Donald Trump warmly welcomed Zorhan Mamdani, self-described Democratic Socialist Mayor-Elect of New York City but described by others as a Communist. Trump smiled, patted him on the shoulder, gave him friendly, fatherly advice, and sent him off happy and delighted at having met the President of the United States.
'Did you call Mr. Trump a fascist?', a reporter asked Mamdani at a press conference in the Oval Office after a meeting. Mamdani fumbled, stumbled before Trump gave him a friendly pat on the arm, and said, 'Go ahead, it's OK, I don't mind'.
Of course the President was only softening the young man up, tenderizing the meat before cooking. Trump was the generous, loving uncle, the understanding father, the adoring grandfather - making think that no politician was better or more suited to govern than Mamdani.
'He likes me!', Mamdani, smiling broadly, was overheard saying to an aide. 'He really likes me'.
And so it was that the all the Sturm und Drang over the meeting of archrivals who had traded insults, allegations, and smarmy innuendoes in the past turned out to be a tempest in the teapot. The two men liked each other, New York would not be subjected to the worst that Trump had promised - withholding federal funds, deploying ICE troops, finagling with New York's credit rating, and applying punishing political, financial, and economic pressure.
Now, Mamdani's mother is Mira Nair, Indian film producer/director who makes love stories. Mississippi Masala, Monsoon Wedding, and Kama Sutra among others, and she had told her son that the President was no Hindi film villain, just Donald Uncle, kindly, loving, supportive, and patient. His mother knew that there is a love story in every relationship, and politics are no different. The fondness expressed by the President was obvious in his smile, his gestures, and his comments. 'Not to worry', she said.
Now, admittedly at the end of Mississippi Masala, the inter-racial couple's future is not as rosy as they think. Yes, they are going off together, leaving Greenwood, family and friends, to start a life together, but such promise, everyone knows, is but a lovers' fantasy.
'You and President Trump are that couple', Nair reminded her son; 'but your shared promises are real. You have won over Donald Uncle, and the future is bright'.
This Trump-Mamdani episode could easily be featured in one of Nair's Bollywood movies. The old Hindu maharaja of Jaipur, sitting in luxury in Hava Mahal, the Palace of Winds, surrounded by veiled, bejeweled courtesans, a sumptuous banquet set before him, the fragrance of frankincense and myrrh filling the room, grants an audience to the young prince of a neighboring state, recently risen to power when his father, the Maharaja of Udaipur dies. The young prince comes with a list of demands, sure to anger the Maharajah of Jaipur, demands even more threatening and aggressive than those of the young man's father.
But the Maharajah greets him warmly, welcomes him to partake of the feast he prepared for him and sits him next to his most beautiful courtesan - a woman of extraordinary beauty who was the jewel in he crown of the Maharajah's harem. The two men chat cordially, play a game of chess of which the Maharajah was very fond, and upon the young prince's move to checkmate, the Maharajah ceremoniously lays down his king, bows, and thanks the young man for his patience.
When an aide to the prince hurries to the young man's side with a sheaf of papers containing the demands, the Maharajah frowns, and says, 'Later. It is time for Scheherazade' and with that the golden curtains part and the most magnificent show of opulent splendor, the backdrop for the most beautiful dancing girls in the kingdom begins. 'Any one of them is yours', says the Maharaja to the young prince.
And so it was that the young prince went back to his Udaipur palace, feeling he had regained a father and an uncle, that the two kingdoms would once again be allies, and that his young life would grow and mature in love and friendship.
'How do you like it?', Mira asked her son.
Zorhan smiled, hugged his mother, and touched her feet in a traditional Indian gesture of respect. 'I love you, Mataji', Zorhan said.
Zorhan felt exactly like the Udaipur prince, and went back to New York with a newfound feeling of affection for the President of the United States. He and Donald Uncle would form a partnership that would redefine politics - ebony and ivory, the young rascal and the older patriarch, the old man and his young charge.
As Mamdani rose from his chair in the Oval Office and, accompanied by his aides, walked out the door, Trump's aides gathered around him and cheered. His Chief of Staff said, 'Well done, Boss' for he had seen the President at his very best - charming, entertaining, engaging, and persuasive. The shine in the boy's eyes was visible as he looked around the room, the ornate Italian ceiling, the impressive portraits of Jefferson and Lincoln.
Trump smiled back at his aides and thanked them. 'But now, down to business' by which he meant to finalize the measures that he would take at the first sign of socialist defiance. There was no way that this President of the United States was going to watch America's premier city go down the drain. He would shame, defy, brutalize, destroy 'Little Boy Blue' at the first sign of resistance.
He would alternately make him the poster boy of the radical Left, the puppet of AOC, Bernie, and Chuck, the cabal of socialist dynasty, and chop his legs off, denigrate, humiliate, and dismiss him in a Genghis Khan savagery...All the while treating him like a beloved grandchild, one of his own.
Mamdani can be forgiven for such credulousness - far more powerful men had been taken in by the President's masterful, purposeful duplicity. LBJ kept allies and enemies in line by face-to-face, OK Corral bullying. He was a master of threat, intimidation, and promise. He got what he wanted because everyone was afraid of him, what he had on them, and what he would do with it. He had risen to power from a dirt town in Texas, stopping at nothing to get there.
Donald Trump was a smooth operator, a canny, seductive one; and that charm and ingenuous friendship was part of his willful, indomitable plan. Few politicians or businessmen could resist this heady mix of charm, threat, and resolve.
The Mayor-Elect thought twice about putting the photo of him and the President on the wall of his City Hall Office, but decided instead to display it prominently in his official residence, Gracie Mansion. It was a tribute to his - Mamdani's - influence and stature, not the President's.
His wife, always supportive of her man but never too shy to make suggestions to him, still a boy in her eyes, a boy who would still be living with his parents had he lived in India, said, 'Are you sure, my love? Won't tongues wag?'; but he insisted, and planned to put the photo up the moment he took residence.
Most serious political analysts know that Mamdani is no threat. His proposals are nothing more or different than what the progressive claques in Washington had been flogging throughout the Biden years. His free lunches, giveaways, open border-sanctuary city refuges, George Floyd defund the police policies, rent control, and all the rest are the same, frivolous, impossible, fantasies.
Zorhan Mamdani slept well the night of his Oval Office meeting, happy and secure in his victory, while Trump stayed up watching a Mira Nair movie.
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