Lindsey Graham, reverse ferret: how John McCain's spaniel became Trump's poodle
That Lindsey Graham would become Donald Trump’s poodle was not a tale (or tail) foretold. But it has landed him in the dogfight of his life for re-election to his Senate seat in South Carolina, challenged by a relentless and capable Democratic candidate, Jaime Harrison, who methodically chased Graham around the ring in their debate, repeatedly jabbing him as a hypocrite, until he struck him with a haymaker, ending the verbal fisticuffs with a TKO: “Be a man.”
Bruised and battered, Graham retreated to his corner, Sean Hannity’s show on Fox News, to beg: “I’m getting overwhelmed … help me, they’re killing me money-wise. Help me.”
Graham has climbed the greasy pole within the Senate, to a position that historically has been rewarded by his state with a lifetime tenure. He succeeded to the seat that Strom Thurmond held for 48 years before he died at 100. From Graham’s chairmanship of the Senate judiciary committee he has taken up the defense of Trump, to unmask the dastardly conspiracy of “Obamagate” and to handle the confirmation of a justice on the supreme court, to pack it with a conservative majority for a generation to come. But just at this consummate moment of his career, events have conspired to dissolve his facade and expose his flagrant hypocrisy. His presumed strength has turned into his vulnerability. Worse, in Washington, where the press has treated him for more than 20 years like the genial star of the comedy club, he has become an object of ridicule.
In British political discourse, a figure like Graham would be described with the seemingly enigmatic phrase of “reverse ferret”, applied to a politician who takes a dramatic and often contorted U-turn. According to the classic work Lying, by Sissela Bok, the word “hypocrisy” has its origins in Greek theater, as the slanted reply of an actor to the action on the stage. “Its present meaning is: the assumption of a false appearance of virtue or goodness, with dissimulation of real characters or inclinations.” The hypocrite deceives in order to be perceived as virtuous. His dishonesty is in the service of an image of honesty.
Unlike Trump, Graham is not a pathological liar, but his mendacity fits the category of “duping delight” as defined by Bok: “It evokes the excitement, allure, challenge that lying can involve.” For Graham, it’s the thrill of the illicit done in public, creating a suspension of disbelief, the skill of the actor. Graham has always been more than complicit with liars like Trump, not simply as an enabler. From the beginning, well before Trump, he has advanced his career through hypocrisy as his chief means of ambition, knowingly engaging in deceit, adopting a false attitude to win praise and applause as a truthteller.
The political tasks Trump has delegated to Graham, intended as rescue operations at the close of the presidential campaign, have become showcases for how Graham’s hypocrisy threatens his political life. He squirms in the spotlight he has sought.
On 30 September, Graham called former FBI director James Comey before the judiciary committee as a witness, to somehow prove the “Obamagate” conspiracy theory. According to that inverted theory, the intelligence community’s investigation of Russian interference in the 2016 presidential election to assist Trump was really a plot against Trump. Graham sprayed out multiple falsehoods and distortions to create the impression of a vast conspiracy. One part had already been investigated by the intelligence community inspector general and almost all of it dismissed as untrue. Another piece of the theory, that Hillary Clinton’s campaign contrived the entire story about Trump and Russia to distract from her emails and somehow manipulated the intelligence community, had already been discredited as Russian disinformation.
Graham bore down on Comey, demanding answers about “Hillary Clinton’s approval of a plan concerning US presidential candidate Donald Trump and Russian hackers hampering US elections as a means of distracting the public from her use of a private email server”. To which Comey replied, deadpan: “That doesn’t ring any bells with me.” Graham excitedly harassed him. “Let’s just end with this, you get this inquiry from the intelligence committee to look at the Clinton campaign basically trying to create a distraction, accusing Trump of being a Russian agent or a Russian stooge or whatever to distract from her email server problems …”
“I’m sorry, senator,” Comey replied. “Is there a question?”
