I WAS WRONG, REALLY WRONG

By Terence Smith

I thought, naively, that Donald J. Trump’s craziness of the last three months on everything from Doge to tariffs to Gaza to Ukraine, would subside as we approached the 100-day mark of his second term. I thought even The Donald’s all-surpassing ego would have been sated by the headlines, the non-stop attention, the All-Trump-All-the-Time focus of our national conversation. I assumed he would settle down. Right?
Wrong!
Instead, his full-frontal assault on everything and anything, large and unbelievably petty, is continuing and even accelerating, as he attacks Harvard, law firms, DEI programs, migrants, China and — wait for it — congestion pricing in Manhattan! His record-setting pace of executive orders continues unabated. His list of pet peeves apparently has no end.
All these actions have one common purpose and goal: to keep The Donald atop Page One. As columnist Tom Edsall has noted, Trump’s hunger for attention is insatiable. Administratively, he is going to keep ploughing through the 900 pages of Project 2025’s blueprint as long as the spotlight is on him. Count on it.
And where is the Congress? Where is the Democratic opposition? Bernie and AOC are out there drawing big crowds, ordinary citizens are packing Town Halls, but to what effect? Who is the leader of the Democratic Party? Can we agree on one name, one voice? Not so far.
The stock market is up 1,000 points this morning. Yesterday, it was down 900. Chaos is the only word for it.
All this tumult poses a thorny dilemma for the Media from print to social. Trump’s actions have to be covered. But doing so guarantees more chaos, more silliness, more disruption. What to do? Context is the answer, Explain the action, the significance or lack thereof, put it in proportion, document the history behind it and find coherent, independent experts to comment on it. One other thing: report the consequences on people’s lives and futures. There are innocent victims in all of this tumult, and they should not be forgotten.

MAX FRANKEL: EDITOR AND MENSCH

By Terence Smith

   Max Frankel, former editor-and-more of The New York Times, died last week at 94.  He was my friend, mentor and Washington Bureau chief back in the day. As the Times obit suggested, he was Old School, but Smart Old School. And there lies a tale…

   Back in the Dark Old Days of the Nixon Administration, in the early 1970’s, Henry Kissinger was the National Security Advisor and I was covering foreign policy for The New York Times in the Washington Bureau, headed by Max Frankel.  I’ve long forgotten the particular issue, but Henry (everybody called him Henry,) was incensed, really incensed, about something I had written. He complained to me, but more significantly, he called Max and demanded that he come to his office in the West Wing to hear him out.

   Max, to his everlasting credit, said he would only come with the reporter who wrote the story, saying, in effect, I’m not going to go behind Terry’s back. If you have something to say, Henry, you’ll have to say it to both of us.  Still pissed, Henry agreed.

   When we got to Henry’s sun-filled office in the northwest corner of the West Wing, I was asked to wait outside. Max and I refused and finally were admitted together. Henry let go with both barrels about what I had written, I defended it, he complained, basically, that it made him look bad, contained inaccuracies, etc. The argument went back in forth, with Max puffing on his pipe and smiling. 

   Finally, Henry paused and, raising his voice, turned and addressed Max directly, but in german, their common native language (both had fled Nazi Germany before WWII.) I knew about four words of german, so that effectively shut me out of the conversation.  

    Max took his pipe out of his mouth and laughed openly at the absurdity of the situation and said: “Henry, this meeting is over!” Henry, to his credit, laughed as well and we moved on. But Max had made his point: The New York Times was standing behind the story, and its reporter. Case closed.

IT’S ALL ABOUT… “THE DONALD.”

By Terence Smith

Call it the Retribution Express. Most, if not all, of President Donald Trump’s erratic, contradictory, chaotic initiatives in the first two months of his off-the-wall second term, aka Trump 2.0, can be understood by how they affect The Donald. It is non-stop score settling.
—Cancelling $400 million in federal grants to Columbia University? Ostensibly, it is about Columbia’s DEI programs and pro-Palestinian demonstrations. But trace the cancelation back to Trump’s very public dispute with Columbia when the then-real estate magnate tried to sell the University some Manhattan property at an estimated four times its worth. Columbia dismissed the proposed deal, publicly embarrassing The Donald. Check.
—Trump’s open admiration for Russia’s Vladimir Putin? On one level, the President simply admires dictators who get things done and exercise control the way he wants to here. On another, trace it back to Trump’s long-standing desire to get Putin’s backing for a Trump Tower in Moscow. Check.
—Lifting the security clearances for certain law firms and barring them from Federal buildings? Trump calls it “law fare” against him; the lawyers maintain they are being targeted for prior legal actions. Trace it back and you’ll find that the affected law firms challenged Trump in the past.
—Trump’s bizarre and utterly unworkable proposal that the U.S. take over Gaza, deport the Palestinian residents and redevelop the Strip into a high-end beach resort, aka “the Riviera of the Middle East.” Trace it back and you’ll find a similar proposal from Jared Kushner, his opportunistic son-in-law.
I could go on, but you get the idea. His actions are classic score-settling. Psychiatrists have diagnosed it as “malignant narcissism.”
Call it what you will. It is all about The Donald.

