Milwaukee man accused of framing illegal immigrant in Trump assassination threat, officials say
Demetric D. Scott is accused of posing as Ramón Morales-Reyes, a 54-year-old illegal immigrant, when writing a letter threatening to assassinate Trump. Scott is facing multiple charges, including witness intimidation.
Morales-Reyes is an illegal immigrant who has a criminal record that includes arrests for felony hit-and-run, criminal damage to property and disorderly conduct with a "domestic abuse modifier," according to the Department of Homeland Security.
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On May 21, the Wisconsin Attorney General's Office, the Milwaukee Police Chief and Milwaukee ICE received handwritten notes threatening to kill Trump and blow up the White House, according to the criminal complaint.
"We are tired of this president messing with us Mexicans – We have done more for this country than you white people – you have been deporting my family and I think it is time Donald J. Trump get what he has coming to him," the letter, obtained by Fox News Digital, stated.
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In the letter, initially believed to be written by Morales-Reyes, the Mexican national said he would "self deport" after killing Trump.
The letters were not identical, but all the envelopes had return addresses written in blue ink bearing Morales-Reyes' information. However, according to detectives, Morales-Reyes cannot read, speak or write English fluently. The complaint also says Morales-Reyes told detectives "the only person who would want to get him in trouble was the person who had robbed him and who law enforcement knows to be the defendant," Scott.
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On May 30, while executing a search warrant on Scott's jail cell, investigators recovered a blue pen. A note stating that Scott needed the address of the Wisconsin Attorney General's Office was also found, along with an envelope containing the address and phone number of Milwaukee ICE allegedly located under Scott's bed.
"I'm just glad that they have identified who it was or have a better sense of who it was and that Ramon is being cleared of any involvement in this," Morales-Reyes' attorney, Kime Abduli, told the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.
According to the criminal complaint, after learning that Morales-Reyes had been arrested and might be deported because of the letters, Scott said in a phone call that Morales-Reyes "got what he deserved."
"The investigation into the threat is ongoing. Over the course of the investigation, this individual was determined to be in the country illegally and that he had a criminal record. He will remain in custody," a senior DHS official told Fox News Digital.
Morales-Reyes is still being held at Dodge County Jail and faces possible deportation. According to Fox 6, a local Fox News affiliate, Morales-Reyes is scheduled to appear in court June 4.
Fox News' Bill Melugin and Cameron Arcand contributed to this report.Original article source: Milwaukee man accused of framing illegal immigrant in Trump assassination threat, officials say
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Chicago Tribune
41 minutes ago
- Chicago Tribune
Chicago father becomes face of lawsuit against ICE as judge hears challenge to warrantless arrests
Abel Orozco was getting home after buying tamales for his family, like he did most weekends for the past 30 years. They would have breakfast and head to church. Instead, U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents detained the Mexican immigrant outside his home in suburban Lyons without a federal warrant. Now, nearly six months later, he is still detained. Immigration and civil rights attorneys argue that his arrest was not only unfair but illegal. Thanks to the video his son recorded of the arrest, Orozco has become the face of a lawsuit against the U.S. Department of Homeland Security and ICE. Attorneys say the two government agencies violated the constitutional rights of Orozco and at least 25 other people, including one U.S. citizen, during the first week of increased immigration enforcement in the Chicago area after President Donald Trump took office. 'I'm not used to (speaking in public), it's something that's really awkward for me and embarrassing,' his son Eduardo Orozco told the Tribune. 'But even though I feel like that, I still have to do it for my father, and because there are many other people who are supporting us.' The father, 47, has a clean record. Yet he is the only plaintiff left that is still in detention. One was deported. The rest have been released. 'We are angry and concerned,' his son said. 'I hope the judge can see what we experienced on Sunday morning, and make a ruling in favor of my family and all the families affected by the cruelty of the ICE agents.' A federal judge heard arguments earlier this month for a motion filed by immigration attorneys and advocates who argued that DHS and ICE officers violated warrantless arrest policies amid sweeping arrests in the Chicago field office region in January. The motion, filed in March of this year, focuses on 25 people who were detained, including one U.S. citizen, in the Trump administration's highly publicized enforcement operation over the winter. In making arrests, the federal government allegedly went against both immigration laws and the Fourth Amendment, which protects people from unreasonable searches and seizures by the government, the plaintiffs argue. 'It seems as if there are repeat violations,' said Mark Fleming of the National Immigrant Justice Center in his closing argument to the judge. 