Sheeeee’s baaaaack. San Diego GOP recycles old chair removed in April for DeMaio ethical vile-lations

The fetid stink of political theater hung thick in the air at the Legacy Hotel in Mission Valley on the night of December 9, as the San Diego County Republican Party Central Committee — much like the Soviet Politburo — convened to re-coronate Paula S. Whitsell as their glorious figurehead.

Whitsell, a Chula Vista relic who first wormed her way into this backwater power circle in 2012, was dragged out of the political dustbin and thrust back onto the stage to lead these hopelessly fractured MAGA drones into the 2026 election cycle. It was less of a victory than a weary shrug from a party that hasn’t had a fresh idea in decades.

The room itself—a bleak conference space soaked in desperation and second-hand ambition—was crawling with the usual assortment of smarmy operatives, glassy-eyed sycophants, and aspirational bootlickers. This wasn’t democracy in action; it was a grotesque pageant of power consolidation wrapped in the tattered banner of party unity.

Whitsell had already stumbled through this gig once before, stepping down in April after the younger, shinier Corey Gustafson staged an internal mutiny. But Gustafson, despite his polished campaign brochures and manufactured charm, couldn’t hold the center. So the party circled back to Whitsell, a comforting but ultimately inert choice for a movement obsessed with clinging to its crumbling ideology.

“We’re preparing the battlefield,” Whitsell declared, puffing up her chest like a general leading an army of illiterate conscripts into a losing war. “Building on Republican wins nationally in 2024, our goal is to elect a new Republican governor and boost our numbers in the legislature, Congress, and local offices.”

This was the usual boilerplate drivel—a thinly veiled attempt to distract from the ugly truth: the San Diego GOP is a sinking ship. Their leadership elections may feature glossy endorsements and parliamentary theatrics, but there’s no masking the reality that this is a party in disarray, devoured from within by its own rabid factions.

Whitsell’s “plan” is a tired remix of the same old playbook: register voters, recruit candidates, raise money. She offers mentorship to “emerging leaders,” but you can smell the hypocrisy from a mile away. This is the party of MAGA—a movement so obsessed with its own grievance-fueled rage that it eats its young at every opportunity.

Her victory speech reeked of faux magnanimity. “It’s natural for there to be factions and competing interests,” she cooed, as if the Central Committee’s brawls were merely spirited debates rather than blood feuds fought in the shadow of Trumpism. She might as well have been handing out gold stars for participation.

Meanwhile, her lieutenants—Vice Chairs Alana Sorensen and Kristie Bruce-Lane, along with Secretary Dan Bickford and Treasurer Bill Exeter—seemed more like a motley collection of career strivers than a coherent leadership team. None of them inspired confidence that this fractured apparatus could do much more than tread water in a county that’s tilting further away from their brand of performative outrage.

This isn’t leadership. It’s an unholy marriage of hubris and inertia, dragging the party deeper into its death spiral. And as Whitsell prattles on about grassroots efforts and unity, one thing is painfully clear: the San Diego GOP isn’t preparing for battle—it’s preparing for irrelevance.