Friday, August 21, 2020

Hannity - The Main Whore and Hypocrite at Fox and Rump's Chump

HANNITY HAS SAID TO ME MORE THAN ONCE, ‘HE’S CRAZY’”: FOX NEWS STAFFERS FEEL TRAPPED IN THE TRUMP CULT

 

Inside the network staffers are cringing, and even Trump’s “shadow chief of staff” has his doubts. “If you were hearing what I’m hearing, you’d be vaping too,” Sean Hannity told a colleague during Trump’s early days.

BY BRIAN STELTER 

                                                             AUGUST 20, 2020      

Landing an interview with a president used to be a big deal. Negotiations between a network producer and the White House press office could drag on for months. No detail was too small to haggle over: background, time of day, exact number of minutes. Presidential sit-downs were the pinnacles of many news anchors’ careers.

No more. Just as he has bulldozed so many political norms, Donald Trump has turned the presidential TV interview into a joke. Fox News lets him call in for talk radio-style rant sessions, the length of which are a punch line among rank-and-file Fox staffers who secretly despise him despite working for his media machine. “When Trump was booked for 8:10, and we had an assignment for 8:40, we didn’t bother writing it, because we knew he’d talk until the end of the hour,” a producer for Fox & Friends told me.

He called the “Friends” and Jeanine Pirro and Sean Hannity and Maria Bartiromo. Every so often he’d consent to an on-camera chat, but he liked the phone. It made him seem busy when he wasn’t. The interviews, if they can really be called that, were subject to his whims, causing no small amount of competition among the Trump bootlickers at Fox. Stars were known to slip ratings reports to the president to make their own shows look more impressive than those of their in-house rivals. Sometimes interviews were suddenly offered to hosts when Trump heard them say something flattering on TV. One personality rushed to the airport for a cross-country flight when a sit-down suddenly materialized. Other times the bookings were simply a product of who had bent Trump’s ear most recently: There were side deals brokered during stopovers at his golf club and pitches made during strategy calls.“Why don’t you call in tomorrow?”

More often than not, he did just that. Trump needed Fox to a degree that almost no one understood. He depended on propagandists like Hannity to keep the walls of his alternative reality intact.

That’s why, on March 26, 2020, the president was scheduled to call into Hannity’s show at 9 p.m. sharp. Nine o’clock couldn’t come soon enough for Trump—his newly established daily press briefings on the COVID-19 crisis were proving to be a disaster. That day, he’d gone before the cameras at 5:30 p.m. and told the public to “relax”; shared his affection for Tom Brady; and attacked the “corrupt” news media. “I wish the news could be real,” he told the journalists who were spread out in the briefing room, respecting social-distancing guidelines. Trump, of course, did no such thing. The country was two weeks into a shutdown of unprecedented proportions. He complained about it; mused about filling the church pews on Easter; and stood uncomfortably close to his coronavirus task force members.

After 39 minutes the president left the briefing early, ordered dinner, and waited for his turn on Hannity. The power imbalance was something to behold: He had the joint chiefs and the cabinet and any number of world leaders at his beck and call. He could talk to any scientist or public health expert he wanted. But when it came to a Fox interview, he was just another caller waiting to be patched into the control room.

Hannity started the show with his usual sermon about Democrats endangering the country. He ripped into New York governor Andrew Cuomo, whose brother, Chris, not coincidentally anchored a rival show on CNN in the same time slot, and Mayor Bill de Blasio. Then, a good 20 minutes into his show, he finally prepared to welcome his guest.

“Is he there?” Hannity asked his producers. He heard nothing and momentarily freaked out, waiting for the control room to tell him what to do.

Then came the voice of Fox’s very own God: “I am, I’m right here. Hi, Sean.” 

“Mr. President!” Hannity exclaimed. “Thank you…”

And they were off. Trump began by flattering Hannity, claiming he’d postponed a critical call with Chinese President Xi Jinping just to get on air. He said, “I am talking to him at 10:30, right after this call.” He really did keep the Chinese president waiting, which irked Beijing, a White House source told me. But the rest of the Hannity interview was a love-in and a lie-fest. Lower-level staffers could mock the misinformation all they wanted, and they did, copiously. But they were powerless. The prime-time stars held the power, and management had no control over prime time.

The day after their televised chat, the president called Hannity with a question: “How’d we do?”

Hannity knew his real meaning was, “How did we rate?”

In the midst of a crippling pandemic, on a day when another 400-plus Americans would die, the president wanted to know about his ratings.

Sean Hannity was the most powerful person at Fox in the Trump age. When people asked who was in charge of the channel, he said, “Me.” And most people at the channel agreed with him.

