Firebrand: Dispatches from the Front Lines of the MAGA Revolution

by Matt Gaetz

  Exceptional oddities must be husbanded in the service of our country. We need America’s Geek Squad to beat the rest of the world. They’ve done it in business. Why not politics? Is that their last frontier?

  Canceling our nerds and misfits gives them little incentive to contribute. Most aren’t motivated by money. Certainly, the ones I’ll discuss later aren’t. No wonder so many of them are trying to build rockets to leave us behind—or build web pages to find girls seeking expensive handbags. They’re different. God love them, and especially forgive them. I sure have.

  “You must fire your legislative correspondent,” my father said. My father had never given me human resources advice before. We had served in the Florida Legislature together. At times we famously disagreed, but we always knew our unbreakable bond meant we had the rest of the Florida establishment surrounded. “Lots of people are calling me,” he reported honestly, earnestly.

  I barely knew my new legislative correspondent. I had intended to hire someone else for the position—someone I knew. But Devin Murphy asked if he could submit a writing sample to compete for any open job. It was brilliant prose, so he started three days later. He was paid $33,000 base salary and has opposed every salary increase he’s earned over three years. A serious legislative office cannot pay its best people unfair wages, even if they would gladly accept them. Reluctantly he took the money—and then bought his subordinates suits because he believed in them, and in the mission.

  The smart among us are motivated by being around beauty—and being around Firebrands. Excellence loves competent company.

  When I assigned the objective to assemble legislative research on the corruption of Hillary Clinton, Devin partially crowdsourced it—on Reddit. Reddit was castigated as a white supremacy playground. Ironically, following the riots over the killing of George Floyd, Reddit’s cofounder resigned from the board, demanding a black man replace him. If you can’t beat the platform, you can at least try to outdo its virtue signaling.

  I never considered firing Devin—not for a second. If my team makes mistakes, I want it to be because they are trying to learn too much, seek too many perspectives. Making the same mistakes repeatedly is one thing, but we seek to make bold, new, fresh, exciting mistakes and to learn from them. Fail fast! We aren’t afraid of information—only incompetence. Laziness and acceptance of what passes for an acceptable status quo are more unacceptable to me than unorthodoxy is. Devin Murphy is a fantastic member of our team and now serves as my legislative director. He wasn’t the last hiring risk I took.

  The American Conservative’s Curt Mills put it plainly. I’ve made “some maverick personnel choices.” Curt’s report was accurate:

  Darren J. Beattie…was fired from the White House last summer to the consternation of many Trump loyalists. His transgression? Beattie spoke on the same panel as Peter Brimelow, an immigration restrictionist writer with deep ties to the American elite from his days as a financial journalist. Brimelow, who is most notably friends with Lawrence Kudlow, the White House economic point man and former CNBC anchor, has been frequently described as a white nationalist (Brimelow denies the charge). Beattie says he had never met Brimelow before that day. By hiring Beattie, Gaetz drew a line in the sand. Games of guilt by association have to stop. “Darren Beattie did nothing wrong,” Gaetz told me.

  I’m proud Darren has worked with our team. Not many PhDs serve Congress. We need more brilliant, strange minds. After all, our country was founded by them and will be maintained by them. The People’s House gets what it pays for, which usually isn’t much. I get briefings at 3:00 AM I didn’t ask for, research from the corners of the internet some are scared to access, and talent from the places others wouldn’t look. The best people must be inspired and honed, not just bought or rented. You can’t afford them if they haven’t already invested in you. Our movement deserves no less than dedicated patriots—and leaders who will admire those patriots’ best and improve their worst. I’ll never be too woke to forgive.

  The media will never forgive me for bringing conservative investor Charles Johnson to President Trump’s first State of the Union. I seek neither forgiveness nor permission from the Fake News.

  I was supposed to bring my father. He had bronchitis and had to bail at the last minute. Word got out among the Florida Delegation that I had an available ticket. A colleague asked me to accommodate one of his supporters. It was Charles. We had only spent a few minutes together, but the dude is clearly brilliant and interesting, so I was happy to oblige. I’m a giver.

  When the Daily Beast called asking whether I had invited Charles, it seemed routine—like they were checking who everyone’s plus-one had been. I later learned that Charles had said some very terrible things, which today he deeply regrets and do not reflect the person he has grown into. Growth is a good thing for all of us. When they called him a Holocaust denier, I was ready to join the mob. Tar and feather him! Holocaust denial is not acceptable to me in any form. Charles even called me up and told me that he didn’t have those views but was cool with me throwing him under the bus. He didn’t want to hurt the mission, and he didn’t want to hurt me. “Fuck ’em,” he said, and he meant it. “You say whatever you’ve got to say, and know that I don’t care because I’ll know it isn’t true. Denounce away.” See what I mean about weird people?

  Then I got a call from Alan Dershowitz, the de facto president of secular Jewish America and, as luck would have it, one of Charles’s old bosses. Charles was an instigator, a provoker, Dershowitz said, but not an anti-Semite—far from it. Without seeking recognition, Charles was a donor to the Simon Wiesenthal Center, which hunts down Nazis and brings them to justice. He had invested in the dreams and inventions of diverse companies, including many led by Jews and immigrants. As a test of its censorship mores, he had posted absurd claims on Reddit. It was dumb, but should it cancel every past or future contribution he could make? Of course not.

