At a rally this week in Wisconsin, Donald Trump launched into an imitation of his own staff, pleading with him to behave differently. The performance was a classic of the genre.
It came during a riff about how he wants to “protect the women,” a formulation his advisers apparently do not appreciate. “‘Sir, please don’t say that,’” he said in the tone of voice a child uses to imitate an adult. “They said, ‘We think it’s very inappropriate for you to say.’ I said, ‘Why, I’m president? I want to protect the women of our country.’ They said, ‘Sir, I just think it’s inappropriate for you to say.’”
He added, “I pay these guys a lot of money. Can you believe it?” But then he told the audience not to worry, for he had stood up to the grown-ups on his payroll. “I said, ‘Well, I’m going to do it. Whether the women like it or not, I’m going to protect them.’”
Since the beginning of Mr. Trump’s political rise, this sort of flourish has been a feature of his political oratory. He builds up to something he is apparently not supposed to say, delighting his crowds when he says it anyway. His own staff often functions as the straw man in these scenarios, the overly cautious and overpaid stiffs he is defying in order to keep it real at all times.
Mr. Trump did become president by ignoring the advice of political hacks and doing whatever his gut told him to. But nearly a decade later, what he presents as acts of untamed spontaneity are often actually quite deliberate. It’s all part of the routine by now. And yet, this ability to convey that he is doing or saying something daring or novel even when he is not remains part of his appeal with some voters.
The Wisconsin rally wasn’t even the first time he acted out that particular bit. Two nights earlier, he was in Atlanta, pretending to go off the same script: “I think it’s fine to say I will protect the women of this country,” he said. “They said, ‘Please, sir. Please don’t say that.’”
Earlier this month, in the middle of a well-worn riff about Vice President Kamala Harris’s intellect, he said: “Somebody said to me, one of my people, a nice person, staff person, said, ‘Sir, please don’t call her dumb. The women won’t like it.’” On Thursday, in New Mexico, he called Ms. Harris “dumb as a rock” and said “I shouldn’t say this about an opponent, but I have to.”
He has done impressions of his staff begging him not to insult people’s looks, before insulting their looks. He regularly performs an imitation of the pastor Franklin Graham advising him not to use foul language, before using foul language. During the Republican primaries, he bragged, apparently against the wishes of his staff, about how beloved he was in Iowa, while he was in Iowa: “My guys say, ‘Please, sir, don’t take it for granted that you’re going to win Iowa. It doesn’t sound good.’”
Rehearsed transgressions. They serve all kinds of purposes. His adversaries and the news media often taken the bait he lays out for them, reliably erupting in outrage right on cue. Which only amplifies the pleasure his audiences get out of such remarks. The “I’m not supposed to say this” shtick also reinforces the bond between Mr. Trump and his audience by making them feel as though there’s nothing he won’t share with them about the wild ride they’re on together.
He told the people of New Mexico that his very presence before them on Thursday afternoon was itself an act of defiance. He said people told him not to come, that he couldn’t win there. And yet, there he was.
Lately, he has been firing up his crowds with a new bit of practiced rebellion. He says he’s not supposed to boast about early voting numbers, but then says it’s looking really good. “I’m not supposed to say this,” he said in Michigan the other day before saying “we’re sort of way up.” (The data suggests a race that is historically close; Mr. Trump has already begun to foment doubts that the results can be trusted.)
Two days earlier, he was onstage in Las Vegas. “Look, I’m not supposed to say it,” he said, “but we are leading by so much.”
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