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Why Trump showed up in court for his appeal of E. Jean Carroll’s trial win

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Why Trump showed up in court for his appeal of E. Jean Carroll’s trial win

On Thursday, Judge Asks Chutkan held a status conference in Washington, D.C., to discuss how Donald Trump’s federal election interference case — which carries four felony charges against the former president — should progress and how fast. Trump himself, however, was nowhere to be found.

Fast forward 24 hours to an ornate, immaculate courtroom in Manhattan’s federal appeals court, where a three-judge panel heard oral argument on Trump’s appeal of E. Jean Carroll’s first civil trial verdict that found him liable for sexual abuse and defamation. Yet after skipping the entirety of the first Carroll trial and despite not being obligated to attend, Trump showed up for the argument.

With four of his lawyers already seated at their assigned table, Trump entered slowly, flanked only by four Secret Service agents and trailed by two of his most loyal legal and political advisers, Alina Habba and Boris Epshteyn. The Republican presidential nominee wore his classic business formal outfit: dark suit, white shirt, and a long, shiny red tie.

The Carroll case, on the other hand, plays right into the twin pillars of Trump’s messaging: martyrdom and misogyny.

And before the argument began, Trump did two notable — and chilling — acts. First, while still standing, he wheeled around and surveyed the gallery of assembled press and members of the public. Eyes narrowed, he glowered in an echo of trial days past. Then, taking his seat at the head of a table immediately behind his legal team, he turned to his right, seeming to appraise a tall blonde seated at a table directly across the room. But Carroll, in a nipped-waist skirt suit with her hair tied back with a girlish, satiny bow, stared straight ahead, just as she had for nearly all of her two trials.

Thus, even before the judges arrived, the scene was riveting. But a more fundamental question remains: Why did Trump come to court at all, especially given that this case involves his smallest outstanding liability and civil litigants are never required to appear?

Let me posit a few potential reasons.

First, should Trump win the November election, many legal experts assume he will either order his Department of Justice to withdraw the two federal cases against him and/or direct the attorney general to fire special counsel Jack Smith. But as president, he would have no ability to expunge any civil liabilities or halt his civil cases. Put another way, while a president could arguably pardon himself or end any criminal cases against him, Trump simply cannot campaign his way out of any of the civil judgments against him.

Still, the first Carroll trial, which dealt with statements Trump made in fall 2022yielded a $5 million award for Carroll. That’s a gargantuan sum to most of us. But even assuming Trump’s self-proclaimed net worth is exaggeratedthat’s likely pocket change to him. So why would he care? Because although Friday’s argument was technically limited to evidentiary issues at the first trial, it could also impact the much larger, $83.3 million verdict in the second trial, which concerned Trump’s June 2019 statements.

Donald Trump.
A courtroom sketch of Friday’s hearing for Donald Trump’s appeal of the verdict in the first E. Jean Carroll civil trial.Christine Cornell

Last year, the trial judge overseeing both Carroll cases, Lewis Kaplan, determined that the first trial verdict established that Trump’s substantively “identical” 2019 statements were also defamatory and, therefore, Trump’s liability had already been adjudicated. All that was left for the second jury, Kaplan ruled, was to decide Carroll’s damages. The flip side of Kaplan’s decision, however, is that if the appeals court overturns the first verdict, it would necessarily destroy the second. And it could have been that hope — specifically, the hope of erasing nearly $90 million owed to Carroll — that brought Trump to watch the appeal.

Yet my guess is that his wallet wasn’t the only or even primary reason Trump cared enough to visit yet another courtroom. Rather, it was his supporters’ wallets that prompted Trump to go to court and then hold court at Trump Tower for nearly an hour.

Trump and his campaign advisers well understand the perverse relationship between his perceived victimization through the civil and criminal cases against himon the one hand, and his popularity among his base, on the other. And they recognize that Trump’s fundraising peaks when he is — or simply portrays himself to be — in serious legal peril.

For example, according to PoliticoTrump’s best online fundraiser day of the first quarter of the year — and his third best overall since launching his presidential campaign in November 2022 — came on the same day that New York Attorney General Letitia James “took initial steps toward seizing his assets in the event he failed to make bond” in her civil fraud case, where she won a $450 million-plus verdict.

Similarly, The Associated Press reported that of Trump’s $141 million fundraising haul in May, more than a third came from online contributions in the 24 hours after a jury found Trump guilty on all 34 felony fraud counts in his New York hush money case. But by August — shortly after the Supreme Court handed Trump a huge victory through its presidential immunity decision and while virtually all of Trump’s cases were quiet, if not dormant — Trump’s fundraising total fell below May levels while Vice President Kamala Harris raised $361 million, nearly tripling Trump for the month.

The Carroll case, on the other hand, plays right into the twin pillars of Trump’s messaging: martyrdom and misogyny. Put another way, Trump stewed silently during court so he could unleash his grievances after, all with the goal of filling his campaign coffer and pushing back on Harris’ “prosecutor versus sexual abuser” framing.

