At a November 29 transition staff meeting, I said to the room, “Donald Trump wants an administration that looks like America,” which he’d expressed to me personally and I believed to be true. Falling just short of saying, “Please don’t hire a whole bunch of white boys.” Advisers Rick Dearborn; Sebastian Gorka; Bob Paduchik, Ohio state director for the campaign; and Ashley Bell, nodded in agreement. I reinforced this message publicly, telling the Hollywood Reporter, “[Donald Trump] has given me a personal directive that with the four thousand jobs we need to fill, he wants his administration to be the most diverse in history.” I solicited résumés nationwide on my social media, TV, and radio appearances. I also set out to build the foundation of Trump’s Office of Public Liaison, the department that engaged with veterans, faith-based groups, diverse peoples, and civil rights organizations. I hoped to be its director in good time and focused my efforts there.
“Very organized process taking place as I decide on Cabinet and many other positions. I am the only one who knows who the finalists are!” Trump tweet, November 15, 2016
It was hardly an organized process! Trump’s was probably the most bizarre transition in the history of this country. He is a New York showman, and everything had to be a Broadway production. His candidates had to present themselves to him at Bedminster, his golf course in New Jersey; Mar-a-Lago in Palm Beach; or Trump Tower in Manhattan, and walk before a spray of photographers—like the Miss USA beauty pageant runway—for their audience with King Trump. The selection process for his cabinet was like an episode of The Bachelor. The candidates fought to win the figurative rose.
One of our campaign slogans had been “Drain the Swamp,” but the cabinet quickly filled with swamp creatures, mainly white men, each new tap setting off a firestorm of criticism, as people called out the hypocrisy. Donald reveled in the headlines, and would often pretend to choose a controversial candidate just to get the attention of the press.
Let’s play connect the swamp dots:
Senator Jeff Sessions for attorney general was announced on November 18, apparent payback for his support during the campaign as the first senator to come out for Donald. Trump chooses loyalty over logic; his obsession causes him to make bad decisions. If you looked at Sessions’s credentials and his tremendous baggage, you would have known that that was a terrible choice. He’d been denied a federal judgeship in 1986 in part because of his alleged use of the N-word and jokes about the KKK, but Trump wanted him for attorney general? Why? Because he had been loyal to Trump when everyone was mocking him and calling his run a joke. The outrage was justified and deafening, but Trump ignored it.
Billionaire Betsy DeVos (whom Trump calls Ditzy DeVos behind her back) was selected as secretary of education. She is the sister of Erik Prince (who disclosed that he has cooperated with the Mueller investigation), the founder of Blackwater (now known as Academi), the private security firm the US government contracted to support its forces in Afghanistan and Iraq, where its mercenaries killed more than a dozen civilians. DeVos and her family members had reportedly donated tens of millions over the years to Republicans, including nearly $1 million to senators who would vote to confirm her appointment. The November 23 announcement that DeVos had been chosen to lead the Department of Education set off an explosion of anxiety, given her utter lack of experience and her advocacy for charter schools and the privatization of public education. Trump had promised to improve public education in depressed areas, but his pick here said otherwise.
ExxonMobil CEO and corporate millionaire Rex Tillerson was recommended for secretary of state by Condoleezza Rice and James Baker, two former secretaries of state, and by Robert Gates, a former secretary of defense. All three had business ties to ExxonMobil. Baker’s law firm represented the company. Rice and Gates worked for Exxon via RiceHadleyGates, their consulting firm. The choice smelled swampy.
Steven Mnuchin was tapped for secretary of the treasury on November 30, which was quickly followed by derision. He was a Goldman Sachs billionaire. Countless times, Trump railed against Hillary Clinton’s cozy relationships with Wall Streeters. I met Mnuchin on Trump Force One when he was the head of finance for the campaign, and we worked together on my first fund-raising email blast. We talked a lot about Hollywood and the movies he’d produced, such as The Legend of Tarzan, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, and Mad Max: Fury Road. I liked him . . . but still. He was the ultimate Wall Street type, a walking advertisement of everything we’d campaigned against.
Everybody liked to point out Donald Trump’s obsession with generals. He confided to me that he thought the generals would send a message to the world that he was “badass.” So we watched him bring the stars and bars into the cabinet or to cabinet-level positions: General Michael Flynn as national security adviser, who was replaced soon after by General H. R. McMaster (who has since been replaced by the non-general John Bolton), (Ret.) Lieutenant General Keith Kellogg as chief of staff and executive secretary of the National Security Council (who now serves as national security advisor to Mike Pence), General Jim Mattis as secretary of defense, and General John Kelly as secretary of homeland security. The left complained that Trump was militarizing the executive branch.
While all of this was going on, the team realized that the president-elect missed the energy, excitement, and validation of the campaign trail. They took a victory lap to swing states called the “USA Thank You Tour” from December 1 to 17, starting in Ohio and making stops in North Carolina, Iowa, Louisiana, Michigan, Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, Florida, and Alabama. This was widely mocked as well. Did the president-elect have time for even more ego stroking when he was supposed to be forming a government and leading the country? Of course not! Did that stop Team Trump? Nope!
