Come Back When You’re Ready to be Extorted

The meeting between Trump and Zelenskyy was never intended to be a legitimate negotiation.

Donald Trump berates Volodymyr Zelenskyy, Feb. 28th 2025. Image via PBS

by Rich Herschlag

Part of my new reality—and not mine alone—is repeated visceral reactions to political events. I’m not talking little twitches. I’m talking full-blown fits of rage accompanied by heart palpitations and tension headaches. This wasn’t the case during most of Trump 1.0, as my unconscious mind apparently believed this too shall pass. At the onset of Trump 2.0, that same unconscious mind reacts more like a cornered animal.

So when on February 28 I watched Trump and Vance ambush Zelenskyy in the Oval Office, I jotted down some notes in a rage but was literally too engulfed in raw fury to render it in coherent digital form. Now here I am a week later revisiting it all somewhat therapeutically.

I grew up roughly in the era and area that spawned such cinematic gems as Goodfellas, so I know wannabe behavior when I see it. Donald Trump and JD Vance's demeanor in the Oval Office was that of a low rent John-Gotti-Sammy-Gravano strong-arm tag team. The American Chief Executive and his understudy are at best fourth rate mobsters who have impressed a gullible American populace with a pathetic tough guy routine that is painfully obvious to people who were raised around real tough guys. Trump and Vance think they are wiseguys, but they are not wise and only marginally guys. Trump and his little waterboy mugged Zelenskyy. Trump couldn’t take Zelenskyy alone, but as it turned out, neither in a two-on-one.

The meeting was never intended to be a legitimate negotiation. What should have been done behind closed doors was instead staged in a highly inappropriate setting like the firing of a contestant in season three of The Apprentice. It was all ratings. The question for Trump and Vance was simply, "How much red meat can we generate this afternoon?" Trump largely faced the camera rather than Zelenskyy. Rule number one of in-person negotiations is look the other party in the eye often. That Trump is incapable of looking a real man with honest intentions in the eye is a given, but here obviously no attempt was even made. Instead, Trump engaged with the MAGA audience at home snorting bath salts and giving their toddlers loaded guns to play with.

For a shadow of a man whose countless sins include a 100 percent transparent attempt to overthrow the United States government, the sin of turning an alleged negotiation to prevent WWIII into a sham and a showpiece ranks way up there. This was the Trump-Vance diplomacy reality show. Yes, it's all planned, but we have to render a half-hearted attempt to make it look real. We are the world's worst actors, but we were sent by Central Casting.

It was reported that earlier in the week Trump proffered the Ukrainian mineral extortion as something Zelenskyy had exactly one hour to take or leave. Who does that with anything other than a mob movie in mind? It was a gun to Zelenskyy's head. It was an offer he couldn’t refuse. Here's a pen. And I assure you either your signature or brains will be on the contract. Trump and Vance dream they are Gambinos and Luccheses. As if. They lack the heart. They lack the style. They lack the balls. They lack the discernment. They are not even on the practice squad. They are unmade men. They are men whose mother still makes their bed. They are creepy stunads with bad hair. But they have one thing in common with the real mob—they prey on perceived weakness.

This is what it has always been and always will be about. They smell blood and go in for the kill when the body is already spasming. For Trump and the boys, perceived weakness is opportunity. They walk into a family bakery and say smugly you really need protection because, you know, heh heh, something might happen to this place. And, you know, you're really not in a good position here.

As much of an ambush as the meeting was, the outcome surprised Trump and Vance. They were hoping for capitulation on a global stage. They sought not peace but public humiliation. Instead, they encountered someone who cares more about his people than about his own life and they didn't know what to do other than insult him. When someone outclasses you by a million miles in front of your home crowd--the very same crowd where you thought you'd be feted with confetti and get to shtup the homecoming queen—it's mighty embarrassing and is met with the frustration of a three-year-old whose candy has been withheld. The reality show ended in an epic failure to play alpha male in a room where there was only one, and for good measure he did better in your native language than you did.

My flesh crawls when I consider the petty thief we presented to the world as a negotiator. He won't be ready for amateur hour in a hundred years. What Europe can do for itself and for us right now is take a good look at the tape of this meeting. Watch it twice if you can stand it, and ask yourselves if there is any near term future with what was once a shining city upon a hill rather than a seedy casino on a Superfund site. Once you conclude the answer is no, take care of yourselves. Pool your resources, suck it up, and make swift plans to fill the moral, spiritual, leadership, and financial void left by Putin's assets—Dumb and Dumber. Get started yesterday. You'll be glad you did. Don't worry about those of us Americans who once valued your intrepid friendship. We still do. But we need to get our own house in order now. Salute!

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