THE VIEW FROM OVER THE HORIZON

By Terence Smith

   The first chaotic weeks of the second Trump Administration were strange enough up close, but viewed from afar — in this case Argentina and Brazil over the last three weeks — they seemed beyond bizarre. 

   It was borderline impossible to explain to Argentines, for example, what was behind the mass firings,  the on-again, off-again U.S. tariffs and the talk of reclaiming the Panama Canal Zone and acquiring Greenland were all about. And Argentines know a thing or two about erratic leadership: their President, the curly-haired, chainsaw-brandishing Javier Melei, is a mini-Trump who is dismantling his own government, shaking up the Argentine economy and relishing the attention that comes with it. No surprise that Melei had a choice seat at the Trump inauguration and appeared, chainsaw in hand, with Elon Musk at the CPAC convention.  It made great TV in Argentina, as well.

   Trump’s embrace of Putin and dismissal of Ukraine were equally hard to explain to Brazilians. His proposal to push Palestinians out of Gaza and create “the riviera of the Middle East” brought dismissive laughs. Is he serious, they asked?

   They puzzled as well over Trump’s long-winded, error-filled address to the joint session of Congress, wondering aloud whey it sounded so much like a campaign speech. Isn’t the campaign over, they asked? Yes, I said, but…

   In the age of the internet and widespread wifi, all of this was instantly available in Rio. But, hey, Trump’s speech coincided with Shrove Tuesday, the height of Carnival! Brazilians had to party and party they did. The fantastical samba completion took precedence over everything. Trump’s eccentricities would have to wait.

   Back home after three weeks, the Trump madness was front and center again, more immediate and much more personal, but no less strange.

WELCOME TO RETIREMENT, MR. PRESIDENT

By Terence Smith

 “Who knows what I’m going to be when I’m 86 years old?” President Joe Biden asked rhetorically in an interview with Susan Page of USA Today on Jan. 5.

Dear Joe:

   I know.  

   At least I know how I feel and function at 86: a bit slower on the uptake, forgetful, impatient at times, frequently weary, prone to naps, etc. Age certainly has not improved my golf game, and for the first time in 40-plus years, I am not planning to ski this year.

   Of course, that’s me, not you. I have no idea how you will cope with the world at 86. Since you don’t drink and you work out frequently, you may be fine. If you’re like me four years from now, you’ll still enjoy life and take satisfaction from small things you used to ignore. You’ll find you are still incredibly busy, still unable to comprehend how you ever had time to work all those years and appreciate good friends more than ever.

   Should you have stepped down sooner,  Joe, say after the 2022 elections? Of course. Politically, it would have made sense and given a bumper crop of Democratic possibles time enough to compete for the nomination and define themselves to the voting public. Who knows? With enough time, a Democrat who emerged from primaries might even have discovered the key to election 2024, namely, that social media is the name of the game now, not mainstream media, and conventional advertising and pulled off an against-the-odds win. Clearly, the 107 days you left Kamala Harris after your concession was not enough.

   Anyway, as you begin retirement, look on the bright side: you’ll have time to walk the beach, laugh with Jill and watch your successor struggle with some of the same challenges you confronted in your incredibly busy and accomplished life. And, if your successor screws up, you’ll be able to say: “Been there, done that.”

   Importantly, your 50 years in public life and 12 years total in the White House as Vice President and President have given you a priceless gift: perspective. I hope you’ll share it with us in a book sooner rather than later. I am looking forward to reading it.

Resolution Redux

By Terence Smith

   I have two New Year’s Resolutions, the same two I embrace every year:

   1. Read More! (Especially before noon.)

   2. Write More! (Preferably before noon.)

   Number One makes sense because, at this stage in a long life, I enjoy reading more and more, I learn things and no heavy lifting is involved. I usually read two or three books at a time, switching from one to another as my mood changes. Right now, I have three big, heavy biographies underway:

   “Kingmaker: Pamela Harriman’s Astonishing Life of Power, Seduction and Intrigue,” by Sonia Purnell.

