Same Chaos. Different Day
Inside Flint’s October 8, 2025 Council Committee Meetings – A Complete Recap
Flint’s committee meetings once again proved what many already know: there’s no such thing as order in City Council chambers. The rules only protect some, and the rest get double-teamed.
It started in Finance with a contract that somehow managed to turn a $106,000 HUD-funded lead abatement job into a debate about privacy and HIPAA laws. The administration refused to name the homeowner or address for the lead paint removal contract — even though these are public funds. When Councilmen Pfeiffer and Jarrett pressed for transparency, they were stonewalled.
Councilwoman Priestley called it a “HIPAA violation” — as if the City of Flint were a hospital instead of a government. Ladel Lewis jumped in to defend the secrecy and brought up old issues. She eventually called the question, cutting off debate and preventing any colleagues from asking further questions, effectively protecting the secret project. As usual, the same five — Lewis, Johnson, Priestley, Mushatt, and El-Alamin — voted to move it forward without answers.
That set the tone for the night.
Then came the senior center circus.
The city is asking Genesee County for over $176,000 for the Eric B. Mays Senior and Community Center — on top of ARPA and Parks funds already being used to keep it running. When Pfeiffer and Jarrett asked for a basic budget, CFO Phillip Moore and Center Director Gennois Wiggins had no clue how much it costs to operate the center for a year. Salaries? Maybe $130K. Utilities? Sort of. Total budget? No clue.
Councilwoman Burns pressed harder — asking whether the city even qualifies for county senior millage funds given that the McKinley Center shares space with another group.
Lewis stepped in again, calling for the question to shut down debate and prevent colleagues from asking more questions.
The vote passed, but not before another round of finger-pointing and warnings. Lewis accused an audience member of making her uneasy, earning him a warning from the chair. Burns abstained from voting, which led to another half-hour of bad legal interpretations as council tried to redefine what “abstain” means.
By this point, the only thing consistent in the room was confusion.
Then came the ordinance — the now-infamous drug testing proposal aimed at elected officials.
Councilman El-Alamin, still facing felony assault and domestic violence charges, moved to push it forward, claiming residents deserve to know if their elected officials are “impaired.” El-Alamin is also under investigation for lying about his residency after it was revealed that a registered sex offender lives at the address he’s using as his own. The Attorney General is also investigating him for obtaining a campaign finance waiver and exceeding the contribution cap.
HR Director Eddie Smith couldn’t explain what “engaged in city business” even meant, nor how suspicion-based testing would work. The city attorney admitted the ordinance hadn’t been vetted and would likely be challenged in court.
But logic has never stopped this council.
Priestley claimed only voters can remove elected officials — not realizing she was proving Pfeiffer’s point that the ordinance could be weaponized by the administration against political opposition.
Johnson — for once — took the floor, confusing her experience as a bus driver with being an elected official. Burns warned it was unconstitutional.
And Lewis? She doubled down.
Hours earlier, Lewis had been furious that anyone might imply she was an arsonist. By the end of the same meeting, she was insinuating another councilmember was on drugs. When Burns called her out for hypocrisy, Mushatt defended Lewis, saying Burns “opened the door.”
Rules that apply to one side never seem to apply to the other.
By then, the energy was toxic. Voices clashed.
Lewis smirked, Mushatt shielded her allies, Burns fought back, and El-Alamin — the council’s four-time convicted felon — couldn’t help but take shots at others while his own case sits in Genesee County Circuit Court.
And just when you thought it couldn’t get worse — it did.
Before Government Operations could even begin, Johnson snapped. She told Mushatt she wasn’t going to “kiss her tail” or do what she wanted. Johnson left the meeting, followed by other council members. Mushatt made sure to call her a liar as she walked out.
The meeting never formally adjourned. No gavel. No motion. No closure. Just open microphones, side conversations, and that familiar Flint City Hall fade to black — another night of government in chaos, broadcast for anyone still patient enough to watch.
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