(PIKESVILLE – June 21, 2026) – I’ve known both Izzy Patoka and Julian Jones going back to the early days of BMORENews.com. I’ve shot hoops with Izzy. I’ve worked on just about every campaign Julian has ever run, including his very first. I know these men—not just their slogans.
And I’ll be honest: there is no way I can trust Izzy Patoka to treat my community in northwest Baltimore County fairly. I see it already. Under his leadership, we will get what he deems “adequate.” Sure, a handful of Black folks will get favor, titles, contracts, photo ops. But if past administrations are any indication, the majority of us will still be on the outside, taking orders. Once again, beggars sitting on bags of gold. Some of that gold, by the way, is our vote.
Baltimore County is deep blue. Democrats outnumber Republicans by wide margins, and Donald Trump is deeply unpopular with many Black, working‑class, and progressive voters. Yet one of the frontrunners for county executive, Councilman Izzy Patoka, is now funded in part by one of the most famous families in Trump’s political orbit. The Baltimore Banner recently reported that Patoka accepted the legal maximum campaign contribution from members of the Kushner family, relatives of the former president.
The question is not whether that check was legal. It was. The question is why Trump‑connected Kushners decided Izzy Patoka was worth a maximum investment in a Democratic primary in a majority‑Democratic county—and what they expect in return. For years, Patoka has sold himself as a moderate, pragmatic Democrat. But his donor list, his record on redistricting, and his political roots in the Martin O’Malley machine raise serious questions about who really sees him as an ally, and whose power he is protecting.
The Kushner money
The Kushners are not random out‑of‑state donors who stumbled onto a local race. They are among the most prominent families associated with Donald Trump’s rise to power, from real estate to the White House. The Banner’s fundraising analysis shows that members of the Kushner family gave Patoka the legal maximum contribution allowed under Maryland law in this year’s executive race.
In a vacuum, a single contribution might be easy to dismiss as just another check. But Baltimore County is not a vacuum. This county is overwhelmingly Democratic, with a large and growing Black population that has lived through the consequences of Trump‑era policies and rhetoric. Voters have a right to ask why Trump‑world wealth is helping decide who runs their local government.
Those are legitimate political questions, not smear tactics. If Trump’s allies are writing maximum checks in a Baltimore County Democratic primary, they must see something they like. The rest of us should figure out what that is.
Deals, maps, and Black voting power
To answer that, you have to look at Patoka’s record on power and representation.
During the council expansion and redistricting fights, Patoka cut a deal with the three Republican members of the Baltimore County Council to lock in a nine‑district map they could live with. In exchange for their votes, he protected conservative‑leaning districts and helped advance a map that civil‑rights groups said would dilute the voting power of Black residents by packing them into a limited number of districts and weakening their influence everywhere else.
Black voters, the NAACP, and their allies ultimately had to go to federal court to challenge Baltimore County’s map. A federal judge found that the county’s initial map was racially discriminatory and ordered it redrawn, concluding that Black voters had been packed into a supermajority district and denied a fair chance to elect candidates of their choice in other parts of the county. In other words: the people Patoka was supposed to represent as a Democrat had to sue their own local government just to get a fair shake.
Councilmember Julian Jones and other critics have called that arrangement a “backroom deal” that disenfranchised tens of thousands of Democrats and locked in disproportionate Republican control of the council. For Black communities on the East Side and across the county, the message was clear: their votes could be moved around the map to protect a bipartisan club of incumbents.
Put that history next to the Kushner money, and a pattern comes into focus. In a county that is majority‑Democratic and increasingly diverse, Patoka keeps appearing in the middle of deals that leave Republicans and entrenched insiders feeling heard and protected. The question is whether ordinary Democratic voters—especially Black Democrats—will be protected with the same zeal.
The O’Malley lineage
Izzy Patoka doesn’t come out of nowhere. He comes out of the Martin O’Malley camp—a generation of Maryland Democrats who talked reform while presiding over some of the most aggressive policing and mass incarceration of Black people this state has ever seen.