Graham’s nonsense was not particularly helpful in laying the publicity groundwork for the potential October surprise of a report from John Durham, the US attorney from Connecticut, named by the attorney general, William Barr, as a special prosecutor to investigate the alleged anti-Trump plot. To Trump’s fury, Barr leaked that the report would not be forthcoming before the election. The planned explosion was a fizzle. “Unless Bill Barr indicts these people for crimes,” Trump railed on 8 October, “the greatest political crime in the history of our country, then we’re going to get little satisfaction unless I win and we’ll just have to go, because I won’t forget it.” That revenge might encompass Lindsey Graham, too, for failing to execute the smear.
On the matter of how the FBI obtained the notorious dossier on Trump’s Russian connections, written by former MI6 officer Christopher Steele. Graham’s manufactured zealotry should have been more earnestly directed toward a cross-examination of himself. The facts are that in late 2016, after Trump’s election, John McCain, Graham’s mentor, disturbed at what he had heard about Trump’s Russian ties, sent an aide, David Kramer, a Russia expert, to London to retrieve the dossier from Steele. In March 2019, after McCain’s death, Trump trashed McCain, saying, “I’m not a fan” and explaining that McCain was the one who gave the dossier to the FBI for “very evil purposes”. But there was an additional subplot. McCain did not act alone.
He asked Graham what he should do with the damaging information. “And I told him,” Graham recounted to reporters, “the only thing I knew to do with it, it could be a bunch of garbage, it could be true, who knows? Turn it over to somebody whose job it is to find these things out, and John McCain acted appropriately.”
That bit of Graham’s own history was never mentioned at his own hearing. He seemed a caricature of the lyrics of Bob Dylan’s Talkin’ John Birch Paranoid Blues:
Graham’s risible hypocrisy on “Obamagate”, however, has been overshadowed by a more spectacular case. In 2016, Graham followed the lockstep order of Mitch McConnell, the Republican Senate majority leader, to deny Barack Obama’s nominee to the supreme court, federal judge Merrick
Garland, a hearing and committee vote, on the invented doctrine that a president should not be permitted to propose a justice in his last year in office.
“He’s a very nice man,” said Graham about Garland, “… very honest, very capable judge.” But, no dice.
Graham elevated McConnell’s raw cynicism into a constitutional principle. “I want you to use my words against me,” he said. “If there’s a Republican president in 2016 and a vacancy occurs in the last year of the first term, you can say Lindsey O Graham said, ‘Let’s let the next president, whoever it might be, make that nomination.’ And you could use my words against me, and you’d be absolutely right.”
In 2018, with Trump in office, Graham underscored his self-incriminating pledge. He chose his favored venue of the Aspen Ideas festival, where his transfixing hayseed act has been a perennial marquee attraction.
“Now, I’ll tell you this,” he said, pointing his finger. “This may make you feel better, but I really don’t care. If an opening comes in the last year of President Trump’s term and the primary process has started, we’ll wait till the next election.”
“You’re on the record,” his interlocutor, Jeffrey Goldberg, editor of the Atlantic, reminded him.
“Hold the tape,” said Graham. Then, he blurted out a non-sequitur to suggest his next topic and broad expertise: “North Korea.” The audience burst into laughter. (Now, the Never Trumper Lincoln Project is running an ad featuring that tape in an endless feedback loop.)
Graham’s antic hypocrisy seems confounding to some who previously admired him when he was a camp follower of McCain’s antiPutin foreign policy. “Why?” beseeches Anne Applebaum, a former neoconservative turned Never Trumper, about Graham’s transmogrification into complicit Trump enabler, comparing his turn to collaborators with Nazi and communist regimes.
“In this negative sense, collaborator is closely related to another set of words: collusion, complicity, connivance. This negative meaning gained currency during the second world war, when it was widely used to describe Europeans who cooperated with Nazi occupiers. At base, the ugly meaning of collaborator carries an implication of treason: betrayal of one’s nation, of one’s ideology, of one’s morality, of one’s values.”
