SUNDAY, MARCH 6 , 2022. THE WASHINGTON POST EZ RE C7
her,’ ” she says. “That’s just what
I thought — that they would find
her.”
When she considers what
might have happened to Relisha,
logic tells her that people who
steal children hurt them. But,
she says, “my heart can’t really
stand to say it.”
Mahogany, who works in
early-childhood education, says
that when adults fall into
homelessness, they bring their
children along like “bags.” Those
children often have to grow up
faster than their peers and don’t
have people looking out for
them, she says. They don’t have
people making sure they are fed
or have deodorant or are going
to school each day. “I don’t know
if you want to call it luck or God,
but we don’t have that,” she says.
She chose to run away from
the shelter. Relisha didn’t get to
choose. But Mahogany sees
similarities between their
experiences.
“If you have a ruby or
precious diamond and no one is
there to protect the thing that
holds this treasure, then
anything can happen to it,” she
says. “Anything can happen.”used to work as a school social
worker. “It’s still too narrowly
seen as a housing issue, and I’m
really worried about what’s
happening, or not happening,
with families behind closed
doors.”
Larson had served as a
mentor to that 14-year-old
before she ran away from D.C.
General. Larson says it bothered
her that the city didn’t seem to
be looking for the teenager. She
recalls the girl’s mother making
her own missing posters. That’s
why Larson wanted to meet with
the commander of the D.C.
police Youth Investigations
Division.
That teenager eventually was
found in California and was
back at the shelter by the time
Relisha disappeared.
She now goes by the name
Mahogany and is 23 years old.
She says she remembers seeing
Relisha at the shelter and
noticing that they both were the
only daughters in their families.
She describes Relisha as having
a sweet manner and a loud
laugh.
“I just remember thinking, ‘I
feel like they’re going to findRelisha used to call the “trap
house.” Smaller shelters for
families now exist across the
city. And unlike the D.C. General
that Relisha knew, those shelters
have playgrounds.
Larson says other positive
changes aimed at keeping
children without housing safe
have been put in place. Those
make it unlikely that the exact
circumstances that led to
Relisha’s disappearance could
occur again. Still, she worries
that the system meant to help
homeless families too often fails
to invest in preventive services.
“I still have concerns about
what hasn’t changed,” Larson
says. She says it took the
pandemic for people to realize
that the hotels the city used to
house families temporarily
didn’t have Internet access and
that children placed there had to
live surrounded by signs that
warned against playing. At one
of those hotels, a child was killed
before she could celebrate her
first birthday.
“We still haven’t learned to
truly care about children
experiencing family
homelessness,” says Larson, whoa month after Relisha was last
seen.
The city has since made
changes aimed at improving
conditions for homeless
children. The most visible one
involved closing D.C. General, a
grim place with bedbugs thatdisappearance are also tied to
another child at that shelter, one
who had already shown Larson
how easy it was for homeless
children to fall off the map.
How Relisha went missing
was unusual, but her
vulnerability was not. That’s an
important part of her story, and
is worth remembering, because
other homeless children right
now are experiencing the same
kind of instability Relisha knew.
Her disappearance became a
case study on how children can
exist on the radars of multiple
agencies and still slip through
safety nets.
Relisha had been absent from
school for more than 30 days
before it was discovered she had
been taken by Kahlil Tatum, a
janitor at the D.C. General
family shelter where she lived
with her mother, stepfather and
three younger brothers. Police
launched an extensive search,
but before they could question
Tatum about Relisha, they found
him dead of a self-inflicted
gunshot wound. His death came
more than a week after they
found his wife, Andrea Tatum,
fatally shot in a motel room andinto the camera with a too-stoic,
too-grown expression.
Larson spent a recent evening
going through those emails,
reminding herself of that time.
Eight years have passed since
Relisha’s disappearance shook
the city, but many people still
think of her often, and especially
in the first week of March, which
marks the anniversary of her
disappearance. Larson is one of
those people. She still speaks
about Relisha in the present
tense, leaving open the
possibility she might still be
found alive.
“She holds such a special
place in our hearts,” she says. “I
think we owe it to her to not give
up and to keep her picture and
her story out there.”
