motherjones--2020-01-07--How Trump’s Trade War Is Making Lobbyists Rich and Slamming Small Businesses

This story was originally published by ProPublica , a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power .
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Mike Elrod voted for Donald Trump in 2016 , hoping for a break from tight government oversight that his business had endured for years , which he often found unreasonable .
“ There was a time when every day I dreaded opening the mail , ” said Elrod , who founded a small firm in South Carolina called @ @ @ @ @ @ @ heaters .
“ The Department of Energy would put in an arbitrary rule and then come back the next day and say , ‘ You ’ re not in compliance.
’ We had no input into what was changing and when the change was taking place.
” Elrod also thought that big businesses had long been able to buy their way out of problems , either by spending lots of money on compliance or on lobbyists to look for loopholes and apply political pressure .
Trump , of course , had promised to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ swamp.
” Elrod is in his mid-60s , tall with a white beard and deliberative drawl .
He trusted the president even as Trump started a trade war with China , where Elrod manufactures his heaters .
The administration said U.S. companies that could prove they had no other source for their imports and whose business would be gravely injured could be spared the punishing tariffs that Trump was imposing .
They would simply have to file for an exemption .
“ I had every reason to believe they were talking about us @ @ @ @ @ @ @ spent 15 years developing different models of tankless heaters with manufacturers in China .
Simply finding new factories in other countries seemed impossible .
So in the summer of 2018 , Elrod settled in at his desk , strewn with brass valves , a pressure tester and a smiling jade Buddha from a Chinese supplier , and began typing .
He and his dozen U.S. employees — designers , engineers , salespeople and customer service representatives — operate out of a squat cinder block building in a woodsy suburb of Charleston that used @ @ @ @ @ @ @ doubles as a distribution warehouse .
In letters to the Office of the U.S. Trade Representative , Elrod asked that gas-powered water heaters be exempted from the administration ’ s 25 % tariffs , writing that the cost would be “ devastating ” for the company ’ s balance sheet .
“ We had all the boxes checked , ” Elrod said .
“ Or so I thought.
” The process didn ’ t go as he expected .
It ’ s the stuff that libertarians like Elrod dread : Low-level staffers with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that can save or smash a company ’ s bottom line .
Every few weeks , a list comes out with a new batch of lucky winners , and losers .
“ Non-electrical wall candelabras , of wood , each with 3 wrought iron candle holders ” received a pass , for example , but none with one or two candles .
There is no mechanism for appeals .
Overall , Trump ’ s tariffs have not had the effect that the self-described “ Tariff Man ” promised .
Companies have moved manufacturing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ mostly gone to Vietnam , Taiwan and Mexico .
Tariffs are chiefly behind a months-long decline in domestic manufacturing , Federal Reserve researchers have found .
The total loss of jobs across the economy may be as high as 300,000 .
But constantly up-in-the-air trade agreements and the byzantine , opaque exclusion process has been a blessing for one set of players : Washington ’ s influence industry , including the firms of former Trump officials and allies like inauguration committee chief Brian Ballard , former White House chief of staff Reince Priebus @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was once Trump ’ s lobbyist in Florida .
He ’ s since been dubbed “ the most powerful lobbyist in Trump ’ s Washington.
” A cancer therapy firm , Varian Medical Systems , paid Ballard and a colleague $ 540,000 to lobby the White House , the trade office and Vice President Mike Pence on trade issues , filings show .
The outreach included a meeting with Trump ’ s director of trade and manufacturing policy , Peter Navarro .
Since then , four of Varian ’ s five exclusion requests @ @ @ @ @ @ @ company said in an SEC filing , boosted revenues by $ 23 million .
( Navarro said he doesn ’ t intervene in the exclusion process . )
Priebus ’ firm , Michael Best Strategies , was hired by a Wisconsin company , Primex , to handle exemptions for its timekeeping and temperature measurement devices .
“ You ’ re not gon na do it on your own , ” Primex CEO Paul Shekoski said in an interview .
“ It ’ s suicide actually.
” Shekoski said he wanted help understanding the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ were filed correctly .
With Michael Best ’ s guidance , he personally wrote letters to and met with his representatives in Washington .
The collective effort may have made it all the way to the Oval Office .
Shekoski said in an email last fall that he heard from his lobbyist at Michael Best , Denise Bode , that Sen. Ron Johnson , R-Wis. cited Primex as an example of a Wisconsin company suffering from tariffs when the senator took the issue to the president .
“ He not only called USTR @ @ @ @ @ @ @ specific case up to Trump directly , ” Shekoski said .
Bode did not respond to a request for comment , and a Johnson spokesman did not respond to questions about the Trump contact , saying only that Johnson had advocated for many Wisconsin companies .
Days before this story was published , Shekoski denied knowing whether Johnson brought up the issue with Trump .
He said he was just trying to give his elected representatives concrete stories about small businesses struggling with tariffs that they could use to advocate for tariff relief @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Priebus ’ firm , Michael Best Strategies , $ 85,000 in 2018 and 2019 for its services .
“ I ’ m not selling access , ” Priebus once told Politico .
“ I ’ m merely providing strategic advice and helping them handle their problems.
” ( Neither Priebus nor the White House responded to requests for comment . )
Primex got mixed results , with about half of its 205 exclusion requests granted and half denied .
Disclosure rules don ’ t require companies to say how much money they ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ But records compiled by the Center for Responsive Politics show that the number of clients lobbying on tariffs and other trade issues are higher than any year on record .
In 2018 , the number jumped by 28 % to 1,372 , and 2019 will significantly exceed that once final figures are in .
There is also no comprehensive picture yet of how companies that have hired lobbyists have fared compared with those that haven ’ t .
But there is evidence that agencies have bent the rules .
In October , a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ had secretly changed the rules for one exclusion category after “ off-the-record ” discussions with a favored company , creating a “ perception of undue influence.
” Companies with enough resources and savvy can not only push their own cases , they can work to undermine those of competitors .
Elrod began to understand that in early August .
He had been on the trade office ’ s website , waiting to see if he would get his exclusion and watching for requests from competitors , when he noticed that an industry giant @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Rheem Manufacturing Company is a Japanese-owned conglomerate and one of the world ’ s largest producers of water heaters , including in the United States .
It challenged Elrod and a handful of other companies that had claimed they couldn ’ t find alternative sources for their products outside of China , arguing that Elrod could find suppliers in Japan , Germany and South Korea — or buy from Rheem itself .
Elrod quickly fired back with another letter , laying out how difficult and expensive it would be in practice to move @ @ @ @ @ @ @ rush out of China , factories in Vietnam are holding out for enormous orders and shunning the relatively small quantities that Eccotemp imports .
Plus , after developing his heaters over more than a decade with a handful of suppliers , finding one that could meet his exacting standards would require months of tests and new certifications .
That did not sway the government ’ s trade office , the USTR , which in late September posted a one-page form letter saying that Elrod had failed to demonstrate his products weren ’ t @ @ @ @ @ @ @ his original ask for exclusions might have been too broad , Elrod then filed individual requests for several of his models , hoping the government might exempt at least a few of them .
But Rheem had reinforcements .
New comments in opposition arrived on the letterhead of King & Spalding , a law firm with sleek offices across the street from the White House and a complement of former government officials .
Stephen Vaughn had left the firm in 2017 to serve on the administration ’ s “ beachhead team ” at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s general counsel — where he oversaw the exclusion process — and then rejoined the firm in 2019 .
Fees paid for legal services aren ’ t public , but records show that Rheem spent $ 610,000 on lobbying on all federal issues in 2018 .
Neither Rheem nor Vaughn responded to requests for comment .
“ I don ’ t have anyone on Pennsylvania Avenue , ” Elrod said .
“ That letter probably cost them more than we ’ ve spent on legal expenses in the last five years.
” His @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the district office of Sen. Lindsey Graham , R-S.C. , and asked for a letter of support .
He inquired with USTR about testifying at one of the agency ’ s multiday hearings on its sweeping tariff action .
Nothing worked .
He didn ’ t make the witness list for USTR ’ s hearings , but the head of Rheem ’ s air conditioning division did .
South Carolina ’ s Department of Commerce wrote letters on behalf of large employers like the fiberglass manufacturer China Jushi , but for the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ letters for small companies appear in the public record .
( A spokeswoman said the state had written letters for “ companies of various sizes and with varying numbers of employees.
” ) Graham , who had filed seven letters supporting companies with a presence in South Carolina — several of them multinational or foreign-owned — also didn ’ t help .
“ Lindsey Graham really did kick it to the curb , ” Elrod said .
( A spokesman for Graham did not respond to a request for further explanation . )
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ office rejected all of Elrod ’ s requests for relief in the same terse fashion it had the first .
“ After careful consideration , your request was denied because the request failed to show that this particular product is available only from China , ” the letter read .
As a result , Eccotemp would get back none of the hundreds of thousands of dollars in duties that it had already paid out , and the bleeding would continue .
Its profit margins vaporized and its employee head count sank by about @ @ @ @ @ @ @ not to replace departing staff .
For a while after receiving the denials , Elrod carefully watched the steady stream of response letters posted on the federal regulations portal , in case another company received an exclusion that would also cover his products .
But no relevant approvals appeared .
Elrod has appreciated how under Trump , other regulators have been more business friendly .
The government pesters him much less these days about energy and environmental rules .
“ Then you ’ ve got the USTR and the whole tariff thing that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he said .
“ People our size , that don ’ t have K Street lawyers , ” said Elrod , referring to the center of Washington ’ s lobbying industry .
“ We ’ re the ones that bear the brunt , we ’ re the ones that have the least tools in the box to work with.
” It ’ s not often that K Street gets handed the type of business development opportunity that Trump ’ s volatile trade policy offers .
With new tariffs being announced and lifted on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ constantly being renegotiated , companies have scrambled to protect themselves .
Tariff exclusions are highly sought after because they offer a huge competitive advantage — especially if a rival still has to pay .
The review of exclusions is happening on a compressed time schedule , with little warning before tariffs and a complex set of rules that few people understand go into effect .
And there are no second chances .
“ When you ’ re running a process that has no appellate review , there ’ s a lot of room @ @ @ @ @ @ @ no one really checking the process , ” said one former USTR official who spoke on the condition of anonymity .