'There is real concern that they are not following the law.' Judge Jeffrey Cummings of the District Court for the Northern District of Illinois was asked by Fleming to consider whether ICE's January arrests violated the 2022 Castañon Nava settlement agreement, which states that ICE must meet two criteria to make a warrantless arrest: probable cause that someone is in the U.S. unlawfully, and that the person is a flight risk. Immigrant advocates say ICE ignored those standards when it detained people in January without probable cause and before warrants were filled out. As for Orozco, Fleming said that federal agents allegedly created an administrative warrant while he was handcuffed. The Castañon Nava settlement agreement, which expired on May 13, had been the result of several ICE raids in the Chicagoland area in 2018 that the NIJC argued led to the collateral arrests of hundreds of individuals in vehicle stops and without warrants. Collateral arrests, or the detaining of individuals who are not targets, have become more common as the federal government ramps up daily quotas of people detained. Fleming described a pattern of reckless and unlawful enforcement actions after President Trump was sworn into office and pledged to begin mass deportations in Chicago. In some cases, he said, ICE agents will carry around blank warrants. 'That doesn't sit well with me,' Judge Cummings said, after asking to see a copy of the blank form. Defense attorneys William H. Weiland and Craig Oswald defended their policies, stating that there is nothing inappropriate about the agency's use of warrants and that ICE is entitled to continue the practice. Fleming focused on the case of Abel Orozco, who remains detained in a detention center in Indiana despite mounting legal and community pressure for his release. Abel Orozco had a prior removal order, said Fleming, but only because he wanted to see his ailing father in Mexico one more time before he died. According to the motion, ICE officers were apparently looking for one of Orozco's sons, who is decades younger but has the same name. The agents allegedly grabbed and handcuffed Abel Orozco after they saw his driver's license. His son Eduardo, 26, ran outside when he heard his father screaming, 'I can't breathe … call a lawyer.' Eduardo Orozco began questioning the agents and demanded a warrant. The agents stayed quiet and can be seen walking away from Eduardo Orozco who began recording the interaction 'knowing that something was not right,' he said. There were more than six agents with guns who surrounded their home and they refused to identify themselves. That's a scene that still haunts the family. 'They were trying to knock down the door to my house without a warrant,' Eduardo Orozco recalled. Weiland and Oswald defended the arrest by saying that assessing flight risk in real time can be difficult. But the motion argues that ICE didn't consider or document the individual's community ties — whether Abel Orozco had a home, family, or employment. Abel Orozco's wife has cancer, said Fleming. Abel Orozco had just started a tree-cutting business — a dream come true, his son said. In the months since Abel Orozco's arrest, according to Fleming, his business has floundered. Many of the other detainees were allegedly arrested after leaving their houses for work. They were often handcuffed and put in their cars, the motion states, without being allowed to call relatives and let them know what was happening. Plaintiffs cited two hours of security footage from a restaurant in Liberty, Missouri, showing 10 'heavily armed' federal agents who allegedly went into a restaurant and held 12 employees in booths before escorting them out and detaining them. Missouri is one of six states that the Chicago Field Office covers. On repeated occasions, ICE misspelled names or omitted important information while filling out warrants that were 'riddled with defects,' according to the motion. ICE was also delayed in its response after plaintiffs requested that it provide details on the arrests and paperwork, the motion states. Among other actions to prevent alleged unlawful ICE arrests, the motion seeks to extend the Castañon Nava settlement agreement for three years, demand the release of Abel Orozco, mandate the reporting of all arrests since Trump took office and order ICE officers operating in the Chicago region to be retrained. Cummings expressed that the allegations altogether seemed 'troubling,' especially considering that no one 'knows the magnitude of this problem.' The violations that the attorneys uncovered, he said, only came to light because families reached out to the immigrant advocacy organizations. Cummings did not make a ruling, but said he would try to come to a resolution as soon as possible. At a news conference after the hearing, community organizers gathered outside federal court to decry ICE's arrest practices in January. Fleming called the ICE arrests a 'parallel universe of unlawful policies' because the agency has no real method of accountability. The result is hundreds of people being taken from neighborhoods, said Xanat Sobrevilla, of Organized Communities Against Deportations. She said that after the 2018 immigration sweeps, ICE told her organization it would implement changes. 'Since January of this year, that commitment has been blatantly broken,' she said. 'We bear witness to families shattered, fathers and mothers taken from their homes.' For Eduardo Orozco and his family, the last six months have been overwhelming and heartbreaking. They missed several mortgage payments and the turmoil has caused emotional chaos to all of the family members. Still, he shows up in courtrooms, news conferences and other actions against ICE because he believes his father's story can spark change. 'We're not just fighting for him anymore,' Eduardo Orozco said. 'We're fighting for everyone who was taken like this.' As Judge Cummings weighs a decision that could set a precedent for how ICE operates in Chicago communities, immigrant rights advocates and families like the Orozcos wait. Not just for a ruling, but for repair by releasing Abel Orozco. As the elder Orozco remains in detention, Eduardo now juggles fatherhood, his father's collapsed business and caring for a sick mother, hoping to keep his family's faith that justice will be served and that his father will be released.