I was invited to attend the Hershey, Pennsylvania, rally on December 15, and watched Trump’s address from backstage with Steve Bannon and Pennsylvania State Director David Urban, a senior advisor on the campaign who had helped secure Pennsylvania’s win. I had an interesting conversation with Bannon and asked him if the rumors of his being a racist were true. He said no. He explained, “The same way you are a proud African American woman, I am a proud white man. What’s the difference between my pride and your pride?” he asked.
I said, “Hate defines white supremacy.”
He didn’t back down and gave an impassioned defense of the alt-right. Just as he was getting revved up, the announcer came on and said, “Ladies and gentlemen! The president-elect of the United States, Donald J. Trump!”
The crowd went crazy. I remember feeling good about being back in that campaign environment, where we’d had such success, when it was just about delivering the MAGA message, not setting policy—which we really had to get back to DC to do! I felt intense pressure to get things done, but it seemed like I was always in the air, between DC and New York and Jacksonville, not to mention here in Hershey.
On the morning of December 13, Kanye West came to Trump Tower to meet with President-elect Trump. Kanye said he wanted to discuss “multicultural issues,” and tweeted, “I feel it is important to have a direct line of communication with our future President if we truly want change.” It was a sentiment I agreed with, although many of his fans weren’t happy to see him with Trump. I went on cable news that night to defend the meeting, although I was growing more and more concerned about the perception of those meetings with celebrities. But that was just Trump the showman; he always met with famous people. I think his personal transition, from celebrity to president, was as stalled and mired as the larger transition push.
On January 4, I arranged my first major transition briefing with African American leadership. I invited about one hundred African American civil rights and education group leaders from the NAACP, historically black colleges (HBCUs), and black churches to Washington, DC, for a “listening session” with Trump officials Ken Blackwell, his domestic policy chairman, and eleven other senior advisers from the transition team. It was an extremely productive event, with open engagement
between the leaders and the Trump team. I thought we were setting a precedent for the future and laying a foundation for moving policy forward. At its conclusion, everyone said positive things, how wonderful it was, how we should keep the dialogue going. I felt optimistic about this meeting. Finally, after a month of trying to build momentum and set a tone before the inauguration, I’d made some progress. Hilary O. Shelton, NAACP Washington Bureau director and senior vice president for advocacy and policy, said the meeting “could be a great start. What happens at this point is in the hands of the administration.”
That next week, I got an email from a representative for TV host Steve Harvey, a native of Cleveland, Ohio, requesting a meeting with President-elect Trump, stating, “Mr. Harvey knows that for our country to succeed, the president-elect has to succeed.”
I submitted the email and a scheduling request to the president’s office and was surprised that four days later, the meeting was in motion for January 13. It was only a week away from the inauguration. I knew he had more pressing demands. I was also concerned about it. Thus far, the only black men Trump had met with had been actors, rappers, and sports stars. Optics matter. If Trump was going to look presidential and substantive on diversity issues, we had to stop the parade of black male celebrities through Trump Tower.
Steve and Trump talked about various things including golf for fifteen minutes, and then they posed for a quick photo. After Trump left, Harvey gave an interview to reporters, saying that Barack Obama had encouraged Harvey to meet with Trump to begin a dialog about how to address problems in inner cities. My eyebrow went up. That was an interesting spin on things.
Back on December 10, 2015, I had gone on Steve Harvey’s TV show and he’d praised Donald, saying, “In case you’re wondering where I stand on Donald Trump, I love his golf courses. I love his buildings. I like him as a guy. If he becomes president of the United States, in eight years, I’m running!” After the convention, his booking producer sent a request for candidate Trump or me, his diversity director, to appear on his show.
The fallout from his January 2017 visit to Trump Tower was immediate and far-reaching. His viewership took a severe hit, and he stated on his radio show, “Meeting with Trump was the worst mistake of my life.”
Congressman John Lewis, the civil rights icon who was one of the original Freedom Riders in the 1960s, went on Meet the Press on January 14 and said the Trump presidency was illegitimate and that he intended to boycott the inauguration. Trump wasted no time in responding on Twitter, writing, “Congressman John Lewis should spend more time on fixing and helping his district, which is in horrible shape and falling apart (not to mention crime infested) rather than falsely complaining about the election results. All talk, talk, talk—no action or results. Sad!”
I was livid and called him to ask him, “Why are you doing this? John Lewis is one of the most respected men in America. Not to mention a civil rights icon! You have to stop this!”
“He took the first shot,” said Donald. “If he hits me, I hit back.”
I explained to him that acting presidential was not just talking the talk but walking the walk. Take the high road when people attack you. Almost surprised, and caught off guard by how upset I was about his attacks on Lewis, Donald simply said, “Well, he started it, Omarosa!”
I could not believe that Trump would insult a man who’d had his head bashed in for civil rights and who was attacked by police dogs and fire hoses. Also, in true Trump timing, I had been planning a meeting with Martin Luther King III, whose father had led the movement that Lewis was a part of.
