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The Open Secret

A man speaking passionately in front of a flag, with the text 'THE OPEN SECRET' and 'CONGRESSIONAL ACCOUNTABILITY' overlaying a vintage-styled background featuring an envelope marked 'SECRET'.

By Michael Phillips  |  Riptide Analysis Swalwell Series: Congressional Accountability

The night before the San Francisco Chronicle published its account of Eric Swalwell’s alleged conduct, staffers on his campaign were already writing their resignation letters. By Thursday afternoon, they were bracing for a story they clearly knew was coming — and had apparently known, in some form, for some time. “There will be no big story published tomorrow,” one volunteer wrote in a campaign Signal chat. “It’s all hearsay to get us afraid.” By Saturday, that position was no longer tenable. But the more important question was already forming around the edges of the story: if the people closest to Swalwell’s campaign knew, what did the people who endorsed him know — and when did they know it?

The answer emerging from the documented record is uncomfortable, bipartisan, and far larger than one congressman from the East Bay.

The Documented Record on Prior Knowledge

The claims of prior knowledge are not coming from anonymous sources or partisan opponents. They are coming from Democratic insiders, journalists who covered Swalwell for years, and — most devastatingly — from the former House Speaker whose endorsement Swalwell never received but whose institutional protection he benefited from for over a decade.

Who Said What They Knew — Documented Public Statements

Taken together, these statements describe an institutional knowledge environment in which Swalwell’s behavior was not a secret — it was a known quantity that was managed, minimized, and ultimately protected by a party apparatus that found him politically useful. The former Speaker of the House did not endorse him for governor, but her institution kept him on the House Intelligence Committee, killed Republican removal motions on party-line votes, and sat on an Ethics investigation for two years before closing it with no action. The behavior described as an “open secret” in April 2026 was apparently known well before any of that.

What Pelosi and Schiff Knew — and What the Record Shows

Neither Pelosi nor Schiff has been directly asked, on the record, when they first became aware of rumors about Swalwell’s conduct toward women. Neither has volunteered an answer. What the documented record shows is that both were deeply embedded in the same Democratic institutional environment that multiple insiders now describe as having known about Swalwell’s behavior for years. Willie Brown’s statement — that awareness of the rumors was something “Adam Schiff said, that’s what Nancy Pelosi said” — is either a mischaracterization, or a remarkable admission that both were discussing the rumors before the Chronicle published.

Schiff’s case is particularly notable. He is Swalwell’s Bay Area colleague, described repeatedly as a close ally, and he pulled his endorsement within hours of the Chronicle report — faster than almost anyone. The speed of that break, and the “immediately” language he used, suggests a man who had been waiting for the other shoe to drop rather than one who was genuinely shocked. A man genuinely shocked does not move in an hour. A man who had been carrying this knowledge and calculating his exposure moves in an hour.

Pelosi’s position is structurally more complex. She did not endorse Swalwell for governor. In a race where California Democratic power brokers were aligning behind various candidates, that non-endorsement is itself a data point. It may simply reflect her stated policy of not endorsing in primaries. It may reflect something else. What is documented is that her institution — the House Democratic caucus she led for years — protected Swalwell repeatedly and specifically, including killing a 2021 Republican removal motion and managing a two-year Ethics investigation to a quiet close.

The Slush Fund Vote: Congress Protecting Itself, Five Weeks Earlier

The Swalwell story does not exist in a vacuum. It broke into a Washington that had, just five weeks earlier, demonstrated with overwhelming bipartisan clarity that it had no interest in accountability for congressional sexual misconduct.

On March 4, 2026, Rep. Nancy Mace brought a privileged resolution to the House floor that would have directed the House Ethics Committee to publicly release all records of investigations into members of Congress for sexual harassment, unwelcome sexual advances, and sexual assault. The resolution was defeated — not narrowly, but decisively.

Infographic displaying statistics on congressional votes regarding sexual misconduct records and settlements, including numbers of members voting to keep records secret, members voting for disclosure, total taxpayer dollars paid in settlements, and individual cases paid from the congressional slush fund since 1995.

The 357 members who voted to bury those records included 175 Republicans and 182 Democrats. It was, in Rep. Nancy Mace’s words, a moment when “both parties colluded to protect predators.” Rep. Anna Paulina Luna, who is now leading the effort to expel Swalwell, put it more viscerally from the House floor: “We just had a member of Congress literally sexually harass a woman that then lit herself on fire, and you all protected him. You guys all protected him. My own side, your side.” She was referring to Rep. Tony Gonzales — whose staffer’s suicide had already made headlines — and to the bipartisan vote that shielded the broader record. The Mace resolution came in direct response to the Gonzales scandal. It failed anyway.

Five weeks later, Swalwell’s story broke. The same institution that voted 357-65 to keep its misconduct records buried is now scrambling to expel him. The contrast is not subtle. It is the difference between institutional self-protection and individual liability management — and the Swalwell case only became an expulsion matter when the story went fully public, and the political cost of association exceeded the cost of abandonment.

