Close Encounters With Trump At The NATO Summit
I got a decent workout Wednesday attempting to ask a question of President Donald J. Trump. Tactics included: Many different hand-raising and gesticulation techniques, varying speeds and intensity with which I would raise my hand, waving my hand at multiple creative angles, attempting to time the exact right moment at which to raise my hand, trying to make direct eye contact with Trump (which I’m pretty sure I did at one point), nodding in recognition and appreciation, giving a “thumbs up” sign. But alas, I was not called on — though several people in my direct proximity were.
It was painstakingly close. This might’ve been the best opportunity I’ve ever had to ask a question at a presidential press conference. I was seated in the fourth row, center stage, in the theater-style auditorium designated for big ticket media events at this year’s NATO Summit. The first two rows were occupied by Trump’s entourage, including chief-of-staff Susie Wiles, and all manner of intimidating security personnel. The third row was occupied by the likes of Kaitlan Collins of CNN and Kelly O’Donnell of NBC News, both of whom Trump proactively called on, despite professing to disdain them. I was seated next to Garrett Haake of NBC News as he strategized gamely with his producers back in New York about what content they could wrangle for the Today Show. On my other side was some sort of producer person for CNN who didn’t even attempt to ask a question, despite seizing one of the most coveted seats in the entire place. I got a bird’s eye view of Kelly O’Donnell physically struggling with a White House aide for control of the microphone, in a Tug of War matchup for the ages.
How did I end up in this prime seating? As usual, through a bizarre and comical series of fortuitous events. I’d been accredited to the NATO Summit by way of the White House Travel Office. This meant I received a regular NATO credential, in addition to a special American credential, signifying my membership in the American delegation, whatever that means exactly. They spelled my name wrong, but I was in no position to complain.
I also got yet another laminated badge seeming to signify some generic affiliation with the White House press corps, and then had to obtain even more acronym-filled passes from NATO operatives in order to gain access to particular areas of the venue. I’ve never had so much pointless material dangling from my neck.
Despite all this, it was a constant challenge to logistically figure out how to navigate the hidden itinerary. No information was publicly announced for when various Ministers and such would be holding press availabilities, in contrast with the 2022 NATO Summit I attended in Madrid, where at least the pertinent schedules were continuously beamed onto TV screens in the gargantuan media hall. But this year, determining when and where things of interest were happening required some combination of hearing furtive whispers, trading rumors, sifting through a maze of ambiguous and unhelpful emails, fiddling with some pointless smartphone app, and pure dumb luck.
I was staying at the American delegation’s appointed hotel, in a village about 30 minutes north of The Hague. Legions of men with muscle-tight Patagonia t-shirts, camo caps, and full-sleeve tattoos were also staying there. As were Sens. Jeanne Shaheen (D-NH) and Chris Coons (D-DE). To get to the Summit venue itself, journalists had to travel on an exclusive Shuttle Bus, which the Dutch government had somewhat embarrassingly provided with a police escort. If not for the police escort, the main road would be closed and inaccessible, we were told. Several fully outfitted Dutchmen on motorcycles therefore ferried us downtown, as though we were impressive dignitaries, rather than predominantly dopey journalists. On the second day of the Summit, the first bus left at 7am, and I was never going to make that one, having paraded around to various post-Summit social activities the night before. So I had to wait for the next bus at 11am, along with Kaitlan Collins and David Sanger of the New York Times. Most of the ride was dead silent; even these rarified journos seem to hardly chit-chat anymore, preferring instead to bury their noses in their phones. (I don’t necessarily exclude myself from this demoralizing trend.) The brief banter I struck up with Sanger reverberated piercingly throughout the entire length of the bus.
When we finally arrived, it was Crunch Time, as only a few hours remained for information-gathering opportunities; the overall duration of the Summit was supposedly curtailed to accomodate Trump. One way to discover the existence of an ongoing press availability was to visually observe herds of journalists traveling in some unknown direction for some unknown purpose. I joined one such herd, and ended up in a German-language “background briefing” conducted by a spokesman for Friedrich Merz, the Chancellor of Germany, for the benefit of the German press corps. Apparently this briefing was meant to be “not for attribution,” but I was never asked to agree to any conditions, and therefore don’t consider myself bound by dictates that have been unilaterally decreed by some German government operative. I don’t speak German, but I heard “Trump” enough to glean that approximately 95% of the briefing was about Trump. It’s actually incredible how much of the Summit was organized around placating, interpreting, flattering, cajoling, and dissecting one man. If you want to know what was said at this secret German briefing, please subscribe, because I’ve translated the proceedings and will divulge in my next article, which will be paywalled (sorry!).
When the German meeting disbanded, I randomly glanced out an open door and saw a giant pack of American journalists traipsing down some pathway I didn’t realize existed. Having spotted the trundling visage of Ed O’Keefe of CBS News, I figured they must be on their way to the presumed press conference of Trump. I briskly caught up with the migratory herd, attempting to insinuate myself as close to the front of the bulging line as possible, so as to retain any hope of getting a reasonable seat once we reached the big NATO media theater.
