The Obama Diaries

by Laura Ingraham

  During his election night victory speech, President-elect Obama looked out at the sea of hopeful humanity gathered in Chicago’s Grant Park and boldly announced: “Our union can be perfected.” Of course, what he meant was that there was hope for American perfection now that he was in charge. The “perfect union” of Barack and Michelle could assist the rest of us poor schlubs in reaching our utopia, too. Lord knows how the country even made it this far without the O-factor.

  Central to Obama’s governing strategy would be his aggressive—and often brilliant—cultivation of his own pop star status. Being a garden-variety political star just wouldn’t do. How many world leaders can boast being commemorated in a Spider-Man comic book and as a Chia Pet all in one year? And what American president still had worship altars displaying his books in airport bookstores when his approval ratings were at all-time lows?

  One has to marvel at the scope and the breadth of the nonstop, multimedia marketing offensive waged by the Obamas and their communications team. How did a guy who came from nowhere, with no executive experience and no meaningful private sector bona fides, come to run the largest economy and military in the world? Circumstances certainly contributed: the meltdown of the economy, the nation’s growing Bush fatigue. But at the heart of the Obama ascension was a well-oiled PR machine that ruthlessly controlled not only the message, but also the backdrop, clothing, music, staging, and every word that escaped the candidate’s lips. Even traditionally private activities for First Families—weekend recreation or holidays—were not immune from being used to hone Brand Obama. And while a disciplined press and marketing operation is essential to any successful political campaign, at some point the marketing has to end and the governing has to begin. Not so with the Obamas, who have given new meaning to the phrase “perpetual campaign” by elevating press manipulation and image control to something approaching an Olympic sport.

  I remember being at the 2008 Democratic National Convention in Denver when the media were buzzing that Barack Obama would not accept his party’s nomination in the twenty-thousand seat Pepsi Center (which had hosted the entirety of the convention up until that point). Twenty thousand seats? Are you kidding? Obama needed something bigger, bolder, and more impressive. Barack Obama’s acceptance speech would be moved to nearby Invesco Field, an eighty-thousand seat open-air stadium and home to the Denver Broncos.

  THE DIARY OF SENATOR BARACK OBAMA

  DENVER, COLORADO

  August 27, 2008

  No time to write today with all the parties, toasts, and Hollywood folks here who want to bask in the glow of “O”! Still can’t believe that the DNC originally had me accepting my party’s nomination at that puny Pepsi Center! Please! I mean, it was fine tonight for Biden’s speech (snoozefest!) and it was okay for the likes of Clinton and Gore (yesterday’s news!). But with me we’re talking about something truly historic! If John Lennon and George Harrison came back from the dead for a Beatles reunion, do you think they’d be playing to a piddly 20, 000 people?

  And to hell with those folks who are complaining about the cost. Fund-raising breakfast with Hillary: $1, 000. A haircut at John Edwards’ salon: $500. Seeing me on stage embrace my destiny before a global audience? Priceless!

  The day before the Obama coronation, I needed a song to capture the spectacle that was about to unfold. My pal Raymond Arroyo suggested “Razzle Dazzle” from the Broadway show Chicago. It was perfect. The lyrics—“Give ’em the old razzle dazzle . . . razzle dazzle ’em”—described precisely what Team Obama had planned for us. In Chicago, the defense attorney Billy Flynn, in song, counsels a client charged with murder on the way to get around the jury. His advice is to “razzle dazzle” the crowd, daze and confuse them with so much glitz and hokum that they allow the murderer to walk. So too for Barack Obama, whose PR team believed that an over-the-top political spectacular would overwhelm the national audience to such an extent that they would ignore the tell-tale signs of his radical policies to come.

