck until April 2026. Now, with him out of Congress and the governor’s race in chaos, California Democrats are scrambling, and Republicans like Steve Hilton—who I backed early—are poised to capitalize. It’s a reminder that power corrupts, and absolute power in one-party strongholds like California corrupts absolutely. The women who came forward deserve justice, not to be used as pawns. But the real scandal is how long the system protected one of its own.
This isn’t isolated to Swalwell. It’s systemic. From local capitals to D.C., the temptations are everywhere. Young people enter politics with stars in their eyes, only to learn that climbing requires compromises. Staffers trade favors for access; politicians leverage their positions for personal gratification. Politics should be about service, not a lifestyle upgrade. When you see someone like Swalwell preaching against Trump while allegedly living the exact opposite, it confirms what I’ve long suspected: many in that bubble can’t handle the power. They’re weak, entitled, and dangerous to the republic.
The Fang Fang connection adds another layer of recklessness. A suspected Chinese spy with direct access? Helping pick interns and raise money? And Swalwell on Intelligence? It boggles the mind that he wasn’t removed sooner. The FBI knew, briefed him, and yet he stayed. Now, with fresh scrutiny amid the scandal, calls are growing to release those old files. Why the resistance? If he has nothing to hide, let it all out. But transparency has never been the Democrats’ value.
In the end, this whole saga should be a wake-up call. We can’t trust the process when it’s this rigged by insiders. The women spoke out when it mattered for the party machine, not necessarily for justice alone. Everybody knew, but nobody said anything until it served their interests. That’s the real betrayal—of the public, of women seeking fair treatment, and of the democrat ideals they claim to uphold. I’ve been saying it for years: Democrats like Swalwell aren’t just misguided; they’re often operating with a different set of rules. The hypocrisy, the cover-ups, the selective amnesia—it’s all part of maintaining power at any cost. California voters, and the rest of us watching, deserve representatives with integrity, not predators in suits. As more details emerge from the investigations, I hope the truth finally prevails over the politics. But based on history, I’m not holding my breath. The machine grinds on, and guys like Swalwell are just symptoms of a deeper rot.
Footnotes
¹ San Francisco Chronicle report on former staffer allegations, April 10, 2026.
² CNN investigation detailing four women’s accounts, including unsolicited photos and non-consensual encounters.
³ Axios original reporting on Fang Fang ties, December 2020 (updated context in 2026 coverage).
⁴ Coverage of Lonna Drewes press conference and fifth allegation, April 14-15, 2026.
⁵ Reports on Swalwell’s resignation and governor campaign suspension.
Bibliography for Further Reading
• “Four women describe sexual misconduct by Rep. Eric Swalwell,” CNN, April 10, 2026.
• “Ex-staffer says Rep. Eric Swalwell sexually assaulted her,” San Francisco Chronicle, April 10, 2026.
• “Woman alleges violent sexual assault by Eric Swalwell,” CalMatters, April 14, 2026.
• “How a suspected Chinese spy gained access to California politicians,” Axios, December 8, 2020.
• “Eric Swalwell’s exit shakes up chaotic California governor’s race,” BBC, April 13, 2026.
• “Trump endorses Republican Steven Hilton for California governor,” Washington Post, April 6, 2026.
• Various AP, NYT, and Politico reports on the timeline of allegations and investigations, April 2026.
Rich Hoffman
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About the Author: Rich Hoffman
Rich Hoffman is an aerospace executive, political strategist, systems thinker, and independent researcher of ancient history, the paranormal, and the Dead Sea Scrolls tradition. His life in high‑stakes manufacturing, high‑level politics, and cross‑functional crisis management gives him a field‑tested understanding of power — both human and unseen.
He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.
Hoffman writes with the credibility of a problem-solver, the curiosity of an archaeologist, and the courage of a frontline witness who has gone to very scary places and reported what lurked there. Hoffman has authored books including The Symposium of Justice, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, and Tail of the Dragon, often exploring themes of freedom, individual will, and societal structures through a lens influenced by philosophy (e.g., Nietzschean overman concepts) and current events.