   “Frederick Douglass: Prophet of Freedom,” by David W. Blight.

    “Our Man: Richard Holbrooke and the End of the American Century,” by George Packer.

   All three are terrific. Lest you think I am hopelessly hooked on biographies, I just finished a wonderful novel: “The Bee Sting,” by Paul Murray, an Irish author. It is funny, unpredictable, rambling and delightful. Murray needs an editor, but he has an intriguing technique of writing what his characters are thinking to themselves as they stumble through life. 

   And, just ahead: “The Newsmongers, A History of Tabloid Journalism,” by Terry Kirby, a British newsmonger himself.

   Why before noon? In truth, it is hard for me to read books, much less write them, before noon on an average day because three newspapers arrive on my doorstep every morning: The New York Times, The Washington Post and the Annapolis Capital Gazette.  Give all three a serious read and look up at the clock: it’s noon! 

   Those are my New Year’s resolutions for 2025, and my excuse for not being more productive. Just like last year.

R.I.P., Mr. President

By Terence Smith

   Ours is an unembarrassed, unequivocal Carter Household tonight as the testimonials pour in for James Earl Carter, the 39th President of the United States, dead at the extraordinary age of 100.

   My wife, Susy, was on his staff as part of the Congressional Liaison group known as the Budget Task Force. She worked in a high-ceilinged, huge office in the Old Executive Office Building across the alley from the White House. She has plenty of Carter and Carter Administration stories to tell. The two of us actually met in the Carter White House 40-odd years ago.

   I covered the 39th President as Chief White House Correspondent for The New York Times, interviewing Carter in the Oval Office, writing about his struggles with Congress and the economy (remember the gas lines, the soaring inflation?) traveling with him aboard Air Force One all over the world.

    So many memories come back tonight. Particularly poignant is the recollection of his last 72 hours in office, as Carter worked tirelessly, with just snatches of sleep, to complete the deal that would bring home the 52 American hostages that had been held in Teheran for 444 long days and, arguably, had cost him a second term as President.

   On the morning of January 20, 1981, with the negotiation essentially complete but the hostages still being held in Teheran, Carter went up to the west front of the U.S. Capitol to stand at attention as Ronald Reagan was sworn in in his place. Then, in the motorcade that followed to Andrews Air Force Base, word finally came that the hostages had boarded a plane and cleared Iranian air space. The hostage crisis was over, all 52 hostages were being brought home alive and private citizen Carter returned to his home in Plains, Georgia. 

   Instead of resting, Carter and a few aides and reporters, including me, were back in the air early the next morning, flying to Wiesbaden, Germany, to greet the hostages as they were being examined in a U.S. military hospital. Arriving after dark, Carter and a couple of aides held an emotional meeting at the hospital trying to explain to angry, frustrated hostages all that had been done, fruitlessly, to win their release. They were far from satisfied, but they were all alive, and free.

   Carter’s face was drawn and white as he returned to the aircraft where the rest of us were waiting. When I asked him what the meeting had been like, he had a pained expression on his face. “Cathartic,” he said, “cathartic.”

   The huge plane with “United States of America” emblazoned on its side refueled and took off, flying through the night back to Washington and Plains. The Presidency of James Earl Carter — Jimmy Carter —was over. 

A VENERABLE CLICHE

By Terence Smith

Like many old sayings, the old one about boat-owning is more true than not. “The two happiest days in a boat-owner’s life are the day he buys the boat…and the day he sells her.”

I’ve experienced both, more than once, but it was bittersweet  the other day when I parted with Winsome, my Canadian Sailcraft 40, a lovely, blue-hulled sloop, and turned her over to new owners. At age 35, Winsome is certainly not shiny or new, but she still sails like a dream and is a cozy, comfortable berth at anchor overnight. 

I sailed her for 25 years: racing in 2000 from Annapolis-to-Bermuda, cruising her to New England three summers, and more recently, day-sailing and cruising the Chesapeake Bay. Great times, great memories. 

But, the second half of the cliche is still true: it is a relief not to have to care for Winsome when the Bay begins to ice-over or when things go wrong, as they do. A thin crust of ice appeared in Annapolis waters over Christmas this week: not my problem. 

But: when spring arrives and a fresh breeze ruffles the water, how will I feel then? Not so great, I suspect. The solution, then, is another cliche: “OPB’s,” or other people’s boats. Surely they’ll need crew, right?