  The stagecraft used that balmy night in Denver established the tone for all the Razzle Dazzles to come. Some in the British press dubbed it “the Barakopolis”: a plaster and plywood masterpiece meant to evoke the Lincoln Memorial, the Parthenon, and the White House all in one backdrop. It was constructed by the same people responsible for Britney Spears’ concert stages—experts at creating diversions for those with limited talents. The set was meant to create a feeling of intimacy in the sprawling arena and to convey a few other messages. Christopher Hawthorne of the Los Angeles Times described the set: “Obama’s campaign produced a full-on neoclassical facade: four imposing Doric columns and ten sizable pilasters all connected by a frieze and arranged in a gently curving arc. From the center of this colonnaded contraption extended a long peninsular walkway, lined with blue carpeting and capped by a circular stage and wedding cake steps.” Michelle, Sasha, and Malia would emerge from huge false windows “clearly meant to suggest those at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. They were warmly illuminated, suggesting that a family was at home—Obama’s.” We should be suspicious of any candidate needing this much artistic reinforcement.

  Rocky Mountain News columnist Mike Littwin had no such reservations. He enthused: “Obama, standing before tens of thousands of people . . . joined under a Rocky Mountain sky, where possibilities seem as endless and luminous as the many Bronco’s skyboxes shining from above.” And that was written before Obama had uttered a word. Behold the power of the Razzle Dazzle. All hail the Emperor of Hope and Change!

  To prepare the way for the Messiah, there was enough entertainment for four Super Bowl halftime shows: Sheryl Crow, Stevie Wonder, will.i.am, John Legend, Jennifer Hudson, and Michael McDonald all whipped up the crowd before Obama took the stage. Of course, he started his speech by reveling in his favorite subject—himself. Then it was the usual references to the “failed presidency of George W. Bush,” telling the enthralled masses: “America, we are better than these last eight years. We are a better country than this.” This from a man with virtually no real-world experience to qualify him for the most important job in the world.

  During Obama’s rhetorical exercise in breathtaking narcissism and historical revisionism, the media treated the television audience with frequent cutaways of weeping girls and mesmerized young men. These were the loyal O-subjects who had waited for hours to see their king. The congregants of the Church of Obama offered testimonies to their faith. “I cried my eyelashes off,” Oprah Winfrey attested. “I think it’s the most powerful thing I have ever experienced.” “It was amazing,” exclaimed the “performer” Fergie of Black Eyed Peas fame. And that renowned philosopher, actress Jessica Alba, expressed her sentiment in words that will be oft quoted and remembered. “Incredible!” she gurgled.

  The Mile-High Razzle Dazzle had news anchors combing their the-sauruses for new honorifics to sustain the interest of forty million viewers who were watching on television. Yes, Barack Obama was the first African-American to accept a major party’s nomination for president, but restating that fact only takes the marketing so far. The $3 million extravaganza—an Obamapalooza for the ages—was absolutely essential in the overall battle plan, which was to distract voters and divert their attention from the hard truth that they were on the verge of electing the most inexperienced and one of the most left-wing people ever to have run for the presidency. How did Barry Obama go from passing out leaflets on a Chicago street corner to standing a few feet away from the nuclear football? Sheer Razzle Dazzle, baby. And this was only the beginning.

  One of the chief architects of the Obama public relations blitz was Desiree Rogers. A native New Orleanian and descendant of the voodoo queen Marie Laveau, the Chicago socialite was a close friend of the Obamas and a fund-raiser. She also enjoyed an intimate friendship with Valerie Jarrett, the president’s senior advisor. Rogers was named Social Secretary and Special Assistant to the president, with privileges in the East and West Wings of the White House. More than a party or event planner, Desiree Rogers saw
herself as a brand manager, a visionary executive on site to “promote the Obama presidency.” She made herself indispensible to the political and policy wing of the Obama White House and was only too happy to advertise her ingenuity on the pages of Vogue, the Wall Street Journal Magazine, and Capitol File. Of her Razzle Dazzle, Rogers said, “We are trying to do different types of things that can leave imprints in people’s minds and show them that we can be the best with some of the simplest things.” By “simple,” she meant, of course, selling Brand Obama by enlisting the full force of the East and West Wing staff along with a parade of visiting Hollywood celebrities.