The Subpoena That May Tell Us More

The vote to kill Mace’s resolution was not the end of the accountability effort. After the floor defeat, Mace took her fight to the House Oversight Committee, where she forced a vote to subpoena the Office of Congressional Workplace Rights for records related to sexual harassment awards and settlements. That subpoena was approved — with a significant limitation. After a compromise with the ranking Democrat on the committee, Rep. Robert Garcia of California, the subpoena was narrowed to cover only members of Congress themselves, not broader congressional staff, and only records from before 2018.

The pre-2018 limitation is worth noting in context. Swalwell’s alleged conduct with his staffer began in 2019 — one year after the cutoff. Whether that timing is coincidental or reflects the effective outer boundary of what members were willing to expose themselves to is a question the subpoena’s results, when they arrive, will not answer. But the subpoena does mean that pre-2018 settlement records involving named members of Congress will eventually become a matter of public record. What emerges from that process deserves close attention.

The George Santos Question

George Santos is a convicted fraudster expelled from Congress for serial fabrication. His credibility as a factual source is, by documented record, essentially zero. That is the editorial and legal baseline that governs how his public statements can be treated in responsible journalism.

With that established: Santos posted a thread on Monday naming a list of current and former members of Congress he claims to have heard rumors about during his time on Capitol Hill — a list that includes Swalwell, Gonzales, and more than a dozen others from both parties. He also referenced what he described as activity taking place in storage rooms in the basement of House office buildings, which he says he reported to House Administration Chair Brian Steil, who he claims took no action. He made specific reference to Ruben Gallego — Swalwell’s closest friend in Congress, who publicly defended him as recently as April 7 before reversing in less than 72 hours after the Chronicle story dropped.

None of Santos’s specific claims can be published as fact. What can be noted, and what Riptide is noting, is that the documented record raises legitimate questions about Gallego’s prior knowledge that do not require Santos as a source. Gallego described Swalwell as one of his closest friends. They traveled internationally together. Gallego was actively defending Swalwell on social media as late as April 7, three days before the Chronicle published — and specifically dismissed the person raising the allegations as suspicious because, “this person started posting for the first time 3 days ago.” He reversed completely 72 hours later, withdrawing his endorsement and calling the allegations “indefensible.” His explanation — that he had not known the full picture before the Chronicle published — is either accurate or it is not. Given what multiple Democratic insiders now say was an open secret, it is a claim that deserves scrutiny without relying on Santos to make the case.

Editorial note on sourcing: This article does not rely on George Santos, unverified social media videos, or anonymous tips as factual claims. Every assertion is sourced to named individuals who have made documented public statements, official voting records, or verified published reporting. Riptide distinguishes between what is documented and what is alleged, and will continue to update this reporting as new verified information becomes available. Readers with direct knowledge of the matters described are encouraged to contact us.

The Institutional Pattern

The Swalwell story, at its core, is about what institutions protect, for how long, and why they stop. The documented record now shows that his behavior was known at the local government level in Alameda County as early as 2013. It was known among Democratic operatives and party insiders in Washington for years. It was known, by multiple accounts, within the same House Democratic caucus that killed efforts to remove him in 2021, allowed his Ethics investigation to die quietly in 2023, and then endorsed him — through Schiff, Gallego, Gomez, and others — for the California governor’s race in 2026.

The institution did not fail to know. It failed to act on what it knew. And that failure has a specific mechanism: the same mechanism that produced a 357-65 vote on March 4, 2026, to keep $17 million in congressional sexual misconduct settlements buried from the American public. That vote was not a mistake or an oversight. It was the institutional preference, stated clearly, six weeks before the Swalwell story broke, and the same institution declared itself shocked.

Congress’s outrage over Swalwell is real in the sense that the allegations are genuinely serious. It is selective in the sense that the institution had every mechanism available to surface this behavior years earlier and declined to use any of them. The House Ethics Committee’s three-term jurisdiction limit is not an accident of drafting — it is a rule Congress wrote. The slush fund secrecy is not a bureaucratic legacy — it is a policy Congress reaffirmed 357-65 five weeks ago. The $17 million in settled cases represents not one Eric Swalwell, but an unknown number of members of Congress whose names remain hidden precisely because their colleagues voted to keep them that way.

Eric Swalwell is done in California politics. He may yet be expelled from Congress. Two DA offices are investigating him. But the institution that protected him for more than a decade is still standing, still largely unreformed, and still sitting on records that the public has a right to see. That is the story that does not end when the expulsion vote happens. That is the story we must all continue to follow.


This is the third in a series of Riptide investigations on the Swalwell collapse and congressional accountability. Part I: The 24-Hour Demolition. Part II: After Swalwell: The Confluence (Dead Reckoning).


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About Michael Phillips

Michael Phillips is a journalist, editor, creator, IT consultant, and father. He writes about politics, family-court reform, and civil rights.

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