But Graham did not set out to become a collaborator and traitor when he announced his candidacy in June 2015 for the Republican nomination for president. He pledged he would restore Ronald Reagan’s cold war approach of “Peace Through Strength” and excoriated “Obama/Clinton policies” for weakness against our “enemies”. He was running as a kind of proxy for McCain. Like nearly everything else in his political career, his pose wound up becoming a setup for hypocrisy.
By the fall of 2015, Graham told every reporter whose ear he could bend that he would lay his life on the line to prevent “nutjob” and “jackass” Donald Trump from seizing the nomination. Graham’s campaign had failed to spark the slightest interest. His poll ratings could not break 1%. In the early debates he was demoted to what he called “the kids’ table”, excluded from the big boys’ main stage, and after registering invisibility in a qualifying poll was dropped even from there. Humiliated and broke, he desperately needed to sustain his status in the capital. But he still had access to the social network of Washington journalists, his base constituency, always available to be entertained with his private animadversions of other politicians.
Graham quickly found a relevant role that allowed him to hold the attention he craved: the anti-Trump whisperer. He had learned the lesson long ago when he gained entrée to the Washington press corps as an inside dopester to feed the inside dopesters. With his round boyish face, short height and restless gestures he developed a comedic routine in which he portrayed himself as an innocent who had just stepped out of a brothel to tell us with bug-eyed astonishment about the scenes of debauchery he had somehow stumbled across. To perfect his Huckleberry Finn imitation, one off-kilter wisecrack after another, he always finishes with a trademark darting looking of complicit knowing and a smile to seal approval.
As reporters related, during Graham’s anti-Trump phase, his hilarious outtakes described Trump as the Beast threatening western civilization that he, Lindsey Graham, would singlehandedly destroy, St George against the dragon. On and on he went, as usual, eliciting laughter, attention and nodding heads, though not votes.
Graham’s public denunciations of Trump went from grim to grimmer. “Go to hell,” he said in March 2016. “I think his campaign’s built on xenophobia, race-bating and religious bigotry.” He soon raised the stakes: “What I see is a demagogue, somebody that has solutions that will never work, that is playing on people’s prejudices and dark side of politics.” When Trump stated in April 2016 that he would deal with Putin as a reasonable partner, Graham was apop
lectic. He called Trump’s statement “unnerving,” “pathetic” and “scary”. “Our enemies will enjoy this; our friends have got to be scared to death. It’s nonsensical, it makes no sense. He has no understanding of the world and the role we play.” In May, he tweeted: “If we nominate Trump, we will get destroyed … and we will deserve it.” In June, after Trump had wrapped up the primaries, he said: “I would like to support our nominee, I just can’t.”
Graham’s close association with McCain was the critical event in his makeover. Graham was an air force lawyer who was never a top gun but McCain was the genuine article: a war hero, the preeminent voice of the Republican party for a hardline foreign policy, especially toward Putin’s Russia, and a presidential nominee.
Even before his tagging after McCain, Graham demonstrated a penchant for trailing strong men. In the House of Representatives, elected in the Republican wave of 1994, Graham first attached himself to Newt Gingrich, the radical reactionary speaker who early perfected the toxic politics of polarization. But Gingrich’s erratic character, a prefiguring of Trump, triggered an internal revolt. Graham was one of the rebels who conspired against Gingrich for the crime of being too moderate toward Bill Clinton. Toppling Gingrich, and doing the bidding of the ruthless and corrupt majority leader Tom DeLay, Graham advanced as a House manager in the impeachment, where he performed a histrionic role running up the scales to a high pitch.
“You know, where I come from, any man calling a woman at 2am is up to no good,” he said.
I encountered Graham in his impeachment phase when I was subpoenaed as a witness in the Senate trial. When I entered the Senate hearing room to be questioned, Graham shook my hand and said, “If there’s anyone here who wants to be here less than you, it’s me. That’s right, I’m, we’re, on the wrong side of history.” Graham’s shambolic performance irritated the Republican “judge”, Senator Arlen Spector, a former prosecutor, who repeatedly admonished him. Finally, Spector chided Graham: “We’re still looking for that laser.” Graham quickly ended and bounded over to me to shake hands and say: “Listen, when this is over, when you’re going to introduce a patients’ bill of rights, would you let me be the cosponsor?” He shook the hand of my wife, Jackie, saying: “I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to say.”
