History made, but for Trump it was all about the mugshot in his quest for martyrdom & money from gullible Americans
BY all accounts the greatest disappointment for Donald Trump on the most historic day in US political history wasn’t the 34 felony charges laid at his door, but the fact he didn’t have his mugshot taken.
His presidential campaign team had more than 200,000 T-shirts ready to be printed the moment they got their hands on the police photograph.
When that didn’t happen, Trump’s cheerleaders put a fake one on the t-shirt instead and used it to lure gullible Americans into parting with their cash to fund his re-election bid in 2024.
It shows a photo of Trump holding a police booking card, with a height chart in the background — it says he’s 6ft 5in, when he’s at most 6ft 3in. The words “Not guilty” are emblazoned on it.
An accompanying email asks, “You stand with Trump, friend?” and seeks a contribution of at least €47 — for a T-SHIRT! They probably bagged a few million for their tawdry efforts. A fool and his money are easily parted.
The desire for a mugshot speaks to what is really at the heart of the Trump playbook as he seeks to push back against the felony charges he faces — MARTYRDOM.
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A mugshot would have given him a priceless memento with which to whip up the Trump faithful.
It would have made it easier to get waverers to believe the lie that the charges he faces are part of a giant political witch hunt led by leftie Democrats and a liberal judicial cabal that despises him, all his followers and everything they stand for.
The mugshot would have reinforced the “them and us” dichotomy that drives the Trump juggernaut.
But the Manhattan District Attorney, Alvin Bragg, the man bringing the raft of charges against Trump, chose to forego the mugshot, handcuffs and perp walk. A clever move because it denied Trump the theatre he craved.
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Instead we saw a sombre, humbled Trump walk through the door to the court to face history.
In that moment he became the first President in US history to be charged with felony crimes.
The picture of him at the defence table inside the court shows a man who suddenly realises the gravity of the situation he faces.
He appears vulnerable. He always goes around with a gaggle of lackeys but here, for the first time in his life, in front of the world, he sits alone — because he alone must face the music. Such is justice.
All the bravado and bluster is gone, if for just that brief moment. It will be something he’ll try to brush off, but the reality of Trump’s indictment, whatever the outcome, will be forever etched deep. Unlike him, history lasts for all time.
The 34 felonies to which Trump has pleaded not guilty, are also more serious than he could have imagined.
The indictment alleges a broad conspiracy, led by Trump, to not only falsify business records but falsify them with the intention of unlawfully influencing the 2016 presidential election that he won. They also amount to tax violations.
Trump is accused of orchestrating “a scheme with others to influence the 2016 presidential election by identifying and purchasing negative information about him to suppress its publication and benefit the defendant’s electoral prospects”.
Which brings us to Stormy Daniels — the porn star paid $130,000 by Trump’s lawyer, Michael Cohen, during the 2016 election to keep quiet her allegations of an affair with Trump.
Paying hush money in itself isn’t a crime but its purpose may be. So, too, the lengths to which Trump is alleged to have gone to hide the payment in his organisations’ books.
The charges levelled claim the repayments were hidden as monthly retainers to Cohen and as legal costs.
In themselves, mere misdemeanours. But if by hiding those payments the intention was to swing the 2016 election, under New York law that’s a felony and far more serious for Trump. Hence his face like a bulldog chewing p**s off a nettle.
Bragg’s indictment also alleges the conspiracy to influence that election included David Pecker, ex-owner of notorious tabloid The National Enquirer, and a long-time friend of Trump.
Pecker was allegedly paid $150,000 by Trump to buy the silence of a second woman, former Playboy model Karen McDougal, with whom Don had had an affair.
The inclusion of this in the Trump indictment was unexpected, but significant. Not only was a porn star paid off, but a Playboy model too, and those pay-offs helped Trump win the election, Bragg will argue.
The charges will be hard to prove, of course, but it’s hard to see how Trump’s indictment will do anything other than damage his prospects of re-election.
His supporters will be up in arms but he doesn’t have enough of them to win an election. He needs to sway the hearts and minds of moderate Republicans.
