Watching Trump Win from the White House - The New Yorker

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As the reality of Donald Trump’s Election Night victory became clear, President Obama reminded his staff that most of the folks in the room had known only winning, but hope is called for most in our losses.PHOTOGRAPH BY PETE SOUZA / THE WHITE HOUSE

November 8, 2016, began like any other big night in Obama-world: with chicken fingers and waffle fries. The tradition went back to the earliest days of Senator Barack Obama’s campaign for President, and was passed down from Chicago to Washington, D.C., and from Houlihan’s to the White House Navy Mess. Throughout two terms, before Oval Office addresses to the nation, on debate nights, and before the President’s State of the Union speeches, we called down to place an order, or four.

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Picking up some alcohol from my desk, I bumped into a few friends, who mocked my clothing. I hate suits and had been pushing for casual Fridays since the midterms. This Tuesday had a decidedly Friday vibe, so I changed into jeans and a sweater—“victory casual”—for the watch party. The only problem was that the buttons near the neck were out of whack, and I had to make a choice: Do I risk choking myself, or do I show, according to some White House staffers and all of my bosses, “too much chest”? I chose the latter. “What’s it matter?” I said to a colleague. “It’s all over anyway. We’re done here. Time to pass the baton to P.I.W.”

For more than two years, I’d referred to Hillary Clinton as the “President-in-Waiting.” I’m a worrier by nature, but it was always clear to me that she would succeed President Obama. When the White House began making plans for the visit of the President-elect the week before, I scribbled in my calendar: “Thursday, potus will meet with HRC.”

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At 11:23 p.m., Chris Christie, then responsible for leading the potential Trump transition, called the woman seated next to me. There was a deep silence following the call. A small blue fish swam in circles on a nearby desk. At 11:30 p.m., Simas said that Hillary had a thirty-three-per-cent chance of winning but that “everything has to go right on a night where nothing has gone right.”

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Dozens of us assembled back in Josh’s office, where we had begun to celebrate the night before. Jen Psaki, the communications director, reminded us of the important work that lay ahead, and Cody Keenan, the chief speechwriter, previewed the remarks that he had worked on with the President, to be delivered in the Cabinet Room. The President’s assistant dropped in to tell us that the President wanted to see us in the Oval Office.

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At this point, I broke down. This was not the poised sniffling that the moment called for. I was full-blown ugly crying in the Oval Office as the President gave us a pep talk. I had to turn away and try to get it together. The President reminded us that most of the folks in the room were young and that this was just our “first rodeo”; that we had known only winning, but hope is called for most in our losses. Then he said that he didn’t want to do the televised speech in the Cabinet Room. He looked to the windows; the rain had stopped. “Look, it’s sunny out,” he said, and suggested that he give the speech in the Rose Garden. It was more optimistic. He asked if we agreed; we said yes, we did.

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