O’Malley’s years in Baltimore City Hall and in the Governor’s Mansion were marked by “zero‑tolerance” policing and policies that swept up tens of thousands of Black residents for low‑level offenses, flooding jails, destabilizing neighborhoods, and helping build the very distrust between Black communities and law enforcement that we are still trying to repair. Even some of his former allies have since admitted those policies went too far and did real harm.
That is the political world Izzy Patoka comes from: a Democratic establishment that was comfortable talking about progress while using state power in ways that hit Black communities hardest. Today, Patoka presents himself as a reasonable, moderate Democrat who can work with everyone. But look at the pattern. He cut deals with Republicans on redistricting that civil‑rights groups and a federal court said diluted Black voting power. He defended that status quo when Black voters had to sue for fair maps. And now he’s cashing maximum checks from Trump‑connected Kushners in a deep‑blue county. That is the through‑line: protect existing power, even when it comes at the expense of Black communities and Democratic voters.
Who’s funding whom?
Money always tells a story in politics, and this race is no exception.
Patoka has amassed a clear fundraising advantage in the executive contest, powered by large donors, political insiders, and now Trump‑connected money. Big players from real estate, business, and other organized interests are writing maximum checks, signaling that they see Patoka as the best vehicle to keep county government friendly to their priorities.
Other Democrats in the race are making different choices. Councilmember Pat Young is running under Baltimore County’s new public financing system, which caps contributions and encourages smaller‑dollar donations. Nick Stewart has framed himself as an outsider with a mix of small‑dollar donors and maximum checks from law firms, family, and the police union. Councilmember Julian Jones points to his base of small‑dollar support and backing from working people and Democratic leaders who have spent their careers fighting Trumpism, not taking its money.
Voters can decide for themselves how much weight to give those contrasts. But in a race where one candidate is cash‑heavy with Trump‑linked donors, Republican map deals, and O’Malley‑era political roots, it is fair to ask whether that candidate truly reflects the values and interests of Black and Democratic voters in Baltimore County.
My stake in this race
Full disclosure: I support Councilmember Julian Jones in this race and I want to see him elected Baltimore County Executive. I’m not writing this as a neutral referee. I’m writing as someone who has watched these men up close for decades and cares deeply about what happens to Black people in Baltimore County and across Maryland.
I don’t just oppose Izzy Patoka’s record; I support Julian Jones’s. Julian has stood up to Trump‑era tactics and pushed trust‑building policies here at home. He fought against the redistricting deal that protected Republican power and diluted Black and Democratic votes. His campaign for county executive is built on clear commitments to safer communities, stronger schools, and economic growth that actually reaches Black and working‑class neighborhoods. That doesn’t make him perfect. But it does make him, in my view, far more likely to stand in the gap for our people than a man who takes Trump‑family checks and keeps protecting the same old power structures.
The bigger fight for Black power
Somewhere along the line, we, as a melanated people, got comfortable. Despite all that our ancestors endured to secure rights and privileges in this nation, too many of us act as if we have arrived. The fight has never ended. The fight for freedom and equality is still going on, right now, and politics is one of the main battlefields.
As we’ve moved into white areas—remember, Baltimore is the home of redlining—many of us looked at suburban and rural life as overdue progress. For decades, segregation forced us to live together in tight, red‑lined zones. For the last sixty years, we’ve enjoyed the “freedom” to move wherever our money can take us. That is a real change. But that change can’t mean we stick our heads in the sand.
In Baltimore County, yes, we have beautiful homes we rarely saw in the city. Woodlawn, Randallstown, Owings Mills—people have chased those ZIP codes as an escape from what mainstream media paints as “Baltimore.” Every day, a narrative is painted and repainted about our communities. And because we don’t own the airwaves, that narrative lands hard on us, not for us. Most of the time, the pictures of Black life beamed into our homes highlight the worst—crime, scandal, dysfunction. The message is subtle but relentless: Black people are the problem with America. That’s why BMORENews.com exists—to tell a different story, our story, in our own voice.
We cannot afford to buy into the conservative angle that says our community is the main problem and that we should be grateful for whatever crumbs of “law and order” trickle down. American media is not kind to Black people or our interests. And too often, American politics follows that same script.