  I’ve needed second chances in life—and third and fourth chances in relationships. In the church where I worship, we pray for forgiveness and acknowledge our wretched flaws. I’ve begged at the altar for the absolution of mine. Someone died for our sins on Earth. At least some of them should be forgiven online.

  When I told Jake Tapper live on CNN that Charles Johnson wasn’t a Holocaust denier—that many prominent members of the Jewish community had assured me as much—some recoiled, but many learned I was right. My public service is enhanced because people like Charles, Darren Beattie, and Devin Murphy give me the best they have all the time, often without asking for anything other than that I be at my best. And I can look past the worst some have (falsely or fairly) been accused of doing. I know no one bats a thousand. I sure don’t.

  But the president did call me Mickey Mantle one time. Like Mantle, I’d rather be a legend than a never-was. Will there be strikeouts? You betcha. But anyone who has never gotten up to the plate isn’t fit to judge the game, not from the bleachers.

  The nerds are strange, sure, but I love them, and they love me. I admire what they can contribute despite their oddities. As I put it to Bill Maher when he falsely claimed I pick on nerds: I am the nerd! Not a whole lot of bullies were on the high school debate team, nor won the state’s award for top nerd. I’ve done my time in debate camp and know of what I speak. Boring men don’t make history. Most don’t even make the debate team.

  The measure of a great man is who he picks up, not who he pushes down. It takes more than fortitude. It takes character to remember the forgotten man and make him feel seen and to see more in himself. And it is my experience that the forgotten man or the canceled man will never disappoint you when you save him from drowning and that he will be the first to swim out into uncharted waters to rescue others when you ask him.

  Any clown with social media followers and moral self-laudation can cancel someone. I believe in restoring opportunity and calling people to the best versions of themselves, not judging the
m at their worst. The only problematic people are the ones who don’t seek to be better tomorrow.

  No, I don’t cancel. I uncancel. And I’m a better public servant because of it. No one is remembered for what he got, only for what he gave. So, let he who is without sin cast the first tweet. The rest of us are busy working together to make our union just a little bit more perfect, despite our imperfections.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Air Force One: Of Victories and Quarantines

  March 9, 2020

  Air Force One. Departing Orlando Sanford International Airport.

  “Wrap Gaetz in cellophane!”

  “Not necessary. I’ll jump off with or without the parachute!” I shouted to the half-joking president just as the most famous airplane in the world was entering the clouds in ascent.

  I was already being whisked past the conference room hosting my leather chair and personalized name card. Presidential Personnel Office Director and Trump buddy Johnny McEntee wasn’t taking me to my seat. He was taking me to quarantine.

  I wasn’t even supposed to be on the plane. Earlier that day, I had attended a Trump 2020 fundraiser at the home of Bob and Diane Dello Russo. The Trump movement is so fun in part because it brings out such fun people. I would have loved to sip champagne with my best friends, all-around Orlando A-listers Chris and Rebekah Dorworth. They always draw a crowd of Florida’s most interesting political minds and characters—but there was work to do.

  Conducting the president’s politics is joyous and engaging and busy. Supporters ranged from bundlers who had raised hundreds of thousands of dollars to important political figures representing the best of the Trump movement.

  Chris Anderson served our nation in uniform in Afghanistan. He’s never shaken the call to public service, having protected our communities as a law enforcement officer, and is now trusted as Seminole County’s first-ever African American supervisor of elections. He and his wife, Ebony, a Democrat, weren’t political for most of their lives but now represent how inspiring the bold leadership of President Trump can be to a wide cross-section of patriots.

  Trump has the strongest work ethic of any man I’ve ever met—and he respects those on his team willing to put in the hours and the handshakes like he does. I took hundreds of pictures and gave at least as many hugs. In the Sunshine State, I’ve been on quite the political winning streak. I was a top ally of the president and of Governor Ron DeSantis, having worked like the devil to get both elected, at times against strong odds and stronger money. The record would suggest that in Florida, I’m a good friend to have. Even the state’s top Democrat, Agriculture Commissioner Nikki Fried, is a close pal. In the words of FloridaPolitics.com’s Peter Schorsch following the 2018 election cycle, the Florida political world was “Gaetz’s Apalachicola oyster.”

  At the Dello Russo home, a question was put to the president.

  “We haven’t gotten the housing money, Mr. President. Our people cannot rebuild if they have nowhere to live,” said Cody Khan, an immigrant hotelier revered in Panama City, where Hurricane Michael had carved a path of devastation. “Can you help us get what Congress appropriated?”

  “Does your fine congressman know about this?” The president asked Cody the question, but looked directly at me for a response.

  “Yes, sir, we need to get HUD to publish the rules sooner for Florida to program the money. Governor DeSantis is ready. We could use some help,” I said.

  “We will fix this on the plane. I will not tolerate delay. Construction delays hurt everything else. Matt, we will fix this. We will call whoever we need.”