“ It ’ s common knowledge in town that the best way to get a leg up on an exclusion request is to get a Republican House or Senate member to call the White House.
” Members of Congress frequently work the bureaucracy on their constituents ’ behalf , but there ’ s a particularly large pile of money on the line with trade .
So far , Trump ’ s new @ @ @ @ @ @ @ annual tax increase for U.S. companies , according to the Tax Foundation .
Just understanding the complexities of the process can require a specialized trade lawyer .
Often , multiple importers will request exclusions for similar products .
A reviewer at USTR ’ s Washington office might grant one company ’ s request and reject another ’ s , but anyone may take advantage of the resulting exclusion and request a refund of all the duties it paid on that product , which means keeping a close eye on the Federal Register .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ process for steel and aluminum tariffs , and under its rules , exclusions are company-specific . )
Companies that can ’ t afford their own lobbyists often go through their trade associations , which can help open doors on the Hill on behalf of an industry ’ s interests .
Still , even the trade groups are often baffled at why decisions come down the way they do .
The National Marine Manufacturers Association has seen confoundingly mixed results — a fish finder is excluded while a depth finder isn ’ t , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ t make heads or tails out of why that happens , ” said John-Michael Donahue , the association ’ s communications director .
“ I don ’ t think there ’ s a lack of help from Congress being loud about this issue , it ’ s more getting through to the administration and figuring out what the next step is in their mind.
” Some companies don ’ t need members of Congress or trade associations to make their case .
Apple , for example , got 10 out of the 15 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ computer chargers and mice , with 11 yet to be decided .
The company spends more than $ 6 million on lobbying overall each year .
Its CEO , Tim Cook , has met with Trump several times and the president cited Apple ’ s exclusion approvals during a public event at its Texas production facility .
“ It ’ s difficult for me to see how this is a fair and transparent process , ” said Nicole Bivens Collinson , head of the international trade and government relations practice for Sandler , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ ve got Tim Cook who ’ s able to go in and meet with the president and get an exclusion , and someone who ’ s a very small company trying to submit through the regular process , and this is going to have a huge impact on their business.
” The federal government last set up an exclusion process in 2001 , when George W. Bush imposed tariffs of up to 30 % on $ 15 billion worth of steel imports in an attempt to bolster flagging mills .
About half @ @ @ @ @ @ @ measure were exempted , which was one reason why the tariffs ultimately didn ’ t arrest the steel industry ’ s decline .
Trump ’ s tariffs are much less discriminate .
Hefty new duties now cover about $ 364 billion worth of imports , or 12 % of the overseas products Americans buy in a year .
The tariffs don ’ t just fall on finished goods , like toasters or water heaters .
They also cover many of product components , from motherboards to heat exchangers .
Because they ’ re @ @ @ @ @ @ @ USTR have been flooded with clemency pleas .
As of mid-December , steel and aluminum users had requested exclusions on about 152,000 specific products .
With two-thirds of the requests decided , about 79 % had been approved .
Importers of goods from China had requested about 44,000 exclusions , of which 43 % had been decided and 35 % approved , with a final round of exclusions under way .
For the first two rounds of China tariffs , which are worth about $ 50 billion in imports , the Peterson Institute @ @ @ @ @ @ @ excluded products worth about $ 12.8 billion , in what it called “ a substantial off-budget concession to lucky firms.
” Many of those affected simply submitted no requests , figuring they had slim chances of success .
A handful of businesses submitted thousands , especially industrial suppliers that globally source tools and parts and distribute them to U.S. manufacturers , since a separate application was needed for every possible product variation .
A single company — AEP Holdings , a private equity-owned supplier of aftermarket car parts — filed more than 10,000 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 2,600 have been denied and only a handful approved .
Adjudicating each request is an enormous undertaking , and the federal government was ill-prepared .
The Commerce Department at first had projected that it would see only about 4,500 applications — a threshold that was passed almost instantly .
According to a regulatory filing , USTR estimated that each exclusion request would take applicants two hours to prepare , at a cost of $ 200 each , and two and a half hours for USTR to process .
For the China tariffs , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ staff hours over the course of a year , at a cost of $ 9.7 million .
To keep up , agencies have had to borrow staff from other departments and brought on dozens of contractors , giving them a crash course in tariff codes .
( “ The internet is useful to research the product , ” reads one set of instructions for reviewers obtained by ProPublica . )
There is no hard completion deadline , and companies can only track their applications ’ progress via an online portal .
Very often @ @ @ @ @ @ @ aluminum process run by the Commerce Department , it was hard to believe that parties were being considered equally .
Christine McDaniel , an economist and a senior fellow at the Mercatus Center at George Mason University , has found that requests are rarely granted if objections are filed .
A handful of steel producers have objected to thousands of applications , claiming that the importers should get no relief because U.S. manufacturers could make the necessary items .
But McDaniel poked a hole in their argument : Added together , the producers @ @ @ @ @ @ @ re realistically able to produce .
“ It ’ s nearly costless for these guys to file objections , but the objection can prevent a company from getting its steel , ” McDaniel said .
Capitol Hill has noticed .
In early 2018 , after receiving complaints from steel importers , Rep. Jackie Walorski , R-Ind.
, sent letters to the Commerce Department detailing problems with evaluations .
The process had been a “ masterclass in government inefficiency and plagued by maddening inconsistency , ” she wrote in April .
After receiving no @ @ @ @ @ @ @ wrote in exasperation , “ It is difficult not to believe that there is a finger on the scale favoring objectors.
” In one letter , Walorski cited the case of National Tool & Manufacturing Company , a 45-person firm based in East Dundee , Illinois , that found itself in a fight with a multinational metals titan .
National Tool requested an exemption on a specialty grade of steel it buys in Italy and distributes to companies that make injection molds .
EDRO Specialty Steels , which is owned by the Austrian @ @ @ @ @ @ @ grounds that it could produce the steel National Tool needed in the U.S. National Tool ’ s request was denied , so it had to keep eating the 25 % tariff .
Then , EDRO itself requested exclusions for the raw material it imports from Slovenia to produce its proposed substitute — showing that the product it said it could supply wasn ’ t entirely American-made after all .
( EDRO said this summary was “ incomplete , ” but declined to comment further . )
National Tool President Eric Sandberg suspects his @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ It truly is one of these big vs. small battles , ” Sandberg said .
“ Because one of those big three companies wrote a letter , done .
Without investigation , it was just done .
It really feels like the government is working against you.
” In late October , the Commerce Department wrote back to Rep. Walorski , tersely rejecting her complaint .
But Walorski ’ s concern was merited .
On Oct. 28 , the agency ’ s inspector general issued an alert finding that steel producers had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that swayed their decisions .
For example , the inspector general found that criteria for evaluating exclusions had been changed at an objector ’ s request , before decisions were posted publicly .
That apparent bias has percolated out to some Washington insiders , who see the steel and aluminum exclusion process as so slanted toward U.S. producers that it ’ s not worth the trouble .
“ I wouldn ’ t take anybody ’ s money against the U.S. steel industry , ” said one prominent D.C. lobbyist who spoke on the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ no a lot.
” Throughout his career , Mike Elrod has tried to follow the incentives that American trade policy has created for U.S. businesses .
In the 1990s , he owned a factory that made industrial rainwear .
After China ’ s entry into the World Trade Organization in 2001 , which locked in low tariff rates , Elrod ’ s biggest client decided to relocate production there .
“ It killed the company , ” Elrod said .
“ There was nowhere else to go.
” After that , Elrod decided @ @ @ @ @ @ @ setting up a business that manufactured precision metal components before finding a type of water heater that he thought would sell well in the U.S..
Founded in 2006 , Eccotemp grew steadily , adding people , new models and distribution centers overseas , to the point where Elrod started thinking about setting up assembly operations in the U.S .
Even if labor is more expensive , not having to wait four months for new orders to ship across the world would allow him to more closely control inventory levels and turn around design @ @ @ @ @ @ @ plan , however , Trump ’ s tariffs on Chinese imports took it off the drawing board .
If the only place to get components is China , the duties would make bringing them into the U.S. for final assembly cost-prohibitive .
As the trade war began , Elrod had been looking forward to retirement .
As soon as the tariffs were announced , Elrod and his successor as CEO , Joe Bolognue , had to formulate a new business strategy based on a 25 % hike in the cost of goods : @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , leaner operations .
They don ’ t want to walk away from the brand they ’ ve built , or put their employees out of work .
“ We don ’ t have the luxury to say , ‘ We ’ re going out of business , ’ ” Bolognue said .
“ We just don ’ t make as much money as we used to.
” The tariffs have also created other problems , like Chinese manufacturers selling directly into the U.S. on Amazon or Alibaba rather than going through companies @ @ @ @ @ @ @ pay tariffs , but they can undercut prices by avoiding one layer of markups .
Since the tariff decisions came down , Elrod has moved to Georgia and isn ’ t as involved in day-to-day operations .
But he ’ s still heavily invested in the company , financially and emotionally .
That ’ s why it was particularly devastating when the tariffs killed a potential deal to sell Eccotemp to a private equity firm , which would have allowed it to keep growing while ensuring his retirement .
“ That ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of gold at the end of the rainbow , ” Elrod said .
“ My net worth , you ’ re sitting in it .
I don ’ t have a 401 ( k ) .
Everything that I ’ ve ever done has flown back into this business .
I don ’ t have enough runway to do it again.
” Elrod says that despite it all , he still plans to vote for Trump in November , citing the administration ’ s friendlier stance to his company on regulations .
As @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ t blame the president .
“ Maybe if Trump moved the capital to Dallas and put everyone with a DC address on the Do Not Fly List , maybe , ” Elrod said .
“ You get all the justice you can afford .
”

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This story was originally published by ProPublica, a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up for ProPublica’s Big Story newsletter to receive stories like this one in your inbox as soon as they are published.
Mike Elrod voted for Donald Trump in 2016, hoping for a break from tight government oversight that his business had endured for years, which he often found unreasonable.
“There was a time when every day I dreaded opening the mail,” said Elrod, who founded a small firm in South Carolina called Eccotemp that makes energy-efficient, tankless water heaters. “The Department of Energy would put in an arbitrary rule and then come back the next day and say, ‘You’re not in compliance.’ We had no input into what was changing and when the change was taking place.”
