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Donald Trump was arrested and arraigned today—without incident—and he has now pleaded not guilty to 37 charges tied to the alleged mishandling of classified documents. But before we see more possible indictments (from Georgia or the January 6 investigation), Americans should not lose sight of the astonishing charges read to Trump today in Florida.

First, here are three new stories from The Atlantic:

No one knows exactly what social media is doing to teens. The threat from Trump’s supporters has evolved. The plutocrat vs. the monopoly Toast.

Perhaps former Attorney General William Barr—not a man I am given to quoting approvingly—said it best:

I was shocked by the degree of sensitivity of these documents and how many there were ... and I think the counts under the Espionage Act that he willfully retained those documents are solid counts … If even half of it is true, then he’s toast.

I’m not so sure about the “toast” part. Trump lucked out by drawing Judge Aileen Cannon, whom he appointed and whose last involvement with one of his cases produced a decision so biased in his favor and so poorly reasoned that a federal appeals court—including two more Trump appointees—overturned her ruling in a judicial body slam. And a Florida jury raises the odds that someone in one panel will simply refuse to convict no matter how strong the case. (MAGA emotions are running high: Trump’s former aide Steve Bannon—the beneficiary of a last-minute Trump pardon—reacted to Barr’s comments with a warning: “We’re gonna shove this up your ass, okay?”)

Let’s just say that I will be pleasantly surprised if Trump one day faces anything worse than a few rounds of golf with an ankle monitor. But before the inevitable blizzard of motions and delays and general mayhem, I thought we should review the actual charges in the indictment itself.

First, here’s what the government claims Trump took to Florida:

The classified documents TRUMP stored in his boxes included information regarding defense and weapons capabilities of both the United States and foreign countries; United States nuclear programs; potential vulnerabilities of the United States and its allies to military attack; and plans for possible retaliation in response to a foreign attack. The unauthorized disclosure of these classified documents could put at risk the national security of the United States, foreign relations, the safety of the United States military, and human sources and the continued viability of sensitive intelligence collection methods.

Remember, no one on the Trump team is really disputing this. Some Republicans, in a desperate struggle with reality, are suggesting that Trump did nothing wrong, but Trump—who cannot stop talking—says he had the right to take anything he wanted, especially after rendering the documents harmless using the Kreskin Declassification Method.

But perhaps the materials were at least in a safe place:

Between January 2021 and August 2022, The Mar-a-Lago Club hosted more than 150 social events, including weddings, movie premieres, and fundraisers that together drew tens of thousands of guests.

Ah. But Trump has a Secret Service detail; could they help protect the documents?

[The Secret Service] was not responsible for the protection of TRUMP's boxes or their contents. TRUMP did not inform the Secret Service that he was storing boxes containing classified documents at The Mar-a-Lago Club.

Oh.

Meanwhile, Trump’s aides—including his alleged co-conspirator, Walt Nauta—were moving this stuff around. (Nauta was indicted on six counts, including obstruction and making false statements, and he has not yet entered a plea; he requested an extension on his arraignment, now set for June 27.) When some of the boxes toppled over, Nauta apparently took a picture of classified material:

On December 7, 2021, NAUTA found several of TRUMP’s boxes fallen and their contents spilled onto the floor of the Storage Room, including a document marked “SECRET//REL TO USA, FVEY,” which denoted that the information in the document was releasable only to the Five Eyes intelligence alliance consisting of Australia, Canada, New Zealand, the United Kingdom, and the United States. NAUTA texted Trump Employee 2, “I opened the door and found this …” NAUTA also attached two photographs he took of the spill. Trump Employee 2 replied, “Oh no oh no,” and “I’m sorry potus had my phone.” One of the photographs NAUTA texted to Trump Employee 2 is depicted below with the visible classified information redacted.

The only thing missing here is “Yakety Sax” as a soundtrack.

But perhaps Trump misunderstood or didn’t realize what he had, and he wanted to cooperate with the government to get the papers back where they belong? Unfortunately, one of Trump’s own lawyers made sure to memorialize Trump’s comments on that issue—because lawyers, despite the Stringer Bell Rule, know when to protect themselves by taking notes:

Well what if we, what happens if we just don’t respond at all or don’t play ball with them?