After all, sometimes you can only win by losing. And Trump knows that well.

Lisa Rubin

Lisa Rubin is an BLN legal correspondent and a former litigator. Previously, she was the off-air legal analyst for “The Rachel Maddow Show” and “Alex Wagner Tonight.”

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Bill Moyers, the former White House press secretary turned acclaimed TV journalist, dead at 91

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NEW YORK — Bill Moyers, the former White House press secretary who became one of television’s most honored journalists, masterfully using a visual medium to illuminate a world of ideas, died Thursday at age 91.

Moyers died in a New York City hospital, according to longtime friend Tom Johnson, the former CEO of BLN and an assistant to Moyers during Lyndon B. Johnson’s administration. Moyers’ son William said his father died at Memorial Sloan Kettering in New York after a “long illness.”

Moyers’ career ranged from youthful Baptist minister to deputy director of the Peace Corps, from Johnson’s press secretary to newspaper publisher, senior news analyst for “The CBS Evening News” and chief correspondent for “CBS Reports.”

But it was for public television that Moyers produced some of TV’s most cerebral and provocative series. In hundreds of hours of PBS programs, he proved at home with subjects ranging from government corruption to modern dance, from drug addiction to media consolidation, from religion to environmental abuse.

In 1988, Moyers produced “The Secret Government” about the Iran-Contra scandal during the Reagan administration and simultaneously published a book under the same name. Around that time, he galvanized viewers with “Joseph Campbell and the Power of Myth,” a series of six one-hour interviews with the prominent religious scholar. The accompanying book became a bestseller.

His televised chats with poet Robert Bly almost single-handedly launched the 1990s Men’s Movement, and his 1993 series “Healing and the Mind” had a profound impact on the medical community and on medical education.

In a medium that supposedly abhors “talking heads” — shots of subject and interviewer talking — Moyers came to specialize in just that. He once explained why: “The question is, are the talking heads thinking minds and thinking people? Are they interesting to watch? I think the most fascinating production value is the human face.”

(Softly) speaking truth to power: Demonstrating what someone called “a soft, probing style” in the native Texas accent he never lost, Moyers was a humanist who investigated the world with a calm, reasoned perspective, whatever the subject.

From some quarters, he was blasted as a liberal thanks to his links with Johnson and public television, as well as his no-holds-barred approach to investigative journalism. It was a label he didn’t necessarily deny.

“I’m an old-fashion liberal when it comes to being open and being interested in other people’s ideas,” he said during a 2004 radio interview. But Moyers preferred to term himself a “citizen journalist” operating independently, outside the establishment.

Public television (and his self-financed production company) gave him free rein to throw “the conversation of democracy open to all comers,” he said in a 2007 interview with The Associated Press.

“I think my peers in commercial television are talented and devoted journalists,” he said another time, “but they’ve chosen to work in a corporate mainstream that trims their talent to fit the corporate nature of American life. And you do not get rewarded for telling the hard truths about America in a profit-seeking environment.”

Over the years, Moyers was showered with honors, including more than 30 Emmys, 11 George Foster Peabody awards, three George Polks and, twice, the Alfred I. duPont-Columbia University Gold Baton Award for career excellence in broadcast journalism. In 1995, he was inducted into the Television Hall of Fame.

From sports to sports writing: Born in Hugo, Oklahoma, on June 5, 1934, Billy Don Moyers was the son of a dirt farmer-truck driver who soon moved his family to Marshall, Texas. High school led him into journalism.

“I wanted to play football, but I was too small. But I found that by writing sports in the school newspaper, the players were always waiting around at the newsstand to see what I wrote,” he recalled.

He worked for the Marshall News Messenger at age 16. Deciding that Bill Moyers was a more appropriate byline for a sportswriter, he dropped the “y” from his name.

He graduated from the University of Texas and earned a master’s in divinity from Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary. He was ordained and preached part time at two churches but later decided his call to the ministry “was a wrong number.”

His relationship with Johnson began when he was in college; he wrote the then-senator offering to work in his 1954 reelection campaign. Johnson was impressed and hired him for a summer job. He was back in Johnson’s employ as a personal assistant in the early 1960s and for two years, he worked at the Peace Corps, eventually becoming deputy director.

On the day John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, Moyers was in Austin helping with the presidential trip. He flew back to Washington on Air Force One with newly sworn-in President Johnson, for whom he held various jobs over the ensuing years, including press secretary.

Moyers’ stint as presidential press secretary was marked by efforts to mend the deteriorating relationship between Johnson and the media. But the Vietnam war took its toll and Moyers resigned in December 1966.

Of his departure from the White House, he wrote later, “We had become a war government, not a reform government, and there was no creative role left for me under those circumstances.”

He conceded that he may have been “too zealous in my defense of our policies” and said he regretted criticizing journalists such as Pulitzer Prize-winner Peter Arnett, then a special correspondent with the AP, and CBS’ Morley Safer for their war coverage.