Elrod also thought that big businesses had long been able to buy their way out of problems, either by spending lots of money on compliance or on lobbyists to look for loopholes and apply political pressure. Trump, of course, had promised to address that — to “drain the swamp.”
Elrod is in his mid-60s, tall with a white beard and deliberative drawl. He trusted the president even as Trump started a trade war with China, where Elrod manufactures his heaters. The administration said U.S. companies that could prove they had no other source for their imports and whose business would be gravely injured could be spared the punishing tariffs that Trump was imposing. They would simply have to file for an exemption.
“I had every reason to believe they were talking about us,” Elrod said. Eccotemp had spent 15 years developing different models of tankless heaters with manufacturers in China. Simply finding new factories in other countries seemed impossible.
So in the summer of 2018, Elrod settled in at his desk, strewn with brass valves, a pressure tester and a smiling jade Buddha from a Chinese supplier, and began typing. He and his dozen U.S. employees — designers, engineers, salespeople and customer service representatives — operate out of a squat cinder block building in a woodsy suburb of Charleston that used to be a film studio and now doubles as a distribution warehouse.
In letters to the Office of the U.S. Trade Representative, Elrod asked that gas-powered water heaters be exempted from the administration’s 25% tariffs, writing that the cost would be “devastating” for the company’s balance sheet. “We had all the boxes checked,” Elrod said. “Or so I thought.”
The process didn’t go as he expected. It’s the stuff that libertarians like Elrod dread: Low-level staffers with limited industry knowledge issuing seemingly arbitrary decisions that can save or smash a company’s bottom line.
Every few weeks, a list comes out with a new batch of lucky winners, and losers. “Non-electrical wall candelabras, of wood, each with 3 wrought iron candle holders” received a pass, for example, but none with one or two candles.
There is no mechanism for appeals.
Overall, Trump’s tariffs have not had the effect that the self-described “Tariff Man” promised. Companies have moved manufacturing out of China — and it has mostly gone to Vietnam, Taiwan and Mexico. Tariffs are chiefly behind a months-long decline in domestic manufacturing, Federal Reserve researchers have found. The total loss of jobs across the economy may be as high as 300,000.
But constantly up-in-the-air trade agreements and the byzantine, opaque exclusion process has been a blessing for one set of players: Washington’s influence industry, including the firms of former Trump officials and allies like inauguration committee chief Brian Ballard, former White House chief of staff Reince Priebus and Trump fundraiser Marc Lampkin.
Ballard was once Trump’s lobbyist in Florida. He’s since been dubbed “the most powerful lobbyist in Trump’s Washington.” A cancer therapy firm, Varian Medical Systems, paid Ballard and a colleague $540,000 to lobby the White House, the trade office and Vice President Mike Pence on trade issues, filings show. The outreach included a meeting with Trump’s director of trade and manufacturing policy, Peter Navarro.
Since then, four of Varian’s five exclusion requests have been approved — which, the company said in an SEC filing, boosted revenues by $23 million. (Navarro said he doesn’t intervene in the exclusion process.)
Priebus’ firm, Michael Best Strategies, was hired by a Wisconsin company, Primex, to handle exemptions for its timekeeping and temperature measurement devices. “You’re not gonna do it on your own,” Primex CEO Paul Shekoski said in an interview. “It’s suicide actually.”
Shekoski said he wanted help understanding the process and making sure all the requests were filed correctly. With Michael Best’s guidance, he personally wrote letters to and met with his representatives in Washington.
The collective effort may have made it all the way to the Oval Office. Shekoski said in an email last fall that he heard from his lobbyist at Michael Best, Denise Bode, that Sen. Ron Johnson, R-Wis. cited Primex as an example of a Wisconsin company suffering from tariffs when the senator took the issue to the president. “He not only called USTR, he was able to bring our specific case up to Trump directly,” Shekoski said. Bode did not respond to a request for comment, and a Johnson spokesman did not respond to questions about the Trump contact, saying only that Johnson had advocated for many Wisconsin companies.
Days before this story was published, Shekoski denied knowing whether Johnson brought up the issue with Trump. He said he was just trying to give his elected representatives concrete stories about small businesses struggling with tariffs that they could use to advocate for tariff relief.
Lobbying records show that Primex paid Priebus’ firm, Michael Best Strategies, $85,000 in 2018 and 2019 for its services. “I’m not selling access,” Priebus once told Politico. “I’m merely providing strategic advice and helping them handle their problems.” (Neither Priebus nor the White House responded to requests for comment.)
Primex got mixed results, with about half of its 205 exclusion requests granted and half denied.
Disclosure rules don’t require companies to say how much money they’ve spent lobbying on exclusions specifically. But records compiled by the Center for Responsive Politics show that the number of clients lobbying on tariffs and other trade issues are higher than any year on record. In 2018, the number jumped by 28% to 1,372, and 2019 will significantly exceed that once final figures are in.
There is also no comprehensive picture yet of how companies that have hired lobbyists have fared compared with those that haven’t. But there is evidence that agencies have bent the rules. In October, a government watchdog found that Commerce Department officials had secretly changed the rules for one exclusion category after “off-the-record” discussions with a favored company, creating a “perception of undue influence.”
Companies with enough resources and savvy can not only push their own cases, they can work to undermine those of competitors. Elrod began to understand that in early August. He had been on the trade office’s website, waiting to see if he would get his exclusion and watching for requests from competitors, when he noticed that an industry giant had formally objected to his application.
Rheem Manufacturing Company is a Japanese-owned conglomerate and one of the world’s largest producers of water heaters, including in the United States. It challenged Elrod and a handful of other companies that had claimed they couldn’t find alternative sources for their products outside of China, arguing that Elrod could find suppliers in Japan, Germany and South Korea — or buy from Rheem itself.
Elrod quickly fired back with another letter, laying out how difficult and expensive it would be in practice to move production to another country. Amid a rush out of China, factories in Vietnam are holding out for enormous orders and shunning the relatively small quantities that Eccotemp imports. Plus, after developing his heaters over more than a decade with a handful of suppliers, finding one that could meet his exacting standards would require months of tests and new certifications.
That did not sway the government’s trade office, the USTR, which in late September posted a one-page form letter saying that Elrod had failed to demonstrate his products weren’t available outside of China. Thinking that his original ask for exclusions might have been too broad, Elrod then filed individual requests for several of his models, hoping the government might exempt at least a few of them.
But Rheem had reinforcements. New comments in opposition arrived on the letterhead of King & Spalding, a law firm with sleek offices across the street from the White House and a complement of former government officials. Stephen Vaughn had left the firm in 2017 to serve on the administration’s “beachhead team” at USTR, served as the agency’s general counsel — where he oversaw the exclusion process — and then rejoined the firm in 2019.
Fees paid for legal services aren’t public, but records show that Rheem spent $610,000 on lobbying on all federal issues in 2018. Neither Rheem nor Vaughn responded to requests for comment.
“I don’t have anyone on Pennsylvania Avenue,” Elrod said. “That letter probably cost them more than we’ve spent on legal expenses in the last five years.”
His concern growing, Elrod met a staffer in the district office of Sen. Lindsey Graham, R-S.C., and asked for a letter of support. He inquired with USTR about testifying at one of the agency’s multiday hearings on its sweeping tariff action.
Nothing worked. He didn’t make the witness list for USTR’s hearings, but the head of Rheem’s air conditioning division did. South Carolina’s Department of Commerce wrote letters on behalf of large employers like the fiberglass manufacturer China Jushi, but for the first few rounds of tariffs, no letters for small companies appear in the public record. (A spokeswoman said the state had written letters for “companies of various sizes and with varying numbers of employees.”)
Graham, who had filed seven letters supporting companies with a presence in South Carolina — several of them multinational or foreign-owned — also didn’t help.
“Lindsey Graham really did kick it to the curb,” Elrod said. (A spokesman for Graham did not respond to a request for further explanation.)
Finally, in November, the trade office rejected all of Elrod’s requests for relief in the same terse fashion it had the first. “After careful consideration, your request was denied because the request failed to show that this particular product is available only from China,” the letter read.
As a result, Eccotemp would get back none of the hundreds of thousands of dollars in duties that it had already paid out, and the bleeding would continue. Its profit margins vaporized and its employee head count sank by about 30%, as the company opted not to replace departing staff.
For a while after receiving the denials, Elrod carefully watched the steady stream of response letters posted on the federal regulations portal, in case another company received an exclusion that would also cover his products. But no relevant approvals appeared.
Elrod has appreciated how under Trump, other regulators have been more business friendly. The government pesters him much less these days about energy and environmental rules. “Then you’ve got the USTR and the whole tariff thing that’s just a crusher,” he said.
“People our size, that don’t have K Street lawyers,” said Elrod, referring to the center of Washington’s lobbying industry. “We’re the ones that bear the brunt, we’re the ones that have the least tools in the box to work with.”
It’s not often that K Street gets handed the type of business development opportunity that Trump’s volatile trade policy offers.
With new tariffs being announced and lifted on a few days notice and trade agreements constantly being renegotiated, companies have scrambled to protect themselves. Tariff exclusions are highly sought after because they offer a huge competitive advantage — especially if a rival still has to pay. The review of exclusions is happening on a compressed time schedule, with little warning before tariffs and a complex set of rules that few people understand go into effect. And there are no second chances.
“When you’re running a process that has no appellate review, there’s a lot of room for questionable behavior because there’s no one really checking the process,” said one former USTR official who spoke on the condition of anonymity. “It’s common knowledge in town that the best way to get a leg up on an exclusion request is to get a Republican House or Senate member to call the White House.”
Members of Congress frequently work the bureaucracy on their constituents’ behalf, but there’s a particularly large pile of money on the line with trade. So far, Trump’s new tariffs amount to an $88 billion annual tax increase for U.S. companies, according to the Tax Foundation.
Just understanding the complexities of the process can require a specialized trade lawyer. Often, multiple importers will request exclusions for similar products. A reviewer at USTR’s Washington office might grant one company’s request and reject another’s, but anyone may take advantage of the resulting exclusion and request a refund of all the duties it paid on that product, which means keeping a close eye on the Federal Register. (The Commerce Department runs the exclusion process for steel and aluminum tariffs, and under its rules, exclusions are company-specific.)