Boston Globe
42 minutes ago
- Boston Globe
Thrust into spotlight after ICE detention, Milford teen navigates being face of immigration in Mass.
Gomes, a Brazilian national who was detained by ICE officers on May 31 The 18-year-old has decried the conditions he experienced during the six days he was detained in local and national media interviews, shared his story with Some ask for a photo or thank him for speaking out about the conditions of detention. Others tell him he doesn't belong in the United States. Advertisement Gomes is confronting his newfound celebrity as he also must grapple with his family's vulnerable status in the United States, the trauma he experienced as a teenager pulled away from his home and detained in a federal facility, the responsibility of being the oldest child in a family with limited English skills, and the looming demands of his senior year of high school this fall. Advertisement Family and friends of 18-year-old Marcelo Gomes da Silva, who was detained by ICE on his way to volleyball, broke down in tears during a protest held for Gomes outside of Town Hall in Milford on June 1. Jessica Rinaldi/Globe Staff The Globe spent a month documenting the teen's life since his detainment in a Burlington facility, where Since his release, Gomes has become resolved to remain in the country and help other immigrants. But he knows this future is not promised. Small mistakes could lead him to being detained again and eventually deported. The day Gomes was detained began early as he got ready for volleyball practice while the rest of his family was still sleeping. It ended with him sitting on the cold concrete floor of a detention cell. In detention, Gomes's mind flooded with anxiety. When he closed his eyes, images of his family shuffled on repeat. He imagined what he'd do if he was deported to Brazil, a country that seemed so distant to him. Where would I live? Would I finish high school? Maybe I could work at an açaí shop. It'd been more than 12 years since his parents moved him to the US seeking better economic opportunities. Gomes recalls his departure from Brazil, his grandparents crying at the airport as they watched him, at 6 years old, get through security to board a plane. Worlds away in the windowless cell of the Burlington facility, Gomes couldn't escape the foul stench of the toilet he shared with his cellmates. He spent his days translating immigration documents for cellmates who didn't speak English, breaking the news to some that they were being deported. He watched the men cry. Related : When feelings of helplessness crept in, he turned to prayer, asking the other men, many twice his age, if they'd like to pray with him. Advertisement Standing in a circle with heads bowed and eyes closed, the men held hands as Gomes asked God, in Portuguese and Spanish, to bless them. God, please give us strength. Please bring calmness into our environment, Lord. Please let us go home to our families. Each night, those invocations would bring peace to the small, crowded cell. Within 30 minutes, they'd all fall asleep. When Gomes was released on June 5, he wanted to go home and shower. But first he decided to speak with reporters waiting for him outside the Burlington facility. Gomes was embraced by a friend as his parents Daiane and João Paulo Gomes Pereira watched nearby inside their Milford home June 5 after his release from ICE detention. Erin Clark/Globe Staff 'Nobody should be in here,' Gomes said as two congressmen, Representatives Seth Moulton and Jake Auchincloss, stood at his side. 'Most people in there are all workers. They all got caught going to work. These people have families.' 'Should I change?' Gomes wondered in front of a mirror in his family's living room, as he waited to be picked up for his first studio television interview, the week after his release. He wore his usual gray sweat pants and a T-shirt. 'My lawyer said I should dress as if I'm going to church,' he remembered. 'Yeah, I should change,' the teen said before walking upstairs to his bedroom. Before his arrest, Gomes wanted the American dream. The steady job. The house with a pool. The family. He was a carefree teen who was always smiling and goofing around with his friends. He longs for that time again, that naivety. Gomes cuddled with his dog, Luna, as he took some time out to try and rest in Milford on June 17. Jessica Rinaldi/Globe Staff 'I want to enjoy my summer, have fun like a normal kid, but I can't be a kid anymore. I need to be an adult,' he said. 