This host will not be roasting the president
You ever look at a situation and see a solution that’s so obvious you can’t believe those involved do not see it?
Let me begin by acknowledging the tough spot in which the White House Correspondents’ Association finds itself. The KKK has an easier PR road ahead. There are now wrongly convicted inmates in solitary confinement who are thinking, “Well, at least I’m not stuck in the Press Briefing Room.”
Covering Donald Trump is not dissimilar to juggling machetes while teetering on a tightrope as Sarah Huckabee Sanders mumbles her Arkansas insults — “Y’all are dumber than a bag of hammers” — and secretly wishes for you to fall.
This administration is a combat zone hidden inside a funhouse run by monkeys. You can see it in the eyes of the Washington press corps. April Ryan’s resting face is now more sullen than about 99 per cent of the migrants in that caravan. CNN’s Jim Acosta, who was just in court to fight the White House after his credentials were revoked, doesn’t even sound like he’s asking questions anymore — he sounds like he’s trying to start a bar brawl. I’ve seen flu-stricken people at the walk-in clinic who looked less woozy than NBC’s Peter Alexander on any given day. When the cameras cut to the media during a briefing, most of the reporters raise their hands with the muted terror of bank hostages desperate to use the bathroom. Trump’s ongoing war with the media has placed White House correspondents on the front lines, real or imagined. They feel under siege.
So this week, the WHCA declared a temporary truce, at least with respect to the group’s annual fundraising dinner. At the next gala, on April 27, there will be no comic on the dais to crack wise or lampoon the president, as was the norm for the better part of a halfcentury.
Instead, the keynote speaker will be author and historian Ron Chernow.
What a shame. What a cop-out. What an unforced error. No offence to Chernow, an esteemed thinker, but this event now promises to be as lively as a basket of papayas. The odds valedictorian Trump will even notice next year’s Nerd Prom is zero. He declared the gala “dead” last year. Instead of resurrection, this week the cowardly WHCA shovelled more dirt on its own grave.
The big problem with the 2018 dinner in April was not Michelle Wolf’s bomb-throwing set that enraged conservatives and led to the skittish decision to ditch next year’s comedy. Wolf was just doing her job, and she did it well.
No, the big problem was that Trump did not attend.
Imagine if George W. Bush had not been a few feet away when Stephen Colbert ridiculed him in 2006. Or if Bill Clinton was not present to chuckle awkwardly at Jay Leno’s barbs six years earlier. Starting with Bob Hope in 1944 — and with subsequent acts including Milton Berle, Peter Sellers, George Carlin, Richard Pryor, Rich Little, Sinbad, Conan O’Brien, Jon Stewart, Ray Romano, Wanda Sykes, Seth Meyers and many others — one thing is now clear.
Having this dinner without the sitting president is like trying to play a Super Bowl without the football. You can’t roast a ghost. The biggest star in Washington is always the president.
This brings us to today’s solution that seems so obvious, I can’t believe the WHCA does not see it: instead of searching for a high road, instead of hiring historians or trying to dull tensions with the White House, they should just surrender their media bunker to Trump for one night and let him rip them to shreds, no hard feelings. You need him to attend your dinner? Make the dinner all about his grievances. Let him flip the script. Let him be the guest of honour and the comedy act. Instead of enlisting a comic to savage Trump as the media laughs, let Trump insult the media as comedians laugh. Give him a tux-andgown platform so he can excoriate the reporters he loves to hate with punch lines instead of pique.
Here’s the thing: the White House Correspondents’ Dinner has changed dramatically since Calvin Coolidge became the first president to attend in 1924. Before the ’80s, the roasting of a president was a cultural novelty. Now it happens every day. Show me a late-night program that is not one neverending Trump roast and I will show you a bumbling Jimmy Fallon struggling in the ratings with beer pong.
But by letting Trump into the act — indeed, by making him the act — the media could showcase a sporting side that could go a long way to improving relations with this White House. This could be cathartic for all involved. Besides, if you watched Trump’s performance at the Al Smith dinner in 2016, there is reason to believe he might actually be funny and bring the house down. The WHCA should not be running away from comedy, as it did this week. Having no guts is not a wise way to champion free speech. Instead, it should embrace the power of comedy by doing the unthinkable: give the mic to Donald Trump next year and get out of the way.