At BMORENews.com, we know the power, strength, and contributions of Black and melanated communities across Maryland. We know that when the good Black people of Prince George’s County, northwest Baltimore County, and Baltimore City are on the same page, we can put anybody in statewide office—or take them out. No one becomes Governor of Maryland, or U.S. Senator from this state, without Black support. Nobody.
That’s what we need to remember right now: the power of our vote. Yes, I want Ru Sabrina Tapp‑Harper for Sheriff. I want Malcolm Ruff for state Senate. I want Julian Jones for Baltimore County Executive. I want Pete Smith for Anne Arundel County Executive. I’m not hiding that.
But more than anything, I want my people to exercise our right to vote—and to do it with open eyes. People died for that right. Support who you will. I hope you research your candidates. I hope you reach out to them and form your own opinion. Don’t just take anybody’s word for it, not even mine. Because at the end of the day, the one with the most votes wins. And whoever wins, we still have to fight, organize, and push them to do right by us.
We are the cavalry
I want our people to be strong. I want us to have courage and backbone. I want our heads on a swivel—to know the score, to know what’s at stake, to know that there is no one out there fighting for us but us. Others might help, but only after we help ourselves. God helps those who help themselves. Meanwhile, we get distracted by petty things, old beefs, and small slights, while the real game is being played over our heads.
I’ve said it a thousand times this campaign season: look at the example right in front of you. Parts of the Jewish community are standing by an indicted senator. Not everybody, of course—but I admire the instinct. Marion Barry was flawed, but his people knew he stood with them, so they stood with him. Who do we revere like that? Who do we say, “That’s not happening to them—we’re standing with them no matter what”?
Instead, we turn on each other over the pettiest infractions. We can’t see the big picture, and it saddens me to my core.
Time has made us comfortable. Coming out of the sixties into the seventies, there was a fire in the belly of Black America. The world knew it—including the white establishment. So trinkets were handed out. Titles, commissions, a little access here and there. Just enough to calm us down.
But this is 2026. We have the most overtly racist president in the White House since Andrew Jackson. Voting rights are being rolled back. Civil liberties are being dismissed. Immigration agents are running down people, shooting them in the streets, snatching them up while they drop kids off at daycare and school. There is no honor, no decency left in it.
Politically, our Black elected officials are outnumbered. Many try. Many do their best. But it takes real courage—real heart, real backbone—to stand in the gap. A lot of people don’t have that. They get into positions of power and buckle. They show weakness. And the better‑funded, better‑organized interests move in and take our money, our resources, our access—often with our own signatures and votes.
In times like these, Black progress can feel perpetually out of reach. For every step forward, politics drives us two steps back. Yes, we have more Black elected officials than ever before. Yes, we see Black faces in prominent political positions like never before. But none of that means anything if it doesn’t translate into economic empowerment and real protection for our community.
That’s why I spend as much time talking about Black business as I do about Black politics. It is often easier to make progress by growing Black businesses—by illuminating and amplifying them—than by investing blind faith in the political process. Building a business is hard enough. But navigating American politics as a strong Black man or woman, especially if you’re unapologetically Black, means being under constant attack for one reason: you refuse to bow.
If you’re the type who doesn’t mind stepping and fetching, who doesn’t mind taking a check for your vote, who will side with another group before your own, then you understand why I have so little faith in certain politicians—and why I question men like Izzy Patoka taking Trump‑connected Kushner money while cutting deals that weaken Black and Democratic power. There are too many people in our community who have sold out for a small bag of silver.
When are we going to learn that we are the cavalry? No one is coming to save us. If we don’t do it for ourselves, it will never get done—nor should it. Our vote is our armor. Our businesses are our engine. Our unity is our shield.
So yes, I support Julian Jones for Baltimore County Executive. I believe he is more likely to stand up for our community than a man who takes Trump‑family checks and protects Republican power. But more important than any one name on a ballot is this: that Black people in Baltimore County, Baltimore City, and Prince George’s County remember who we are, what we have survived, and the power we still hold—if we choose to use it.
Vote. Organize. Build. And don’t let anybody—Democrat, Republican, or “moderate”—tell you that you are lucky to get whatever they decide is enough.