Sometime later, I ran into a friend of Graham’s, Representative Mary Bono, Sonny’s widow, a Republican from California, who cheerfully told me: “Lindsey sure had a good time making fun of your name.” Was Graham an antiSemite, as she implied? Of course not. He was play-acting, all just in “fun”.
Graham’s impeachment frolics, however, left a residue of a future hypocrisy. In 1999, he argued: “In every trial that there has ever been in the Senate regarding impeachment, witnesses were called.” But in the impeachment trial of Donald Trump, Graham was in the forefront insisting that witnesses, especially former national security adviser John Bolton, not be called. “If we seek witnesses, then we’re going to throw the country into chaos,” he said. Graham’s contradiction was symmetrical to his reverse ferret on supreme court appointments. The running thread of his consistency is his hypocrisy from one side of the Capitol to another.
Elected to the Senate in 2002, in his quest for a more serious persona, Graham fastened himself to McCain. “Lindsey for some reason had sort of a man-crush on John McCain,” said his friend, Senator Steve Largent, Republican of Oklahoma. One southern senator confided to me that he and a number of his colleagues had dubbed Graham “Little Brother”. Graham trotted after the larger than life McCain like a spaniel. In McCain’s presence, “Little Brother” tried to puff himself up as big, too. But the senator I spoke with dismissively waved him away as a chronic self-aggrandizer and hypocrite, and flicked away Graham’s foreign policy talk as aspirational clichés.
Hillary Clinton was then a senator from New York, and at her initiative and to his initial surprise she approached Graham, and they wound up co-sponsoring healthcare legislation for members of the national guard. She was another bigger and stronger figure. He had a kind of crush on her, too. In 2006, he wrote an article for Time Magazine’s 100 Most Influential People issue to praise her as a “smart, prepared, serious senator”, with whom he had found “common ground”.
Most importantly, Hillary was a friend of McCain, augmenting the looming shadow. Together they all traveled abroad on congressional trips, when Hillary and McCain famously closed down bars with shots of vodka. Graham, strictly the “Little Brother”, claimed he abjured the hard stuff. “I was drinking water, pretending it was vodka,” he said. “I had to go to the bathroom, before they stopped drinking.” But one of those present told me he would sometimes nurse a glass of white wine. His teetotaling was a little white lie – a sauvignon blanc lie.
When Hillary became secretary of state, Graham was effusive in his praise. In 2012, he stated she was “a good role model, one of the most effective secretary of states, greatest ambassadors for the American people that I have known in my lifetime” and “extremely well-respected throughout the world, handles herself in a very classy way, and has a work ethic second to none”.
But, preparing for his campaign for the Republican nomination, Graham blamed her for the killing of the US ambassador to Libya in a terrorist attack at Benghazi. “Hillary Clinton got away with murder in my view,” he said.
Graham’s brief presidential campaign in 2016 was like the proverbial tree in the forest that no one heard fall. Getting out, his endorsement of Jeb Bush was weightless. After Bush disappeared, Graham moved down the food chain to endorse Ted Cruz. After Cruz washed out, he was left face-toface with the Beast. Graham gave Hillary a shout-out. “Hillary,” he said, about Middle East policy, “If you get to be president, I’ll help you where I can.” Still the jokester, he wished above all to be seen as a wise man. He was positioning himself to be Hillary’s “Little Brother”. But after Trump won he would befriend the Beast. Graham decided he was not a dragon slayer, after all.