Companies that can’t afford their own lobbyists often go through their trade associations, which can help open doors on the Hill on behalf of an industry’s interests. Still, even the trade groups are often baffled at why decisions come down the way they do. The National Marine Manufacturers Association has seen confoundingly mixed results — a fish finder is excluded while a depth finder isn’t, for example.
“We can’t make heads or tails out of why that happens,” said John-Michael Donahue, the association’s communications director. “I don’t think there’s a lack of help from Congress being loud about this issue, it’s more getting through to the administration and figuring out what the next step is in their mind.”
Some companies don’t need members of Congress or trade associations to make their case. Apple, for example, got 10 out of the 15 exclusions it asked for on items like computer chargers and mice, with 11 yet to be decided. The company spends more than $6 million on lobbying overall each year. Its CEO, Tim Cook, has met with Trump several times and the president cited Apple’s exclusion approvals during a public event at its Texas production facility.
“It’s difficult for me to see how this is a fair and transparent process,” said Nicole Bivens Collinson, head of the international trade and government relations practice for Sandler, Travis & Rosenberg. “When you’ve got Tim Cook who’s able to go in and meet with the president and get an exclusion, and someone who’s a very small company trying to submit through the regular process, and this is going to have a huge impact on their business.”
The federal government last set up an exclusion process in 2001, when George W. Bush imposed tariffs of up to 30% on $15 billion worth of steel imports in an attempt to bolster flagging mills. About half of the goods originally covered by the measure were exempted, which was one reason why the tariffs ultimately didn’t arrest the steel industry’s decline.
Trump’s tariffs are much less discriminate. Hefty new duties now cover about $364 billion worth of imports, or 12% of the overseas products Americans buy in a year. The tariffs don’t just fall on finished goods, like toasters or water heaters. They also cover many of product components, from motherboards to heat exchangers.
Because they’re so sweeping, the Commerce Department and USTR have been flooded with clemency pleas. As of mid-December, steel and aluminum users had requested exclusions on about 152,000 specific products. With two-thirds of the requests decided, about 79% had been approved. Importers of goods from China had requested about 44,000 exclusions, of which 43% had been decided and 35% approved, with a final round of exclusions under way.
For the first two rounds of China tariffs, which are worth about $50 billion in imports, the Peterson Institute for International Economics estimated that USTR had excluded products worth about $12.8 billion, in what it called “a substantial off-budget concession to lucky firms.”
Many of those affected simply submitted no requests, figuring they had slim chances of success. A handful of businesses submitted thousands, especially industrial suppliers that globally source tools and parts and distribute them to U.S. manufacturers, since a separate application was needed for every possible product variation. A single company — AEP Holdings, a private equity-owned supplier of aftermarket car parts — filed more than 10,000 exclusion requests. So far, about 2,600 have been denied and only a handful approved.
Adjudicating each request is an enormous undertaking, and the federal government was ill-prepared.
The Commerce Department at first had projected that it would see only about 4,500 applications — a threshold that was passed almost instantly. According to a regulatory filing, USTR estimated that each exclusion request would take applicants two hours to prepare, at a cost of $200 each, and two and a half hours for USTR to process. For the China tariffs, adjudicating cases is expected to take 175,000 staff hours over the course of a year, at a cost of $9.7 million.
To keep up, agencies have had to borrow staff from other departments and brought on dozens of contractors, giving them a crash course in tariff codes. (“The internet is useful to research the product,” reads one set of instructions for reviewers obtained by ProPublica.) There is no hard completion deadline, and companies can only track their applications’ progress via an online portal.
Very often, at least with the steel and aluminum process run by the Commerce Department, it was hard to believe that parties were being considered equally.
Christine McDaniel, an economist and a senior fellow at the Mercatus Center at George Mason University, has found that requests are rarely granted if objections are filed. A handful of steel producers have objected to thousands of applications, claiming that the importers should get no relief because U.S. manufacturers could make the necessary items. But McDaniel poked a hole in their argument: Added together, the producers’ claims far exceed what they’re realistically able to produce.
“It’s nearly costless for these guys to file objections, but the objection can prevent a company from getting its steel,” McDaniel said.
Capitol Hill has noticed. In early 2018, after receiving complaints from steel importers, Rep. Jackie Walorski, R-Ind., sent letters to the Commerce Department detailing problems with evaluations. The process had been a “masterclass in government inefficiency and plagued by maddening inconsistency,” she wrote in April. After receiving no formal responses, on Oct. 17 she wrote in exasperation, “It is difficult not to believe that there is a finger on the scale favoring objectors.”
In one letter, Walorski cited the case of National Tool & Manufacturing Company, a 45-person firm based in East Dundee, Illinois, that found itself in a fight with a multinational metals titan.
National Tool requested an exemption on a specialty grade of steel it buys in Italy and distributes to companies that make injection molds. EDRO Specialty Steels, which is owned by the Austrian conglomerate Voestalpine AG, objected on the grounds that it could produce the steel National Tool needed in the U.S. National Tool’s request was denied, so it had to keep eating the 25% tariff.
Then, EDRO itself requested exclusions for the raw material it imports from Slovenia to produce its proposed substitute — showing that the product it said it could supply wasn’t entirely American-made after all. (EDRO said this summary was “incomplete,” but declined to comment further.)
National Tool President Eric Sandberg suspects his exclusion request never had a chance.
“It truly is one of these big vs. small battles,” Sandberg said. “Because one of those big three companies wrote a letter, done. Without investigation, it was just done. It really feels like the government is working against you.”
In late October, the Commerce Department wrote back to Rep. Walorski, tersely rejecting her complaint. But Walorski’s concern was merited. On Oct. 28, the agency’s inspector general issued an alert finding that steel producers had back channel communications with Commerce Department staff that swayed their decisions. For example, the inspector general found that criteria for evaluating exclusions had been changed at an objector’s request, before decisions were posted publicly.
That apparent bias has percolated out to some Washington insiders, who see the steel and aluminum exclusion process as so slanted toward U.S. producers that it’s not worth the trouble. “I wouldn’t take anybody’s money against the U.S. steel industry,” said one prominent D.C. lobbyist who spoke on the condition of anonymity. “We say no a lot.”
Throughout his career, Mike Elrod has tried to follow the incentives that American trade policy has created for U.S. businesses.
In the 1990s, he owned a factory that made industrial rainwear. After China’s entry into the World Trade Organization in 2001, which locked in low tariff rates, Elrod’s biggest client decided to relocate production there. “It killed the company,” Elrod said. “There was nowhere else to go.”
After that, Elrod decided to start importing from China himself, setting up a business that manufactured precision metal components before finding a type of water heater that he thought would sell well in the U.S.. Founded in 2006, Eccotemp grew steadily, adding people, new models and distribution centers overseas, to the point where Elrod started thinking about setting up assembly operations in the U.S. Even if labor is more expensive, not having to wait four months for new orders to ship across the world would allow him to more closely control inventory levels and turn around design changes faster.
Instead of accelerating that plan, however, Trump’s tariffs on Chinese imports took it off the drawing board. If the only place to get components is China, the duties would make bringing them into the U.S. for final assembly cost-prohibitive.
As the trade war began, Elrod had been looking forward to retirement. As soon as the tariffs were announced, Elrod and his successor as CEO, Joe Bolognue, had to formulate a new business strategy based on a 25% hike in the cost of goods: More higher-margin products, more non-U.S. sales, leaner operations.
They don’t want to walk away from the brand they’ve built, or put their employees out of work. “We don’t have the luxury to say, ‘We’re going out of business,’” Bolognue said. “We just don’t make as much money as we used to.”
The tariffs have also created other problems, like Chinese manufacturers selling directly into the U.S. on Amazon or Alibaba rather than going through companies like Eccotemp. They still have to pay tariffs, but they can undercut prices by avoiding one layer of markups.
Since the tariff decisions came down, Elrod has moved to Georgia and isn’t as involved in day-to-day operations. But he’s still heavily invested in the company, financially and emotionally. That’s why it was particularly devastating when the tariffs killed a potential deal to sell Eccotemp to a private equity firm, which would have allowed it to keep growing while ensuring his retirement.
“That’s usually what people see as the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow,” Elrod said. “My net worth, you’re sitting in it. I don’t have a 401(k). Everything that I’ve ever done has flown back into this business. I don’t have enough runway to do it again.”
Elrod says that despite it all, he still plans to vote for Trump in November, citing the administration’s friendlier stance to his company on regulations. As for draining the swamp, Elrod doesn’t blame the president.
“Maybe if Trump moved the capital to Dallas and put everyone with a DC address on the Do Not Fly List, maybe,” Elrod said. “You get all the justice you can afford.”


motherjones--2020-01-06--Dan Crenshaw Called for Civility on SNL. Maybe That Was the Joke.

Dan Crenshaw started off as a joke .
On the last episode of Saturday Night Live before the 2018 election , Pete Davidson was rifling through headshots of candidates when he got to the 35-year-old retired Navy SEAL from the Houston area .
“ You may be surprised to hear he ’ s a congressional candidate from Texas and not a hitman in a porno movie , ” he said , as a photo of the Republican—short wavy brown hair , trim beard , eye patch—flashed across the screen .
Davidson started to laugh .
“ I ’ m sorry @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in war or whatever.
” The reaction was as instantaneous as it was predictable : Angry tweets .
An angrier press release .
An apologetic phone call from Lorne Michaels .
But as Republicans called for Davidson ’ s head , the butt of the joke appealed for peace .
The next day , Crenshaw filmed a video in his car .
“ I want us to get away from this culture where we demand apologies every time someone misspeaks , ” he said .
“ I think that would be very healthy @ @ @ @ @ @ @ direction .
We don ’ t need to be outwardly outraged .
I don ’ t need to demand apologies from them.
” The real tragedy , he added , was that the joke wasn ’ t funny .
A week later , Crenshaw—now a representative-elect—was live from New York to accept the apology he insisted he didn ’ t want .
( “ Maybe the most uplifting moment in American politics I ’ d seen in a decade , ” gushed the conservative pundit Ben Shapiro . )
A few days later @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Washington Post calling for civility in politics .
As Republicans limped into the new year , Crenshaw entered Congress as the face of a cultural counterrevolution , a beacon in a fog of toxicity .
A year into his Washington career , Crenshaw has emerged as the breakout star of the Republican Party ’ s Class of 2018 .
He ’ s one of the most sought-after fundraisers and speakers in town , and activists are already buzzing about a presidential run .
