The Iconic Image of the Scaramucci Era

This article originally appeared on this site.

A churning wheel of dubious personnel has steadily become the dominant story of the Trump White House. Knowing all that we have long known about Donald Trump, things could scarcely have developed along other, less distracting lines. To be fair, palace intrigue is always a feature of Presidential reality; the early Obama years were characterized, in part, by the tension among the earliest loyalists and friends: Valerie Jarrett; the so-called boys, Davids Plouffe and Axelrod; and the chief of staff Rahm Emanuel. But in this respect, as in so many others, the current Administration catastrophically worsens an already faulty template, thanks to the man in the Oval Office. Trump, whose bona fides as a leader were established, nationally speaking, by his leading role on “The Apprentice,” is accustomed more to a cast than to a staff. People and their cartoonish personalities pass in and out of the President’s attention—often literally; his Oval Office is said to resemble Grand Central station—as well as, and just as randomly, his favor.

A recent photo, taken by Jonathan Ernst, for Reuters, of a group of Trump staffers on the move, makes plain the ensemble’s “Jersey Shore”-style entertainment value—riveting and headache-inducing at once. Corey Lewandowski, a Trump confidante who was briefly banished after physically assaulting a female reporter—and following a public altercation with Hope Hicks, the only remaining enigma in the West Wing—stands just right of center, both of his pointer fingers sprung, the right one aimed just beyond the lens. He wears a stupid smirk, and his wrinkled brow casts shadows over his eyes. Behind him, mid-swagger, in Marian blue and dark shades, is the former “Apprentice” contestant Omarosa Manigault, the baldest reminder, in case we needed it, of the President’s orientation vis-à-vis public service, mass entertainment, and the meaning of relevant experience. Manigault told the world in November that the Trump team was “keeping a list” of those who opposed Trump. (A few months later, the reporter April Ryan, a former friend, said that Manigault told her that the Administration was keeping dossiers on journalists.) Toward the rear of the pack is Sebastian Gorka, whose apparent ties to a historically Nazi-sympathizing group once seemed sure to sink him. Rob Porter, Trump’s all-but-anonymous staff secretary—it’s this poor guy’s job to present important paperwork to the world’s most famous non-reader—trails the bunch, blank-faced and mercifully out of focus.

Mid-group, in glinting sunglasses, is the infamous Anthony Scaramucci, who at the time frozen by the frame was the White House communications director, but, as we all now know too well, not for long. The micro-historians of this Presidential term might use this photo as the prime totem of the brief, heady Mooch Moment. Everybody’s more confident than his or her accomplishments would seem to warrant; the ever-so-slightly oversaturated colors suggest a still from the worst-ever episode of “CSI.” Scaramucci’s on the phone, of course. The phone—second only, maybe, to the cameras at Fox News—is the signal instrument of proximity, and, therefore, power, in Trump’s orbit. Even the nominally shunned keep their place in Donald’s contacts—and also, one suspects, in his heart. Take it from the gonzo operative Roger Stone, who on Monday gave an interview about Scaramucci to the Huffington Post. “As you know, none of us are ever really gone,” he said. “He still has the president’s cellphone, the president’s private number. Just because he’s not in the White House, no one should think his influence has gone.” And so the former comms director will live to Mooch another day, just like Corey and Omarosa before him. Roll credits, but be ready for a spinoff.

Reply