The campaign must have seen me as a two-pronged solution. I was black and a woman. I said I’d be happy to discuss it, and he rushed me off the phone with promises to call back with Corey Lewandowski, the campaign director, very shortly. “Give me one hour!” he said.
The Clinton campaign had squandered my support, but it seemed like I was about to be offered a position on Team Trump. His politics at that point—with the exception of immigration and trade—were still very murky, and I’d known him to be socially liberal. I was curious what they’d offer, but I hadn’t made up my mind about whether I’d sign on.
Corey and Michael called back. “Any help you can provide would be greatly appreciated,” said Corey. His team was small, only twenty-five people at that point.
I still wanted to hear their offer, and I discussed what plan they envisioned to reach members of the African American community who were disgruntled with the DNC (I knew they were out there, having just dialogued with them while on Ready for Hillary). I suggested that I could engage with black religious leaders and in the black business community.
“I’d love that!” said Corey. “You’re intimately involved in black social and professional networks. How can we harness all that?”
Michael chimed in. “It’s a misconception that Democrats own the African American vote. You could be the greatest surrogate for talking about how Trump is really the person they should want and need to make this country great again. He’s inspirational and a job creator. He can deliver greatness. Everyone is looking for a leader. I’ve watched you on TV and in the boardroom. You could be the messenger for him. You can deliver his message better than anyone.”
Michael tended to speak in these kinds of paragraphs with cultlike rhapsody about the wonders of Donald Trump. Corey and I would just pause and wait for him to finish.
“The Congressional Black Caucus is meeting right after the next debate,” I said. “Trump should go and meet a lot of people.”
Corey and I came up with a game plan for me to generate media discussion as a surrogate, and to create my own events with my networks. The campaign was very small, with zero infrastructure, no housing, and operating out of an office in Trump Tower.
On September 9, when the newest edition of Rolling Stone came out, Trump exacerbated his “woman problem” by criticizing candidate (and former Hewlett-Packard CEO) Carly Fiorina to a reporter, saying, “Look at that face! Would anyone vote for that? Can you image that, the face of our next president? I mean, she’s a woman. And I’m not s’posedta say bad things, but really, folks, come on. Are we serious?”
When I read that, I leaned away from boarding the Trump train.
But then, as if sensing my hesitation across time and space, I got a phone call from the candidate himself on September 13, 2015. We hadn’t spoken in some time.
Donald Trump said, “Hi, honey. I remember my pals. How do you like Arnold [Schwarzenegger] doing The Apprentice? I own it, so I had to approve it. I like the idea.”I
I said, “I haven’t had a chance to watch it.”
“How are you doing?”
“All is well, Mr. Trump.”
“Did you meet a new boyfriend? You probably have them eating out of your hand.”
“I’m still single,” I said, not flinching at his asking about my sex life. It was normal for him, and therefore normal for our conversation. “Mr. Trump, I’m getting an overwhelming response of people wanting to help you. It’d be great to do more outreach.”
“You know what happened, twenty-five percent of the African American people are supporting me. No one’s had more than nine percent.II I’m not surprised. Twenty-five percent support for a Republican is unheard of. It’s the biggest in the history of politics. I love you getting involved.”
“I’ve been speaking with Michael and Corey.”
He said, “You said on one show that you hadn’t made up your mind. You said you were a Democrat or some shit. Melania loves you. That killed a great interview. Hopefully you can make a decision. It hurts me that you’re not voting for me.”
Well, I couldn’t vote for a Republican in a primary election. “I’m a registered Democrat,” I said, “I’d have to register as a Republican to vote for you.”
“Okay, I love you. Take care.”
Donald often signed off with an “I love you.”
The next thing I know, Michael Glassner, Trump’s political director, called me and encouraged me to come to New York and support Trump. He said he got a call from Trump and he needed to firm up my coming on board.
