If you turned on cable TV news Monday, chances are good that you caught Corey Lewandowski fibbing that he doesn’t have a clue why Donald Trump fired him as his campaign manager.
Of course he knows.
In a series of interviews on several shows, Lewandowski dodged every question, including from CNN’s Dana Bash, whether Trump’s daughter Ivanka and her husband had anything to do with his dismissal. Tensions among them were well-known to campaign followers, but Lewandowski shrugged off such concerns as typical of all campaigns.
No doubt. But Lewandowski was a special case — he looked and acted more like a bodyguard/bouncer than a campaign manager. At one Trump event, he was accused of assaulting a female reporter. On Monday night, however, there was no evidence of the tough guy. Rather, Lewandowski portrayed a humble, thoughtful, soft-spoken, gee-whiz guy who only wants to do the right thing for his country and get Trump elected.
Naturally, people wondered: How big is his golden parachute? And speculators wagered: He must have signed a confidentiality agreement. This is highly probable. Usually, when high-profile employees are escorted from the building, as Lewandowski was, they tend to leave with two things: a check and a promise never to speak ill of the company.
And Trump is the company.
There’s no disagreement that Lewandowski had become a liability. His brash style, which reflected that of his employer, rubbed many the wrong way. Moreover, Trump’s campaign is in dire straits. His poll numbers are slipping and are below any candidate’s, Democrat or Republican, in the past three election cycles.
Another plausible theory is far more cynical and seems more Trumpian. It wasn’t campaign discord that got Lew the boot. He was fired as a sacrifice to one of the few constituencies Trump hasn’t thus far insulted directly — and one he desperately needs — evangelical Christians. Could it be mere coincidence that just one day later — on Tuesday — Trump was scheduled to meet in New York with a congregation of about 900 Christian leaders to sort things out in advance of likely endorsements? That’s a rhetorical question.
Those gathered wanted to know more about the “real” Trump, to find a way to support him, despite his un-Christian behaviors and attitudes. And Trump’s purpose was to assure them that he’s really a good guy who loves the Lord, “believe me,” and just wants to make America great again.
Metamorphosis?
One imagines that his metamorphosis mirrors Lewandowski’s. Remember Lewandowski, the humble, gee-whiz-I-just-love-my-country fellow? Just add “and Jesus” after “country” and you’ll have a fair idea of how a new, improved Trump might appear.
This is how I imagine Trump’s handling of the meeting: “Look, I never meant any of those things I said, not really. I just get carried away sometimes because I’m so passionate about making this country great again. God willing. Plus, to be perfectly honest, I was getting some really bad advice from my campaign manager and that’s why I had to let him go.”
Ba-da-bing.
Lewandowski, not Trump, was the problem all along, you see. He told Trump to act like a raging, misogynistic, xenophobic racist. Cleansed of Lewandowski’s influence, he’s liberated to be his presidential self. And, in this new light, the evangelical community can justify supporting this unlikely bearer of civilization’s torch. Christians love the penitent sinner who has been reborn.
Not all will buy Trump’s reinvention, no matter what sort of incantations transpired Tuesday. Indeed, just across town on the same evening, another group of faith leaders gathered for dinner with members of “Better for America,” a new organization aimed at finding and funding an alternative to Trump and Hillary Clinton.
Barring divine intervention, they’re probably too late. Then again, miracles can happen. A penitent, born-again Trump would certainly be one.
