Enough

by Cassidy Hutchinson

He imparted to me a warrior spirit—mental fortitude and perseverance—qualities that have shaped my path toward success.

In the fabric of our nation’s history, there is a body of guardians who protect the sanctity of our republic. I extend heartfelt gratitude to the United States Capitol Police. Your courageous defense of the Capitol, and the democratic principles it represents, is an enduring reminder of the sacrifices made by those who preserve the ideals of freedom and justice. Thank you to the members of Congress and staff who served on the January 6th Committee. These individuals shone light on the perils our nation faced that day.

true leadership is grounded in principle, and that change can be achieved through unyielding loyalty to our democratic ideals.

I was an ambitious twenty-five-year-old conservative Trump White House staffer, who had occupied a position in proximity to power. I had worked myself to near exhaustion to prove worthy of it. Now I was about to provide testimony in a high-stakes congressional hearing that I knew could damage, and potentially incriminate, the former president of the United States. I was also going to alienate friends and former colleagues.

Before retaining my new lawyers, at times I had told less than the whole truth to a congressional committee charged with investigating a matter of the highest national importance, a matter that posed a threat to America’s future greatness.

Many years ago, Mom told me, there was a United States president named John F. Kennedy. His wife, Jacqueline Kennedy, was one of the most intelligent, elegant, and generous souls Mom knew of. Mom told me that your name can determine your entire future, and she hoped I would look to Jacqueline Kennedy as a role model.

Dad always talked about how he was a warrior, and I wanted to be one, too. I knew how important it was to be a warrior. But I didn’t want to be a hunter, at least not yet. I decided to become a vegetarian.

Mom lowered the piano onto the ground and calmly walked over to me. She was slightly winded as she told me that the biggest mistake a woman could make was to think she couldn’t do the same thing as a man.

He designated part of his field to grow crops for the poorest people in Owen County, Indiana. Joe would tag along with his dad to distribute the food every week. “A true countryman gives,” Joe told me, “even when he doesn’t have much for himself.”

He used to hate TV, warning us that it was the government’s tactic to rot our brains with new technology, and that they were being dishonest about its long-term effects. Dad had limited the TV programs he watched to NASCAR races, 60 Minutes, and the morning news. But now Dad had found a show he loved: The Apprentice.

I felt that impeachment should be reserved for an offense so egregious that it was certain a president should be removed from office. I worried that the 2019 inquiry would establish precedent for presidents to face any politically motivated impeachment.

Ukraine quid pro quo to investigate Biden. 1st impeachment

We considered Rep. Elise Stefanik, of New York, a moderate. She was usually reluctant to engage with the White House, and would always decline when invited to meetings and trips on Air Force One with the president. Elise did accept an invitation to a Camp David retreat, until she found out that impeachment—which she was still on the fence about—would be a topic of discussion. She was furious, and accused Ben and OLA of being “as deceitful as Trump.” A few weeks later, Elise would become one of the president’s most vocal defenders against the impeachment inquiry.

And I would still convey Trump’s messages to members, most of whom came to depend on my talking points. But a handful didn’t appreciate that I clogged their inboxes, like when Rep. Adam Kinzinger, of Illinois, wrote, “Please for the love of Jesus and America, stop. I do not want to block these.”

Many people don’t realize that the majority of bills that pass through Congress are overwhelmingly bipartisan. In a hyperpartisan political environment, the ability to cultivate diverse relationships is one of the most sought-after skills.

Still, it was satisfying when the last votes were recorded with zero Republican defections, and three Democrats voting no. I felt in control, with a purpose, happy to have achieved the goal the president tasked us with. That goal coincided with my belief that impeachment wasn’t the appropriate response to his inappropriate Zelenskyy call.

We were looking forward to the Democratic nominating contest, pleased that former vice president Biden was polling poorly in the first two early states, Iowa and New Hampshire, and rooting for social democrat Bernie Sanders to win the nomination.

But of all the people in the world, President Trump was uniquely unsuited to the challenge. He lacked empathy and was stubborn and impatient. For all but the MAGA base, his aggressive personality made his leadership appear more erratic than inspirational.

OLA position. I thought I could help Mark transition from ultraconservative rabble-rouser—his profile then—to statesman. And I could help improve morale among White House staff who had concerns about Mark’s leadership and that he would push his Freedom Caucus agenda in the West Wing, trying to make it more mainstream.

Returning to his subject, he explained, “We’re going to start working on people we need to get rid of who are disloyal to the president, starting with the people who leak to the press.”

quoting Meadows

I did not think Mark was the kind of political sycophant who woke up every morning wondering how he could wrest personal advantage from every situation. I felt he was an ideologue, but a sincere one, someone who got into politics to make changes he thought would benefit the country. That said, if the president were reelected, Mark would enjoy the reputation of being the chief of staff who led the mercurial Trump White House through the economic and social upheavals of the pandemic and into a second term.