The charges may well mean he waltzes to becoming the Republican presidential nominee — they have religiously tied their fortunes to Don’s wagon — but Trump’s dream of recapturing the White House won’t be fulfilled. Being an indicted felon will see to that.
LAW'S A RENTERS' HORROR
WHATEVER the true figure, it’s safe to say there are many thousands of people for whom the ending of the eviction ban will bring untold misery in the days, weeks and months ahead.
Fr Peter McVerry, a homelessness campaigner, called it a “horror movie for renters”.
God help them all, for those in charge haven’t got a clue.
What the Government fails to fully appreciate is that those facing eviction – north of 13,000 people is the touted number – have nowhere to go, save the street.
There are next to no places to rent in Ireland. The supply isn’t there and won’t be for years to come.
I rent a room and regularly look at what’s available. Anything remotely affordable is like sh*** behind a rocking horse, as my best buddy would say. Impossible to find.
The Government parp on in Cloud Cuckoo Land that a tenant facing eviction can contact the local council to buy the property from the landlord wanting to sell up.
They’ll also have emergency solutions – yeah, like you do for asylum seekers, 450 of whom now live on the streets despite an obligation upon you to house them.
What cold swill, what gibberish. Bringing back evictions when we are in the midst of a housing supply catastrophe is perhaps the greatest attempt at political suicide in living memory. The vultures are circling.
DJANGO . . BY JINGO IT’S GOOD
IF you have Sky TV, get yourself watching Django, a marvellous reworking of the 1966 spaghetti western of the same name that’s set in the immediate aftermath of the American Civil War.
The new Django is part-directed by Italian Francesca Comencini, who made hit Italian series Gomorrah, the story of the Naples mafia.
Every shot in Django is like a painting, every character a rugged creation of beauty and strength.
The hero is Django, a poor farmer in rural Texas who leaves his young family to join the Confederate army on the promise of a hundred dollars.
It’s a story of revenge, of hurt, of black emancipation, of people trying to build their lives on the ruins of war.
A ten-out-of-ten watch, every day of the week.
IT'S TIME TO WAX HOPEFUL
GOOD Friday as a child always meant a long car journey to see family in Limerick city.
Back then in the 1970s you couldn’t get a drink for love nor money on Good Friday, unless travelling. A marvellous loophole. Bring back the booze ban, I say.
We’d stop off half way for a toasted ham-and-cheese. Dad would have a Guinness. He’d savour it like it was his last.
And on we’d mosey, slow as you like on the old roads. Death traps aplenty. Motorways were a distant dream.
Easter was special for my family. My dad used to bring me and my two brothers to St Saviour’s church on Glentworth street on Easter Saturday evening. It was bathed in warm candlelight – the feeling of being reborn, of life casting off an old shell and donning a new one.
It’s what Easter is about – leaving the old behind and embracing the new.
Oh, and copious quantities of chocolate.
HAVING A HARD TIME OF IT
MR Bunga Bunga, Silvio Berlusconi is having a hard time of it since contracting Covid.
The 86-year-old former Italian PM and Far Right billionaire media mogul has been in and out of hospital for two years.
The current senator – famous for his wild sex parties allegedly involving underage prostitutes, ahem – was admitted to hospital again mid-week, with heart issues.
All that jiggy-jiggy (dancing!) catches up with you. I should know and I’m more than 30 years younger than Silvio.
BEAST IS BUSTED
THE assassination, by statue bomb, of vile pro-Putin war blogger Vladlen Tatarsky was a work of art.
Tatarsky was a Ukrainian who became a Putin lickspittle, worshipped murdering Wagner mercenaries and called for civilian bombings in Ukraine.
He got his comeuppance when Russian anti-war activist Darya Trepova allegedly gained access to the St Petersburg cafe where he was giving a pro-war talk – with a bust in his likeness filled with explosives.
She handed it to him, he smiled and said, “Who is that handsome fellow!” before the bomb went off, killing him and injuring 30 or so acolytes.
A brave feat.