'That's kind of ironic because everyone's like, 'I want to be an adult so bad. I want to grow up.' I regret saying that.' Advertisement Friends have told him, 'I'd love to be at the detention center for six days to get your fame.' But Gomes never wanted to be famous. And he wouldn't wish his detention on any of them. Related : Still, he acknowledges it opened doors for him. Almost overnight, his Instagram followers grew from about 500 to more than 3,400. Many wished him well or said they were praying for him after a recent post he made about his release that included a selfie with Healey at the State House. The governor asked Gomes, who previously never paid attention to political campaigns, whether he would consider a career in politics. Other adults around him asked him to think about becoming an immigration lawyer. Immigration activists invited him to meetings and to join their fight. Gomes met with Governor Maura Healey at the State House in Boston on June 13. Jessica Rinaldi/Globe Staff Before his detainment, Gomes thought he would become a plumber. His arrest woke him up to a bigger mission. In detention, he made a promise to the men he shared a cell with to be a voice for immigrants without criminal records who are detained by ICE. He's weighing starting a nonprofit to provide services for such immigrants and their families. He's also tried to live up to his promise by not turning down any opportunity to speak up. Sitting at a television studio for the first time in early June, Gomes cracked his knuckles, with a soft, closed-mouth smile, as NBC News host Tom Llamas introduced him for the network's show 'Top Story.' Advertisement When asked whether he's an American, Gomes said, 'I'm half, I'm both.' 'I definitely wanna become an American citizen. I wanna stay in America,' Gomes said. 'This is my community, I love this country.' The next day, Gomes and his friends gathered for a pool party. The teens played Marco Polo, chicken fight, and volleyball in the pool. But before the games, they paused to pray while crammed into a backyard Jacuzzi. 'I thank you for being here, not inside of a prison cell, my God,' Gomes prayed, as the he and his seven friends held hands, eyes closed, heads bowed, knees and shoulders touching. Gomes (third from left) joined hands with his teammates to pray as they sat in the hot tub at his cousin's house in Milford on June 11. 'I thank you for being here, not inside of a prison cell, my God.' Gomes said, leading off the prayer before his teammates joined in. Jessica Rinaldi/Globe Staff 'I believe that you used me, that you took care of me in that place, my Lord, and I hope that you keep using me,' he said. Gomes's faith extends well beyond church walls and the gold cross that hangs around his neck. It is his belief in God that helps him maintain hope. As he grew up, Gomes's parents read the Bible to him every day. His favorite Bible character is Job, whose faith is tested when he loses his family, his health, and his wealth. Despite the adversity, Job maintains his faith in God. 'How could you possibly go through so much … your family, kids die, knowing that God let it happen and still stay with Him and trust Him?' Gomes said. 'It just shows me the literal, true faith. The ultimate faith of a human being.' Related : His faith is cultivated at a Presbyterian church, where he started playing music at age 11. At that time, he would creep onto the platform after service concluded and try his hand at the drums. He'd be chased away by the pastors, but he kept at it, eventually teaching himself how to play. Advertisement Church is his 'safe place,' and he plays the drums during worship nearly every Sunday and Friday, when he attends a youth group. The drums bring him closer to God. So do his friends who share his faith. In the Jacuzzi, Gomes's friend, Gabe Santos, prayed after him. 'I pray over every other immigrant that's getting taken right now, that's innocently getting taken. Lord, I just pray over them and their families,' Santos said. 'In the name of Jesus, we pray.' Students prayed outside of Milford High School after walking out of school to protest the detention of Marcelo Gomes da Silva in Milford on June 2. Jessica Rinaldi/Globe Staff A week later, Gomes was changing in the locker room of his gym when a man approached him. 'Are you the famous kid? I heard about you,' said the man Gomes thought to be in his 60s. 'You seem like a great kid, but you're illegal. You shouldn't be here.' Gomes had been called illegal before. As he grew up, other children sometimes gave him and his parents that label. The man drew closer, and more confrontational. 