Wouldn’t it be better if we just told them we don’t have anything here? Well look isn’t it better if there are no documents?

In one of the more widely publicized moments described in the indictment, Trump was apparently recorded, during a meeting with a writer working on a book (who was accompanied by his publisher) and two of Trump’s staff, saying that he had a U.S. war plan against a foreign nation (read: Iran) in his hand. He is recorded as admitting both that the document is classified and that he no longer has the power to declassify it. But for those of us who have worked with classified information, Smith adds an important detail:

At the time of this exchange, the writer, the publisher, and TRUMP’s two staff members did not have security clearances or any need-to-know any classified information about a plan of attack on Country A.

If this happened, Trump released classified information to people who should not see classified information.

This incident is particularly galling because one of the president’s former attorneys, Robert Ray, has been arguing that although the charges in the indictment are serious, they don’t show evidence of damage to U.S. national security. This is a risible claim: No one, at this point, can say with any confidence whether American national security has or has not been damaged. We do not live in a movie where intelligence leaks produce clear and instant disasters.

But more to the point, even Ray admitted that the government doesn’t need to prove such harm; that’s not how any of this works. Trump faces 31 counts of “willful retention of national defense information,” not some notional charge of “actually damaging American security in some obvious way.” As a former Defense Department employee, I can only imagine what would have happened had I spirited boxes of classified information to my home and then, after my arrest, said, “Well, sure, I took it, but there’s no evidence I’ve hurt national security. At least not yet.”

Donald Trump is presumed innocent until proven guilty. Unfortunately, it will likely be a long time before we find out if our justice system is capable of Dropcapholding a former president to account. But if these charges were leveled against any other American citizen, they would be, in Bill Barr’s words, toast.

Related:

Will Trump get a speedy trial? This indictment is different. Today’s News Twenty-two U.S. service members were injured in a helicopter accident in northeast Syria. The novelist Cormac McCarthy has died at the age of 89. New York City Police Commissioner Keechant Sewell announced her resignation after 18 months in the role. Dispatches Up for Debate: Young people, parents, and educators reflect on the potential hazards of smartphones for children.

Explore all of our newsletters here.

Evening Read Rita Harper / eyevine / Redux

Killer Mike’s Critique of Wokeness

By Spencer Kornhaber

Killer Mike is a man of contradictions. He has campaigned for Bernie Sanders and rapped about celebrating Ronald Reagan’s death; he also supports gun ownership and speaks warmly about Georgia’s Republican governor, Brian Kemp. Years ago, he renounced the Christian faith he was raised with, but his first solo album in a decade, Michael—whose cover is a childhood photo of Mike, adorned with devil horns and a halo—is laden with gospel choirs and biblical references. “You don’t have to pick a side with me,” the 48-year-old said over Zoom, amid tokes from a joint. “You gonna go to church with me. You gonna go to the Blue Flame with me.”

That flexibility has, at times, invited controversy. Last year, a HuffPost column referred to the rapper as “more politically dangerous than Kanye West” because he’d praised Kemp’s outreach to Black constituents while the incumbent governor supported policies that Democrats say make it harder for those constituents to vote. Though many of his songs envision violent revolution, he went viral for asking protesters not to burn buildings during the George Floyd protests, leading some commentators to accuse him of playing to too many sides.

Read the full article.

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Read. “Fieldnotes,” a new poem by Zoe Hitzig.

“You could tell by the gait, the way the body moved, and / when, and how, they approached.”

Listen. The Hans and Franz episodes of the Conan O’Brien Needs a Friend podcast remind us that a very stupid premise can make for the most hilarious movie.

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P.S.

Summer is here (pretty much), and I have begun to dive into books. I’m now done with the Washington Post reporter Ben Terris’s new book, The Big Break. If you ask me what it’s about, I will wave my hands at the hot mess of American politics and say, “All this,” but it’s actually a series of wonderfully rendered portraits of the people, as the subtitle puts it, who are “the gamblers, party animals and true believers trying to win in Washington while America loses its mind.” It’s my favorite kind of book about politics: informative but fun.