He worked from home most days, long before it was required due to the pandemic, thanks to a state-of-the-art studio in the basement of his $10.5 million mansion, 38 long miles from Manhattan, in a village on the North Shore of Long Island. There was only one way in and one way out of his village, and a police station that kept track of every car that drove by. Billy Joel lived half a mile down the road. Hannity was close to his favorite fishing spots and the airstrip where he kept his private jet. He had no trouble affording all this; he banks an estimated $43 million per year.

Hannity’s Long Island mansion and his oceanfront Naples, Florida, penthouse were two über-expensive symbols of how Roger Ailes changed his life. I viewed Hannity as a living connection to Fox’s past, the only prime-time host who was there on launch day and is still there nearly 25 years later. But he definitely wasn’t one to dwell on the past. Every day was a new war.

Hannity played his part masterfully. But his friends told me he was burnt out for long stretches of the Trump presidency. Being the president’s “shadow chief of staff,” as he was known around the White House, could be a thrill, but it was also a serious burden. Hannity counseled Trump at all hours of the day; one of his confidants said the president treated Hannity like Melania, a wife in a sexless marriage. Arguably, he treated Hannity better than Melania. Hannity’s producers marveled at his influence and access. “It’s a powerful thing to be someone’s consigliere,” one producer said. “I hear Trump talk at rallies, and I hear Sean,” a family friend commented.

Hannity chose this life, so no one felt sorry for him, but the stress took its toll. “Hannity would tell you, off-off-off the record, that Trump is a batshit crazy person,” one of his associates said. Another friend concurred: “Hannity has said to me more than once, ‘he’s crazy.’”

But Hannity’s commitment to GOP priorities and to his own business model meant he could never say any of this publicly. If one of his friends went on the record quoting Hannity questioning Trump’s mental fitness, that would be the end of the friendship.

Early on in the Trump age, Hannity gained weight and vaped incessantly, which some members of his inner circle blamed on Trump-related stress. “If you were hearing what I’m hearing, you’d be vaping too,” Hannity told a colleague. He was sensitive to trolls’ comments about the extra weight, especially from his chest up; that’s all viewers saw of him most nights, when he was live from his palace. He doubled up on his workouts and slimmed back down.

Hannity swore that no one knew the truth about his relationship with Trump. He lashed out at people, like yours truly, who reported on it. And he certainly didn’t disclose his role in Trumpworld the way a media ethicist would recommend. But once in a while the curtain slipped and his own colleagues pointed out the extraordinary position he held. As the coronavirus crisis deepened in March, Geraldo Rivera said to Hannity on the air, “I want you to tell the president, when you talk to him tonight, that Geraldo says ‘Mr. President, for the good of the nation, stop shaking hands.’” 

Needless to say, that’s not how Hannity’s calls with Trump actually went. They were instead a stream of grievance and gossip. Trump was a run-on sentence, so prone to rambling that “I barely get a word in,” Hannity told one of his allies. He sometimes spoke with the president before the show and again afterward, usually in the 10 p.m. hour, when Trump rated his guests and recommended talking points and themes for the following day. Trump was just like the rest of Hannity’s viewers: He wanted more of Gregg Jarrett on the show, more of Dan Bongino, more of Newt Gingrich—the toadiest toads possible. 

In the Trump age, left-wing blogs filled up with stories about families torn apart by a loved one’s Hannity addiction. I heard those stories from Fox staffers too: Some of their relatives resented what they did for a living. They made excuses, mumbling that they were simply giving the people what they wanted. “I feel like Fox is being held hostage by its audience,” a veteran staffer said. “The audience has been RADICALIZED,” a longtime commentator texted me, in all caps, as he scrolled through his Twitter feed after a live shot on the daytime show America’s Newsroom. The amount of vitriol shocked him. Any break from Trump was penalized. Nuanced debates about the role of government and taxation and immigration were distilled to a single question: Were you with Trump or against him?

Hannity deserved a big share of the blame for this state of affairs. But despite that, and despite the fact that he was rarely at headquarters, Hannity was well-liked around Fox. Colleagues described him as a big-hearted family guy. He paid bonuses to his staff out of his own deep pockets. He ordered meals and care packages to the homes of colleagues who lost loved ones. He even offered to hire a private investigator when an acquaintance died in a mysterious crash. When the network descended on New Hampshire for primary election coverage, Hannity footed the bill for the open bar. A member of Sean’s production crew, a Democrat, told me, “I want to fucking hate him so bad. But he’s so nice to me.”