'You're not legal. You need to go back to your country,' the man continued, closing in the space, and eventually jabbing Gomes's arm. The man said Gomes's family is a burden on the American taxpayer. Gomes wanted to respond, he wanted to defend himself. But the man wouldn't stop talking, he said. The teen is aware he's being watched — by ICE and the public at large. The weight of his actions feels heavier than before, knowing that a little mistake could have big consequences, marring his reputation, and even those of other immigrants. Gomes's friends drew near him. Afraid a fight would break out, Gomes walked away. The next morning, Gomes pulled into a Framingham parking lot, his body battling nerves. He was quiet, observant — not his usual gregarious self. He was about to interact with the same agency that had arrested and detained him weeks earlier. He walked into the waiting room where his ICE check-in took place and sat alongside other immigrants waiting for appointments. Most were Brazilian, and they recognized the teen. One shouted in Portuguese from a chair two rows behind Gomes. 'Bro, you getting arrested was good for us!' the man said. Gomes, trying to make sense of what he heard, asked the stranger to repeat himself. 'Because of you, now the media is exposing the truth,' the man replied, his tone friendly. Before Gomes could answer, a worker opened the waiting room door to ask if he wanted his appointment to be in Portuguese or English. 'English,' Gomes answered without hesitation. Within minutes, the teen's name was called. Related : Being released from detention was merely the first step in a long process to fight the government's attempt to deport Gomes. His next court hearing is in October, during the fall of his senior year of high school. After that hearing, it might take three more years for him to get a final hearing due to a backlogged system, his lawyer said. The teen has applied for asylum to change his status, but while that is underway, he must follow strict, parole-like rules. ICE did not respond to a request for comment about Gomes's detainment or the current status of his case. In June, an ICE spokesperson said in a statement that Gomes 'peddled blatant lies regarding his treatment while in custody in Burlington,' adding he received three meals per day and 'off-site medical attention.' At the Framingham office, Gomes learned more about the conditions of his release: No travel outside of Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Connecticut, and Rhode Island without ICE's permission, and for no more than 15 days. ICE check-ins every three months. Immediate reply with a selfie to a monthly phone notification that comes at random times. If he misses an appointment or a notification, it's a violation. And any violation could lead to him being detained again. The teen, who has no criminal record, opted for the phone notifications over an electronic ankle monitor. A videographer recorded a discussion between Gomes and the barber cutting his hair, Felipe Guerra, at FG Barber Studio in Milford on June 18. Jessica Rinaldi/Globe Staff He was accompanied by Coleen Greco, the mother of one of his volleyball teammates. Greco, who Gomes lovingly refers to as his 'American mother,' sprang into action when the teen was detained, securing a legal team for him within hours. From their first introduction, Greco said, she was charmed by Gomes, his traditional manners and kindness. 'He immediately started telling me all the great qualities about my own kid, and that just stuck with me,' she said. In the aftermath of his detainment, Greco worried about the emotional toll and traumatic experiences Gomes had in detention. She helped find him a therapist. She, like so many in their community, would never have imagined Gomes in trouble with the law. 'He has a special heart,' she said. 'He's the kind of kid that you wish you had raised.' As the duo left the ICE appointment, Greco made sure he had all his documents with him. 'I feel like a criminal,' he said, his voice heavy with frustration as he reached the elevator. Later that day, Gomes walked onto the soccer field at Milford High School, followed by his two younger siblings. Between soccer passes, speaking a mix of Portuguese and English with his friends, Gomes scored goals, and missed some. Throughout the practice, he largely kept his eyes on the sidelines, where his two siblings played by themselves, Miguel with a soccer ball and Mariana with a mermaid doll. Gomes took a break from soccer to hang out with his siblings, Mariana and Miguel, in Milford on June 18. Jessica Rinaldi/Globe Staff During the summer, while his parents often work 12-hour days as house cleaners, Gomes watches Miguel, 7, and Mariana, 9. The two — both US citizens — are full of energy and are constantly chattering, bouncing from discussions on their newest coloring book to their growing keychain collection. 'If my parents are ever taken, God forbid, I'm the one who's going to care of my siblings,' he said. 