Fergus Finlay: The ghost of presidents past could give Trump some tips

Irish Examiner

3 days ago

'Donald, can you hear me?' President Trump sat bolt upright in his bed. What was that ghostly voice? Surely he must be dreaming.
But as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he became aware of a shadowy figure in a chair in the corner of the bedroom. He reached for the bedside button that would bring the Secret Service running into the room, but the sepulchral voice stopped him in his tracks.
'It's me Donald. It's Dick, your old friend. And your former president. We need to talk, because the bastards are trying to do you in, the way they destroyed me.' Nixon? Was it really Richard Nixon, sitting there in the corner of the room?
Yes, they had been friends, sort of, for a couple of years after Nixon's resignation Trump had supported him in his disgrace, and they even wrote to each other quite a bit (Donald was really regretting right now his habit of writing witty letters, as he called them, to his friends). But Nixon had died more than 30 years ago. What was he doing here now?
'Listen,' Nixon said, as if anticipating Trump's questions. 'I don't know why, and from everything I do know it's not in your character, but you were kind to me for a little while when I needed friends and recognition. So I want to help you now. You're in more trouble than you know, and I need to give you some advice.'
'If you're talking about the Epstein stuff,' Trump said, 'I've got it covered. With all the dirt I've got on the Democrats, there's no way they can get me.' Nixon laughed, and it wasn't a pretty sound.
'The Democrats,' he said scornfully. 'Do you think it was the Democrats that got me? They never laid a glove on me. It was three things. I made a few mistakes along the way, and you ought to remember what they were.
"But it was the media, the damn media, and most of all it was my own people who abandoned me in the end. And that's always the way it is, Donald.
The opposition always do their best to punish you, but if you're looking for your real enemies they will always – always – appear on your own side.
Realising he had Trump's rapt attention, the ghost went on.
'I'm surprised they haven't given the issue a name yet. But they will, they'll make it something that people can remember. And they'll probably name it after me, or that bloody building that's always associated with my name. Epsteingate, they'll call it, and when you see that name appear in the media you'll know they really have their claws into it, and into you.'
'You've already made my first mistake,' the ghost of Nixon told him. 'Being in the afterlife gives you certain insights, along with a lot of other stuff I don't want to talk about. But it doesn't enable me to see everything in those bloody files.
"I do know there's something in there, maybe just one thing or maybe a few, that you are terrified of. And from everything the world already knows about your private life it must be pretty bad – it's certainly not something you and I ever talked about over drinks, or when you were trying to persuade me to buy an apartment in Trump Tower."
'It's never going to come out,' Trump told him. 'My people have promised me they'll never let that happen.' Nixon laughed his deathly laugh again.
'You're forgetting the prime lesson of Watergate – and you're not the only one who's done that. That fool in London Boris Johnson forgot it too and look what happened to him. The crime is one thing, but in politics the cover-up becomes the real crime. And you're up to your neck in a cover-up right now.'
'That's the way it has to be,' Trump said.
'No,' Nixon retorted. 'The pressure will build and build, and soon you'll have to appoint a Special Prosecutor. And you won't get away with hand-picking one of those fools from Fox News that you seem to love. It will have to be someone who at least looks independent.
"And the first thing they will ask for is the files. All the files. And suddenly they won't be under your lock and key anymore. They'll come after what they always called the smoking gun in my day.'
'Have you forgotten?' Nixon demanded. 'They looked for all my tapes, and I knew if they got them, I was finished. By the way I hope you haven't been taping your private conversations …' Trump didn't reply.
'That probably tells me everything I need to know,' Nixon pressed on.
'Remember that night in 1973 – the Saturday night massacre they called it. I told the Attorney General to fire the prosecutor, and he resigned rather than follow my orders. Then his deputy walked away.
"Then when I finally got rid of that stuffed shirt Archibald Cox as Special Prosecutor I was forced to accept an even tougher bastard in his place. And they got the files, and their smoking gun, in the end.'
'My people aren't quitters,' Trump said. 'They knew what they were getting into. They'd be prepared to go down fighting rather than betray the MAGA movement.' Nixon laughed out loud, and for the first time the president felt fear.
'If you believe that,' Nixon said, 'you're a bigger fool than I think you are. Do you remember how many went down fighting with me? Not one, not bloody one. The hypocrite Kissinger, even him, offering to pray with me as if I was facing execution. In the end I was entirely alone.'
'So what are you telling me to do?' Trump wanted to know.
'Let it out,' Nixon said. 'Whatever is there, make a virtue of openness. They'll comb through it for all the dirt. Tell them you're going to publish the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Then you can start denying it afresh.
Your base would rather believe you – or at least forgive you. And you won't be the only one who has denials to issue. But for God's sake don't make the terrible mistake I did when I said I wasn't a crook. Don't make a speech saying, 'your president is not a paedophile' – there'd be no coming back from that.
There was silence then, enough for the president to think. Of all the advice he had hoped for from Richard Nixon, telling the truth wasn't it. And he knew he couldn't. He'd built a movement, and two terms in the Oval Office, without ever once telling the truth. He knew it couldn't be that way. Nixon had to do better.
But when he opened his mouth to speak, he realised the other man was silent too. And the shadowy figure in the corner was gone, had faded into nothing. Donald Trump was alone. He was perspiring heavily, and deathly afraid.
What had that vision been? A voice foretelling the future, or just a bad dream? Yes, he decided. It must have been something I ate. Just a bad dream. That was all. Maybe.