The GOP primary left him ill-prepared for the scrutiny he’s finally getting
There is a widespread belief that
Donald Trump is immune to criticism, that he’s the new Teflon Don. And the
proof of his apparent invulnerability is his success against a field of
Republican leading lights. By beating 16 other candidates for the party’s nomination,
goes the argument, Trump demonstrated his singular strength as a political
force. But this is a retcon.
Jamelle Bouie Jamelle Bouie
Look carefully at the Republican
primaries and one fact sticks out: From the time Trump announced his campaign
in July to the last stretch of the Iowa caucuses, Trump was untouched by his
competitors. Yes, at debates and in forums, they criticized him for
insufficient conservatism and bad manners but that was the extent of the
pushback with few exceptions (which included juvenile mockery). On core
questions of his persona and candidacy—his checkered business record, his shady
relationships, his unscrupulous ventures—Republicans were silent. That meant
Trump could run for the nomination without having to deal with, or answer,
questions about the most embarrassing and controversial parts of his record.
Republicans allowed Trump to sell himself as a master businessman, and that’s
what he did.
The reality star and tabloid
mainstay thrived in the primary’s fetid swamp where—without substantive attacks
on his record or persona—he could suck attention from his competitors and avoid
serious scrutiny. And it’s clear he expects to do the same in the general
election, dominating daytime cable airwaves with outrageous statements and
conspiratorial attacks—a campaign waged via greenroom and speed dial. But as
Trump is learning, to his chagrin, the general is a different environment, and
here—where the press has just two targets and he’s up against one campaign, not
16—the scrutiny and the pressure are much, much greater.
Indeed, the past few days have
told us something important: Far from finding strength in the fight for the
Republican nomination, Trump was ill-served by the dysfunction of it all. In
escaping much of the close examination of a presidential primary, he has
entered the general election ill-prepared for the most basic interactions
between a candidate and the press.
He has entered the general
election ill-prepared for the most basic interactions between a candidate and
the press.
It’s how we got the spectacle of
Tuesday, when an enraged Trump went on a rampage against journalists after some
cursory scrutiny around his much-touted donations to veterans’ groups. A
Washington Post report found major discrepancies; not only had Trump raised
less than he’d claimed at his veterans’ fundraiser in January, he hadn’t made
his promised $1 million donation either. If this were still the Republican
primary—during which Trump was running against opponents who dared not touch
him, for fear of alienating his supporters—he might have escaped the inevitable
blowback that comes with stiffing veterans.
Instead, he had to deal with a
press that was singularly focused on his actions as the Republican presidential
nominee. Which makes sense: It’s exactly the scrutiny you receive when you
reach this point in American politics. Trump couldn’t handle it. During the
course of his news conference, he railed against the press corps as “not good
people,” singled out ABC’s Tom Llamas as a “sleaze,” and mocked the looks of
CNN’s Jim Acosta. “I think the political press is among the most dishonest
people that I have ever met, I have to tell you,” he said. “I see the stories,
and I see the way they’re couched.”
Trump threw a tantrum. And we’re
sure to see it again. He isn’t just unaccustomed to the attention and scrutiny
of the political press; he’s temperamentally unsuited to it as well. But this
focus on his veterans’ activities is just the beginning.
The same day Trump fell apart in
the face of some basic questioning over his charity, the public won access to
unsealed documents in the real estate mogul’s legal battles over the
now-defunct Trump University, a for-profit school started in 2005. The papers
detail an organization that critics describe as predatory and fraudulent. “I
believe that Trump University was a fraudulent scheme,” said one sales manager
in his testimony, “and that it preyed upon the elderly and uneducated to
separate them from their money.”
The papers are a gold mine of
information that reveal the extent to which Trump lent his name and endorsement
to operations designed for no purpose other than to extract wealth from
ordinary people. Trump sold his university as a tool that would help everyday
Americans improve their financial position, something that would “teach you
better than the best business school.” His employee practices, however, told a
story of rapaciousness: Trump University employees were pushed to sell expensive
courses, upward of $35,000, to struggling customers in what sounds like a
glorified telemarketing scheme. (You can almost imagine employees complaining
“the leads are weak” to a Trump simulacrum screaming “always be closing.”)
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