After Trump formally accepted the nomination in his speech, there was a private reception for him in the penthouse of the hotel. Many high-level donors were there. Donald spent much of the night watching cable news reactions to his speech. I was mingling, eating, and enjoying myself. At one point, Trump motioned me over and I said, “Congratulations, you did it.”
He said, “No, Omarosa, we did it.”
• • •
I HAD A couple of days off after Cleveland, and went to Jacksonville to see John. At the end of a church service, in front of the entire congregation, John proposed. I said yes! It was one of the happiest moments of my life. He is a man of God, brilliant, charming, and down-to-earth.
I asked him when he knew he wanted to marry me, and he said it was when he watched me preach at his church for their Youth Recognition Day. He told me later, “Watching you ministering at my church, I knew you had to be my wife.”
My candidate won. I was in love and engaged to the love of my life.
Four years before, I was in a deep, dark depression after Michael Clarke Duncan’s death, and couldn’t imagine ever being happy again. Life has a way of challenging your faith. But in John, God had sent me a new beginning.
Chapter Eight
* * *
Trump vs. Clinton
As a senior adviser and the director of African American outreach, my mandate was to engage the community on behalf of the candidate and to increase black voter turnout for Trump.
In 2012, Mitt Romney garnered just 6 percent of the African American vote against President Obama. I felt optimistic that we could reach or exceed that number. The headlines said otherwise. One headline read, “No Matter What Omarosa Says, Trump Is Not Getting the Black Vote.” It seemed I had been brought in to do an impossible task.
At the convention in July, reporters kept asking me about recent polls that claimed Trump had 0 percent of the African American vote. Few people believed that I’d be able to get any support from the black community, given the extraordinary opposition I faced. But I was determined to make it happen. I asked National Coalitions Director Alan Cobb to approve a budget for African American outreach. He stated that there was little to no money allocated for actual engagement events, only diversity media buys. I pushed back and was told that expenses would be approved on a case-by-case basis. I forged ahead, determined to make something out of nothing. But at each turn, there was a hurdle.
It would be impossible to go through every single hurdle of that summer and fall before the general election, so I’ll do a lightning round of some of the high and lows of those days.
JULY 27
* * *
The O’Jays sent a cease-and-desist letter to Congressman John Mica (R-FL) and copied Paul Manafort via their attorney, demanding that the campaign stop using their 1972 hit “Love Train” (which we’d changed to “Trump Train”) or 1973’s “For the Love of Money,” which had been The Apprentice theme song for fourteen seasons, at any Trump or Republican rally or event. The O’Jays’s Walter Williams and Eddie Levert said in a press statement, “We don’t appreciate having our music associated with a campaign that is hurtful to so many with whom we have common ground. . . . Our music, and most especially ‘Love Train,’ is about bringing people together, not building walls.” I was devastated—not only were the O’Jays one of my favorite groups, they were friends from Ohio, and I participated every year in their charity events. That one hit close to home.
AUGUST 4
* * *
The first Women for Trump event was held in Charlotte, North Carolina, at the Trump National Golf Clubhouse. The concept for the event was the brainchild of Lara Trump. Lara, Lynne, Katrina, and I went down south to meet and greet Republican women and persuade them to vote for Trump. The event was so well planned and attended, Lara ran with the template, which quickly evolved into a women’s empowerment tour, which at times had all of us on a tricked-out tour bus—with a huge wrapped image of Donald Trump’s face on the side—driving from place to place. Often, I’d attend a women’s event in the morning and piggyback it with an African American event in the evening. The Women for Trump tour was well funded, unlike my outreach agenda, which received nothing for events.
That event also set a precedent for future appearances as Women for Trump. Whether we did a fancy reception, like in Charlotte, or an arena rally in the Rust Belt, Lara insisted that we wear dresses and heels. Many of us would have preferred campaign T-shirts and jeans. But Lara always reinforced that “Trump men” required “Trump women” to look and dress a certain way, and because we were on the Women for Trump tour, we weren’t allowed to wear standard campaign T-shirts. Later on, the unofficial dress code of the Trump White House of “women dress like women” set off some controversy. Hope Hicks pushed her fashion choices as far as possible, wearing miniskirts with thigh-high boots or diaphanous summer dresses in the dead of winter, the opposite of traditional Washington conservative style.
We pushed back, and eventually designed pink Women for Trump jackets and T-shirts as a kind of uniform for the rallies, and Lara reluctantly approved them in the last two weeks of the campaign, but only if we wore short skirts and heels with the jacket or skinny jeans or slacks. If you look at photos of those appearances, we look like we’re about to go to a cocktail party, not a campaign rally.
AUGUST 14
* * *
Manafort had proven to be a liability ever since the convention. Reporters started asking questions about his foreign clients and why the official RNC platform had suddenly softened its stance on arms dealing among the US, Russia, and Ukraine.