  “Mr. President, I wasn’t planning on joining…”

  President Trump has a way of tilting his head down while he is seated and looking up at you. It’s all in the steeliness of the eyes. He stopped me mid-sentence without uttering a word.

  “Yes, sir. We will fix it on the plane.” I had planned to drive to Tallahassee for other meetings. Those would have to wait.

  I will forever be grateful that Rebekah returned my rental car and, in doing so, played a critical role in getting millions of dollars delivered to hurricane-ravaged communities in Northwest Florida.

  The small Air Force One office where Johnny later led me during takeoff was close to the press cabin. Earlier, Peter Baker of the New York Times had tried to coax me back to his area for an interview. I doubt he would want one from a COVID-uncertain surrogate, though! For his was the last text I got before my chief of staff gave me the startling news during takeoff: someone who was positive for coronavirus and hospitalized had checked his phone for recent contacts. There I was in his photos, holding it, taking a selfie with the sweating, coughing admirer. People shed all their germs onto their phones. I’d later tell Amber Athey of the American Spectator that I might as well have licked his toilet seat!

  Quarantine is no excuse for not working, though—especially when President Trump is giving the assignments. Throughout the flight, the president had Johnny pass notes back and forth to me regarding Florida’s needs and our plan to meet them.

  I ultimately tested negative. Tiger blood, maybe. No matter the reason, everyone I had hugged was relieved. And Florida got the money. Still, it wasn’t the biggest cash haul that plane has delivered for my people.

  May 8, 2019

  Air Force One. Departing Joint Base Andrews for Panama City.

  “So, your dad is a real big shot, huh?”

  The president strutted into the conference room and tossed a Politico story from earlier that day onto the slick, polished table. It slid across into my lap. I knew what it said. My father, a highly respected former Florida State Senate President, had been quoted saying President Trump “owed the people of Northwest Florida an explanation” as to why he hadn’t approved the maximum federal reimbursement to local communities for post-Hurricane debris removal. Sheesh. Thanks, Dad.

  Hurricane Michael had slammed the state back in October 2018, not long before the gubernatorial election. In May 2019, Trump was flying to Florida for a political rally. Former OMB director Mick Mulvaney, now his acting chief of staff, had only arranged for 75 percent of the hurricane cleanup to be handled by the feds, but my state would save big bucks if the feds agreed to pick up 90 percent.

  My father is my political hero and our service together in the Florida Legislature is among the most cherished times in my life. But on this, the day after my thirty-seventh birthday, he hadn’t made my job easier. To be fair, I didn’t always make his job easier with my aggressive views and style during our overlapping public service.

  Fortunately, I had backup. Sen. Marco Rubio and Rep. Neal Dunn joined me in begging the president for a max federal cost share for Florida. Sen. Rick Scott (R-Puerto Rico) was also present.

  After half an hour of debate and discussion, Trump had heard enough. He wanted to see the words and render a verdict. “Write down what you want me to say.” He hadn’t yet said he’d approve. He seemed to want to mull how it looked on paper and might sound if announced at the rally upon landing.

  I raised the pen, acutely aware that what I wrote down could end up in a presidential speech and in federal policy—or doom Floridians hoping for that chunk of federal aid. This kind of magic moment only happens in Trump World. He understood this mattered a great deal—but he also wanted a quick, efficient decision. I knew he’d like big language, indicating that the additional federal funds would be an important boost to an important state with a lot of electoral votes.

  He delivered my hastily prepared lines word for word. The crowd loved it. Florida needed it. Trump nailed it. Stagecraft is statecraft.

  “That plane ride cost the taxpayers almost half a billion dollars!” Mick Mulvaney is a fiscal stickler and wasn’t thrilled with my tactics. (It was $448 million, to be exact.) Mick’s fiscal discipline is one of the reasons I admire him so much. But my people were legitimately in need. Mick knew the power of the
crowd is, at times, stronger than the power of the purse strings.

  Trump makes decisions by maximizing his inputs of information in nontraditional settings. A promise of different thinking was an organizing principle of his campaign. The contrast with the way his predecessor, President Obama, made decisions, is striking. David Plouffe’s book about Obama, The Audacity to Win, depicted Obama’s team as wanting very few decision-makers at the top, thinking that makes the process easier and less bureaucratic.

  Obama played things close to the vest. Trump, by contrast, constantly talks to people at the top levels of business, sports, entertainment, publishing, and Congress—even mere second-termers like me without a committee chairmanship—if he thinks we have valuable insight. Those conversations become an important early part of his decision-making process, as do arguments with his friends and close advisors.

  This leads to the criticism that he reverses himself or thinks out loud. That’s all part of his process. I’m sure glad it is.

  May 30, 2020

  Air Force One. Traveling to SpaceX launchnat Cape Canaveral, Florida. Presidential Office.

  “The Russia investigation was corrupt. It was started by corrupt people, advanced before secret courts with fake evidence, and then repeated by media personalities and Democrats who now look like the liars and fools they are. No American should disproportionately shoulder the burden of the Mueller investigation. It should be relegated to history for what it was—a setup in search of crimes,” I said, looking right at the president.