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yet pure. Now, having found themselves—by odds that were perfect-storm outlandish—in
power, they were not going to give it up because Steve Bannon had hurt feelings and
wasn’t getting enough sleep.
Toward the end of March, the Mercers organized a set of emergency meetings. At least
one of them was with the president himself. It was exactly the kind of meeting Trump
usually avoided: he had no interest in personnel problems, since they put the emphasis on
other people. Suddenly he was being forced to deal with Steve Bannon, rather than the
other way around. What’s more, it was a problem he had in part created with his constant
Bannon dissing, and now he was being asked to eat crow. Even though the president kept
saying he could and should fire Bannon, he was aware of the costs—a right-wing backlash
of unpredictable proportions.
Trump thought the Mercers were super-strange bedfellows too. He didn’t like Bob
Mercer looking at him and not saying a word; he didn’t like being in the same room with
Mercer or his daughter. But though he refused to admit that the Mercers’ decision to back
him and their imposition of Bannon on the campaign in August was, likely, the event
without which he would not now be in the White House, he did understand that if crossed,
the Mercers and Bannon were potential world-class troublemakers.
The complexity of the Bannon-Mercer problem prompted Trump to consult two
contradictory figures: Rupert Murdoch and Roger Ailes. Even as the president did so,
perhaps he knew he would come up with a zero-sum answer.
Murdoch, already briefed by Kushner, said getting rid of Bannon was the only way to
deal with the dysfunction in the White House. (Murdoch, of course, made the assumption
that getting rid of Kushner was not an option.) It was the inevitable outcome, so do it now.
Murdoch’s response made perfect sense: by now, he had become an active political
supporter of the Kushner-Goldman moderates, seeing them as the people who would save
the world from Bannon and, indeed, from Trump as well.
Ailes, blunt and declarative as always, said, “Donald, you can’t do it. You’ve made
your bed and Steve is in it. You don’t have to listen to him, you don’t have to even get
along with him. But you’re married to him. You can’t handle a divorce right now.”
Jared and Ivanka were gleeful at the prospect of Bannon’s ouster. His departure would
return the Trump organization to pure family control—the family and its functionaries,
without an internal rival for brand meaning and leadership. From the family’s point of
view, it would also—at least in theory—help facilitate one of the most implausible brand
shifts in history: Donald Trump to respectability. The dream, long differed, of the Trump
pivot, might actually happen without Bannon. Never mind that this Kushner ideal—saving
Trump from himself and projecting Jared and Ivanka into the future—was nearly as far-
fetched and extreme as Bannon’s own fantasy of a White House dedicated to the return of
a pre-1965 American mythology.
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