I was among the Washington
Post reporters who covered
Relisha’s disappearance eight
years ago, and I thought I had
heard every haunting detail
surrounding it. But it wasn’t
until I called Larson recently
that I learned something she
hadn’t before shared publicly:
Her memories of Relisha’s
VARGAS FROM C1
THERESA VARGAS
How Relisha Rudd went missing was unusual, but her vulnerability was not
HOMELESS CHILDREN’S PLAYTIME PROJECT
S ince Relisha Rudd vanished in
2014, D.C. has made changes
aimed at improving conditions
for homeless children.candidates for this or that office,”
said Terry Lynch, a longtime
Bowser supporter who is execu-
tive director of the Downtown
Cluster of Congregations. “The
mayor’s position, historically, is
much more political than the AG’s
job. Any mayor is going to bristle
when they see the A.G. get into
politics. She’s going to defend her
turf.”
Their differences aren’t always
over politics or policy. Racine also
has chided Bowser over the per-
formance of her agencies, includ-
ing the city’s crime lab, an agency
rife with problems that lost its
accreditation last year.
During his Federal City Council
appearance, Racine said his office
had stopped representing the
agency on matters relating to the
quality and integrity of forensic
testing “because they constantly
lied to us about the state of their
incompetence.”
He also has attacked the D e-
partment of Corrections, writing
in a Post opinion article this past
fall that “squalid conditions” at
the D.C. jail are the result of “a lack
of will and leadership” and that
the “the mayor needs to step up.”
Racine then announced that
his agency would not represent
the department in legal matters
pertaining to the jail conditions,
an assertion that prompted Bows-
er to counter: “The attorney gen-
eral has veered into being a politi-
cal figure only, and that’s unfortu-
nate since he’s my lawyer, too.”
Racine, who has worked as a
public defender and served as an
associate counsel in the Clinton
White House, regards it as part of
his mission to serve as a de facto
government watchdog, a role that
includes backing candidates
whose agendas he supports. In the
case of Robert White, a former
employee of the attorney general’s
office, Racine said he plans to
“advocate like crazy and I will be
around, knocking on doors and
going around the city to give resi-
dents my view of what the city
needs.”Broader fractures
George Derek Musgrove, a his-
torian at the University of Mary-
land Baltimore County who has
written about D.C., said the
B owser-Racine divide, in some
ways, reflects broader fractures in
the Democratic Party, with the
mayor backing moderate, busi-
ness-friendly Democrats and the
attorney general promoting left-
leaning candidates.
“To a certain degree, these per-
sonal barbs are part of a larger
discussion that no one wants to
dig into about the direction of the
city,” said Musgrove, who has do-
nated to Robert White’s cam-
paign. “You can see it in policing,
with Racine wanting to pull back
on tough-on-crime policing and
Bowser going in the opposite di-
rection. You can make the same
case with developers — Racine
has carved out the position of
cracking down on slumlords and
backing renters. Bowser has al-
ways been aligned with develop-
ers.”
Charles Wilson, chair of the
D.C. Democratic Party, said that
while the bickering between
Bowser and Racine draws atten-
tion from political insiders, ulti-
mately it is of minimal public
interest.
“I’ve never talked to a voter who
said, ‘Wow, the mayor and the
attorney general don’t get along,’ ”
he said. “They’re more concerned
with how all our elected officials
are working together to solve the
problems of the District.”took office. “I was surprised,
shocked and massively disap-
pointed when the mayor sought to
overturn the will of the people.”
“Not withstanding that fray,
that hiccup, that incident, we
have fully performed,” he added.
Council Chairman Phil Men-
delson (D) said the strain between
Bowser and Racine has remained
since then but has become more
palpable recently. “The relation-
ship between the two has never
been as good as it should be,” he
said.
At times, Mendelson said, the
strain can seem petty, such as
when, before the pandemic, Ra-
cine was not invited to monthly
breakfast meetings hosted by the
Bowser administration and the
council. “The attorney general
would say, ‘Hey, can I join you
guys?’ ” the chairman said. “I was
the one who had to extend the
invitation. It was an unnecessary
slight.”
