Fools, Damn Fools And Donald Trump

The president is circling the drain, and that giant flushing sound comes from members of his own party pulling the chain

- Brian Karem

Reality and energy are in short supply at the White House.

On Tuesday morning Press Secretary Kayleigh McEnany, the latest soon-to-be-erstwhile keeper of the Trump administration’s propaganda, called a press briefing for noon.

About 15 minutes past noon, a young press assistant blurted over the West Wing speaker system the briefing would begin at 12:30 p.m. Shortly after the appointed time, the same assistant dutifully announced a “two-minute warning” to let us know the briefing would soon begin. Nothing happened. Then just before 1 p.m. the disembodied voice reassured us with a “real two-minute warning.”

I sighed. Thus it is with this White House. Nothing is real, and nothing to get hung about—but it’s not John Lennon’s “Strawberry Fields Forever.” It’s the White House in the dog days of August 2020, and Donald Trump—when he’s capable of a cogent thought that doesn’t involve a Happy Meal—is scared to death he’s going to lose the November general election.

McEnany seemed muted, delivering her propaganda with little gusto. The atmosphere was in line with the feeling of dread that permeates the White House and everything Trump and his staff do, and that mood filters down to the press corps covering the chaos. As I waited for McEnany’s briefing to begin, I felt out of sorts. A strong sense of ennui and déjà vu came over me.

Shortly after covering the first Gulf War, I found myself feeling the same way. Walking through Knightsbridge in London, I kept my Army-issue gas mask strapped to my side—the 41st Combat Support Hospital’s Colonel Bob Abodeely had given it to me as protection from the chemical weapons Saddam Hussein was suspected of using. Even as I shopped for a gift for my wife in Harrods, it was with me.