A Day In The Life Of An Anonymous Resistance Member Inside The Trump Administration
It’s true. I am “Anonymous.” Those are words I hoped to never write, because I never wanted to be the story. I never wanted the attention. I never wanted the fame.
The book advance, yes, I very much wanted that. But not the notoriety, or accountability, or whatever word you want to use. What I wanted, besides the massive payday, was to stick it to Drumpf. For America.
Since I came out as the extremely senior administration official and definitely not a low-level deputy adviser to the associate coffee fetcher in the east wing of the third floor of America’s fourth most-important federal agency behind the tell-all book “A Warning,” many people have asked me: How did you do it? How did you manage to bear such a great burden for America without ever cracking?
What kind of work did you force yourself to do, selflessly, to save America and secure that massive advance for a book that definitely doesn’t read like the rough draft of a high school junior’s “What I Did Over The Summer” essay in the slow kids’ English literature course?
Well, let me tell you. Not everyone appreciated my bravery, honesty, and courage, or stalwart bearing in the office. Many very junior staffers, who for some reason made more money than me, had better titles, and actually had facetime with the real decision-makers, were threatened by my deep love of this country.
Karen in accounting, for example, told me to stop leaving my dirty dishes in the kitchen and forcing everyone else to clean them so we wouldn’t constantly have to deal with ants invading the office. I told Karen that while she may have no problem putting ant children in cages, I would take no part in her xenophobic attempts to close the office borders to those who merely came here in search of a better life and the leftover cream cheese at the bottom of the sink.
And then there’s Michael from the human resources department. He told me to stop stealing office supplies and using the agency phones to call 900 numbers all day. I told him that I would never apologize for doing everything in my power to let sex workers know how much I appreciated their commitment to freedom and also their willingness to talk me off for $9.99 per minute. Michael clearly did not value my devotion to equality for all women.
Others throughout the office were clearly jealous of my influence and raw machismo. Becky in legislative affairs, for example, told me to “stop calling her” and “stop texting her suggestive photos” and said she would “get a restraining order” if I didn’t stop “standing outside her condo window without my pants on every night.” I talked to my friend Jeffrey Toobin about the incident, and he told me to live my truth and to never be afraid of letting the world see me as I am.
Inspired by his willingness to be himself and live his truth, I disclosed in my book that Becky and Michael and Karen secretly murdered immigrant children during their time off. My code of ethics simply would not allow me to keep those kinds of details hidden, even though I definitely kept them hidden until the check from the publisher cleared.
Now, is it true that I have “zero evidence” of any of the charges I levied against people who prevented me, who was so senior in the administration that I was basically the president, from saving the republic from the awful orange man? Well, that depends on what you mean by “evidence.”
The reality is that anyone who demands “evidence” — itself a term invented by slaveowners to assert dominion over oppressed minorities — hates this country and the Constitution that I swore an oath to defend. I did my duty, and I told my truth, and I don’t care what Karen or Becky or Michael or the entire Office of Professional Responsibility, which is now auditing me for the fourth time over allegations that I “defrauded the government,” have to say about it.
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