“All the News That’s Fit to Print?”
The New York Times published a Trump assassination fantasy article on Tuesday.
The New York Times.
Yet there is no outcry from the rest of the media even as the mail bomb wave of dubious devices targeting high ranking Democrats and CNN has brought a renewed call for civility in politics.
Last year, the Times sponsored a Trump assassination fantasy in the production of Julius Caesar by Shakespeare in the Park, defiantly standing by its sponsorship as other corporations including Delta and Bank of America withdrew their sponsorship of the play.
The 2018 Trump assassination fantasy was published by the Times’ Book Review on Tuesday as one of five fantasies imagined for the Trump presidency titled, “Five Novelists Imagine Trump’s Next Chapter”
“Our focus here at the Book Review is on books and stories, but also on how the books being written and read reflect the world outside of books. And one of the biggest stories out there, of course, is the Mueller investigation and the relationship between Trump and Putin. It’s hard not to speculate about what might happen next. To that end, we thought: Who better than some of today’s most talented spy and crime novelists — Joseph Finder, Laura Lippman, Jason Matthews, Zoë Sharp and Scott Turow — to conjure possible outcomes?”
Zoë Sharp wrote, “How It Ends”.
The fantasy involves a Russian hitman dispatched to D.C. to assassinate Trump who is holed up in the Trump Hotel as his administration crumbles under multiple indictments and faces certain impeachment. The motive for the Russians to take out Trump? “When it comes out that he was handpicked at the highest possible level, our great nation will be the laughingstock of the world. He must be silenced.”
The fantasy sets a scenario where the Russian checks into the Trump Hotel and the next morning is positioned with a firearm in the lobby in line of sight of Trump as he walks past.
The fantasy has a kicker where a Secret Service agent helps the Russian assassinate President Trump.
At 7 a.m., he showered. The bar of soap had the hotel name stamped into both sides. He made sure to wash his ass with it. Then he shaved and ate a last room-service breakfast. He dressed in the porter’s uniform that had been obtained for him, tucking the Makarov into the back of his waistband.
When it was time, he went downstairs, took his place in the lobby before the entourage appeared. The hotel staff had been lined up to see their boss, the president, go by. A few of them applauded. Most did not.
The president didn’t seem to notice. He waved, in his desultory fashion. The Secret Service agents clustered around him, ushered him toward the armored limo idling outside at the curb.
The Russian waited until they were a few steps past before he drew the gun. He sighted on the center of the president’s back, and squeezed the trigger.
The Makarov misfired.
The Secret Service agent at the president’s shoulder heard the click, spun into a crouch. He registered the scene instantly, drawing his own weapon with razor-edge reflexes.
The Russian tasted failure. He closed his eyes and waited to pay the cost.
It did not come.
He opened his eyes. The Secret Service agent stood before him, presenting his Glock, butt first.
“Here,” the agent said politely. “Use mine. …”
Civility. Remember this the next time the media lectures on civility.
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