Crenshaw has the kind of platform it takes many politicians @ @ @ @ @ @ @ at first glance he ’ s the type of conservative who seems to have gone extinct during the Trump years—young and quick-witted , with a record of personal heroism and an earnestness about following our better angels .
In a March 2019 profile of Crenshaw , Politico offered him as a counter to sycophantic Florida Rep. Matt Gaetz , arguing that the Texan supported “ the possibility that the future of the Republican Party could be more conservative than Trumpist.
” Yet for all that promise , his brief tenure has shown how @ @ @ @ @ @ @ GOP is .
Members of the Never Trump crowd of Republican exiles had high expectations for Crenshaw , only to see him fall in line and run interference for the president—on everything from the Ukraine scandal to the administration ’ s child-separation policy—in a manner often indistinguishable from Trump ’ s most obsequious Republican allies .
“ The pressure every day has been , are you going to go with Trump and defend him , or are you going to stand on principle and make the argument for what ’ s right ?
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ the Texas-born founder of an online movement dubbed # PrinciplesFirst , aimed at reclaiming the party from Trump .
“ I think he ’ s made that decision incorrectly , and played it too cute by a half almost every time.
” Crenshaw ’ s first appearance on Face the Nation , a couple weeks after getting elected , was telling .
“ This broad-brush criticism that the president is somehow undermining our democracy—I always wonder what exactly we ’ re talking about , ” he remarked .
Like most of his Republican @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the calculation that his political fate depends on not trying too hard to find out .
Born in Aberdeen , Scotland , to American parents , Crenshaw spent his childhood bouncing between the Houston suburb of Katy and various oil industry hubs overseas—Colombia , Ecuador , Egypt .
His father was a petroleum engineer ; his mother , a nutritionist , died of cancer when Crenshaw was 10 .
He traces his professional awakening to a book he read as a kid called RogueWarrior , by an ex-SEAL named Dick Marcinko .
It @ @ @ @ @ @ @ scene , Marcinko eats the brain of a live monkey to impress a group of Cambodians .
Crenshaw was hooked .
“ I planned every bit of my life , from that moment on , on becoming a seal , ” he later said .
After high school in Colombia and four years at Tufts , he went straight to seal training .
By 2008 , he was in Fallujah .
Nearing the end of Crenshaw ’ s third deployment , in June 2012 , his unit was dispatched to a village in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they cleared the area , his interpreter stepped on an IED a few feet in front of him .
Getting blown up , Crenshaw tells people who ask—and people often ask— “ feels like a truck hit you , and there ’ s a bunch of guys in the truck shooting you with a shotgun , and also pouring Tabasco sauce all over your body.
” The blast dismembered the interpreter ; Crenshaw was knocked over .
According to his official Navy record , Crenshaw “ selflessly refused to be carried on a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ exposure to enemy fire.
” He walked to a medevac , where he was promptly put into a medically induced coma .
Crenshaw lost his right eye but eventually regained vision in the left after multiple surgeries .
He made two more noncombat deployments before higher-ups finally pushed him into medical retirement .
Unsure exactly what he wanted to do , but with a notion of working on national security policy , he enrolled at Harvard ’ s John F. Kennedy School of Government in 2016—as strange a time as any to begin @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , Crenshaw ’ s Harvard cohort crowded into a Cambridge bar and munched on red , white , and blue cupcakes as the results came in .
Some students cried the next day ; others poured out their frustrations on the few conservatives in their midst .
Crenshaw now says he voted for Trump in 2016 , but he kept it to himself back then—his friend and classmate Allyson Walther , a former Navy pilot and current reservist , told me he “ didn ’ t really publicize his support for anybody ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ think they can be in politics , ” Crenshaw later said , and in his free time , he took a special class for veterans on how to run for office .
In the classroom , Walther recalled , Crenshaw was a lonely voice from the right .
“ Oftentimes they ’ ve just never spoken to a conservative , ” he has said of his classmates , attempting to explain how the left could be so intolerant of people who share his politics .
( According to Walther , classmates sometimes tag @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Trump et al .
do something they don ’ t like ; he occasionally responds . )
Crenshaw took a job on Capitol Hill after graduation and was preparing for a career at the Department of Defense when longtime Houston-area Rep. Ted Poe announced his retirement in the fall of 2017 .
A friend on the Hill convinced Crenshaw to run .
One of the reasons Crenshaw is so important to the GOP is that he offers a vision of its future at a moment when the future seems uncertain .
Texas ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of Houston like a dancing Baby Groot , starting in the master-planned communities northeast of the city and pulling in historically Republican suburbs before curling down into LGBTQ-friendly Montrose .
Mitt Romney won the district by 27 points .
Donald Trump won it by nine .
In 2018 , Sen. Ted Cruz edged out Beto O ’ Rourke there by one—close to the Texas Republican ’ s margin statewide .
The 2nd District , right now , might be a tipping point for Texas .
Houston has traditionally churned out a mellower sort @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Bush ) , but over the past decade , suburban culture warriors have been ascendant , led by Dan Patrick , a onetime talk-radio host who got elected lieutenant governor in 2014 and made transgender bathroom laws a keystone issue .
Conservative activists dominate GOP primaries in Harris County , but the increasingly diverse Houston electorate often has far different impulses than the party ’ s immigrant-hating and bathroom-policing wing .
Crenshaw , a newcomer , was able to move between both worlds .
“ He ’ s an interesting , young , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ somewhat sclerotic , ” says Jay Aiyer , a Houston-based consultant and Texas politics expert .
Crenshaw didn ’ t come out of the party ’ s ideological institutions , and he had no record of activism—he was a blank slate .
“ If you were gon na try to give him a modern equivalent , his background is really , really similar to someone like John McCain.
” “ Like John McCain ” can be a mixed blessing in GOP politics these days .
( Crenshaw has criticized Trump ’ s persistent @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Where Crenshaw ’ s background appealed to mainline Republicans , some right-wing activists viewed him with suspicion .
The culture warriors dug up Facebook posts in which Crenshaw criticized Trump ’ s anti-Muslim rhetoric and took issue with Christians focused on opposing same-sex marriage .
They bashed him as a godless liberal .
But their attacks only reinforced his message : He was not running to represent the suburbs of yesterday .
“ You keep electing old , rich , white people to the seat , ” Crenshaw told the Weekly Standard , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to be gone in 50 years.
” He wanted to make conservatism “ cool and exciting again.
” He jogged 100 miles around the district in five days to drum up news coverage , campaigned at CrossFit , and gave away AR-15-style rifles emblazoned with the SEAL trident .
Campaign materials featured his headshot with a Texas flag for an eye patch .
Crenshaw was egged on into running by John Noonan , a longtime Republican national security hand and former nuclear launch officer who had pushed conservatives to reject Trump in 2016 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ red-meat crowd , too .
He got a big boost from another friend , Michael Berry , a right-wing radio host based in Houston , who long peppered his commentary with jokes about African American victims of gun violence .
Crenshaw made the primary runoff by 155 votes , then won the runoff by 40 points .
In a state where the party was in turmoil , he was a unifier .
“ Let ’ s face it : When you have suburban Republican-club women describing a candidate as a sexy pirate , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ says Ed Emmett , the longtime Harris County judge who was swept out in the 2018 Democratic wave , even as Crenshaw won a narrow victory .
“ You just can ’ t beat a sexy pirate.
” There ’ s an alternate universe in which you ’ ve still never heard of Dan Crenshaw .
If Davidson had just made fun of , say , Georgia ’ s Brian Kemp instead , Crenshaw might have quietly disappeared into the anonymity of Capitol Hill , made friends with the right people , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , worked his way up to a position to run for something bigger .
But SNL gave Crenshaw the floor , and he hasn ’ t yielded it since .
Lamentations about comity have always been a good way to get attention in Washington , but Crenshaw has sharpened his pitch into an ideology in itself .
By the time he took office he ’ d inked a quarter-million-dollar book deal— “ sort of a self-help book , ” he told one interviewer , about surviving “ outrage culture.
” Crenshaw believes that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ grit ” that got him where he is today are being eroded .
Instead , people are driven by “ this idea that you have to be offended , that aggrieved victim status is the greatest thing you can accomplish , ” he told Ben Shapiro last spring .
That sense of victimhood has changed the way young left-leaning voters approach politics .
Because young people on the left are socialized to feel victimized by the slightest provocation , he contends , they embrace identity groups to reclaim a sense of power .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ different groups and talk about intersectional hierarchies of victimhood , ” he told the comedian Joe Rogan , “ fundamentally what it is is you ’ re dividing people up , and you ’ re saying your group is oppressed by that group , and if you vote for me , I ’ ll give you power over that group.
” Outrage politics isn ’ t just ruining comedy , in other words .
It ’ s a threat to democratic society .
If what Crenshaw is saying sounds familiar , that ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Trump era , conservatives have embraced “ outrage culture ” as the culture war ’ s new frontier , the scarier successor to decades of PC policing .
Donald Trump Jr. ’ s first book , published in November , is titled Triggered .
Glenn Beck ’ s Addicted to Outrage came out in 2018 .
When Crenshaw dropped by Candace Owens ’ podcast to talk , in part , about his forthcoming book , the right-wing commentator replied that her book about outrage culture was also due out soon .
It ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , in fact , is really outraged .
Indeed , Crenshaw ’ s desire for “ good-faith ” idea-driven debate seems to fade when there ’ s an opportunity to score points against the opposition .
Take what happened with Rep. Ilhan Omar .
Last March , the Minnesota Democrat gave a speech to the Council on American-Islamic Relations in which she praised the group for defending a vulnerable community .
“ CAIR was founded after 9/11 because they recognized that some people did something and that all of us were starting to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” she said .
Crenshaw pounced .
( CAIR , for the record , was founded in 1994 . )
“ First Member of Congress to ever describe terrorists who killed thousands of Americans on 9/11 as ‘ some people who did something , ’ ” he tweeted , with a link to the video .
“ Unbelievable.
” Crenshaw ’ s tweet started a chain reaction of outrage .
The New York Post front page depicted the burning World Trade Center with the text “ Here ’ s your something.
” Brian @ @ @ @ @ @ @ wonder if she ’ s an American first.
” The president eventually told Omar to go back to the country she fled as a child .
She was besieged with death threats .