If you want a taste of it, the Post ran an excerpt a few months ago about the rise and fall of Sean McElwee, a 30-ish political operative. It’s a compelling read, and in one of his final conversations with Terris, McElwee sums up everything that can make a young person’s head spin in Our Nation’s Capital:  “You know the craziest thing?” McElwee says. “Before all this, I really thought everyone liked me.”

I’m enjoying the book, and you might too—if only because it will make you glad you don’t work in Washington.

— Tom

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Katherine Hu contributed to this newsletter.

Killer Mike is a man of contradictions. He has campaigned for Bernie Sanders and rapped about celebrating Ronald Reagan’s death; he also supports gun ownership and speaks warmly about Georgia’s Republican governor, Brian Kemp. Years ago, he renounced the Christian faith he was raised with, but his first solo album in a decade, Michael—whose cover is a childhood photo of Mike, adorned with devil horns and a halo—is laden with gospel choirs and biblical references. “You don’t have to pick a side with me,” the 48-year-old said over Zoom, amid tokes from a joint. “You gonna go to church with me. You gonna go to the Blue Flame with me.”

That flexibility has, at times, invited controversy. Last year, a HuffPost column referred to the rapper as “more politically dangerous than Kanye West” because he’d praised Kemp’s outreach to Black constituents while the incumbent governor supported policies that Democrats say make it harder for those constituents to vote. Though many of his songs envision violent revolution, he went viral for asking protesters not to burn buildings during the George Floyd protests, leading some commentators to accuse him of playing to too many sides. The new album is partly a dispatch from our ever-exhausting culture wars over ideological purity: One groaner labels his critics’ “woke-ass shit” as “broke-ass shit.” But it is far fresher and more interesting as a memoir of a category-scrambler, a radical-by-reputation’s tribute to the “deeply southern, traditional, Black family” he told me he was raised in.  

In the early 2000s, Mike was best known as an associate of Atlanta’s signature rap duo, OutKast. The early 2010s brought a new start when he partnered with the Brooklyn emcee El-P to form Run the Jewels, whose rude and righteous anthems revived the spirit of Rage Against the Machine. After four acclaimed albums and many raucous concerts, Mike feels secure in his legacy as part of “arguably one of the best rap groups ever.” But he believes that the time has come to reassert his own story, and reconcile his somewhat fragmented image. “They see you as half superhero of Run the Jewels,” he said, referring to the public’s perception of himself. “They see you as … Killer Mike the liberal … They see you as Killer Mike the pro–Second A guy. These weird groups of people like you for different reasons. But this album gives it all to them in one, and it helps you understand I’m simply a human being.”

Fusing the sound of holy choirs with militaristic beats, volcanic bass, and Mike’s booming voice, Michael hardly represents a softening in fervor. But much of its subject matter is autobiographical and vulnerable. On various tracks, Mike raps tenderly about lost love, his mother’s death in 2017, and the fear of failure that has long propelled him. When we spoke, he teared up while talking about his late grandmother, whose devotion to Christ inspired the album’s churchly sound. At one point, he paused our conversation to kiss his wife goodbye.

Yet even while he’s focusing on the personal, politics still colors his work. The abortion debate, for example, looms in the background of the engrossing “Slummer,” which tells the story of a passionate relationship Mike had as a teenager. The girl he loved got pregnant by him, had an abortion, and started dating an older man who supported her financially in a way that Mike couldn’t. The track is a specific, and emotionally ambivalent, portrait of growing up, not a pointed editorial. But Mike said he did intend to send a message to young men: Sex comes with responsibility. “There’s a pain you can inflict on a woman … that you could be disconnected from, and she can never be,” he said, referring to abortion.

[Read: Run the Jewels’ gloriously obscene revolution]

One track on the album, “Run,” features a sermon by the comedian Dave Chappelle, who tells Mike that being Black in America is like being a soldier storming the beach at Normandy: You have to fight, whether you want to or not. Mike told me that the speech was inspired by a real conversation in which Chappelle urged him to run for governor. “Michael, people trust you, not because they think you’re perfect,” he remembers Chappelle saying. “It’s simply because you’re honest. And honest don’t mean right. It simply means ‘This is me.’” Mike demurred on running then, but felt “deeply struck with an understanding that at some point in my life, I’m going to hold some type of public office.” (He’s thinking more along the lines of city council than president.)