After much thought and prayer, I decided to proceed. No one—no one—thought he had a remote chance of winning the primaries. The field was full of veteran politicians like Jeb Bush, Ted Cruz, and Marco Rubio. I thought it might be an interesting experience to work on a campaign at a high level. I’d been planning on doing just that, albeit for another candidate across the aisle. And, since Trump had little chance of winning, it would be “no harm, no foul” for me to have worked with the campaign for however long it lasted.
The day after I signed on, a Dallas rally outside the American Airlines Center drew a crowd of fifteen thousand people inside, and one thousand protesters outside. In his speech, he said, “If I’m elected president, you are going to be so proud of your country again. . . . You’re going to remember this evening . . . and you’re going to say we were part of a movement to take back our country. And we will make America great again.”
From my unique perspective, having gotten to know his marketing tactics for appealing to mass audiences on a TV show, I recognized this performance for what it was: a branding opportunity. The previous month, in an article titled “What Omarosa Gets Right about Trump and Why That’s Horrifying,” the Washington Post printed parts of my interview from MSNBC’s Up with Steve Kornacki. I said, “Reality television has now taken over television. People want to see real moments and see life unfold in front of them. Not scripted, but real moments. When you have a big reality TV star as the front-runner for the Republican nomination, there is no way to separate it. This is the new reality. Donald Trump is the front-runner, and you have to deal with everything that comes with it . . . He’s going to have to give his position on serious issues, and he may also call people pigs, but that’s part of the Trump thing that comes with the package.”
Trump appeared as himself on Saturday Night Live on November 7, 2015, almost one year to the day from Election Night. The cold open was about the utopia of a Trump presidency: great economy, the obliteration of ISIS, a trade war victory with China, and according to Secretary of State Omarosa (played by Sasheer Zamata), a Russian retreat from Ukraine. When Ivanka came out for a brief cameo, no one applauded for her. Presidential candidates did appear on SNL, but I thought it was bizarre for him to do so when he was trying to legitimize his candidacy to a doubting public. But, then again, the nation as a whole seemed desperate for something different—and entertaining—in a presidential candidate and campaign. I was disenchanted with the Democrats after being duped by the Clinton people, but it went back further than that, all the way to the Bill Clinton White House and my time with the DNC. I could see clearly that Trump was in a unique position to get Americans who’d never engaged in politics before to vote, not only rural whites, but young African Americans and Latinos, anyone who would respond to his star power. He could appeal to Independent black voters and Reagan Democrats. I made it my goal to reach those people—Trump Democrats—with outreach to women, Independents, and minority voters.
Once I committed, I was all in, and I hoped he’d win a few primaries at least. I knew we had to move fast. Candidate and surgeon Ben Carson was making inevitable inroads with conservatives and minorities. But because of Trump’s past history as a Democrat and an Independent, he could compete for that support. In my time with him, he’d been more liberal than conservative. I convinced myself that my historical knowledge of his views would match his current positions on broader issues. Even on immigration, he wasn’t
so far off from Hillary’s. In 2006, as a senator for New York, she’d voted in favor of the Secure Fence Act’s seven-hundred-mile fence between the United States and Mexico.
All of this might have been how I rationalized joining him. But I didn’t have to push myself too hard to do it. Trump, my mentor and friend, had asked me to support him. His staff had given me the full-court press. I’d been ready for Hillary, but when push came to shove, she hadn’t been ready for me. Team Trump was ready, willing, and eager for my help.
Not only that, Donald Trump gave me everything I asked for. In April, with Michael Cohen, Pastor Darrell Scott, and Georgia businessman Bruce LeVell, the National Diversity Coalition for Trump (NDC) was born. There was no office of engagement or diversity outreach for the campaign, so we established the NDC to handle diversity matters. Our mission was to represent the voices of our communities and to recruit, mobilize, and educate citizens to help us support Trump.