SENSE AND NONSENSE

By Terence Smith

   Of all the extraordinary numbers that came out of the comedy show/debacle that was the 2024 Presidential election, one obscure statistic caught my eye: 20 percent of Americans — one-in-five, get their news these days from digital news influencers, according to the Pew Research Center.

   Think about that. One in five of us drinking the fire hose of unverified, misleading, frequently vicious, occasionally racist, accidentally comical, sometimes accurate reporting that proliferates online. Much of this appears on the social platform X. Very little of it holds up to scrutiny. But 20 percent of us get our news that way and did so during this election.

   Add to that the hugely popular podcasts like Joe Rogan’s self-indulgent, near-endless ramblings and you can see that the media landscape today bears little or no resemblance to what it was a decade or two ago. Some 47-million Americans listened to all or part of Donald Trump’s three-hour star turn on the Joe Rogan show shortly before voting. Kamala Harris spent hundreds of millions on advertising during her 107-day campaign, and did some social media, but chose to skip Joe Rogan and others. Understandable, but self-defeating when it comes to attracting the votes of younger men.

   So, ours is a world today where Elon Musk on X and others too numerous to mention provide the “facts.” Not The New York Times, not PBS, but influencers. The net result is that the burden of sorting truth from fiction falls upon the the viewer or listener. They become their own “gatekeepers,” responsible for sorting out facts from nonsense. Sometimes they get it right — common sense helps — but not always.

   The consequences can be enormous, as the Pew Research Center and others have concluded.

Herewith, a fresh reminder of how immigration -frenzy can and did go awry. Ken Ringle is an author and journalist.

THE PROFOUND TRUTH ABOUT IMMIGRANTS

By Ken Ringle

    The greatest prejudice against immigrants before the present MAGA-fueled hysteria was the West Coast panic against Japanese-Americans  resulting in the internment of more than 110,000 behind barbed wire during World War II. Most of those confined were American citizens. No matter. Because of their race and ethnicity they were suspect as potential traitors in our war with  Japan.

   My father, a  Naval intelligence officer, fought earnestly, if futily, against that internment. His years in Japan and his fluency in Japanese language and culture, convinced him of the absolute loyalty to the United States of Japanese Americans. His “Ringle Reports” to his Naval superiors—and ultimately to President Franklin D. Roosevelt—are prized and regularly cited by historians as evidence of one of the greatest government injustices of the 20th Century. They are available on line.

  But Kenneth D. Ringle was no starry-eyed liberal. After Pearl Harbor he worked with the FBI to round up some 3,500  legitimately suspect Japanese-Americans for whom he had uncovered unquestioned evidence of espionage. But the entire question of Japanese-American loyalty, he insisted, could and should be determined on an individual basis and not on the basis of race or immigrant prejudice. The Nisei—American-born Japanese-Americans—were better citizens than most of the rest of  us, he said.

   Though as a career Naval officer he was insistently apolitical (he and his classmates considered their profession a higher calling to national service than that of any party politician), his basic philosophical and governmental instincts were conservative. In retirement during the 1960s he quietly voiced support for Sen. Barry Goldwater. But his reverence for the nation’s immigrant tradition was always unquestioned. His own German and French ancestors had been suspect in the 1700s as insufficiently grounded in British language and culture, he told me, but they and every subsequent wave of arrivals to this land—Irish, Scandinavian, Italian, Latino, Chinese— had enriched and enlivened the promise of America, both economically and spiritually.

   “The thing you must always remember about immigrants,” he told me as a child, “is that the best and truest Americans aren’t even here yet. They are somewhere else clinging passionately to the hope and promise they see in this country and our Constitution. Why do you think we have to regulate our borders? It’s all those people from everywhere in the world who want to come here for a better life. They understand it won’t be easy. They know there will be painful difficulties getting here and no guarantee of success when they arrive. We have to regulate their numbers and help them assimilate. But the energy they give us as a nation is what makes our diversity succeed. Those of us born here too often take our freedoms and opportunities for granted. Immigrants never do. They understand this nation better than we do ourselves.”

  Kamala Harris, the daughter of immigrants from Jamaica and India, understands this truth instinctively. But she appears reluctant to praise the immigrants Donald Trump condemns. That should change. She needs to remind us that the virtue of immigrants is not just that they don’t commit crimes or eat pets, but that though their hope and optimism and hard work they remind us how much better citizens we can each become.

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