Mark might not have appeared nervous, but I could tell he was unsure of himself. In just forty-eight hours, Mark went from being a conservative bomb-thrower who had never participated in a successful bipartisan negotiation to being a key representative of the president as the executive and legislative branches flushed out the final details of critical COVID relief legislation.

To calm the growing anxiety and uncertainty, I encouraged Mark to meet separately with the House and Senate teams in their respective East Wing offices. Afterward, I learned that it was the first time any Trump White House chief of staff had paid a visit to the East Wing.

Ben’s approval and his sincerity boosted my morale, and his report of Mark’s sentiments was the encouragement I needed. I was on my way to using my opportunity not just to advance my career but to do right by the White House and the country. I walked back into the West Wing vowing to work even harder.

It’s clear you love your work. I love to work, too. Especially this job. Is that how you feel, too?” I agreed it was, and he emphasized again how much he loved his job. “I think I can do a lot of good for the president.” I wanted to be supportive, so I told Mark that the president would not have chosen him if he was not confident in Mark’s ability to succeed.

It seemed to me that the Trump administration usually reacted to events or played defense when it was beset by troubles or attacked by adversaries. Compounding our lack of offense was the administration’s fixation on pushing huge policies like tax reform, comprehensive immigration reform, and a big higher education bill that stood little if any chance of attracting even modest bipartisan support. I thought they were a waste of our political resources.

I felt deflated yet did not push back, worried that if I pressed my ideas, advocating for bipartisan wins, Mark would consider me disloyal to the president’s agenda. Still, I had worked in legislative affairs long enough to know that the chances for big conservative victories when the Democrats controlled the House were negligible. Yet I remained committed to the cause, determined to make a difference within the parameters set by those in power.

“You’re even better than everyone says you are,” he said. From that day forward, Kevin and I spoke almost every day.

It was still early in my time in the West Wing, and the valet and I had not yet gotten to know each other well. The valet had said as much to the president, to which Trump had replied, “Well, get to know her. She’s good. I like that girl. Mark was smart to hire her.” The valet told me that he had never known the president to compliment someone so quickly. But from that point on, the president often asked for my insights on matters that concerned House members.

We planned a weekend at Camp David at the end of April to get the agitated president out of the White House. The president wanted to go to Mar-a-Lago, his Palm Beach, Florida, resort, or to his golf club in Bedminster, New Jersey, though Tony and Hope persuaded him that the optics of a golfing holiday while so many Americans were dying in a pandemic were less than optimal. They argued that the media could not criticize him for traveling to Camp David.

The three of us walked in together, and Kevin said to the president, “You know, Cassidy’s your secret weapon.” The president looked at Kevin with a smug grin and turned to me. “Not so secret, Kevin,” he replied. “Not so secret.”

Before we left Camp David that morning, Mark pulled me aside to compliment me for “cozying up to Kevin,” which he thought would prove useful to the White House. He seemed to believe that there was some acting on my part, but I genuinely enjoyed Kevin’s company and valued our growing friendship. I did not realize then that I would become caught up in one of the most complicated three-way relationships in contemporary Republican politics.

The president pulled the mask off and asked why I thought he should not wear it. I pointed at the straps of the N95 I was holding. When he looked at the straps of his mask, he saw that they were covered in bronzer. “Why did no one else tell me that,” he snapped. “I’m not wearing this thing.” He wore safety goggles on the tour. The press would criticize him for not wearing a mask, not knowing that the depth of his vanity had caused him to reject masks—and then millions of his fans followed suit.

The night before the Cape Canaveral trip, protesters had swarmed over temporary barricades in front of the Treasury building, next to the White House, and hurled objects at Secret Service agents, striking dozens of them. The Secret Service, following established protocol, had ordered that the White House be put on temporary lockdown, and had moved the president to the underground Emergency Operations Center. This news broke in the New York Times on Sunday, and the president was immediately criticized for moving to the bunker. The movement had been mandated by Secret Service security protocols. Trump’s predecessors would have done the same in similar circumstances.

The president was incensed by the Times story. The protests fueled his anger and supplied him with reasons for ordering a crackdown. Among the acts of violence and vandalism that had occurred Sunday night was a fire set in the basement of the parish house of historic St. John’s Church on Lafayette Square.

Elise texted me to say that she was getting menacing text messages from Roger Stone. He had heard that she had pushed back when Matt had suggested on Air Force One that the president issue Roger a pardon. I told Mark about Matt’s and Roger’s inappropriate behavior with Elise when he returned from Atlanta that afternoon, but we never discussed the matter further.

Kevin called me while we were still at St. John’s and asked plaintively, “Did someone not even give him a simple Bible verse to remember? The country is on fire and he’s holding a Bible upside down.” I filled him in on the frantic treasure hunt for Bibles that afternoon.