Chappelle, of course, is divisive for mocking transgender people at a time when their rights are broadly under siege. When I asked Mike whether he wanted to wade into controversy by featuring the comedian on his album, he steered toward the personal, describing various queer people he knew: uncles, a neighbor, a sister. “I don’t really concern myself with the national debate,” he said. “I want people to understand that this Black boy, who evolved into this Black man, has encountered every type of person possible. And that person has been an instructor or teacher of some type. And those people don’t always get along.”

I wasn’t exactly sure whether he’d answered my question, but his citation of gay friends made me wonder why the track “Talk’n That Shit” disses dudes who “hang together on some Brokeback shit.” Mike let out a surprised laugh at the mention of the line. “It’s a joke!” he said. “I’m still going to be right there next to your side, fighting for all the rights that you deserve.” The song is generally filled with trash talk, striking against partisan political hacks and marijuana-legalization policies that disproportionately benefit white businesses. “My whole thing is, listen to the whole record,” Mike said. “Take this piece of art, and see it as a piece of art.”

He went on to spin a metaphor about cancel culture. “America today is functioning as a broken, white, middle-class family,” Mike said. “I remember having friends [say,] ‘I don’t talk to my mother and father. They voted for someone [I disagree with].’ I don’t understand that. Culturally, it doesn’t work like that where I’m from.” Avoiding conflict and debate is “a privilege I don’t have, because Black folks got to be together in some capacity.”

To hear him tell it, that mentality explains why he has affiliated with figures such as Kemp, whom Mike said he connects with as a southern father, businessperson, and gun owner. Mike said he once met with the Georgia governor’s team to lobby against enhanced sentencing for gang members—an unsuccessful effort he still found to be worthwhile. “We tried our best; we didn’t get it, but that’s how politics goes,” he said. “I would encourage more people to seek those uncomfortable relationships … rather than find off-the-rack friendships simply based on you and one person agreeing on one thing.”

Though such crossing of party lines runs afoul of the “woke-ass” crowd he dismisses on the album, Mike told me he does buy into some idea of wokeness—just not the kind that’s a synonym for liberal. Taking stock of Mike’s life and times in clashing complexity, Michael represents an older reading of the term, more along the lines of what Nas rapped about in “N.Y. State of Mind,” which Mike quoted to me: “‘I never sleep, ’cause sleep is the cousin of death.’” Mike’s message is to “stay awake,” he said. “Because if all of us are paying attention, then all of us could see the details, and we can get in the room to figure out how to overthrow all of our masters.”

Settle in, America: This could take a while.

When Special Counsel Jack Smith announced last week that a federal grand jury had indicted former President Donald Trump, he made a point of saying that the government would “seek a speedy trial in this matter, consistent with the public interest.” Whether Trump gets one could determine whether he goes to prison for his alleged crimes.

In just over 18 months, Trump could be serving as president again, at which point he’d be in a position to attempt to pardon himself or instruct the Department of Justice to dismiss its case against him. That might seem like a long way away, but for the nation’s tortoiselike federal-court system, it’s not. Complex, high-profile cases sometimes take years to get to trial, and former federal prosecutors told me that, even under the fastest scenarios, Trump’s trial won’t begin for several months and potentially for more than a year. Trump may well be waiting for a trial when voters cast their presidential ballots next fall. Although Smith will do all he can to hurry up the prosecution, the former president’s legal team could move to dismiss the charges—though that would almost certainly be futile—and file other pretrial motions in order to bog down the process.

“There’s a pretty obvious incentive from [Trump’s] point of view for delaying this,” Kristy Parker, a lawyer at the advocacy group Protect Democracy who tried cases for 15 years at the Justice Department, told me. “That is especially true if he understands that the evidence against him is significant and that the chances of him being convicted of these offenses are pretty high.”

