The Mueller probe was fake from the start. I said it then. We all know it now. My constituents saw Mueller for the fraud he was. They were right, and I was on the attack, tarred by the mainstream media as Congress’s leading Mueller critic. What was meant as an insult then, I wear today as a badge of honor. To watch Mueller testify is to know he wasn’t up to the job.
“A lone voice in the wilderness,” my hometown Pensacola News Journal called me as I criticized Mueller and the entire notion of his appointment. Things weren’t made easier by the president himself saying he would be treated “fairly” by the until then beloved Republican war hero.
When I was confronted on live TV with the president’s praise of Mueller, I answered frankly. The president was mistaken, I said. This investigation should be stopped. It was an attack on the vote and voters, whether Trump believed that to be the case or not.
“Matt…it’s your favorite president,” I heard.
“Reagan?” I joked. President Trump was not amused. He moved on.
“I just saw you on television. I love the red tie. Keep doing what you are doing. Keep saying what you are saying. Don’t worry about what I said today. That was for the media. I need warriors, you know what I mean?”
I knew exactly what he meant. Though President Trump longed to be free to realize his vision of restoring our nation to greatness, the beginning of the Trump era required a “warrior class” in Congress to step up and fight like hell for him, as he fought like hell for America. To be an effective fighter you need not wear the uniform—though some have, like Florida Governor Ron DeSantis—but you must be a fast thinker. And too few Republicans know how to think, let alone fight.
Our first one-on-one discussion lasted only twelve minutes, but there would be many more calls after that. The president has called me when I was in my car, asleep in the middle of the night on my Longworth Office cot, on the throne, on airplanes, in nightclubs, and even in the throes of passion (yes, I answered). Not to mention Christmas Day. Often but not exclusively at night. The president keeps odd hours. Now, so do I.
He has called me elated, tired, cursing, curious, screaming, and once when I was saying farewell to one of my constituents at Arlington. He swears at me with the enthusiasm of a New York construction worker, but he has also told me that he loves me. He has called to talk sports and to give me advice on my romantic misadventures. He’s called when there were other people in the room and asked me my opinion of them while on the speakerphone.
It isn’t who is seated with the president who shapes the world. It’s those who listen to him and who he listens to on these late-night/early-morning calls. And given what I’ve learned about espionage in Washington from our government and others, I doubt we were the only ones on the line.
President Trump and I have an understanding and a newfound relationship that has only grown stronger with time. He can count on me to make arguments on the front line of the fight.
I hadn’t finished my first year in Congress, but as I pulled out of the Stuckey’s parking lot, I knew I had a closer relationship with the president than many who had served decades and held what Washington considered “real power” due to their titles and trappings.
But it didn’t start that way. In fact, on the president’s first day, I felt like little more than a distant observer.
You know your place in Washington when they put you in the nosebleeds. You seldom get handed a front-row seat to anything in life—not even if you’re a newly elected congressman. In America’s capital city, where they seat you reveals where they think you really stand.
At Donald Trump’s inauguration ceremony I felt more like a movie extra than a leading voice in a powerful political movement. To the shock of many, Trump had faced down and defeated virtually every major institution in America: the Democrats, the media, senior leadership of the intelligence community, the bureaucrats, and even plenty of Republicans.
In fact, many of the establishment Republican congressmen, donors, and other heralded figures who were to varying degrees anti-Trump in their hearts and minds (if not their words) had taken the same seats they would have occupied had we been inaugurating Jeb Bush, John Kasich, or Nikki Haley. Proximity to power is something the establishment understands all too well. They were fine trash-talking candidate Trump on secret conference calls but now quickly scrubbed their #NeverTrump tweets. From inauguration seats to senior administration positions to statements of administration policy, the establishment that loathes Trump relentlessly endeavors to stay close to him. They’re established for a reason, and they’re good at staying that way.
“Fight Washington, Restore America.” This was the slogan that sent me to Congress after six years in the Florida Legislature. Serving in the Florida House of Representatives had been the public service honor of my life. During the 2010 Tea Party jolt of political energy, my community had placed trust in me as a twenty-six-year-old candidate among a field of five. I felt obligated to validate their decision by working hard and delivering results.
I ended my tenure in the state House as the powerful chairman of the Finance and Tax Committee after having also served as chairman of the Criminal Justice Committee. The priorities of my district were always reflected in the state budget. I took care of my people and they took care of me. This is the responsibility of leadership.
The first poll testing the viability of a congressional campaign following the unexpected announcement that my predecessor would retire had me down fourteen points to an older, better-known state senator. I’d end up beating him by fourteen, the