“Little Brother” justified his Trump whispering as a grown-up offering his wisdom to guide the naïve newcomer. But it was more than half an excuse for being in the room where it supposedly happens, except in Trump’s room nobody but Trump matters. Trump enabled Graham to think of himself as one of the grown-ups, huddling with the other adults in the room, cheek by jowl with John Kelly and James Mattis, while they enabled Trump. “I think Lindsey feels a little bit like the adult in the room, speaking with the president,” Steve Largent explained. “[T] here’s something about, I’m not going to say innocence, but the president’s affability as well as his naïveté that Lindsey is drawn to.”
Graham’s relationship with Trump flourished from the date McCain was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. Basking in Trump’s presence, Graham happily demeaned himself. Trump, he said, “beat me like a dog” in the 2016 primaries. Before a Republican gathering, he demanded unquestioning loyalty. “To every Republican, if you don’t stand behind this president, we’re not going to stand behind you,” he said. Graham argued that unstinting support for Trump extended beyond any policy issue but required embrace of Trump’s view of himself as a victim of his host of enemies. “It’s not just about a wall. It’s about him being treated different than any other president.”
Graham confessed to Mark Leibovich of the New York Times it has all been just an act. “This,” he said, “is to try to be relevant.” How could anyone blame a self-professed hypocrite for his hypocrisy? But he and Trump were also secret sharers as entertainers, playing on hypocrisy. “The point with Trump is,” Graham said, “he’s in on the joke.” But there was something even more alluring. “I have never been called this much by a president in my life. It’s weird, and it’s flattering, and it creates some opportunity. It also creates some pressure.”
The greatest pressure on Graham was that Trump hated McCain. “He lost, so I never liked him as much after that, because I don’t like losers,” Trump said. He went on to denigrate McCain’s captivity as a prisoner of war and torture by the North Vietnamese: “He’s not a war hero. He’s a war hero because he was captured. I like people that weren’t captured.”
“I don’t like what he says about John McCain,” Graham shrugged. “But when we play golf, it’s fun.” He was moving on.
Graham has seemingly shed several skins, but that’s the illusion of the reflected light of the larger figures he has sought out. Contrary to those who measure his character only from his distance from McCain to Trump, he has evolved from hypocrisy to hypocrisy while remaining remarkably the same underlying person he was as an attention-seeking little boy. In 2015, he self-published a short memoir about his early life. He described spending much of his time in the bar his father owned, the Sanitary Café, trying to entertain the white working-class men who frequented it.
“But when the place started to fill in and liven up, I would get my act going,” he wrote. “I would strut around the place, sometimes dressed as a cowboy – hat, vest and plastic six shooters. I might get up on the bar and walk up and down it while talking to folks. When customers went to the restroom, I might steal their beer and chug it. I might smoke their cigarette, too, if they left it burning in the ashtray. Those were antics that earned me the nickname, ‘Stinkball’, which everyone in the bar except my parents called me.”
Graham’s autobiography movingly recounts the illnesses and deaths of his mother and father from cancer. He ends his book as a Republican candidate winning his seat in the South Carolina state legislature at the start of his political career. It makes him wish his parents could have seen his triumph.
On 28 July 2017, John McCain, in his last act of bravery, strode to the well of the Senate and turned his thumb down to cast the deciding vote against the Republican bill to replace the Affordable Care Act. Graham voted the other way. He had crusaded for years to repeal Obamacare. Yet the ACA would have offered early detection and treatment of the kind of cancers that killed his parents. McCain died a year later.
Graham gave one of the eulogies at the memorial service at the National Cathedral. Trump did not attend. When McCain announced days before his death he was refusing further medical help, Trump alone among prominent officials in Washington had not sent well wishes. Out in the audience sat his daughter and son-in-law, Ivanka Trump and Jared Kushner. Graham had arranged to get them tickets to the funeral.
“Ho ld the tape. North Korea.” (Laughter) Sidney Blumenthal, former senior adviser to President Bill Clinton and Hillary Clinton, has published three books of a projected five-volume political life of Abraham Lincoln: A Self-Made Man, Wrestling With His Angel and All the Powers of Earth
Graham has always been more than complicit with liars like Trump, not simply as an enabler