Omar referred to 9/11 the way she did because that ’ s just how people talk—her point was that one group of people doing anything shouldn ’ t cost an entire religious minority its rights .
Crenshaw didn ’ t even have a problem with the substance of her argument , just her phrasing , he explained in an interview @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he agreed with it .
When Omar ’ s colleagues called him out , Crenshaw played the innocent .
The outrage mob was going after him !
Asked about the Omar controversy , Crenshaw ’ s spokesperson , Kerry Rom , directed me in an email to Crenshaw ’ s Washington Post op-ed about civility , saying his statement “ fell in line with the guidelines of debate he lays out…He attacked an idea/a statement , not the person behind it .
That ’ s the appropriate way to disagree in public discourse.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ was elevated to public life as the anti-outrage candidate was feeding it so eagerly in practice , because when you get down to it , the backlash to outrage culture is no different from anything else in politics ; it ’ s a choice about what you get mad about and what you let slide .
In this case , Crenshaw targeted the words of an immigrant from a community ( Somali refugees ) targeted by Trump for exclusion from the country , who belongs to a faith group also targeted by the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ period of discrimination against people like her .
Crenshaw could have spoken out about those things ; instead , he used his big platform to make the smallest possible point .
A month later , when Crenshaw defended his criticism of Omar on The View—because Crenshaw is already the kind of politician who appears on The View—co-host Joy Behar brought up Trump ’ s famous defense of the violent white nationalist mob that descended on Charlottesville in 2017 , in which the president said there were “ very fine people on both sides.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ In that same sentence when he said that , he also said , ‘ I am definitely not referring to white nationalists , ’ ” Crenshaw said .
“ Why do you apologize for him ?
” Behar asked .
“ I ’ m not apologizing , ” Crenshaw said .
“ You have to read what he actually said.
” Trump did not actually say that , though he had allowed that some of the white nationalists at the white nationalist rally were “ very bad.
” But it was the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of why it was being raised at all ; it does not matter if a glass is half empty or half full if it contains arsenic .
“ He ’ s been angling , he ’ s been trying to come out clean on the other side by not angering folks , ” says Mayo , the Never Trumper .
“ And in this moment , if you ’ re playing politics and angling , you ’ re not being principled.
” There ’ s a lot that a principled young do-gooder could @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Washington—massive corruption , the use of foreign policy for personal gain , the targeting of political enemies , a deliberate effort to block action on climate change ( an issue Crenshaw says the country should be concerned about ) , routine flouting of laws and precedents , and a persistent targeting of communities of color .
But talking about any of those things is a terrible way to get ahead as a Republican .
Just ask Rep. Justin Amash .
If you set aside the outrage-outrage , Crenshaw isn ’ t really selling @ @ @ @ @ @ @ win over young people by talking more about the national debt and how to rein in spending on Social Security and Medicare—something Republicans have been talking about for decades .
He wants a more hawkish presence in the Middle East ( he opposed Trump ’ s withdrawal of troops from Syria ) and believes we should stay in Afghanistan .
He thinks Trump uses the wrong language to talk about immigrants , but wants a wall built yesterday .
Trump was right on the border , right on taxes , right on health @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Shortly after getting elected , Crenshaw visited Mar-a-Lago for a $ 2,500-a-plate fundraiser sponsored by Turning Point USA , the uber-Trumpy young conservatives group , at which Rush Limbaugh received a lifetime achievement award .
Someone who quotes and repeatedly references viral Ben Shapiro videos ( Crenshaw likes to cite one that ’ s titled “ Ben Shapiro Destroys Socialism ” or variously “ FACTS NOT FEELINGS : Ben Shapiro destroys & humiliates little socialist comrade ” ) is not , as the Houston Chronicle suggested in October , building a “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he ’ s building , instead , is a bridge between Trump and the Republicans supplanted by Trump—it turns out the divide isn ’ t so vast after all .
It is a delicate balance to strike , though , because while Crenshaw exudes a calmer , less conspiratorial politics than Trump , the president is endangering Republicans in suburban areas like the ones Crenshaw represents .
Crenshaw ’ s race is not one of the six Texas districts currently targeted by the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee , but that could change .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ good job of putting himself in front of TV cameras and getting his name out , but he ’ s clearly not interested in what the people of his district have to say , ” one of his Democratic opponents , a Navy vet turned teacher named Elisa Cardnell , told me , after rattling off a list of legislation that Crenshaw had opposed .
“ He voted against HR 8 , which was the universal background checks bill , ” she said .
“ He voted against the renewal of the Violence @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the Equality Act , ” which would bar discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation and gender identity .
( Efforts to expand such protections , Crenshaw told a group of pastors during his campaign , were an attempt “ to destroy the traditions we hold dear , ” Houston ’ s OutSmart magazine reported . )
In late September , I caught the Crenshaw show for myself at a mostly full auditorium of College Republicans at George Washington University .
It had been one of those afternoons in Trump-era Washington where the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that day , House Speaker Nancy Pelosi announced an official impeachment inquiry into Trump ’ s attempt to get Ukraine to investigate former Vice President Joe Biden .
Trump accused his critics of a “ witch hunt scam.
” As his party careened toward crisis , Crenshaw seemed blissfully at ease .
Crenshaw had prepared a presentation to go along with his remarks , filled with photos ( puppies ! )
, charts , and funny videos .
His message was a familiar one—Crenshaw implored the audience to engage in good faith , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ emotion and identity , and to avoid socialism .
A few minutes in , he paused to play a clip from the 2012 movie The Campaign , in which a debate between rival candidates—played by Will Ferrell and Zach Galifianakis—devolves into a comic brawl .
“ Does that look familiar ?
” he asked .
“ Cancel culture , outrage culture .
We are in full throttle , ” he went on .
“ This is not parody anymore.
” Trump came up only once .
“ He ’ s definitely not my @ @ @ @ @ @ @ policies , so that ’ s , like , the simplest way I can put it , ” Crenshaw said , laughing awkwardly .
“ His style is not my style , okay ?
To say the least.
” He laughed again .
“ But the agenda is the right agenda and it ’ s good for America—plus or minus a couple of things I might disagree with him on.
” The next day , Crenshaw tweeted that Trump ’ s impeachment-triggering phone call with the president of Ukraine was “ worse for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ He subsequently joined a push by Trump loyalists to censure Rep. Adam Schiff ( D-Calif. ) , chair of the House Intelligence Committee for paraphrasing ( and dramatizing ) the call at a committee hearing .
Trump has alienated so many voters of Crenshaw ’ s generation and younger , cost so many suburban Republican lawmakers their jobs , and surrounded himself with so many villains and hangers-on that someone with the nimbleness to be whatever people want to see looks like a unicorn .
Crenshaw indulges in speculation about his future without @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is no plans right now , ” he said recently about whether he ’ d seek the presidential nomination in 2024—but “ if the people want that , that ’ s what would happen.
” But for now , he ’ s a lesson in how Trumpism ensnares almost everyone in Crenshaw ’ s party .
You can ’ t escape it ; you can only embrace it and hope the party doesn ’ t come crashing down around you .

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Dan Crenshaw started off as a joke. On the last episode of Saturday Night Live before the 2018 election, Pete Davidson was rifling through headshots of candidates when he got to the 35-year-old retired Navy SEAL from the Houston area. “You may be surprised to hear he’s a congressional candidate from Texas and not a hitman in a porno movie,” he said, as a photo of the Republican—short wavy brown hair, trim beard, eye patch—flashed across the screen. Davidson started to laugh. “I’m sorry, I know he lost his eye in war or whatever.”
The reaction was as instantaneous as it was predictable: Angry tweets. An angrier press release. An apologetic phone call from Lorne Michaels. But as Republicans called for Davidson’s head, the butt of the joke appealed for peace. The next day, Crenshaw filmed a video in his car.
“I want us to get away from this culture where we demand apologies every time someone misspeaks,” he said. “I think that would be very healthy for our nation to go in that direction. We don’t need to be outwardly outraged. I don’t need to demand apologies from them.” The real tragedy, he added, was that the joke wasn’t funny.
A week later, Crenshaw—now a representative-elect—was live from New York to accept the apology he insisted he didn’t want. (“Maybe the most uplifting moment in American politics I’d seen in a decade,” gushed the conservative pundit Ben Shapiro.) A few days later, Crenshaw wrote an op-ed for the Washington Post calling for civility in politics. As Republicans limped into the new year, Crenshaw entered Congress as the face of a cultural counterrevolution, a beacon in a fog of toxicity.
A year into his Washington career, Crenshaw has emerged as the breakout star of the Republican Party’s Class of 2018. He’s one of the most sought-after fundraisers and speakers in town, and activists are already buzzing about a presidential run. Crenshaw has the kind of platform it takes many politicians years to build, in part because at first glance he’s the type of conservative who seems to have gone extinct during the Trump years—young and quick-witted, with a record of personal heroism and an earnestness about following our better angels. In a March 2019 profile of Crenshaw, Politico offered him as a counter to sycophantic Florida Rep. Matt Gaetz, arguing that the Texan supported “the possibility that the future of the Republican Party could be more conservative than Trumpist.”
Yet for all that promise, his brief tenure has shown how strong Trump’s grip on the GOP is. Members of the Never Trump crowd of Republican exiles had high expectations for Crenshaw, only to see him fall in line and run interference for the president—on everything from the Ukraine scandal to the administration’s child-separation policy—in a manner often indistinguishable from Trump’s most obsequious Republican allies. “The pressure every day has been, are you going to go with Trump and defend him, or are you going to stand on principle and make the argument for what’s right?” says Republican dissident Heath Mayo, the Texas-born founder of an online movement dubbed #PrinciplesFirst, aimed at reclaiming the party from Trump. “I think he’s made that decision incorrectly, and played it too cute by a half almost every time.”
Crenshaw’s first appearance on Face the Nation, a couple weeks after getting elected, was telling. “This broad-brush criticism that the president is somehow undermining our democracy—I always wonder what exactly we’re talking about,” he remarked. Like most of his Republican colleagues, Crenshaw appears to have made the calculation that his political fate depends on not trying too hard to find out.