'I definitely feel a big responsibility to take care of them.' It's a thought that often haunts him: Would I be able to take care of my younger siblings by myself? Gomes has always been a helper, said his father, João Paulo Gomes Pereira, volunteering to help his mom clean the house, helping his father repair things, or helping strangers carry in groceries. When he was about 4, while still living in Brazil, Gomes saw an older man sitting on a sidewalk by his grandparents' house. He worried the man was sick or needed help. He sidled up next to him to make sure the man was OK, his mother, Daiane Pereira, recalled. And when he was 8, he saw an older woman with a cane, hands full of grocery bags, struggle to open her car trunk in the parking lot of Market Basket, Pereira said. Gomes asked her if he could hold her bags. Throughout high school, Gomes has volunteered to teach multiple children from his church to play the drums. He coaches a volleyball team comprising senior women. That day at the Dairy Queen, between sips of vanilla Coke, Gomes smiled at other strangers and acquaintances who approached him to talk about his story. The stranger who blessed him. A teacher with his child. A Dairy Queen worker who also attended Milford High School. In every interaction, the teen was courteous and gracious. Underneath the big smile, though, he was starting to feel a deep exhaustion. Gomes peered out of the window as he waited for his ride to come to take him to a TV news interview in Milford on June 11. Jessica Rinaldi/Globe Staff Between more than a dozen media interviews and meetings with politicians and activists, Gomes was also trying to have a regular summer — his last in high school — with video game nights, volleyball games, and hiking days with his teammates. Keeping busy was an intentional choice. Being alone brought back thoughts he wanted to push away, the fears over what could happen to him or his parents. When it was time to leave the Dairy Queen, Gomes's little sister asked where the trio was headed next. Gomes, who wanted a break from the attention, offered her an answer he no longer took for granted. 'Home.' Marcela Rodrigues can be reached at
Atlantic
an hour ago
- Atlantic
Flattery, Firmness, and Flourishes
Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni's April visit to the White House was, by all accounts, a success. She soothed President Donald Trump with dulcet talk of 'Western nationalism,' eased through a potentially awkward moment regarding Ukraine, and invited Trump to visit Rome—extracting a promise that he would come in the 'near future.' Yet despite the apparently seamless choreography, she and her team offered some after-action advice to fellow world leaders hoping for similarly controversy-free exchanges with Trump: Prepare for the unexpected. Specifically, she had been caught off guard when, before a supposedly private lunch in the Cabinet Room, journalists had been escorted in for seven minutes of questions; she found herself awkwardly positioned with her back to the cameras—much of the footage of Meloni captures the silky blond strands atop her head—and she was forced to either ignore the media in order to address Trump directly or twist herself to the left, away from the president, to try to speak with the reporters. Exactly a week later, when Jonas Gahr Støre, the prime minister of Norway, arrived at the White House, he was prepared. His team had watched videos of prior visits with world leaders, and strategized over various scenarios. Having seen Trump seem to bristle when Meloni was asked a question in her native Italian, they encouraged their own press corps to pose their queries exclusively in English. (The Norwegian journalists also seemed to have done their homework; young female reporters positioned themselves near the front, smiling to catch Trump's attention, and got in an early flurry of questions.) 'You have to—to use Trump's words—play the cards you have,' one European diplomat told us anonymously, like nearly every other diplomat or foreign official we spoke with, to avoid angering Trump or revealing their nation's strategies for managing the mercurial U.S. president. Anne Applebaum: The U.S. is switching sides In Trump's second term, foreign leaders now meticulously prepare for their phone calls and meetings with him, often war-gaming possible surprises and entanglements, and trading information and best practices with allies. Eight diplomats and officials from six countries, as well as other foreign-policy experts, all described to us an unofficial formula for ensuring fruitful interactions with Trump: an alchemic mix of flattery, firmness, and personal flourishes. Foreign leaders, especially those from fellow democracies, face an inherent tension in wanting to woo Trump while also advocating for their country's own interests and maintaining their standing back home. 