I reminded myself that my role was to support Mark—relying on my belief that he had the president’s best interests in mind. I was not entrusted with my job and its responsibilities to get hung up on emotions, I reminded myself. Emotions were unwelcome in the Trump White House. It was imperative to turn them off as a means to survive.

Before I went to sleep that night, I mapped out a plan that I thought could work for all involved. I would convene weekly meetings with Amy so she could fill me in on what was happening on the Hill that week. I would attend OLA staff meetings once a week as an observer. I would not reach out to any OLA staffers directly without letting Amy know. We met that Monday, and I assured her that I wouldn’t step on her toes, but that she needed to keep me in the loop to avoid creating problems with Mark. It would not take long for my plan to fall apart, and I would begin to question how much longer I’d be able to sustain my “Mark knows best” rationale, given how often I was beginning to find myself in contentious predicaments.

Presidential ire was becoming more of an occupational hazard every day in the pandemic-constrained White House. Stories of Trump’s eruptions circulated daily.

The president had demanded that Attorney General Bill Barr fire Geoffrey Berman, the US Attorney for the Southern District of New York. Mark leaned against the door and rubbed his temples. “Cass, if I can get through this job and manage to keep him out of jail”—referring to our boss, the president—“I’ll have done a good job.

Trusting his campaign aides, the president was under the impression that the arena was going to be packed, with an additional hundred thousand supporters in the overflow area outside. No one of sane mind in the White House believed this, though. Tony had been tracking ticket distribution all week. “They’re all nuts if they think that many people are coming,” he told me in his office. “But people are flocking online to get tickets,” I said, parroting what we had heard from the campaign. “Antifa is getting the tickets. Kids on TikTok are getting the tickets. Trust me, it’s not our people. We’ve never had tickets go this fast,” he observed.

Oklahoma campaign rally that was sparsely attended during COVID

But the political reality was an unpopular president running for reelection in a pandemic, which required us to try to find a way to cut a deal with Democratic leaders on a package that extended unemployment benefits and the moratorium on eviction notices, and push it through before the election.

This is when we heard that the president was going to commute Roger Stone’s sentence. I didn’t know much about Stone or the crime he had been convicted of, but I knew he was trouble. That seemed to be the consensus among most White House staff not named Donald Trump.

Our political goal during the negotiations, we assured skeptical Republicans, was to stand firm as conservatives and battle Pelosi and Schumer’s liberal idealism. In reality, all the players at the table were respectful of each other. The meetings could become contentious at times, sometimes out of genuine frustration on someone’s part, other times as a performative gesture. Mostly, though, the parties to the talks were courteous and shared the overall objective of bringing relief to Americans in need.

“Would you take a bullet for him?” Mark asked. My head snapped toward him in surprise, but his eyes were fixed on the stage. I tried to make a joke. It was the only thing I could think of on the spot. “Yeah, sure, but could it be to the leg?” He laughed. As the president began to wrap up, we walked toward the stage. “Would you?” I asked him. “I would do anything,” Mark answered, looking over his shoulder at me, “to get him reelected.”

People were already assembling in the West Wing when we got back from the hotel. Holding an explicitly political event at the White House was controversial.

Republican convention

I watched most of the president’s speech from the Rose Garden with several Secret Service agents. Everyone was awed by the fireworks after, as was I, until one display spelled out “Trump 2020” above the Washington Monument. I began to fret that the evening’s military-parade-like pageantry had been too nakedly political and self-congratulatory for an election event held on the White House grounds.

I had never seen the president so upset about something that inflicted a wound on his prized tough-guy image. There was usually at least a kernel of truth in even the toughest articles about the president, which we acknowledged by trying to spin it. But in this instance, he insisted this story was completely false, and he appeared more concerned that the article would hurt the military. He was proud of the military, he vowed, and proud to be their commander in chief. He was distressed over the damage the story could do to that relationship. It was a side of the president most Americans never have an opportunity to see—sympathetic, concerned, and apprehensive. It’s a side the media doesn’t see or doesn’t report. It’s a side he keeps well disguised, for fear, I suspect, of appearing weak. But it’s a side of him that exists.

On skipping war memorial and calling solders suckers and losers. This was confirmed by ex-chief of staff General Kelly in 2023

Amy is not by nature confrontational. I had never heard her raise her voice, so when she rebutted me that day, I was caught off guard. She was the director of OLA, not me, she asserted. I tried to steady myself. Her assertiveness had taken me by surprise. “You’re the acting director of OLA,” I reminded her. Our relationship never fully recovered after that confrontation. It was clear to her and to me, from that day on, that my loyalty was to Mark and not to my former colleagues in legislative affairs.

Trump hated fundraisers—he was expected to flatter people he thought should be flattering him.