On September 16, 2025, California found itself at the center of a fierce and deeply polarized battle over the future of democracy, redistricting, and the soul of the American political process. On one side stood Governor Gavin Newsom, rallying Democrats in a high-octane, three-hour online livestream to support the Yes on Proposition 50 campaign. On the other, former Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger voiced grave concerns over dismantling California’s independent redistricting commission, urging voters to reject the very same measure. The stage was set for a dramatic showdown, with both sides warning of dire consequences if their warnings went unheeded.
Newsom’s rally, dubbed FAFO (short for “F*ck Around and Find Out”) before being rebranded after the tragic shooting of conservative activist Charlie Kirk, was a modern-day telethon. As Politico put it, Newsom played the role of a “proto-Jerry Lewis,” weaving together a constellation of Democratic influencers, podcasters, and party heavyweights. The guest list read like a who’s who of progressive media: hosts from “Pod Save America,” YouTubers like Brian Tyler Cohen, House Democratic Leader Hakeem Jeffries, and Senator Elizabeth Warren all joined the digital stage to urge donations and support for Proposition 50.
The stakes, Newsom insisted, could not be higher. “It is not an overstatement. This is Code Red,” he declared, his voice echoing the urgency felt by many Democratic activists. “We’ll lose this republic, we’ll lose this democracy.” According to Politico, Newsom’s words were not just rhetoric—they reflected a genuine fear that Republican-led redistricting efforts in states like Texas threatened to tip the balance of power for years to come. Proposition 50, he argued, was California’s chance to strike back and protect its own interests.
Yet, not everyone on the left was convinced that the ends justified the means. Hours before Newsom’s rally, former Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger appeared at the University of Southern California, delivering a starkly different message. Schwarzenegger, who championed the creation of California’s independent redistricting commission over a decade ago, warned that dismantling it would be a grave mistake. He urged voters to reject Proposition 50 in the upcoming special election, which would allow the state legislature to draw new district lines—a move he saw as opening the door to partisan gerrymandering.
“We have to fight Trump, yet we become Trump,” Schwarzenegger cautioned, drawing a direct line between the tactics of partisan redistricting and the very practices Democrats had long decried. According to the Los Angeles Times, Schwarzenegger’s remarks resonated with many who feared that in seeking to counter Republican maneuvers elsewhere, California risked sacrificing its hard-won reputation for fair, nonpartisan districting.
The tension between these two visions—one of aggressive counterattack, the other of principled restraint—played out in real time during Newsom’s livestream. The governor did not shy away from the existential stakes, framing the battle over Proposition 50 as nothing less than a fight for the survival of American democracy. “We all need to wake up to what’s going on,” Newsom implored viewers, urging them to donate and mobilize in the face of what he described as unprecedented threats from the Trump administration and its allies.
Newsom’s rebuke of former President Donald Trump and his inner circle was, by all accounts, blistering. He referenced threats from Trump’s White House, particularly targeting former Deputy Chief of Staff Stephen Miller, who had previously called the Democratic Party a “terrorist organization.” Newsom challenged Democrats to meet the moment head-on: “We can sit there and say, ‘Boy, people really should have stood up and taken this guy Stephen Miller a little bit more seriously when he called the Democratic Party a terrorist organization’ … Or we can recognize the moment we’re in, and we can meet that moment, and we can push back.”
The event also became a forum for Democratic leaders to lay out their vision for accountability should they regain power in Washington. Representative Maxwell Frost of Florida was particularly pointed: “I promise you, one of the first people to receive a subpoena will be Stephen Miller. That guy is one of the most evil people, not just in government but in this country.” Frost’s words underscored the sense of urgency and retribution animating much of the Democratic base.
But the rally was not without its moments of reflection and humanity. Newsom paused to acknowledge the death of Charlie Kirk, the conservative activist whose killing had sent shockwaves through both parties. Despite their “deep differences of opinion,” Newsom praised Kirk’s “passion and commitment to debate,” according to Politico, and spoke movingly about the need for engagement across ideological lines. The governor recounted how his own son had been affected by Kirk’s death, noting the tragedy’s impact on many young people.
The Republican response to Newsom’s campaign was swift and scathing. Christian Martinez, spokesperson for the National Republican Congressional Committee, accused Newsom and his allies of “spewing violent, anti-American rhetoric” and warned that such extremism would doom Democrats’ chances in future elections. Jessica Millan Patterson, former chair of the California Republican Party and a leading opponent of Proposition 50, dismissed the event as a “cringeworthy webinar packed with DC politicians, out-of-state influencers, and irrelevant podcasters, all lining up to applaud [Newsom’s] gerrymandered maps.”
Underlying the partisan back-and-forth was a deeper question about the nature of democracy itself. For weeks, Newsom and California Democrats had cast Proposition 50 as a necessary counterstrike to what they saw as an attempt by Trump and his allies to “rig” the midterms through aggressive gerrymandering in red states. The rally’s rebranding to align with National Voter Registration Day only underscored the sense of urgency and the broader stakes involved.
Yet critics, both within and outside the Democratic Party, warned that embracing partisan redistricting—even in the name of fighting back—risked eroding the very principles of fair representation and good governance that California had long championed. Schwarzenegger’s warning at USC—“we have to fight Trump, yet we become Trump”—hung in the air, a reminder that the battle over Proposition 50 was about more than just lines on a map. It was about the kind of democracy Californians, and Americans more broadly, wanted to build for the future.
As the special election approaches, voters are faced with a stark choice: double down on partisan tactics to counter perceived threats, or hold fast to the ideals of independent, nonpartisan redistricting. Whichever path they choose, the outcome will reverberate far beyond California’s borders, shaping the national conversation on democracy, representation, and the enduring struggle over who gets to draw the lines of power.
