Anatomy of a Political Hit Job
The dirtiest secret in American politics is that the truth does not matter. It is not necessary to win an argument, only to win the news cycle. The smear, not the substance, is what lingers. When this cynical calculus is combined with a willing press, the result is something that can only be called a political hit job.
Senator John Cornyn, facing a surging primary challenge from Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton, recently executed one with surgical precision. What unfolded was not an accident, not a misunderstanding, and not journalism. It was a carefully planned operation designed to smear a political rival with a narrative too timely and too tantalizing for the Associated Press to resist, even if the facts were flimsy and the allegations false.
Here is how it worked.
First, Cornyn’s campaign identified a vulnerability in the zeitgeist: mortgage fraud. In recent months, Democratic figures like New York Attorney General Letitia James and Senator Adam Schiff have been dogged by allegations that they improperly claimed multiple homes as their “primary residence,” allowing them to game interest rates or tax exemptions. The public already smells blood. The narrative was primed.
Next, Cornyn’s team dusted off public records purporting to show that Paxton and his wife signed mortgages on multiple homes over the years, with more than one marked as “primary.” This was neither new nor nefarious. Texas law allows for the rollover of homestead tax exemptions upon sale, and nothing Paxton did violated state mortgage rules. But context is the enemy of a hit job. The job requires ambiguity. It requires just enough complexity that the average reporter, much less the average reader, will not know what to make of it. And that is where Brian Slodysko comes in.
Slodysko is an investigative reporter for the Associated Press. He is not known for his rigor or independence. His alma mater, Whatcom Community College, may field the fighting Orcas, but Slodysko himself has shown no inclination to fight for the truth, particularly when the story flatters Democrat narratives. He was the perfect mark: willing, gullible, and lawsuit-proof. The Washington DC-based reporter would not know a Texas homestead exemption if it bit him. More importantly, he would not ask Paxton for comment. He would not contact Texas mortgage lawyers. He would not call the Texas comptroller. He would write what Cornyn handed him and call it reporting.
And so he did.
Slodysko’s story accused the Paxtons of committing mortgage fraud by falsely claiming multiple homes as their primary residence. The implication, borrowed wholesale from Cornyn’s operatives, was that the Paxtons improperly obtained favorable interest rates. Within minutes of the story going live, Cornyn’s campaign was ready. A pre-produced digital ad citing the story was scheduled to run across Texas the morning after the hit piece was published. The timeline is revealing: the ad was already cut. The quote from the AP was already selected. All that remained was for Slodysko to hit “publish.
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There was just one problem: the story was wrong.
As it turns out, the Paxtons had not received an improper homestead tax break. The benefit transferred automatically from the prior owner for the remainder of that year, a common occurrence in Texas. This is not an obscure loophole. It is how the law works. Had Slodysko contacted Paxton’s office or a local real estate expert, he would have learned this. But Slodysko did not contact anyone. And when forced to confront his error, he added a single correction note to the AP story: “This story has been corrected to reflect that the Paxtons didn’t receive an impermissible homestead tax break in 2018 for one of their Austin homes. That benefit transferred to the Paxtons from a previous owner for the remainder of that year.”
Yet the correction changed nothing and only corrected the homestead claim, not the misleading primary residence allegation. The damage was done. Cornyn’s ad was running. The lie was seeded. Worse, the Associated Press syndicated the story to dozens of Texas newspapers, The Texarkana Gazette, The Facts, and others, none of which included the correction. The falsehood metastasized.
Meanwhile, the Texas Tribune, a media outlet not known for its concern about conservative reputations,
Under the standard set by New York Times Co. v. Sullivan, Paxton will have to prove “actual malice” in order to prevail in any defamation suit. That is, he must show that the Associated Press either knew the story was false or acted with reckless disregard for the truth. This is a high bar, but not insurmountable. Slodysko did not merely fail to verify a complex legal matter. He actively avoided contact with the target of his story. He failed to consult experts. He failed to consult the public record beyond what Cornyn’s team offered him. And even after learning his central claim was false, he let the rest of the story stand. That is not negligence. That is malice dressed up in journalistic sloppiness.
The Associated Press will hide behind its correction. But there is no unringing the bell. Cornyn’s campaign paid for reach, not accuracy. The ad is running, the voters are hearing it, and the lie is taking root.
What Cornyn executed was a textbook hit job, a kind of political arson. The reporter lights the match. The campaign spreads the fire. By the time the fire marshal arrives with a bucket labeled “correction,” the house is already ash. This is not journalism. It is propaganda masquerading as accountability.
There is a deeper irony here. Cornyn’s campaign attacked Paxton for a so-called scandal that mirrors the very conduct many Democrats are accused of engaging in, not coincidentally, a narrative that conservatives have been pushing for months. In co-opting that narrative for a Republican-on-Republican hit, Cornyn not only undermines the credibility of future mortgage fraud allegations against Democrats, he reveals the lengths to which the establishment will go to neutralize insurgent threats from within the GOP. This is not just about Paxton. It is about crushing populist conservatives who refuse to play ball.
When political operatives and ideologically aligned reporters conspire to create false stories for the sake of campaign fodder, the very notion of a free press is mocked. When those false stories remain uncorrected in syndication, the legal doctrine of actual malice begins to look more like a license to defame than a shield for truthful reporting.
If there is to be any hope of reforming political journalism, it must begin with accountability, both for campaigns that plant false stories and for reporters who fail to vet them. Until then, the anatomy of the political hit job will remain the same: find the mark, launder the smear through a willing press, and count on the correction to arrive too late.
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