So, I just lit a candle at St. Frances de Sales on 96th Street, between Lexington and Madison. This morning. No shit. Slipped in before the morning mass, dropped some coins. Said a prayer. After watching part of Trump’s press conference yesterday, I’m not sure, at the moment, what other response is appropriate. This is what a dictatorship looks like.
I haven’t watched a second of cable news since election night. No political blogs. Only the Business and Food sections of the Times.
Yesterday, I gave in to temptation and watched 15 minutes of the Trump press conference and later read some online coverage for the parts I missed. Yeah, this is what a dictatorship looks like, what democracy slipping away feels like. What some thuggish slob looks like when he is almost President of the United States. A traditionally important and dignified position, not to get all history wonky.
Some people were clapping in the room at random times during the press conference. Tepidly clapping. Uncertain, because it wasn’t appropriate. They were apparently paid staffers, and I assume that their boss was holding up applause signs and waving his arms in the air whenever he wanted a big cheer. I don’t think there’s ever been a press conference with a U.S. president in which people were paid to applaud. In fact, I remember when I was a child, watching a Nixon press conference with my parents and asking my parents why no one was clapping for the president. And they explained what a press conference was. And their explanation made sense to a five-year-old, but it doesn’t now.
Would anyone bet against Trump having tax-payer-funded employees applauding him when he’s actually president and deigns to do press conferences? Or, maybe worse, they won’t be tax- payer- funded, they’ll be paid by Trump, but afforded all the rights and privileges of a government employee.
I watched because part of me thought he might, like, say the things that a normal president-elect would say, and that would make me righteously angry. But, he didn’t do any of that. He’s never going to sound like a president. Or maybe this is what presidents sound like now.
He turned over the stage to a lawyer who provided the legal fig leaves for Trump’s contemptuous dismal of any ethical standards regarding conflicts of interest. As he left the stage, the president-elect pointed to a big stack of folders that supposedly, by virtue of its bigness, indicated how forthcoming he’s being about how corrupt he is. To paraphrase Toby Zeigler in the West Wing, I’d bet all the money in my pockets against all the money in your pockets that those folders mostly contained blank sheets of paper.
The press conference was like when I was in junior high school and would watch an episode of Dukes of Hazzard and pretend it was a good show. That was actually a fun thing to do for about two episodes and the kind of thing you did before there was an internet. Give it a try sometime. Pretend that the conflicts in the show are real. That the jokes are funny. That Tom Wopat was really trying. Imagine the director saying something like, “let’s do the scene one more time, but this time over Boss Hogg’s left shoulder. Tom, try to see Boss as a human being. The man underneath the white suit.”
Trump’s lawyer apparently provided a lot of details, but the gist of it was that Trump doesn’t think any of the current conflict of interest laws apply to him. His sons will run the family business, and Trump will donate to charity any profits from high-profile conflicts of interest, like that hotel he just opened in Washington, D.C.
The press conference was also like watching pro-wrestling back in the glory days—circa 1977-1988. The wrestlers would pretend it was a real sport. The wrestling magazines would list the top ten heavyweight contenders. The announcers would make some effort to provide analysis for the matches. “Gonzalez is giving away thirty pounds to Sgt Slaughter. Let’s see how he counters that size advantage.” The interviews were unscripted and, like the president-elect, the wrestlers who were good at it could just roll along in their own bullshit. And, yeah, I know that Trump appeared on WWE shows a few decades ago. But, to understand Trump, you need to search YouTube for vintage interviews with Classy Freddie Blassie and Luscious Johnny Valiant.
Sadly, I couldn’t be more serious about this.
So, let’s consider that D.C. hotel that the president-elect will continue to own. (First pause to consider how ludicrous that previous sentence is.) He will still own it, though his sons will manage it. He’ll donate any profits to charity. So, the President will continue to have a lease with the federal government. People who have business with the federal government, both foreign and domestic, will stay at the hotel in order to curry favor with the President. Whatever Trump-owned business entity that controls the hotel gets to count business at the hotel as top-line revenue. That entity then gets tax relief of some type for the charitable donations. Are they going to make the hotel a non-profit? Rebrand it as Newman’s Own?
And then, the President also gets the P.R. benefit of handing this money out as charity, which he didn’t have to do by law, but he’s such a great guy. I can already see him handing out oversized checks to the South Bronx Junior Achievement program or the Cedar Rapid FFA. With people being paid to clap.
So, I’ve just written almost one thousand words about only the first 15 minutes of the press conference. I haven’t even gotten to the president-elect denying rumors that the CIA leaked about him and Russian hoowas. Because, hey, the intelligence community leaking sex stuff about the incoming president is just business as usual for any new administration. Check out the YouTube videos of Eisenhower’s January 1953 press conference where he explains away those grainy photos of him at the Eagle’s Nest in those heady few weeks after VE Day.
This is not the republic that existed from 1776-2016. This is something different and will require a different language and a different means of political discourse. Trying to assess a Trump press conference by the normal standards for such things is like a film critic trying to decide which season the Dukes of Hazzard jumped the shark.
Or a sports columnist handicapping whether Luscious Johnny Valiant and his brother Jimmy can defeat Tony Garea and Larry Zybysko for the tag team title.
You’ve lost the game the minute you entered it.