The presidential pretence that hid an affair doomed to fail

It was obvious that relations between Donald Trump and his secretary of state, Rex Tillerson, had become irreparable as soon as news leaked last year that Tillerson had called his boss “a f------ moron”. But instead of admitting as much, the administration in Washington has since engaged in a charade of mutual love and respect so transparently false as to be absurd.

From the outset there was an air of artificiality to Tillerson’s nomination. Trump initially liked the idea of the appointment because Tillerson looked like a statesman “from central casting”. The two only met for the first time in December 2016, just a month before Trump’s inauguration. They chatted for an hour or so, according to Tillerson “then he kind of went into a little bit of a sales pitch with me and said, ‘I want you to be my secretary of state.’ I was stunned.” And not, it turned out, in a good way.

The two men have long differed over a host of security issues: Trump hates the Iran nuclear deal, Tillerson less so; Trump is a hawk on North Korea, Tillerson favours the softly softly approach; even on climate change they fought.

Yet as recently as a couple of days ago, State department officials were insistent that the very idea that Tillerson’s job was on the line was a “false narrative”. “He is one of the top team. One of the guys. He has breakfasts with Kelly and Mattis all the time” – referring to John Kelly, Trump’s chief of staff, and Jim Mattis, the defence secretary. Mattis even calls him “Saint Rex” they whooped, not imagining that this might not necessarily be a fond label.

Still, the three men – Mattis, Kelly, and Tillerson – were known to be doves, moderates seeking to trim Trump’s sails. Officials were prepared to concede that Tillerson was not as close to national security adviser HR Mcmaster, but even then they were sure that, if it came to a showdown between the two, their man would win the contest of presidential favour.

Perhaps they felt it was their duty to ignore the evidence to the contrary, but evidence there was – and plenty of it. Often, when Tillerson travelled abroad, he would find himself giving a speech when, all of a sudden, the presidential Twitter feed would erupt into life. Tillerson would be in Mexico, speaking about Mexico, when @realdonaldtrump would begin opining on Mexico. Tillerson’s audience would stop listening and

‘Deferring to another had not been ... part of his skill set. And Trump never looked happy sharing the stage’

start checking their phones instead.

Those pretending that everything was OK would point to such episodes as examples of how “Rex has got the president fired up about an issue”. But realists simply acknowledged that, as with so many failing relationships, bitterness and petty spite were bleeding into promises that everything was going to be amicable.

That was always going to be unlikely. Tillerson, as chief executive of Exxon, was undisputed boss of one of the world’s biggest companies. Deferring to another had not been, for many years, part of his skill set. And Trump never looked happy sharing the stage.

The reality is that for both men, the end of the affair will probably come as a relief. Tillerson can go back to his personal fortune and his Texas ranch. Trump can go back to calling the shots.

They can both stop pretending. The charade, at last, is over.