When Kelly Loeffler was tapped to run the Small Business Administration, my stomach churned with the same nauseating dread you might feel watching a fox being appointed to guard the henhouse. The acrid taste of betrayal fills my mouth as I consider how this woman—whose history reeks of self-serving opportunism—now holds the fate of America's struggling entrepreneurs in her manicured hands.

Let's not mince words: Loeffler's COVID stock trading scandal wasn't just "controversial"—it was a fucking disgrace. After receiving classified Senate briefings about the impending pandemic in January 2020, she and her husband magically decided to sell millions in stocks before the market crashed, while simultaneously investing in teleworking software companies that would benefit from lockdowns. The timing was so suspicious you could smell the insider trading from a mile away.

"Public servants should never use their position to enrich themselves at the expense of the people they serve," said ethics watchdog Noah Bookbinder, executive director of Citizens for Responsibility and Ethics in Washington. "The appearance of conflict alone undermines trust in our institutions."1

The cold, hard truth is that while Americans were about to face the worst economic crisis since the Great Depression, Loeffler was focused on protecting her wealth—the same wealth she now leverages to present herself as a business expert. The rough texture of this hypocrisy scrapes against the raw nerves of every small business owner who had to shut their doors forever during COVID.

If you want to understand how Loeffler handles opposition, look no further than her spectacular failure as co-owner of the Atlanta Dream WNBA team. When players spoke out for Black Lives Matter in 2020, Loeffler didn't just disagree—she launched a full-blown crusade against them, writing a blistering letter to the WNBA commissioner opposing the movement.

The sour irony is palpable: a white billionaire telling predominantly Black players to shut up and dribble. You could practically hear the condescension dripping from her voice as she claimed to be fighting against "divisive political movements." The players' response? They campaigned for her Senate opponent, Raphael Warnock, wearing "Vote Warnock" shirts to games, creating a visual protest that burned into the retinas of everyone watching.

The players eventually won. Loeffler lost her Senate seat, and the team was sold. But the bitter aftertaste of her leadership style remains relevant because it shows exactly how she responds when the people under her authority express views that don't align with her own—she tries to crush them.

The sticky web of Loeffler's campaign financing would make even the most jaded political operatives blush. She poured an eye-watering $23 million of her own fortune into her failed Senate campaign, while simultaneously benefiting from dark money groups and questionable PAC arrangements.

"Loeffler's campaign financing strategies raised serious questions about the influence of personal wealth in politics," noted election finance expert Dr. Eleanor Martinez of Columbia University. "The lack of transparency in some of these funding structures creates a troubling precedent."2

The heavy scent of privilege fills the air whenever Loeffler discusses business "bootstrapping." She markets herself as a farm girl made good, but conveniently glosses over how her astronomical wealth greased the wheels of her political aspirations. Now, as SBA Administrator, she holds the purse strings for programs designed to help people without her advantages—a thought that leaves a metallic taste of fear in the mouths of those who depend on these programs.

Remember when Loeffler refused to acknowledge Donald McDumpTrump's 2020 election loss? That wasn't just a political stance—it was a middle finger to democratic principles. The thunderous hypocrisy of someone who questioned legitimate election results now being in charge of distributing billions in federal funds is enough to make your ears ring.

She rode Turdalump Trump's coattails until the bitter end, throwing her lot in with the "stop the steal" crowd in a desperate bid to save her Senate seat. The harsh reality is that Loeffler showed she was willing to undermine democracy itself to maintain power. Now she oversees programs meant to ensure fair competition in the business world. Feel that chill running down your spine? You should.

Before her political career, Loeffler was an executive at Intercontinental Exchange (ICE), which owns the New York Stock Exchange, where her husband still serves as CEO. This connection creates a tangled, incestuous relationship between the regulator and the regulated that should set off blaring alarm bells.

Her time at ICE exposed her to the rough-knuckled world of high finance, but did nothing to acquaint her with the gritty reality of running a small business. When she talks about entrepreneurship, you can hear the hollow echo of someone who's never had to choose between making payroll and paying rent. The disconnect is so vast you could drive a fleet of delivery trucks through it.

Loeffler's approach to pandemic relief programs offers a window into her soul, and what we see isn't pretty. Under her guidance, the SBA has pushed policies that favor established businesses with existing banking relationships, leaving truly small enterprises—especially minority-owned ones—gasping for air.

The rough edges of her elitism show through when she discusses loan accessibility. She speaks the language of meritocracy while overseeing systems that perpetuate existing advantages. The burning frustration of small business owners trapped in bureaucratic limbo contrasts sharply with the cool efficiency with which larger companies navigate the system.

Perhaps most damning is Loeffler's hostile stance toward diversity initiatives. She's characterized diversity programs as "divisive" and "anti-American"—positions that smell like mothballs from another era. For a woman tasked with helping all American entrepreneurs succeed, her narrow vision excludes the very innovation that drives our economy forward.

The jarring disconnect between America's diverse business landscape and Loeffler's homogeneous worldview creates friction that threatens to spark genuine harm. When she speaks about entrepreneurship, you can almost taste the bland, unseasoned perspective of someone who sees business through a single, privileged lens.

Loeffler's comments about gig workers reveal her true allegiances. She's repeatedly championed policies that classify workers as independent contractors rather than employees, stripping them of protections while pretending this exploitation is "freedom."

The sharp sting of her rhetoric hits hardest when she frames worker protections as "obstacles to growth." The grating sound of her voice explaining how the inability to access healthcare or paid sick leave is actually "flexibility" should make anyone with a conscience cover their ears.

In the end, Kelly Loeffler's leadership of the SBA represents everything wrong with our approach to supporting small business. The harsh truth is that she doesn't understand—and likely doesn't care to understand—the struggles of ordinary entrepreneurs.

The heavy burden of her appointment falls on the shoulders of every small business owner trying to navigate an already hostile economic landscape. The bitter pill we're all forced to swallow is that someone whose career screams "big business first" now holds the keys to resources meant for the little guy.

But perhaps there's a sharp ray of hope cutting through this gloom. By exposing and opposing Loeffler's worst impulses, we might just be able to pressure her into actually doing her damn job. The salty sweat of activism and advocacy might be our only path forward until someone more qualified takes her place.