The differences between Bows-
er and Racine were apparent
again in 2016, when the mayor
backed Vincent B. Orange in his
campaign to become an at-large
council member — a race he lost to
Robert White, whom Racine sup-
ported.
Two years later, Bowser enlist-
ed her political and donor net-
work to support Dionne Bussey-
Reeder’s losing campaign against
council member Elissa Silverman
(I-At Large), whom Racine en-
dorsed.
In 2020, in Ward 4, the mayor’s
home political base, Racine en-
dorsed Janeese Lewis George, an
attorney from his office who
trounced Bowser’s close political
ally, incumbent council member
Brandon T. Todd.
That same year, Racine backed
Brooke Pinto, another attorney
from his office, in her council
campaign in Ward 2. Pinto’s victo-
ry gave Racine ties to five of the
council’s 13 members, a clique
that also includes Trayon White,
among four lawmakers who for-
merly worked for the attorney
general’s office.
Bowser’s team took notice.
“Her sense is that he has intrud-
ed on her territory by endorsingThat same year, according to
the records, Bill Lightfoot, the
mayor’s campaign chair, and Bev-
erly Perry, another close Bowser
ally, contributed to Racine’s race
to become the city’s first elected
attorney general.
“It’s very fair to say that Mayor
Bowser and the ‘green team’ sup-
ported Karl,” said Lightfoot, refer-
ring to the network of supporters
Bowser inherited from her men-
tor, former mayor Adrian Fenty
(D).
Racine, when asked about the
significance of his contributions,
said he gave money as part of his
role as managing partner at Ven-
able, where colleagues donated to
local and national politicians.
“I wouldn’t read too much into
it,” he said.Goodwill gone
Whatever goodwill existed be-
tween Bowser and Racine van-
ished soon after they took office,
when the mayor unsuccessfully
sought to weaken the authority of
the attorney general’s office by
proposing that lawyers on her
staff retain oversight of local laws,
land deals and other legal busi-
ness.
Incensed, Racine accused
Bowser of ignoring the electorate,
76 percent of which had voted to
create an independent attorney
general’s seat. “I fully expected
growing pains and even tension,”
Racine said, recalling when heIn 2018, when both Bowser and
Racine were seeking reelection
against nominal opposition, Ra-
cine surpassed the mayor in city-
wide vote totals, 207,000 to
171,000.
“She views him as a competitor
who has been critical of her — it’s
as simple as that,” said the associ-
ate, who spoke on the condition of
anonymity because of the sensi-
tivity of the topic. “She doesn’t
want to share the limelight with
anyone, especially not him.”
While the sparring between the
mayor and Racine has been fod-
der for chatter in political circles,
the two Democrats challenging
Bowser in the primary — White,
Racine’s preferred candidate, and
council member Trayon White Sr.
(Ward 8) — are struggling to gain
attention with four months to go.
The Post poll found that 61
percent of those surveyed did not
know enough about Robert White
to have an opinion of him; 47
percent said the same about Tray-
on White. Both are trailing Bows-
er by nearly 30 points in the poll.
Bowser’s approval rating among
Washingtonians, while slipping,
is at 58 percent, the poll found.
At one time, Racine was a
B owser donor, giving her a total of
$1,500 in three separate cam-
paign contributions when she ran
for the council. In 2014, when she
campaigned for mayor, Racine
gave Bowser $2,000, records
show.chair of the board overseeing pub-
lic housing who resigned after it
was disclosed that he had author-
ized contracts for a design firm
owned by his companion, Paola
Moya.
Federal prosecutors have is-
sued a subpoena for Housing Au-
thority records pertaining to Al-
bert and Moya. Albert has not
been charged with any crime.
Bowser referred the matter to the
city’s ethics board.
Racine also has derided the
mayor for what he has described
as her attempt to duck blame for a
surge in violent crime. His criti-
cism came after the mayor, in a
newsletter her office sent out in
late January, urged the public to
hold the attorney general, among
others, accountable for the city’s
rising crime rate.
Regarding the rancor between
Bowser and him, Racine said he
wishes “there was better coordi-
nation at the highest levels. I
think it’s lamentable that there
isn’t.” But he added: “I think it’s
also, honestly, not an indication of
great leadership when people
point fingers and scapegoat.”
