The Prince George’s Oligarchy: Loyalty, Power, and the Cost of Cronyism
By Barry O’Connell & A Good Looking Black Husband with a White Husband
In Prince George’s County, a new regime has taken root—one that cloaks itself in the language of equity and reform while quietly entrenching the old guard. It’s not an oligarchy in the Russian sense, but the term fits the moment: a small, insular class of political actors who reward loyalty, punish dissent, and manipulate public narrative to maintain control. Their methods echo the national playbook of Donald Trump, but the consequences are local, intimate, and corrosive.
I. Cronyism as a Governing Model
County Executive Aisha Braveboy has emerged not as a reformer, but as a steward of the machine. Her appointments and alliances suggest a governing philosophy rooted in loyalty over competence.
- Darryl Barnes, despite a history of bankruptcies and questionable business dealings, remains a fixture—propped up by Braveboy and rewarded with political lifelines. His failures are not disqualifying; they are recycled.
- Ed Burroughs, another insider, deploys media scare tactics to consolidate power. His messaging is amplified by the machine, while critics are sidelined or silenced.
- The appointment as Deputy CAO of Anthony Muse, lacking relevant experience, is emblematic: in PG politics, loyalty is the credential.
This mirrors Trump’s elevation of loyalists—Ivanka, Jared, Ben Carson—whose qualifications were secondary to their allegiance. In both regimes, failure is not punished; it is promoted.
II. Corruption as Business-as-Usual
Prince George’s has long struggled with the shadow of corruption. Jack Johnson’s bribery scandal was not an aberration—it was a blueprint.
- Braveboy’s orbit includes figures like Muse, Barnes, and Burroughs, whose presence signals a continuation of insider favoritism.
- Development deals flow through closed loops: donors fund campaigns, allies get posts, critics get targeted. The cycle is self-reinforcing.
- Transparency is performative; accountability is selective.
Trump’s national model—obstructing investigations, blending personal business with public office—finds its local analogue in PG’s insular governance. Public service becomes a vehicle for personal gain.
III. Loyalty Over Merit
Braveboy’s pattern is unmistakable: reward allies, punish dissenters. The qualifications of appointees are secondary to their proximity.
- The Muse DCAO appointment is not just a staffing decision—it’s a metaphor for institutional decay.
- Barnes’s financial record would disqualify him in most jurisdictions. In PG, it’s a résumé enhancer.
Trump demanded loyalty pledges, dismissed experts, and rewarded flattery. Braveboy’s approach is less theatrical, but no less corrosive. Institutions bend to serve the insider class.
IV. Manipulation of Public Narrative
Ed Burroughs exemplifies the machine’s media strategy: weaponize fear, control the message, and drown out dissent.
- His scare tactics are not accidental—they are strategic.
- The media, rather than challenging power, often shields it.
Trump mastered the art of manipulating national media—using shock, fear, and division to dominate attention and drown out scrutiny. His strategy wasn’t just about distraction; it was about control. By flooding the zone with noise, he made it harder for truth to gain traction.
In Prince George’s, Ed Burroughs plays a similar role on a smaller stage. His selective messaging and scare tactics aren’t just political theater—they’re tactical. They keep challengers off balance, shift public focus away from institutional failures, and reinforce the machine’s grip on narrative. With Braveboy and her allies backing the signal, dissent becomes distortion, and the media becomes a mirror for power rather than a lens for accountability.
Consequences for the People
The cost of this governance model is borne by ordinary residents—not in headlines, but in lived experience:
- Development decisions prioritize insiders over communities, leaving neighborhoods underserved and overpromised.
- Critical institutions—public safety, justice, infrastructure—are weakened by unqualified appointments and political favoritism.
- Justice becomes stratified: insiders are shielded, while everyday residents face a system that feels arbitrary and inaccessible.
Trump’s national failures—especially in crisis moments like COVID—had life-and-death consequences. In Prince George’s, the erosion is quieter but no less damaging. It’s the slow bleed of trust, the hollowing out of civic institutions, and the normalization of selective justice.
Conclusion: The Difference Is Scale
Aisha Braveboy’s leadership, defined by her elevation of figures like Darryl Barnes, Ed Burroughs, and crookred Anthony Muse, mirrors Trump’s governing style. Both regimes reward loyalty over competence, shield allies from scrutiny, and manipulate public narrative to maintain control.
But the difference is scale:
- Trump destabilized American democracy.
- Prince George’s oligarchy erodes the county’s future from within—ensuring that insiders thrive while residents are left with weakened institutions, selective justice, and a growing mistrust in public leadership.
This isn’t a broadside. It’s a quiet indictment. A damning with faint praise. A reminder that the most dangerous regimes are not always the loudest—they are the ones that smile, appoint Barnes or Anthony Muse and call it progress.