The Temptation of Kayleigh McEnany
Kayleigh McEnany marched past a graffiti-covered wall and black metal security barriers, her signature cross necklace dangling above her double-breasted navy blazer. She watched as President Donald Trump held a Bible aloft in front of St. John’s Episcopal Church. When he turned to her and pointed, she scooted into the frame, taking her place by his side with her phone clutched behind her back. Stately white corbels framed the plywood-covered windows and door of the building, where a fire had been set in the nursery the night before. McEnany, Trump, and a handful of other administration officials stood silently, sentries ready to defend the church from the next attack. Cameras clicked away.
Later that week, McEnany compared the moment to Winston Churchill inspecting bomb-damaged London during World War II. “For this president, it was powerful and important to send a message that the rioters, the looters, the anarchists—they will not prevail,” McEnany told reporters during a briefing. “Burning churches are not what America’s about.” Trump had reached St. John’s only after police forcibly cleared protesters from Lafayette Square, using horses, smoke, flash-bang grenades, and chemical agents. The gesture, McEnany maintained, showed the American people “that we will get through this through unity and through faith.”
This is the central promise of the Trump administration: Real Americans—especially conservative people of faith—are under siege, and the president will defend them. Trump officials act as a roving band of apostles, evangelizing this message. Attorney General William Barr dedicated a speech at Notre Dame to detailing “the steady erosion of our traditional Judeo-Christian moral system and a comprehensive effort to drive it from the public square.” Vice President Mike Pence told a graduating class at Liberty University to prepare to be “shunned or ridiculed for defending the teachings of the Bible.” Brad Parscale, the 2020 Trump campaign manager, tweeted that “only God could deliver such a savior to our nation,” along with a gauzy black-and-white photo of a Trump rally.
McEnany is a skillful steward of the covenant between the president and his religious supporters, openly suggesting that reporters stand among America’s enemies, no matter how much that may beggar belief. “Boy,” McEnany recently said to reporters who were questioning Trump’s support for reopening churches during the coronavirus pandemic. “It’s interesting to be in a room that desperately wants to see these churches and houses of worship stay closed.” Jeff Mason, a Reuters correspondent, spoke up from behind his face mask. “Kayleigh, I object to that. I mean, I go to church. I’m dying to go back