  THE DIARY OF WHITE HOUSE SOCIAL SECRETARY

  DESIREE GLAPION ROGERS

  EAST WING

  January 19, 2009

  The People’s House. That’s what I’ve convinced Miche to call the White House. And I will be its custodian, so help me God. With its whitewashed elegance and stately manner, this home will bear witness to some of the most notable events in America’s history—I am the maker of that history.

  Each time I walk up the drive, I can almost hear the limestone whisper, “Thank you, Miss D. Thank you.” It’s a wonder that this house survived those Bushes! I told the staff today: if I ever see Lee Greenwood or Charlie Daniels on an entertainment request sheet, expect the pink slips to start flying.

  We are going to make this truly the People’s House—at least for the people we know! Ha–ha. Oh, we’ll let the average citizens roam around the property, and the president and First Lady have agreed to surprise the tourists once a year. (Miche and I spent half a day in the White House screening room, rolling on the floor watching footage of those slovenly tourists gasping and giggling when they realized the Obamas were there to personally greet them in the Blue Room. One man actually started to brush his teeth as he approached them. Lord, it’s like our own West Wing version of Candid Camera.)

  My mission is to return a sense of art and elegance to this house not seen since the days of Jackie Kennedy. Of course, we’ll put her amateur efforts to shame because we actually know how to have fun. Our Easter Egg Roll is going to be fantastic this year—and historic. Fergie just agreed to sing at the Egg Roll, and Miche and I are going to totally revamp how the staid program is usually done. Peeps and jelly beans are out this Easter—yoga and cooking demonstrations are in. That’s what children need to learn at Easter anyhow: how to move their bodies and cook healthy meals. We’re also going to have our own high–octane sports competition. I bet we can sell it as an exclusive to the Disney Channel: “The White House Easter Games, live from the South Lawn—here is your host Desiree Rogers . . .” The staff tells me we must have an Easter Bunny; it’s tradition. But given our health–conscious theme, I think I’ll ask Taylor Lautner from Twilight to be the bunny—and just wear the furry head without a shirt. I mean, the men have that tramp Fergie. We mothers need something to look at, too!

  BIPARTISAN RAZZLE

  It began, like most parties, with cocktails. Obama tried to turn the White House to his advantage early on by hosting a series of bipartisan Wednesday night cocktail hours. These were designed to soften up resistance to his policies and build personal relationships between ideological foes. Friends of the Obamas told Politico that Desiree Rogers was the perfect person to “replicate the same kind of environment” that Michelle and Barack had enjoyed in Chicago.

  Only days after taking office, the Obamas hosted an informal, bipartisan Super Bowl party. They passed around cookies, shared hot dogs and pizza, and watched then-Republican senator Arlen Specter wrestle the popcorn bowl from fellow squish Republican representative Charlie Dent in the White House screening room. (Does a Super Bowl get-together attended by Arlen Specter and D.C. congresswoman Eleanor Holmes Norton actually qualify as a “party,” let alone a bipartisan one?)

  Republican Trent Franks of Arizona said of the affair: “I think the value of social interaction like this is not so much that it co-opts anyone in any way. It certainly didn’t in my case. I think it humanizes and personalizes opponents. We can diminish politics and try to work together for what’s right for the country.”

  This demonstrates the danger of getting sucked into the Razzle Dazzle for even a moment. No doubt Congressman Franks soon saw the light. But for a Republican to believe that Barack Obama’s goal is to “work with Republicans” to do “what is right for the country” demonstrates staggering ignorance. Despite the temporary spell cast on some of the participants, Obama’s charm offensive did nothing to gain any meaningful bipartisan support for his major initiatives. In the end, Obama’s $800 billion stimulus bill was only supported by three “Republicans”—the trio I called, “Spe-col-snow” (pronounced “Specklesnow”)—the soon-to-be Democrat Arlen Specter and the two Maine senators, Susan Collins and Olympia Snowe. These votes gave the Senate Democrats and the White House the filibuster-proof cushion it needed in the final 60–38 vote.