I did not get a reasonable seat. The first press conference was with Mark Rutte, the NATO secretary-general and former Dutch prime minister who had already made a splash by referring to Trump as “daddy.” It was quite amazing to watch as Rutte contorted himself for maximum obsequiousness toward his good “friend” Trump. Stuck in an inopportune seat near the back corner of the room, I fruitlessly raised my hand for Rutte, but as expected, the NATO press aide onstage with him had already pre-selected journalists to call on — Financial Times, Sky News, some redundant Ukrainian outlet, etc. The aide also called on a small child who was chosen as a children’s correspondent (?), and who asked Rutte if the children of the world could count on him to bring peace. Rutte said yes, they should trust him to do so, because he was getting NATO member-states to drastically increase their military spending.
Rutte wrapped up, and the assumption was that the Grand Finale would be coming next — Trump’s press conference. At first I was resigned to having a hopeless seat predicament that gave me essentially no chance to ask a question. But then a miracle happened. A burly American advance man charged in and ordered the first two rows cleared of journalists. These rows were to be cut off with emergency tape and converted into some sort of ad hoc security perimeter. The seats would be reserved for Trump’s coterie. Which was no help to me. But then the second phase of the miracle happened. A diminutive young blonde woman, stomping around with sublime authority that only the US Government can confer, ordered the next two rows of journalists to vacate the seats they had acquired with great strategic savvy, and were jealously guarding like prized possessions. Some of the journalists protested, and the woman became increasingly terrifying as she barked her orders. If the journalists failed to comply, she warned, they would soon have Secret Service to deal with, and could be ejected from the premises entirely. Their only option was to immediately forfeit their invaluable seats, and be banished to the dark recesses of the very back of the capacious auditorium, where they would have no chance to ask Trump a question. They wouldn’t even have a seat anymore; standing room only. For them, a catastrophe. The journalists in the cross-hairs seemed to be a scattered assortment from the UK, the Netherlands, and possibly some post-Soviet republics, who thought they’d been so clever and resourceful to have maneuvered their way into the best seats in the house in the lead-up to Trump. But then on a dime, they had the full weight of the Trump Administration crashing down on them, their dreams crushed by the most frightening tiny blonde woman they’ll ever encounter. She struck fear into my heart, and I didn’t even do anything wrong!
Two more premium rows, center-stage, were therefore purged. I ascertained that these two rows were meant to be filled with the core White House press group. Whether I was officially a member of this group, it was difficult to know, but again, I had been duly accredited through some facet of the White House press operation. So I leapt into the unknown, and pounced for one of these newly available seats, amidst the big-name network correspondents and other Serious inner-circle journos. Objective tentatively achieved — but things still seemed unsettled. A nervous energy abounded. The tiny woman was still on the prowl, I sensed, and it felt like I could be brutally ejected at any moment, as though I were a fugitive, and even though I had gone through all the prescribed accreditation procedures. So I played it cool. No false moves. Then, out the corner of my eye, I see the tiny woman making a beeline for me. That’s it, I figure. Game over. “Excuse me, sir?” she shouted with a damning accusatory tone that sounded like the precursor to a public execution. “Can I see your American credential?” I promptly flashed it. I said I’d come through the White House press operation. She paused, then nodded brusquely — still suspicious, it seemed — but was ameliorated enough to relent. I was in the clear.
Trump eventually emerges, flanked by Pete Hegseth and Marco Rubio. With the presence of Rubio, I mentally revise the second half of the question I had prepared to ask if called upon. My aerobics workout commences. I raise my hand as fervently as possible. This requires stamina and finesse. At one point, I swear Trump had arguably called on me. I stand up to receive the microphone. But the aide gives the microphone to a guy one row up, and one seat over. Exactly diagonal to me. Trump’s pointed finger could easily have encompassed the both of us. I outstretched my hand for the mic, willing to potentially even make a sneak interception. But within a split second, it goes to the other guy, who I could’ve sworn worked for some conservative media outlet. “Here we go... picking the beauties today,” Trump counter-intuitively grumbled. The question was about Putin’s territorial ambitions. Maybe it wasn’t a conservative media outlet, I thought. (It was Jon Decker of iHeartMedia, previously of Fox News Radio, so I was close enough.)
For a second time, Trump arguably calls on me. Finger pointed right at me, or at least within a matter of inches. I stand up again to receive the mic. The aide instead hands it off to a guy almost directly to my rear, from Austrian National Television. He asks Trump about his infamous pledge to end the Ukraine war in 24 hours. Trump says it turns out ending the war is “more difficult than people would have any idea.” Whereas during the 2024 campaign he claimed he could end the war in 24 hours because “that deal would be easy.”