Bowser did not agree to be in-
terviewed for this article. But in a
statement, her spokeswoman,
LaToya Foster, said the mayor
supported the creation of an inde-
pendent attorney general’s office
and “even encouraged” Racine to
run in 2014.
“But philosophical differences
have surfaced about how to keep
the District safe from repeat vio-
lent offenders,” Foster said. “De-
spite his intensely political and
increasingly erratic behavior, we
will not be distracted from doing
all that we can to strengthen every
part of the public safety ecosys-
tem.”
A Bowser associate who has
spoken to the mayor about Racine
said she has long regarded him as
a potential political threat. Her
team has watched as he has drawn
national attention filing lawsuits
against the likes of former presi-
dent Donald Trump and the
Proud Boys. They also know that
four council candidates whom Ra-
cine has supported have defeated
those backed by Bowser.asked if the attorney general had
been invited. The mayor cut off
another reporter who began to
ask about her often-contentious
relationship with Racine. “I’m not
going to do any politics ques-
tions,” she said. “We know that the
attorney general is doing a lot of
politics.”
Asked later about the mayor
not inviting him to the announce-
ment, Racine said, “They certain-
ly know my email address, my
cellphone.”
“Pointing out failures that hurt
District residents isn’t about poli-
tics,” he added. “It’s what leaders
do.”
For months, even after he an-
nounced he would not seek reelec-
tion or challenge Bowser, Racine
has seized on opportunities to
criticize the mayor and the per-
formance of her administration,
fueling questions about whether
he plans to enter the race as a
third-party or independent candi-
date if Bowser wins the primary.
Whatever he does, the attorney
general’s attacks on Bowser have
focused on areas that a recent
Washington Post poll found the
mayor is vulnerable on — issues
such as public safety and afford-
able housing. He also has repeat-
edly brought up a scandal at the
D.C. Housing Authority that led to
the resignation of a Bowser ap-
pointee.
Racine, who has contemplated
challenging Bowser over the
years, likes to remind associates
that his citywide vote total sur-
passed hers when both ran for
reelection against nominal oppo-
sition in 2018. He also has backed
council candidates in previous
elections who defeated oppo-
nents whom Bowser supported.
But Racine, 59, has indicated
that when his term ends i n Janu-
ary, he plans to return to the pri-
vate sector, where he is sure to
command a far greater salary
than the $210,000 he has earned
annually as attorney general.
“I’m looking forward to making
money after I leave the Office of
Attorney General again,” he told
the council recently.
Yet Racine’s criticism of Bowser
feeds speculation that he retains
mayoral ambitions and could en-
ter the campaign in the general
election — a possibility raised re-
cently by former mayor Anthony
Williams (D).
“People say you’re waiting stra-
tegically to make your move in the
mayor’s race,” Williams, now exec-
utive director of the nonprofit
Federal City Council, said when
Racine addressed the panel dur-
ing a private session in February.
“I said I’m not running again,”
Racine replied, before adding that
he reconsiders his decision “every
now and again,” when he becomes
upset about “unfair accusations
that go to the heart of the prob-
lems” in the city.
“I actually start saying, ‘You
know what? That is B.S. and I can
go do something about it,’ ” he
said, according to a video of his
appearance obtained by The Post.
Using his platform
No matter his aim, Racine is
using his platform as a citywide
leader and as White’s highest-
profile supporter to denigrate
Bowser’s record and question the
competence and ethics of her ad-
ministration.
During his Federal City Council
appearance, as well as at a fund-
raiser where he introduced White,
Racine invoked Neil Albert, a
Bowser appointee and the former
RACINE FROM C1
Racine’s critiques of Bowser feed beliefs that he retains mayoral ambitions
PHOTOS BY JABIN BOTSFORD/THE WASHINGTON POST
D.C. Attorney General Karl A. Racine announces a suit against the Proud Boys and the Oath Keepers over the Jan. 6 insurrection. Racine,
59, has indicated that when his term ends, he plans to return to the private sector, but s peculation remains that h e could run for mayor.Then-U.S. Attorney Channing Phillips, left, talks with Racine and
Mayor Muriel E. Bowser in 2016.