Pastor Darrell Scott wanted to organize black ministers to come to New York on November 30, 2015, to announce the coalition and meet with Mr. Trump at Trump Tower. My efforts on the coalition, later as the director of African American outreach for the campaign and as the director of communications for the Office of Public Liaison in the White House, was to get minorities, particularly African Americans, to sit down at the table with the leadership and discuss issues that were important to them. We got one hundred church leaders into a closed-door conference with Trump.
The meeting lasted two and a half hours, and, afterward, Trump told the media—up to one hundred outlets covered the event—about wanting to help the African American community in any way he could. Inside the room, there was a lively discussion, and the candidate expressed his desire to raise employment rates for African Americans and provide better education and safety in predominantly black neighborhoods.
It was the first sign of the disconnect between things Trump said privately to people face-to-face, and what he’d say from the podium at rallies.
There was some controversy about what was otherwise a very positive, successful event. Hope Hicks, the campaign spokesperson, had originally described the ministers’ participation as a prelude to their endorsement of the candidate, which was not true. So instead of headlines about Trump opening a dialogue with black church leaders, there were headlines like Esquire’s “No, 100 Black Pastors Are Not Endorsing Donald Trump Today.” This would be the first of many, many communication issues that would undermine or sabotage my African American outreach during the campaign and throughout my year in the White House.
I always found Hope to be very nice, capable, sensitive, and out of her depth. She handled PR for Ivanka’s fashion line, and then she became a press secretary in a presidential campaign. She lacked the understanding of politics for the job she was given. She didn’t even know the basic terminology. I remember once talking to her about GOTV for one of the primaries.
She said, “What’s GOTV?”
“Get out the vote,” I said, surprised. It was politics 101, basic political jargon, and she didn’t know that. She was always Googling terms while we were in meetings, always playing catch-up, always sensitive about what she didn’t know.
She was so painfully aware of her inadequacies, she refused to speak publicly about the campaign or as a surrogate to express the candidate’s views. For every other press secretary on any politician’s campaign, the number one job is to talk to the press. She never did on camera. Hope was terrified to give statements or even entertain the idea of it. She lacked confidence because she knew she wasn’t qualified to talk about policy or the political process. She had no insight into or understanding of what was going on and could not speak on behalf of the candidate, or later, the president.
So why was she there at all?
Trump has an affinity for pretty women. He’d rather have a pretty woman with no experience around than a qualified, less-attractive woman.
Through our work on the NDC, I spent a lot of time with Michael Cohen and came to understand that there was some tension between him and Corey. They were both jockeying for their attention from DJT and wanted to firm up their positions in Trumpworld, but they clashed big-time. Corey didn’t see the importance of having diversity outreach, but Michael, my fellow rebel, did. Because of his long-standing position with Trump, Michael won out. Donald encouraged us to launch the National Diversity Coalition officially as an organization, which we did a few months later.
Michael was one of the most fervent Trump worshippers/cult followers, among many, with whom Trump surrounded himself. Trumpworld is a cult of personality focused solely on Donald J. Trump. And Donald, like a cult leader, can spot susceptibility in people in an instant. They were fascinated by fame, power, Trump’s charisma, and would do anything to be close to Trump and win his favor. Michael Cohen would pay off porn stars and make questionable deals, which would ultimately be his undoing. Corey’s loyalty continues to be strong to this day. And mine? I’d like to think I wasn’t as susceptible, but I allowed myself to be swept up, as a member of Trumpworld. Until I wasn’t.
* * *
I. The optimism was short lived. At the National Prayer Breakfast on February 2, 2016, Trump said, “They hired a big, big movie star, Arnold Schwarzenegger, to take my place and we know how that turned out. The ratings went down the tubes, it’s been a total disaster. . . . And I want to just pray for Arnold, if we can, for those ratings, OK?” Arnold tweeted a video of him saying, “Hey, Donald, I have a great idea. Why don’t we switch jobs? You take over TV because you’re such an expert at ratings, and I take over your job and people can finally sleep comfortably again?”