Born in Aberdeen, Scotland, to American parents, Crenshaw spent his childhood bouncing between the Houston suburb of Katy and various oil industry hubs overseas—Colombia, Ecuador, Egypt. His father was a petroleum engineer; his mother, a nutritionist, died of cancer when Crenshaw was 10. He traces his professional awakening to a book he read as a kid called RogueWarrior, by an ex-SEAL named Dick Marcinko. It was real Rambo shit: In one scene, Marcinko eats the brain of a live monkey to impress a group of Cambodians. Crenshaw was hooked. “I planned every bit of my life, from that moment on, on becoming a seal,” he later said. After high school in Colombia and four years at Tufts, he went straight to seal training. By 2008, he was in Fallujah.
Nearing the end of Crenshaw’s third deployment, in June 2012, his unit was dispatched to a village in Afghanistan’s Helmand province. As they cleared the area, his interpreter stepped on an IED a few feet in front of him. Getting blown up, Crenshaw tells people who ask—and people often ask—“feels like a truck hit you, and there’s a bunch of guys in the truck shooting you with a shotgun, and also pouring Tabasco sauce all over your body.”
The blast dismembered the interpreter; Crenshaw was knocked over. According to his official Navy record, Crenshaw “selflessly refused to be carried on a litter, thereby preventing his comrades from exposure to enemy fire.” He walked to a medevac, where he was promptly put into a medically induced coma. Crenshaw lost his right eye but eventually regained vision in the left after multiple surgeries. He made two more noncombat deployments before higher-ups finally pushed him into medical retirement.
Unsure exactly what he wanted to do, but with a notion of working on national security policy, he enrolled at Harvard’s John F. Kennedy School of Government in 2016—as strange a time as any to begin studying politics. On election night 2016, Crenshaw’s Harvard cohort crowded into a Cambridge bar and munched on red, white, and blue cupcakes as the results came in. Some students cried the next day; others poured out their frustrations on the few conservatives in their midst. Crenshaw now says he voted for Trump in 2016, but he kept it to himself back then—his friend and classmate Allyson Walther, a former Navy pilot and current reservist, told me he “didn’t really publicize his support for anybody” that year.
Harvard “makes everybody think they can be in politics,” Crenshaw later said, and in his free time, he took a special class for veterans on how to run for office. In the classroom, Walther recalled, Crenshaw was a lonely voice from the right. “Oftentimes they’ve just never spoken to a conservative,” he has said of his classmates, attempting to explain how the left could be so intolerant of people who share his politics. (According to Walther, classmates sometimes tag Crenshaw in the alumni WhatsApp group when Trump et al. do something they don’t like; he occasionally responds.)
Crenshaw took a job on Capitol Hill after graduation and was preparing for a career at the Department of Defense when longtime Houston-area Rep. Ted Poe announced his retirement in the fall of 2017. A friend on the Hill convinced Crenshaw to run.
One of the reasons Crenshaw is so important to the GOP is that he offers a vision of its future at a moment when the future seems uncertain. Texas’ jagged 2nd District hugs the outer loop of Houston like a dancing Baby Groot, starting in the master-planned communities northeast of the city and pulling in historically Republican suburbs before curling down into LGBTQ-friendly Montrose. Mitt Romney won the district by 27 points. Donald Trump won it by nine. In 2018, Sen. Ted Cruz edged out Beto O’Rourke there by one—close to the Texas Republican’s margin statewide. The 2nd District, right now, might be a tipping point for Texas.
Houston has traditionally churned out a mellower sort of Republican (think George H.W. Bush), but over the past decade, suburban culture warriors have been ascendant, led by Dan Patrick, a onetime talk-radio host who got elected lieutenant governor in 2014 and made transgender bathroom laws a keystone issue. Conservative activists dominate GOP primaries in Harris County, but the increasingly diverse Houston electorate often has far different impulses than the party’s immigrant-hating and bathroom-policing wing. Crenshaw, a newcomer, was able to move between both worlds.
“He’s an interesting, young, attractive candidate in a party that is somewhat sclerotic,” says Jay Aiyer, a Houston-based consultant and Texas politics expert. Crenshaw didn’t come out of the party’s ideological institutions, and he had no record of activism—he was a blank slate. “If you were gonna try to give him a modern equivalent, his background is really, really similar to someone like John McCain.”
“Like John McCain” can be a mixed blessing in GOP politics these days. (Crenshaw has criticized Trump’s persistent belittling of the late senator.) Where Crenshaw’s background appealed to mainline Republicans, some right-wing activists viewed him with suspicion. The culture warriors dug up Facebook posts in which Crenshaw criticized Trump’s anti-Muslim rhetoric and took issue with Christians focused on opposing same-sex marriage. They bashed him as a godless liberal. But their attacks only reinforced his message: He was not running to represent the suburbs of yesterday. “You keep electing old, rich, white people to the seat,” Crenshaw told the Weekly Standard, “you can expect the Republican party to be gone in 50 years.” He wanted to make conservatism “cool and exciting again.” He jogged 100 miles around the district in five days to drum up news coverage, campaigned at CrossFit, and gave away AR-15-style rifles emblazoned with the SEAL trident. Campaign materials featured his headshot with a Texas flag for an eye patch.
“The pressure every day has been, are you going to go with Trump and defend him, or are you going to stand on principle and make the argument for what’s right?”
Crenshaw was egged on into running by John Noonan, a longtime Republican national security hand and former nuclear launch officer who had pushed conservatives to reject Trump in 2016. But Crenshaw drew support from the red-meat crowd, too. He got a big boost from another friend, Michael Berry, a right-wing radio host based in Houston, who long peppered his commentary with jokes about African American victims of gun violence. Crenshaw made the primary runoff by 155 votes, then won the runoff by 40 points. In a state where the party was in turmoil, he was a unifier.
“Let’s face it: When you have suburban Republican-club women describing a candidate as a sexy pirate, how do you fight that?” says Ed Emmett, the longtime Harris County judge who was swept out in the 2018 Democratic wave, even as Crenshaw won a narrow victory. “You just can’t beat a sexy pirate.”
There’s an alternate universe in which you’ve still never heard of Dan Crenshaw. If Davidson had just made fun of, say, Georgia’s Brian Kemp instead, Crenshaw might have quietly disappeared into the anonymity of Capitol Hill, made friends with the right people, and eventually, if he kept voters happy, worked his way up to a position to run for something bigger. But SNL gave Crenshaw the floor, and he hasn’t yielded it since.
Lamentations about comity have always been a good way to get attention in Washington, but Crenshaw has sharpened his pitch into an ideology in itself. By the time he took office he’d inked a quarter-million-dollar book deal—“sort of a self-help book,” he told one interviewer, about surviving “outrage culture.”
Crenshaw believes that the “mental toughness” and “grit” that got him where he is today are being eroded. Instead, people are driven by “this idea that you have to be offended, that aggrieved victim status is the greatest thing you can accomplish,” he told Ben Shapiro last spring. That sense of victimhood has changed the way young left-leaning voters approach politics. Because young people on the left are socialized to feel victimized by the slightest provocation, he contends, they embrace identity groups to reclaim a sense of power.
“When you divide people up into different groups and talk about intersectional hierarchies of victimhood,” he told the comedian Joe Rogan, “fundamentally what it is is you’re dividing people up, and you’re saying your group is oppressed by that group, and if you vote for me, I’ll give you power over that group.”
Outrage politics isn’t just ruining comedy, in other words. It’s a threat to democratic society.
When Captain America sees your Captain America glass eye. #merica pic.twitter.com/0xHb9GjSmV — Rep. Dan Crenshaw (@RepDanCrenshaw) March 8, 2019
If what Crenshaw is saying sounds familiar, that’s because it is. In the Trump era, conservatives have embraced “outrage culture” as the culture war’s new frontier, the scarier successor to decades of PC policing. Donald Trump Jr.’s first book, published in November, is titled Triggered. Glenn Beck’s Addicted to Outrage came out in 2018. When Crenshaw dropped by Candace Owens’ podcast to talk, in part, about his forthcoming book, the right-wing commentator replied that her book about outrage culture was also due out soon. It’s enough to make you wonder who, in fact, is really outraged.
Indeed, Crenshaw’s desire for “good-faith” idea-driven debate seems to fade when there’s an opportunity to score points against the opposition. Take what happened with Rep. Ilhan Omar. Last March, the Minnesota Democrat gave a speech to the Council on American-Islamic Relations in which she praised the group for defending a vulnerable community. “CAIR was founded after 9/11 because they recognized that some people did something and that all of us were starting to lose access to our civil liberties,” she said. Crenshaw pounced. (CAIR, for the record, was founded in 1994.)
“First Member of Congress to ever describe terrorists who killed thousands of Americans on 9/11 as ‘some people who did something,’” he tweeted, with a link to the video. “Unbelievable.”
Crenshaw’s tweet started a chain reaction of outrage. The New York Post front page depicted the burning World Trade Center with the text “Here’s your something.” Brian Kilmeade said, “You have to wonder if she’s an American first.” The president eventually told Omar to go back to the country she fled as a child. She was besieged with death threats.
Omar referred to 9/11 the way she did because that’s just how people talk—her point was that one group of people doing anything shouldn’t cost an entire religious minority its rights. Crenshaw didn’t even have a problem with the substance of her argument, just her phrasing, he explained in an interview not long afterward. In fact, he agreed with it. When Omar’s colleagues called him out, Crenshaw played the innocent. The outrage mob was going after him!
Asked about the Omar controversy, Crenshaw’s spokesperson, Kerry Rom, directed me in an email to Crenshaw’s Washington Post op-ed about civility, saying his statement “fell in line with the guidelines of debate he lays out…He attacked an idea/a statement, not the person behind it. That’s the appropriate way to disagree in public discourse.”
It was fitting that someone who was elevated to public life as the anti-outrage candidate was feeding it so eagerly in practice, because when you get down to it, the backlash to outrage culture is no different from anything else in politics; it’s a choice about what you get mad about and what you let slide. In this case, Crenshaw targeted the words of an immigrant from a community (Somali refugees) targeted by Trump for exclusion from the country, who belongs to a faith group also targeted by the president for exclusion, discussing a real period of discrimination against people like her. Crenshaw could have spoken out about those things; instead, he used his big platform to make the smallest possible point.
A month later, when Crenshaw defended his criticism of Omar on The View—because Crenshaw is already the kind of politician who appears on The View—co-host Joy Behar brought up Trump’s famous defense of the violent white nationalist mob that descended on Charlottesville in 2017, in which the president said there were “very fine people on both sides.” Crenshaw tried to correct her.