  Following the first six or seven Wednesday night mixers, the White House stopped hosting the parties—no doubt due to their ineffectiveness. Plus, when you can kick back with the likes of George Clooney and Brad Pitt, why bother schmoozing with conservative Republicans, the lowest figures on the celebrity food chain?

  THE DIARY OF FIRST LADY MICHELLE OBAMA

  THE WHITE HOUSE

  February 26, 2009

  Exhausting day as usual, working on the details of our next Wednesday night cocktail party. Barack loved our Stevie Wonder event the other night. He even mentioned that Stevie’s music was the “essence of our courtship.” Unfortunately, he said the same damn thing to Earth, Wind & Fire on Sunday night. Axe has to whip that speechwriting department into shape—they have got to start writing some new lines for this man!

  We are putting together an amazing lineup of performers to entertain us throughout the year. Desiree has been terrific at spinning these weekly command performances as part of our effort to make this “The People’s House.” That is, if the people happen to live at the Kennedy Center! Politico, the Washington Post, and now the AP have their own puff pieces: “Obama kicks up White House entertaining.” Obama?! Do they think he plans these shindigs?! Never mind. Desiree will fix that in the next article.

  They tell me that right-wing radio is calling our events “inappropriate” given the economy and all. The nerve! Are those people giving up their fat steaks and wine cellars in order to better commiserate with the average folks?! Besides, we are working our fingers to the bone here and deserve to kick up our heels when we damn well feel like it. Is Joe Blow in Columbus who lost his job on an assembly line going to feel better if we just sit around the White House and turn all the lights off? I don’t think so.

  Axelrod wanted to see Tony Bennett, so we worked him into the Stevie Wonder event. Rahm keeps asking about the Bolshoi Ballet (maybe we can book them for May Day or something). And Valerie wants me to invite the First Lady of Soul in for a concert (I’m thinking we’ll lure her with a Kennedy Center honor or the Gershwin Award next year). As a surprise for Desiree, I’m going to extend an invitation to Wynton Marsalis and maybe his father, the piano player, to perform for us. They’re from New Orleans, so I know she’ll enjoy that. Now Sasha’s asking if the Wiggles can come in for a show. I think I’ll book those Aussies when I’m away on one of my anti-obesity trips. All those bouncy, kiddy pop beats make me ill.

  DAZZLING DINNERS

  Some of the Republican governors attending the first big postinaugural evening soiree were harsh critics of the president’s boondoggle stimulus plan, going so far as to refuse to accept the funds. But the Obamas had a trick up their sleeves: Earth, Wind & Fire. Reportedly one of Desiree Rogers’s favorites, the ’70s mega-hit band was booked to perform at the February 2009 White House Governors’ Dinner. Given the political tensions of the moment, Earth, Wind & Fire was more than the evening’s entertainment. Desiree Rogers hoped the group would help set the mood, help break the ice, and help woo the unwooable. After all, “Shining Star” could be the Obamas’ t
heme song.

  Before the governors noshed on Maryland crab and Nantucket scallops, the president announced that this first event was a “great kickoff of what we hope will be an atmosphere here in the White House that reminds everybody that this is the people’s house.” After dinner, the governors were led to the East Room, where the social secretary’s office had erected a dance floor for the 130 guests. The six tables around the dance floor were clogged with Obama staffers, forcing the governors onto the dance area. Rogers and company thought they could sway the political intransigents by literally forcing them to sway to the music. By the time the first strains of “Boogie Wonderland” began to sound, the governors had formed a conga line. (To this day I am haunted by a disturbing vision of Bobby Jindal and Tim Pawlenty busting a conga move.) But group dancing will only get you so far, and the limits of socializing soon became painfully clear. Hours of the Electric Slide, disco dancing, and the Hustle, and what did the Hustler-in-Chief have to show for it? Not a single Republican governor; the president failed to win over even one convert to his big-government spending plans. But at least now everyone knows that Governor Bill Richardson can out-twist Chubby Checker.