[David A. Graham: This indictment is different]

Different federal courts operate at different speeds. The Eastern District of Virginia, for example, has long been known as “the rocket docket”; it’s raced through even high-profile cases such as the 2018 trial of Trump’s former campaign chair Paul Manafort. Trump’s trial will occur in the Southern District of Florida and will reportedly be overseen by one of his own appointees, Judge Aileen Cannon. “Federal judges have enormous control over their courtrooms and over the schedule and timing of their cases,” Chuck Rosenberg, a former U.S. attorney in Virginia and Texas, told me. “Some are very good at docket management, and some are not.” Having served as a judge for less than three years, Cannon hasn’t developed much of a reputation either way.

Cannon presided over a lawsuit Trump filed last year after the FBI executed a search warrant at his Mar-a-Lago estate. She issued a series of rulings favorable to him. Representative Dan Goldman, a New York Democrat and a former federal prosecutor who served as a top counsel to the House Judiciary Committee during Trump’s first impeachment, told me it was “concerning” that Cannon would apparently run the former president’s trial. “It was pretty clear that her initial rulings did not follow the law but followed some preconceived personal and political viewpoints, and there’s no place for that in the judiciary,” Goldman said. Indeed, the conservative Eleventh Circuit Court of Appeals reversed a pair of Cannon’s decisions, including one that barred the government from accessing some of the documents that the FBI recovered from Mar-a-Lago.

Another former Democratic co-counsel during the Trump impeachment, Norm Eisen, has called for Cannon to recuse herself or be taken off the case.

If Cannon stays on the case, she will have fairly wide latitude to set its tempo. She will be responsible for scheduling any pretrial motions and hearings, determining what evidence is admissible, and ruling on potentially time-intensive challenges that Trump’s lawyers could bring.

In their indictment, the prosecutors estimated that a trial would take 21 days in court—not an especially long trial for a case of such magnitude. The timeline suggests the government believes it has a pretty “straightforward” argument, Parker said.

The fact that this case centers on documents Trump had in his possession—illegally, the government argues—means that he may have already seen a significant portion of the evidence the Justice Department has on him. Theoretically, that could speed up the discovery process that occurs before any trial. But cases that involve classified documents tend to take longer, former prosecutors told me, because the court will have to determine who can access sensitive materials and how to protect government secrets before and during a trial. Most of the pretrial rulings that Cannon could make are subject to appeal, and those delays can quickly add up.

Another scheduling complication is that Trump is facing another criminal trial, in New York, on charges that he falsified business records, and he could face yet another indictment and trial in Georgia related to his efforts to overturn the results of the 2020 presidential election. Trump’s Manhattan trial is scheduled for March, which would be about 10 months after his indictment in that case and right in the middle of the Republican primary season. (Although the cases are in different jurisdictions, the 10-month lag could be a rough guide for how long Trump’s federal trial will take to get under way.)

[David A. Graham: The stupidest crimes imaginable]

One of the biggest questions Cannon may face is whether the election should factor into her decisions about how soon to schedule a trial and whether to agree to delays that Trump might seek. Parker argued that the election is a legitimate consideration. “We are in uncharted territory,” she said, “and quite frankly, I would think that a court would want to try to get this matter resolved ahead of that point.” Even if Trump’s trial concludes before the 2024 election, however, it’s unlikely that (if he’s convicted) his appeals will be exhausted by then.

The former prosecutors I spoke with could only guess at what would happen if Trump were elected president while awaiting trial or sentencing. The case would likely proceed after the election, and the Constitution doesn’t explicitly bar convicted felons from taking office. Whether Trump could pardon himself is a matter of debate; no president has ever tried, but in 1974, the Justice Department’s Office of Legal Counsel issued an opinion stating that a presidential self-pardon would be unconstitutional. Even if Trump did not attempt to pardon himself, though, he could lean on or simply direct his appointees in the Justice Department to drop the case against him. He’d surely argue that, by electing him, voters had rendered a verdict more legitimate than any jury’s.

For all the legal wrangling to come, Trump’s ultimate fate may yet rest with the voters. If he is the Republican nominee, they will have what amounts to the final word on his future, political and otherwise. “These cases are important, but they are not magic wands,” Parker said. “They will not relieve the voting public of its problems.”