The New York Times revealed that Manafort’s name appeared in a “black ledger” of the Ukrainian president. Manafort had apparently received payments of $12.7 million over five years. The link between the pro-Russian Ukrainian language in the RNC platform and this new information was too much for anyone to stand. Combined with Donald’s fascination with Vladimir Putin, Manafort’s connections threw a new, dirty light on the campaign. He had to go.
AUGUST 17
* * *
Steve Bannon was hired as campaign chief. I found this new addition to the team alarming. Steve Bannon, the chairman of the Breitbart News website, was widely considered to be a sexist and racist. This was not going to help me with women and minorities.
AUGUST 19
* * *
Manafort was fired—and I was relieved—amid sliding poll numbers and rumors about his shady business connections to pro-Russian political leaders in Ukraine. Manafort is currently in jail while he awaits trial.
What disturbed me the most about the Manafort situation was the lack of vetting. This was a major party presidential campaign, and it seemed like no one was being sufficiently legally checked out before being put in leadership roles. This would come back to bite us again and again.
Kellyanne was promoted to campaign manager. She was my third campaign manager—first Corey, then Manafort, now Kellyanne—in less than a year. I’d managed to weather every storm so far and hoped that the turnover rate would slow down.
At a rally in Dimondale, Michigan, Trump asked black voters, “What do you have to lose?” in voting for him. I put out a statement that said, “The Democrats continue to take the African American community for granted. It is disconcerting that they would rather pander than formulate substantive policy plans that would actually improve conditions as opposed to continue down the current path of the last eight years.”
SEPTEMBER 3
* * *
In conjunction with NDC and Pastor Darrell Scott, we organized an event at the Great Faith Ministries Church in Detroit where Donald would address the congregation. Ben Carson came along with us.
Right off the bat, there was some trouble with Pastor Wayne T. Jackson. Because of the vocal protesters outside, he was waffling about letting Trump speak from his pulpit. Donald snapped at me, “Why did I come here if I’m not going to speak. You have to fix this.”
The p
astor and I had a heated exchange. Donald walked up and watched me handle it. It was a bit odd to be arguing about him, with him just looming there. The pastor agreed that he could speak, and then I escorted him into the sanctuary. I had a lot of organizational things to do, so I got up to take care of them. He grabbed my wrist and said, “You can’t leave me with these people.” The look in his eyes was like a lost child.
I stayed with him, sitting to his left for the whole service. The praise dancers came out before the sermon, and Donald said, “Wow, there’s entertainment before church? I had no idea.”
We’d only gotten through the devotional part of what would be a two-hour service when he leaned toward me and said, “This is the longest I’ve been in church in my life.” A bit later: “When is this going to end?” And again: “God, how much longer do I have to sit here?” When he finally got to address the congregation, I hoped he’d speak from the heart, but he pulled out a piece of paper and read some bland, stump-speech remarks. I’d pushed Pastor Jackson so he could just say, “I want to help you build and rebuild Detroit. I fully understand that the African American community has suffered from discrimination and there are many wrongs that should be made right.” This community didn’t need reminding that their lives were hard.
The singing and dancing at the end might’ve been a relief, but he was still at odds. “What do I do?” he asked.
I said, “Just go with the flow.”
He started swaying creepily, and I wanted to tell him, “Okay, stop going with it.”
As we were leaving, the pastor loaded up Donald with a Bible and some accessories. He placed a prayer shawl around his shoulders. Donald thanked him, but as soon as we got away, he said, “Take this thing off me!” Ever the germaphobe, he was horrified to wear a shawl that might have been on anyone else’s shoulders.
He picked up an African American baby, and the baby started screaming. I wanted to scream, too. Outside the church, protesters chanted, “What do we have to lose? Everything!”
For all the tension with the pastor, he did well for himself in the end. In exchange for letting Donald speak that day, Trump let Pastor Jackson give a prayer at the inauguration.
SEPTEMBER 7
* * *
Matt Lauer moderated a forum with Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton at the Intrepid Sea, Air & Space Museum in New York, and Donald praised Vladimir Putin as a strong leader, “far more than our president has been.” We cautioned him against pro-Putin rhetoric, saying, “He’s not somebody that you want to align yourself with.” He didn’t understand why.
It became immediately apparent that Trump lacked basic comprehension about the very complicated relationship between the United States, the former Soviet Union, and modern Russia. History didn’t seem to matter to him. Donald was not a student of history. He wasn’t a student of anything but what he was doing and has done. He’d never been a big reader, either, and I’d be shocked if he’d ever read a book about the Cold War. I just don’t think that he had the attention span to even watch a documentary about Russia. He was fixated on Vladimir Putin as a feared, respected, and admired leader. I believe he was envious of the control that Putin exerts over his people. Trump went with his gut, and his gut told him, “I like Putin, and I want him to be my friend.” Nothing else mattered.
SEPTEMBER 11
* * *
The Women of Trump Tour was in Cleveland, and I’d been to a service at Darrell Scott’s church that morning. After Lara was invited to give remarks, our group was heading to the cars, and Lara said, “Guys, look at this.” All our phones had multiple messages. We stopped on the landing in a back stairwell to watch the video of Hillary Clinton fainting as she walked to her SUV after a memorial service at Ground Zero in New York. I said, “Oh my God, is she okay?”