I believed him. But I struggled to square Hannity’s reputation with the man I saw on TV and occasionally in person. While deep into the research for this book in December 2019, I ran into Hannity at a holiday party hosted by the TV-news tracking website Mediaite. We were upstairs at the Lambs Club, a stately Manhattan restaurant wrapped with red leather banquettes on 44th Street. Hannity greeted me by putting both his hands on my shoulders and exclaiming: “Humpty!” His nickname for me was Humpty Dumpty. I asked if he ever felt bad about the name-calling. “No,” he said. He took his hands off my shoulders and moved toward the bar.

It was eight o’clock, and Hannity worked the room like a pro, dressed down in a Fox-branded hoodie. He hugged CNN’s Alisyn Camerota and chatted with media reporters and even said hi to Trump antagonist George Conway. This room was the embodiment of the so-called “media mob” he attacked every weeknight—and he looked like he didn’t want to leave it. I wondered what Hannity’s viewers would think. At 8:30 his P.R. person pushed him toward the door, insisting he had to get to the studio for his nine o’clock show. I later realized that the P.R. person had lied—he had pretaped his show before coming to the party.

Those were the pre-social distancing days, when Hannity could still fraternize with the enemy. Months later, Hannity dismissed coronavirus “hysteria” and bashed Democrats who raised alarms about the virus. In the words of one Kansas City resident’s FCC complaint, Hannity “has misled his elderly viewers on the risk of pandemic virus. They are most at risk.” Hannity, of course, insisted that he always took the virus seriously. But the transcripts proved otherwise.

There are dozens of reasons why the United States lagged so far behind in preparations for the pandemic. Some are cultural, some are economic, some are political. But there is no doubt that one of the reasons is the Trump–Fox feedback loop. When the virus silently spread, some of Fox’s biggest stars denied and downplayed the threat. 

Trump echoed them, and they echoed back. “The thing that’s going to end this is the warmer weather,” Greg Gutfeld said on February 24. “One day—it’s like a miracle—it will disappear,” Trump said on February 27. Fox’s longest-tenured medical analyst, Dr. Marc Siegel, told Hannity on March 6, “at worst, at worst, worst case scenario, it could be the flu.”

This was shockingly irresponsible stuff—and Fox executives knew it, because by the beginning of March, they were taking precautions that belied Siegel’s claim, canceling an event for hundreds of advertisers, instituting deep cleanings of the office, and putting a work-from-home plan in place. Fox’s most vociferous critics said the network had blood on its hands. An advocacy group in Washington State compiled this information and filed suit against Fox. (That lawsuit was ultimately dismissed.) Some Fox staffers privately admitted that the don’t-worry tone of the talking heads was harmful. “Hazardous to our viewers,” “dangerous,” and “unforgivable” are some of the phrases Fox News staffers used to describe the network’s early coverage of the coronavirus pandemic.

The contrast between Fox’s public face and the private “resistance” has existed ever since Trump upended the presidential race five years ago. It’s the reason why I decided to write a book about the network and its unprecedented alliance with the White House. In all I spoke with more than 140 staffers at Fox, plus 180 former staffers and others with direct ties to the network. Their frustration was palpable. Staffers described a TV network that had gone off the rails. Some even said the place that they worked, that they cashed paychecks from, had become dangerous to democracy. They felt like the news division had been squeezed out in favor of pro-Trump blowhards.

Most of the insiders acknowledged that Fox News was always, on one level, a political project, but many said they were shocked by how thoroughly Fox and the GOP had been merged by Trump, Hannity, and a handful of other power players.

“We surrendered,” one anchor said with remorse in his voice. “We just surrendered.”

“What does Trump have on Fox?” another anchor asked, convinced there was a conspiracy at play.

A lot of people I spoke to were desperate to talk. Others were terrified. Ailes made everyone paranoid and punished those he suspected of leaking. That same fear of retribution was still very real in the post-Ailes years. Employees suspected their work phones were tapped and assumed their emails were monitored by management. I cannot overstate the level of paranoia among Fox employees.

Most of the sources only spoke on condition of anonymity, citing Fox’s nondisclosure agreements and other rules against speaking with outside members of the media. This was especially true for on-air talent. I laughed several times when I heard Fox stars bemoaning the use of anonymous sources on air, knowing those very same people were confidential sources. After all, that’s how this business works. 

Copyright © 2020 by Brian Stelter. From the forthcoming book HOAX: Donald Trump, Fox News, and the Dangerous Distortion of Truth by Brian Stelter to be published by One Signal Publishers/Atria Books, an Imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc. Printed by permission.

 

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