“In that same sentence when he said that, he also said, ‘I am definitely not referring to white nationalists,’” Crenshaw said.
“Why do you apologize for him?” Behar asked.
“I’m not apologizing,” Crenshaw said. “You have to read what he actually said.”
Trump did say, later in his remarks, that he wasn’t referring to white nationalists—but who else would have been attending a white nationalist rally? It was the kind of quibble that begged the question of why it was being raised at all; it does not matter if a glass is half empty or half full if it contains arsenic. “He’s been angling, he’s been trying to come out clean on the other side by not angering folks,” says Mayo, the Never Trumper. “And in this moment, if you’re playing politics and angling, you’re not being principled.”
There’s a lot that a principled young do-gooder could find to decry in Trump’s Washington—massive corruption, the use of foreign policy for personal gain, the targeting of political enemies, a deliberate effort to block action on climate change (an issue Crenshaw says the country should be concerned about), routine flouting of laws and precedents, and a persistent targeting of communities of color. But talking about any of those things is a terrible way to get ahead as a Republican. Just ask Rep. Justin Amash.
If you set aside the outrage-outrage, Crenshaw isn’t really selling anything new. He believes Republicans can win over young people by talking more about the national debt and how to rein in spending on Social Security and Medicare—something Republicans have been talking about for decades. He wants a more hawkish presence in the Middle East (he opposed Trump’s withdrawal of troops from Syria) and believes we should stay in Afghanistan. He thinks Trump uses the wrong language to talk about immigrants, but wants a wall built yesterday. Trump was right on the border, right on taxes, right on health care, and mostly right on guns.
Shortly after getting elected, Crenshaw visited Mar-a-Lago for a $2,500-a-plate fundraiser sponsored by Turning Point USA, the uber-Trumpy young conservatives group, at which Rush Limbaugh received a lifetime achievement award. Someone who quotes and repeatedly references viral Ben Shapiro videos (Crenshaw likes to cite one that’s titled “Ben Shapiro Destroys Socialism” or variously “FACTS NOT FEELINGS: Ben Shapiro destroys & humiliates little socialist comrade”) is not, as the Houston Chronicle suggested in October, building a “GOP brand independent of Trump.” What he’s building, instead, is a bridge between Trump and the Republicans supplanted by Trump—it turns out the divide isn’t so vast after all.
It is a delicate balance to strike, though, because while Crenshaw exudes a calmer, less conspiratorial politics than Trump, the president is endangering Republicans in suburban areas like the ones Crenshaw represents. Crenshaw’s race is not one of the six Texas districts currently targeted by the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee, but that could change. “He’s definitely done a good job of putting himself in front of TV cameras and getting his name out, but he’s clearly not interested in what the people of his district have to say,” one of his Democratic opponents, a Navy vet turned teacher named Elisa Cardnell, told me, after rattling off a list of legislation that Crenshaw had opposed. “He voted against HR 8, which was the universal background checks bill,” she said. “He voted against the renewal of the Violence Against Women Act. He voted against the Equality Act,” which would bar discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation and gender identity. (Efforts to expand such protections, Crenshaw told a group of pastors during his campaign, were an attempt “to destroy the traditions we hold dear,” Houston’s OutSmart magazine reported.)
“Let’s face it: When you have suburban Republican-club women describing a candidate as a sexy pirate, how do you fight that?”
In late September, I caught the Crenshaw show for myself at a mostly full auditorium of College Republicans at George Washington University. It had been one of those afternoons in Trump-era Washington where the headlines read like Mad Libs. Earlier that day, House Speaker Nancy Pelosi announced an official impeachment inquiry into Trump’s attempt to get Ukraine to investigate former Vice President Joe Biden. Trump accused his critics of a “witch hunt scam.” As his party careened toward crisis, Crenshaw seemed blissfully at ease.
Crenshaw had prepared a presentation to go along with his remarks, filled with photos (puppies!), charts, and funny videos. His message was a familiar one—Crenshaw implored the audience to engage in good faith, to not settle for the temptations of emotion and identity, and to avoid socialism. A few minutes in, he paused to play a clip from the 2012 movie The Campaign, in which a debate between rival candidates—played by Will Ferrell and Zach Galifianakis—devolves into a comic brawl.
“Does that look familiar?” he asked. “Cancel culture, outrage culture. We are in full throttle,” he went on. “This is not parody anymore.”
Trump came up only once. “He’s definitely not my spiritual leader, but I like his policies, so that’s, like, the simplest way I can put it,” Crenshaw said, laughing awkwardly. “His style is not my style, okay? To say the least.” He laughed again. “But the agenda is the right agenda and it’s good for America—plus or minus a couple of things I might disagree with him on.”
The next day, Crenshaw tweeted that Trump’s impeachment-triggering phone call with the president of Ukraine was “worse for Biden than it is for Trump.” He subsequently joined a push by Trump loyalists to censure Rep. Adam Schiff (D-Calif.), chair of the House Intelligence Committee for paraphrasing (and dramatizing) the call at a committee hearing.
Trump has alienated so many voters of Crenshaw’s generation and younger, cost so many suburban Republican lawmakers their jobs, and surrounded himself with so many villains and hangers-on that someone with the nimbleness to be whatever people want to see looks like a unicorn. Crenshaw indulges in speculation about his future without a hint of coyness. “There is no plans right now,” he said recently about whether he’d seek the presidential nomination in 2024—but “if the people want that, that’s what would happen.”
But for now, he’s a lesson in how Trumpism ensnares almost everyone in Crenshaw’s party. You can’t escape it; you can only embrace it and hope the party doesn’t come crashing down around you.
Top image credits: Anna Moneymaker/Bloomberg/Getty; Bill Clark/CQ Roll Call/Getty
This article has been updated to correct a reference to President Trump’s remarks following the Unite the Right rally in Charlottesville.


motherjones--2020-01-06--Donald Trump Just Doubled Down on Threatening War Crimes Because Hey, Why Not?

It ’ s the night of the Golden Globes , and people across America are ready to tuck into an @ @ @ @ @ , booze-inspired bad choices , and far too much Ricky Gervais .
In other words @ @ @ @ @ perfect time for President Donald Trump to double down on threatening war crimes in Iran @ @ @ @ @ ’ t tweet it ?

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motherjones--2020-01-05--Donald Trump Just Sent Congress the Worst Push Notification Ever

On Sunday afternoon , President Donald Trump achieved what might be the apex of a weekend full of reckless Twitter @ @ @ @ @ can tell ( bear with me , it ’ s a weird one , folks @ @ @ @ @ to Twitter…to tell Congress…that he can attack Iran…without its permission ( ? )
Setting aside @ @ @ @ @ are based on a backward reading of the Constitution ( Congress gives the executive branch @ @ @ @ @ to declare war , not the other way around ) , what are we even @ @ @ @ @ to Congress delivered via Twitter ?
What if some lawmakers are practicing mindfulness in the @ @ @ @ @ their notifications ?
What is a “ Media Post ?
” What the hell is @ @ @ @ @ , Trump tweeted that he was contemplating some international war crimes .
Today , his @ @ @ @ @ his phone keyboard .
It ’ s not too late to resolve to tweet less @ @ @ @


motherjones--2020-01-05--Lindsey Graham Just Promised to Change the Senate Rules If Democrats Don’t Hurry Up on Impeachment

Senate judiciary committee chairman Lindsey Graham ( R-S.C. ) said on Sunday that he aims to start Donald Trump ’ s impeachment trial “ in the next coming days ” —and promised to change the rules of the Senate if House Speaker Nancy Pelosi ( D-Calif. ) does not send articles of impeachment by then .
“ I would work with [ Senate Majority Leader Mitch ] McConnell to change the rules of the Senate so we can start the trial without her , ” Graham told Maria Bartiromo on Fox News ’ Sunday Morning Futures .
The House of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ President Trump last month , finding the president guilty of abuse of power and obstruction of Congress .
The House was then supposed to send the articles over to the Senate , which has sole responsibility for holding the impeachment trial .
But Pelosi has refused to send the articles to the Senate because McConnell and Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer ( D-N.Y. ) have not yet agreed on the trial ’ s parameters , such as how long it will take and what process it will follow .
Democrats have questioned whether @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he noted he ’ s been coordinating with the White House on its impeachment strategy .
Pelosi has downplayed any political motivations for the delay .
Meanwhile , Graham called Pelosi ’ s refusal to send the articles over “ a political stunt ” and accused Pelosi of “ trying to extort from the majority leader of the Senate a trial to her liking.
” Graham told Bartiromo that he plans to speak with McConnell about rule changes this week , and he ’ d like to have the trial over by the @ @ @ @

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Senate judiciary committee chairman Lindsey Graham (R-S.C.) said on Sunday that he aims to start Donald Trump’s impeachment trial “in the next coming days”—and promised to change the rules of the Senate if House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-Calif.) does not send articles of impeachment by then.
“I would work with [Senate Majority Leader Mitch] McConnell to change the rules of the Senate so we can start the trial without her,” Graham told Maria Bartiromo on Fox News’ Sunday Morning Futures.
Sen. Lindsey Graham: It is a political stunt for Pelosi to not send articles to Senate https://t.co/kltEQpokmG @LindseyGrahamSC@SundayFutures @FoxNews — Maria Bartiromo (@MariaBartiromo) January 5, 2020
The House of Representatives approved two articles of impeachment against President Trump last month, finding the president guilty of abuse of power and obstruction of Congress. The House was then supposed to send the articles over to the Senate, which has sole responsibility for holding the impeachment trial.
But Pelosi has refused to send the articles to the Senate because McConnell and Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer (D-N.Y.) have not yet agreed on the trial’s parameters, such as how long it will take and what process it will follow. Democrats have questioned whether McConnell can set those rules impartially since he noted he’s been coordinating with the White House on its impeachment strategy.
Pelosi has downplayed any political motivations for the delay. Meanwhile, Graham called Pelosi’s refusal to send the articles over “a political stunt” and accused Pelosi of “trying to extort from the majority leader of the Senate a trial to her liking.”
Graham told Bartiromo that he plans to speak with McConnell about rule changes this week, and he’d like to have the trial over by the end of January.