Lara and the others said things like, “She’s sick! She’s not going to make it to election night! She’s sick!” They were gleeful that Clinton appeared to be gravely ill. Many people in Trumpworld believed that she was concealing a serious neurological medical condition—Parkinson’s was mentioned often. They thought that her untreated pneumonia might have been the cause of her collapse, but if you truly had pneumonia, why would you go visit your infant granddaughter? Many suspected there was an underlying condition as well.
SEPTEMBER 15
* * *
At the 46th annual Congressional Black Caucus Legislative Conference in DC, I had a brief run-in with Hillary Clinton. My friend Darren Peters from my White House days was advancing her. When she approached, he grabbed my phone and snapped a picture. She gave me a lukewarm smile and said, “Donald? Really?”
SEPTEMBER 16
* * *
Trump held a press conference at DC’s Trump International, his new hotel, to make a major announcement about veterans. He spent a while showing off the hotel and bringing out decorated veterans, then said, “Hillary Clinton and her campaign of 2008 started the birther controversy. I finished it. You know what I mean. President Barack Obama was born in the United States—period. Now we all want to get back to making America strong and great again.” Along with promoting his hotel, he needed to preempt anything Clinton might say about his birther blather at the upcoming debate. He wanted to “put it to bed,” a phrase he often used to mean “take care of it; make it go away.”
SEPTEMBER 19
* * *
Don Jr. likened Syrian refugees to a bowl of Skittles, reigniting the outcry that the entire family was racist, hated Muslims, and equated immigrants and asylum seekers with terrorists. Trump just shook his head and said, “Look at what he did now. He screwed up again. What a f**kup.”
SEPTEMBER 22
* * *
I filmed an episode of Say Yes to the Dress, a TLC network reality show. I took some flak for doing that, too, but it was only a two-hour shoot and it was one of my favorite shows. It was also the first time I was getting to see my bridesmaids in months because of the campaign, and one of the few wedding items I had attended to. The dress, one of the most important elements for the bride, was key. The show was shot at Kleinfeld, which is heaven on earth for brides. I was thrilled to go and be the blushing bride for a couple hours before returning to Trumpworld across town. It was a wonderful reprieve and, among the many perks, production gifted me the full cost of my dress and veil.
SEPTEMBER 26
* * *
Lester Holt moderated the first presidential debate at Hofstra University in Hempstead, New York. In their preparations with Donald, the campaign staff tried to convince Trump to be more “presidential,” and coached him to shift his tone away from that of the primaries—the interruptions and use of monikers for his opponents. But Trump had his own ideas about being spontaneous and Trump-like.
Right out of the gate, he seemed agitated. Hillary was expertly prepared, and he seemed nervous. She hit him hard by saying, “I think Donald just criticized me for preparing for this debate. Yes, I did. And you know what else I prepared for? I prepared to be the president. And I think that’s a good thing.”
During a segment on jobs that should have been a home run, he kept sniffing loudly and weirdly. He reverted to interrupting and saying, “Wrong!”—the very things he had been urged not to do. For me, it was unusual to see him succumb to the pressure. I was not used to seeing Donald fumble. He was not himself. Something was off.
He was unprepared with basic information on the issues. He showed his age by mocking her campaign website. He didn’t seem to understand what a website was used for.
After the debate, members of the Trump team, including Sarah Huckabee Sanders, communications adviser Ashley Bell, Bruce LeVell, Republican correspondent Scottie Nell Hughes, and I huddled in the war room with Jason Miller, the comms director, and his deputy, Bryan Lanza, for a rapid-response briefing about what we were going to say in the spin room and for the upcoming news cycle.
First order of business, the weird sniffing. It was decided that the debate room’s high-impact air conditioning
had caused postnasal drip. We had no idea why he’d been doing that.
Second order of business, race. Hillary brought up Trump’s long record of engaging in racist behavior, including a 1973 Department of Justice lawsuit accusing him of not renting apartments to black people in a building he owned. His defense included praising himself highly for letting black people into his Palm Beach country club “in probably the wealthiest community there is in the world.” I cringed. Trump continued: “And I’m so glad I did it. And I have been credited for what I did. And I’m very, very proud of it.” He also extolled the success of “stop and frisk” policing in New York, which Hillary knew was untrue. It was difficult to watch.
It was my job to prepare him to respond to the media on his racially insensitive remarks. I pushed the campaign to prepare Trump with counterpunches about Clinton-era racist policies and rhetoric. She had called young black men “superpredators” in 1996. The Clinton crime bill in 1994 had resulted in the mass incarceration of low-level offenders, the vast majority of them young black men. I had the facts and figures. The person I spoke to on the debate team said, “He can’t retain that much information. We have to simplify it. Put it in basic terms.”
Unhinged: An Insider's Account of the Trump White House Page 13