Incredibly, Martin Luther King III didn’t cancel, and the meeting at Trump Tower on January 16, Martin Luther King Day, turned out to be a much-needed, substantive tone-setting conversation. King concurred, telling the press in the lobby of Trump Tower, “We did have a very constructive meeting.” The focus was disenfranchised voters. King presented a solution to the problem of unfair voter ID laws. “[Trump] said that he is going to represent all Americans. . . . We will continue to evaluate that. . . . I believe that is his intent. I believe we have to consistently engage with pressure, public pressure. It doesn’t happen automatically.” Regarding poverty and income inequality, he said, “At some point, this nation has got to move forward. When we roll up our sleeves, and work together, there’s nothing we can’t do.”
It was reminiscent of when his father, Martin Luther King Jr., had met with President Lyndon B. Johnson about voting rights. King said of Johnson, “His approach to the problem of civil rights was not identical with mine—nor had I expected it to be. . . . But I do not doubt that the President is approaching the solution with sincerity, realism and, thus far, with wisdom. I hope his course will be straight and true. I will do everything in my power to make it so, by outspoken agreement whenever proper, and determined opposition whenever necessary.”
It was exactly the tone and message I’d been trying to set since I joined the campaign and transition team, to bring people together to solve our nation’s problems. I wished more black leaders would have come in and talked to Trump so we could get the dialogue started; I extended an invitation to Al Sharpton of National Action Network; Melanie Campbell, CEO of the National Coalition on Black Civic Participation and convener of the Black Women’s Roundtable; and Marc Morial of the National Urban League; but unfortunately they never committed.
While I was setting my policy agenda during the transition, I was also working with Reince throughout December to lock down when my position would be formally announced. The transition was sending out daily announcements about one appointment or another, but Reince had yet to announce mine. Like all the future senior staff, I was asked to give the president a list of the top three positions I wanted to be considered for. I wrote down only one: director of the Office of Public Liaison (OPL), a title once held by Elizabeth Dole under Ronald Reagan and Valerie Jarrett under Obama. I was so sure it was mine, I didn’t even bother including two other options on my form.
I was summoned to Mar-a-Lago in mid-December to discuss my White House position with Reince. I assumed it was just a formality to button down the announcement date and to help put together quotes for my press release as director of the OPL. But then Reince blindsided me and told me there were a dozen or so people he was considering for the job, including me. He suggested that, because of my prior experience as deputy associate director of presidential personnel in the Clinton White House, I should consider taking a job in that department. I had no interest in presidential personnel! I had toiled and labored as vice chair of the National Diversity Coalition and as the director of African American outreach. The natural transition for me would be into the OPL.
He said, “We have to figure something else out because there are just so many other people being considered for the OPL. What do you know about public liaison, anyway? Have you ever organized a coalition?”
He needed to be reminded about the National Diversity Coalition? We’d built that from scratch, from the website on up, on our own dime. We organized all those events, with hundreds of groups. I ran through my entire résumé, including my run for Los Angeles school board and my military service, my fund-raising experience, and my diversity outreach. He seemed unimpressed. Reince could be very slippery.
I asked, “Reince, I’m curious about your overall plan for diversity in the White House.” Even at that early stage, the cabinet was painted whiter than a picket fence (except for Ben Carson and Elaine Chao, the secretary of transportation). I added, “The cabinet needs to be diverse, as do the assistants to the president.”
The highest appointees in the White House, besides the cabinet, are called assistants to the president (APs). It’s actually a rank, like in the military. APs are at the top of the food chain. Most presidents have twenty to twenty-five. Trump would end up appointing thirty. Under the APs are deputy assistant (DAs), and under that, special assistants to the president (SAP).
“My top priority,” I told Reince, “is to be a
n AP. That is a must. And I want Ashley Bell to be an AP, too.” Ashley, a guy, was my colleague and friend, currently on Reince’s staff as the head of African American outreach for the RNC. Reince didn’t love that idea and said he’d intended to make Ashley an SAP. That felt like another slap. Ashley was extremely qualified and the only hope of having an African American male appointed to the senior staff of the White House.
Reince kept stonewalling me, but I didn’t budge.
As fate would have it, just as I was about to text Keith Schiller to ask for five minutes with Trump, Reince’s phone rang and, lo and behold, it was Donald himself. Reince said, “Hello, sir. Yes, I’m meeting with Omarosa right now, sir.”
Trump must have said, “Put her on,” because Reince passed the phone to me.
Donald and I discussed his dinner plans for that night. Katrina Campins, my Apprentice roommate, had come with me to Mar-a-Lago to discuss our outreach for the Latino community and would be joining us.
Bolstered by the call, I said to Reince, “I’d like to be an assistant to the president and the director of the OPL.”
Reince gulped and said, “I’ll see what I can do.”
At dinner, Donald said, “Reince tells me you’re taken care of.”
It had been a long—but also incredibly short—month so far, of running uphill at full speed only to hit obstacle after obstacle, face outrage after outrage, in my role in public engagement. I felt reassured by Donald’s comment, but I didn’t hear from Reince with my official announcement for days. I continued to chip away at my workload, commuting, setting things up, putting out fires.
When Reince next called, it was to say that someone had placed a strong objection to my being put in charge of the OPL.
Unhinged: An Insider's Account of the Trump White House Page 17