II. Actually, since 1980, Republican candidates have gotten up to 12 percent of the black vote.
Chapter Six
* * *
Winning Votes and Defeating Opponents
The candidate-Trump brand was controversy and ratings, just like during The Apprentice years. Conflict sells. You could liken the entire GOP primary season, from February to June 2016, to a season of The Political Apprentice, with Trump “firing” his sixteen opponents one by one.
Many of them dropped out well before the Iowa caucus on February 1, including Rick Perry, Bobby Jindal, George Pataki, and Lindsey Graham.
The results of the first contest in Iowa were humbling for Trump. Ted Cruz defeated him by over six thousand votes. Publicly, Trump accused Cruz of stealing his victory. Apparently, Cruz’s camp had posted a false report on Twitter that said Ben Carson was dropping out of the race (at that point, he wasn’t), and many of Carson’s supporters caucused for Cruz. Trump was livid! He blasted Cruz at every chance he got from then on.
One by one they started to drop.
Arkansas governor Mike Huckabee withdrew from the race that night after the results were in. Kentucky senator Rand Paul dropped out on February 3, two days after his dismal performance in Iowa, and eventually endorsed Donald Trump, whom he had called “a delusional narcissist and an orange-faced windbag” during the campaign.
Former Pennsylvania senator Rick Santorum also dropped out on February 3, and endorsed Marco Rubio.
Trump’s bluster came roaring right back on February 9 with a landslide win in New Hampshire. They loved him in New Hampshire. He beat the number two, John Kasich, by over nineteen percentage points (Trump won 35.3 percent of the vote; Kasich 15.8 percent).
New Jersey governor Chris Christie dropped out on February 10, and endorsed Donald Trump two weeks later.
Carly Fiorina dropped out on February 10. After Trump’s “Look at her face!” comment back in September, Fiorina, the only woman in the field, had risen to number two in the polls. But her ascent didn’t last. After she dropped out, she endorsed Ted Cruz and in late April, became his running mate. Trump dismissed it by saying, “Cruz can’t win, what’s he doing picking vice presidents?” Less than a week later, Cruz dropped out. In September, Fiorina endorsed Donald Trump, only to rescind it three weeks later when the Access Hollywood tape came o
ut and she called for him to drop out of the race.
Former governor of Florida Jeb Bush dropped out on February 20, winning none of the contests and ranking very low in the polls. Trump said that his describing Bush as “low energy” was a “one day kill.”
Dr. Ben Carson announced on March 4 that he was skipping the upcoming GOP debate in his hometown of Detroit the next night, preceding his dropping out the day after the debate. By the end of the week, he’d endorsed Trump.
The field was down to four—Ted Cruz, John Kasich, Marco Rubio, and Trump. On March 3, the eleventh GOP debate was held in Detroit and, for the third time, hosted by Fox News, moderated by Bret Baier, Chris Wallace—and Megyn Kelly. Donald Trump and Megyn Kelly had not come face-to-face since the “bleeding from her wherever” dust-up back in August 2015. (Trump had not participated in the second Fox debate in January, in protest over how he’d been treated by Kelly previously.)
To attend the debate, I flew to Cleveland with the intention of driving to Detroit with a friend. There was a snowstorm, and the roads were so icy that I didn’t think we could attempt it. But we did, and after that scary drive, we arrived at the Fox Theatre to find hundreds of protesters outside, despite the weather and the cold. We parked in a reserved area and had passes to use the VIP entrance, but we still had to walk through the pack of very rowdy, seething, angry, vocal protesters.
Once we got inside, I ran into Richard Grenell, now the US ambassador to Germany, in the lobby. Ric was one of my LA friends, a Republican correspondent who appeared on multiple news outlets. He asked me if I’d be in the spin room later and offered to help get me booked to do TV interviews after the debate.
Unhinged: An Insider's Account of the Trump White House Page 9