I keep fighting for a question. It’s the home-stretch. The wild hand-waving and gesticulations intensify. At one point I try giving Trump a quick thumbs up. I experiment with different facial expressions; smiling, neutral, stern. I lean as far to my left, and then to my right, as I physically can. I throw up hands at unconventional moments. Trump says one or two more questions. But then he keeps going. There’s still hope. I bust out all the stops. I start waving with the ferocity of a techno rave. I switch from left to right. There’s a woman in front of me also raising her hand. Some TV woman with ridiculous mounds of makeup. She might be blocking me out from Trump’s line of sight. That disgraceful woman! I think it’s Jacqui Heinrich of Fox News, but I can’t be bothered to confirm. It doesn’t matter. If there’d been an empty seat in front of me, or even just a non-hand-raiser in front of me, I believe I would have been conclusively called on by Trump. But alas, it was not to be. Tantalizingly close, but not to be. Though deflated, I regroup.
Trump’s press conference was exceptionally free-wheeling and unscripted compared to the 100% fake press conference I attended with Joe Biden at the 2022 NATO Summit. Biden ambled in clutching a sheet of paper that listed the pre-selected journalists he was to call on, taking a grand total of five questions from “mainstream” US outlets — and zero international outlets. Raising one’s hand at the Biden press conference was a pointless exercise, because his staff had already choreographed who he’d be calling on. Trump’s press conference Wednesday was entirely spontaneous, from what I could gather. He did recognize and call on Ed O’Keefe, Kaitlan Collins, and Kelly O’Donnell, probably because he wanted to spar with them and enjoys the spectacle. But he also called on random journalists from Spain, Ukraine, Austria, the Netherlands, and perhaps others I’m forgetting. That’s the one thing I’m perfectly happy to give Trump “credit” for — the level of unscripted media interaction is truly night-and-day compared to Biden.
Here’s the question I would’ve asked. I’d mentally composed it, then transcribed it afterwards for posterity.
Question for Trump: On June 12 you posted on Truth Social that you were committed to a diplomatic resolution with Iran, and you’d directed your entire administration to negotiate. Then the Israeli bombing offensive started about three hours later. Can you confirm you had foreknowledge that the Israeli bombing was about the begin when you published that post? And if so, was this deliberate misdirection or deception? Secondly, when you first ran for president, in 2015, you ridiculed then-Senator Rubio as a “puppet” of Sheldon Adelson, the billionaire “pro-Israel” donor. But now Miriam Adelson is one of your biggest funders; the night before the Israeli bombing offensive, she appeared at a “pro-Israel” gala with your envoy Steve Witkoff. Are these “pro-Israel” donors whom you used to malign influencing your policy of extreme, over-the-top support for Israel? Especially now that you’ve bombed Iran?
Maybe someday I’ll get to ask it. As Trump exited the stage, Ed O’Keefe of CBS News half-heartedly shouted, “Do you trust your own intelligence community?” — even though he’d already gotten a full question. There was something unusually lame about O’Keefe performing this ritual. He knew Trump couldn’t even hear him at that point, but still felt the need to pantomime the dogged truth-seeking journalist routine — for an audience, I suppose, of fellow journalists.
I inferred that President Erdogan of Türkiye would be coming next. Embarrassingly, almost the entire auditorium emptied out. All these American journalists had flown to the Netherlands for an Important International Summit, and from what I could tell, virtually none of them deemed it worthy to stay for the president of the country with the largest army in NATO, aside from the US. Because they don’t really care that much about the actual issues at hand — they’re just following around Trump. Erdogan called on me during the 2022 Summit, leading to a memorable exchange, after which I was amusingly profiled by the Turkish state broadcaster. So I was confident I would get another question in with Erdogan. This time the interaction would probably be less whimsical, though.
Here is video of my question to Erdogan. He started off his remarks inveighing against Israel for its conduct in Gaza. I thought it was therefore reasonable to ask him about Trump’s plan to seize Gaza as a US military protectorate and expel the remaining Palestinian inhabitants. Erdogan had just met with Trump at the Summit. I also wanted to ask for his general thoughts on Trump’s relationship with Israel, given how extreme and over-the-top it is, because wouldn’t this mean that Trump was abetting the very Israeli conduct that Erdogan so vehemently denounced? But he artfully evaded my questions, in accordance with the Summit’s supreme imperative, which was to do everything humanly possible to avoid antagonizing Trump.
After he finished, some guys (Turkish journalists I guess?) hopped unimpeded onto the stage to take photos with Erdogan. If anybody had tried that an hour before with Trump, they would’ve left the Summit in a bodybag.
I’ll have plenty more soon from the NATO Summit, so please subscribe. Also, here is a video dispatch I did for “System Update” with Glenn Greenwald.
Thanks Michael for this instructive and amusing account.
Always enjoy reading your accounts as an also ran in the press scrum. Your willingness to make fun of yourself is my kind of humor in a world of preening peacocks. Don’t worry, your intelligence shines through and is appreciated more than you know.