How Sean Spicer won (and we all lost)



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"What's good, is that Sean will be responsible for assessing the size of the audience," commented show host Tom Bergeron, referring to the Spicer's false claim that more people had attended the inauguration of President Donald Trump in the story. (Bergeron later tweeted that he had hoped not to have politicians on "DWTS".)

This whole saga basically proves the old adage that "humor = tragedy + time". It also proves that Spicer won – and the rest of us lost.

See, before Trump was elected president, Spicer was a mid-level agent. He worked during the 2016 campaign as director of communications for the Republican National Committee, the latest in a series of jobs in the press that Spicer held on Capitol Hill during the previous decade. The Republican political class generally regarded him as a friendly man, someone who followed instructions and could reliably carry out GOP attacks against Democrats.

Spicer was never seen as the White House press secretary – the most important position of any political communicator in the country. But Trump's victory was so unexpected and the new president had so few close political allies that Spicer found himself on the job. It was a perfect storm.

Once in office, Spicer quickly understood – to his credit? – that the best way to keep the job was to do and say exactly what the president wanted.

The most famous incident occurred when Spicer told incredulous journalists – two days before Trump's first day of work! – that the president had attracted "the largest audience ever attended an inauguration" and added that "any attempt to diminish the enthusiasm generated by the inauguration is shameful and erroneous". A multitude of photos from the National Mall very clearly indicated that Trump's inaugural crowd was not, in fact, the biggest that had ever seemed to bother Spicer. Trump said it was the biggest. Period.
Spicer's senseless defense against Trump's indefensible claims in the coming days – do you remember "covfefe"? – it turned into, well one thing. He became a part of pop culture. In particular, it was described – in a terribly accurate print – by comedian Melissa McCarthy in "Saturday Night Live".
Under the shots of Trump, who regularly criticized everything from Spicer's ill-fitting suits to his allegedly mediocre defense of Trump's record, Spicer finally left the White House in July 2017. The last straw, apparently, was the choice of businessman Anthony Scaramucci by Trump as a means of communication director; Spicer resigned on the day of the announcement of Mooch 's hiring. (The whole question of Scaramucci as director of communications has not worked very well for Trump.)

And that's where American culture – and his super-Trump accusation – came in. Although Spicer did not tell the truth repeatedly and blatantly during his tenure as a press officer in the White House – a job, by the way, funded by the taxpayer dollars – he had entered a different stratosphere. In a word, he was famous. (And, yes, "famous" and "infamous" are now fundamentally interchangeable in our culture.)

Thus, Spicer suddenly – and credibly – purchased a TV pilot in a talk show featuring, yes, him. He wrote a book. He appeared at the Emmys! And now, he is scheduled to be a celebrity participating in "Dancing with the Stars".

None of these things were possible for Spicer before he took Trump. As in a billion years. And yet, we are there.

Spicer became a celebrity by not telling the truth. The doors opened for his career because he stood at the rostrum in the White House press conference room and said the things he knew were wrong only to please that president. and to keep his position.

In this we are all losers. By creating a culture in which people like Spicer can and will benefit from what he did when he was working for the American taxpayer.

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