A long run on television: In 1967, Moyers became publisher of Long Island-based Newsday and concentrated on adding news analyses, investigative pieces and lively features. Within three years, the suburban daily had won two Pulitzers. He left the paper in 1970 after the ownership changed. That summer, he traveled 13,000 miles around the country and wrote a bestselling account of his odyssey: “Listening to America: a Traveler Rediscovers His Country.”

His next venture was in public television and he won critical acclaim for “Bill Moyers Journal,” a series in which interviews ranged from Gunnar Myrdal, the Swedish economist, to poet Maya Angelou. He was chief correspondent of “CBS Reports” from 1976 to 1978, went back to PBS for three years, and then was senior news analyst for CBS from 1981 to 1986.

When CBS cut back on documentaries, he returned to PBS for much less money. “If you have a skill that you can fold with your tent and go wherever you feel you have to go, you can follow your heart’s desire,” he once said.

Then in 1986, he and his wife, Judith Davidson Moyers, became their own bosses by forming Public Affairs Television, an independent shop that has not only produced programs such as the 10-hour “In Search of the Constitution,” but also paid for them through its own fundraising efforts.

His projects in the 21st century included “Now,” a weekly PBS public affairs program; a new edition of “Bill Moyers Journal” and a podcast covering racism, voting rights and the rise of Donald Trump, among other subjects.

Moyers married Judith Davidson, a college classmate, in 1954, and they raised three children, among them the author Suzanne Moyers and author-TV producer William Cope Moyers. Judith eventually became her husband’s partner, creative collaborator and president of their production company.

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Gun control crusader and former US Rep. Carolyn McCarthy dead at 81

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Former U.S. Rep. Carolyn McCarthy, who successfully ran for Congress in 1996 as a crusader for gun control after a mass shooting on a New York commuter train left her husband dead and her son severely wounded, has died. She was 81.

News of her death was shared Thursday by several elected officials on her native Long Island and by Jay Jacobs, chair of the New York State Democratic Committee. Details about her death were not immediately available.

McCarthy went from political novice to one of the nation’s leading advocates for gun control legislation in the aftermath of the 1993 Long Island Rail Road massacre. However, the suburban New York Democrat found limited success against the National Rifle Association and other Second Amendment advocates.

McCarthy announced in June 2013 that she was undergoing treatment for lung cancer. She announced her retirement in January 2014.

“Mom dedicated her life to transforming personal tragedy into a powerful mission of public service,” her son, Kevin McCarthy, who survived the shooting, told Newsday. “As a tireless advocate, devoted mother, proud grandmother and courageous leader, she changed countless lives for the better. Her legacy of compassion, strength and purpose will never be forgotten.”

New York Gov. Kathy Hochul directed flags on all state government buildings to be flown at half-staff Friday in honor of the congresswoman.

“Representative Carolyn McCarthy was a strong advocate for gun control and an even more fierce leader,” Hochul said.

Democratic U.S. Rep. Tom Suozzi said the nation has “lost a fierce champion.”

“Carolyn channeled her grief and loss into advocacy for change, becoming one of the most dedicated gun violence prevention advocates,” Suozzi said on X.

She became a go-to guest on national TV news shows after each ensuing gun massacre, whether it was at Columbine High School or Sandy Hook Elementary School.

Known as the “gun lady” on Capitol Hill, McCarthy said she couldn’t stop crying after learning that her former colleague, Rep. Gabrielle Giffords, had been seriously wounded in a January 2011 shooting in Arizona.

“It’s like a cancer in our society,” she said of gun violence. “And if we keep doing nothing to stop it, it’s only going to spread.”

During one particularly rancorous debate over gun show loopholes in 1999, McCarthy was brought to tears at 1 a.m. on the House floor.

“I am Irish and I am not supposed to cry in front of anyone. But I made a promise a long time ago. I made a promise to my son and to my husband. If there was anything that I could do to prevent one family from going through what I have gone through then I have done my job,” she said.

“Let me go home. Let me go home,” she pleaded.

McCarthy was born in Brooklyn and grew up on Long Island. She became a nurse and later married Dennis McCarthy after meeting on a Long Island beach. They had one son, Kevin, during a tumultuous marriage in which they divorced but reconciled and remarried.

McCarthy was a Republican when, on Dec. 7, 1993, a gunman opened fire on a train car leaving New York City. By the time passengers tackled the shooter, six people were dead and 19 wounded.

She jumped into politics after her GOP congressman voted to repeal an assault weapons ban.

Her surprise victory inspired a made-for-television movie produced by Barbra Streisand. Since that first victory in 1996, McCarthy was never seriously challenged for reelection in a heavily Republican district just east of New York City.

Some critics described McCarthy as a one-issue lawmaker, a contention she bristled about, pointing to interests in improving health care and education. But she was realistic about her legacy on gun control, once telling an interviewer:

“I’ve come to peace with the fact that will be in my obituary.”

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What this Trump nominee says about his potential SCOTUS picks

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What this Trump nominee says about his potential SCOTUS picks

The nomination of Emil Bove suggests the president is embracing a new kind of judicial pick…
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