'There is a sense that you want to be on the right side of history. You do want to be able to look at yourself in the mirror and reread your statements in the Oval Office a couple of years later and say, 'I feel good about what I said,'' a second European diplomat told us. This, of course, can prove complicated. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky learned this lesson rather publicly in a now-infamous Oval Office blowup on the last day of February, which got him booted from the White House so quickly that Trump's aides ate the lunch intended for him and his fellow Ukrainians. ('No deal and no meal,' Axios blared at the time.) And in May, South African President Cyril Ramaphosa was meeting with Trump in the Oval when the U.S. president unexpectedly dimmed the lights and began playing a video that he said buttressed his unsupported claim that South Africa's white population is facing a 'genocide.' 'The leaders of friendly countries are turning keys in the lock desperately trying to find a way to prevent their meetings with President Trump from being disasters,' Kori Schake, the director of defense and foreign-policy studies at the American Enterprise Institute and a contributing writer at The Atlantic, told us. 'The challenge for foreign leaders is that President Trump seems to only have two categories—supplicants and enemies.' But that hasn't stopped visiting officials and diplomats from trying. 'They ask knowledgeable Americans, 'Might this work? This is what we're thinking of trying. Do you think this is good enough?'' Schake told us. Even some of the preparations—walking through the day's expected events in advance of the actual visit—underscore the inherent unpredictability of this administration. 'Our entire walk-through with the White House was like, 'This is what it's going to be like, but we follow the lead of the president,'' the second European diplomat told us, laughing. Trump has long been eager to receive a Nobel Peace Prize—for any conflict, in any region. So it was not entirely surprising when the government of Pakistan nominated Trump for the prize last month for helping resolve tensions between Pakistan and India. Pakistan, after all, was simply following the dependable diplomatic crutch of flattery with Trump, hoping to improve its standing with the U.S. president by offering him the possibility of something he desperately covets. (His subsequent bombing of Iran's nuclear sites created understandable consternation among Pakistanis, but during an Oval Office meeting last week, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu took up the cause, announcing that he had, too, nominated Trump for the Nobel Prize—this time for his work in the Middle East.) The same week that Pakistan put Trump up for the peace prize, NATO Secretary General Mark Rutte engaged in some behind-the-scenes blandishments with Trump ahead of a NATO summit in the Netherlands—which became public when Trump posted on Truth Social the entirety of a text message Rutte had sent him. The missive praised Trump for his 'decisive action in Iran,' which Rutte called 'truly extraordinary,' before moving on to laud Trump for pressuring his NATO allies to spend more on defending their countries. 'You are flying into another big success in The Hague this evening,' Rutte wrote. 'Europe is going to pay in a BIG way, as they should, and it will be your win.' During the actual summit, Rutte went on to call Trump 'Daddy' as Trump likened Israel and Iran to fighting schoolchildren. 'Daddy has to sometimes use strong language,' the NATO chief said. Trump and his team were, predictably, delighted. They began selling 'Daddy' merch —an orange T-shirt with DADDY emblazoned just below Trump's notorious mug-shot scowl—and released a video mash-up of Trump at the summit set to Usher's 'Hey Daddy (Daddy's Home).' The light mockery that suffused their glee was not lost on Rutte's peers. Flattery, after all, must be coupled with firmness, several diplomats explained. Not to mention at least a smidgen of dignity. 'Who isn't a bit embarrassed on his behalf?' one diplomat said of Rutte. A fine line, several diplomats told us, separates routine diplomatic supplication from humiliating obsequiousness; Trump at times seems to respect people who stand up to him. A NATO ambassador told us that Rutte's acclamatory message to Trump wasn't widely workshopped in Brussels ahead of time and that the secretary general is trusted to manage his own relationship with the American president. 'The allies wanted an agile operator, and we've gotten that,' the ambassador said, noting that Trump frequently calls Rutte to consult him. The ambassador added that the more conciliatory approach world leaders are taking with Trump partly reflects standard diplomacy—and partly reflects the Republican standard-bearer's staying power. 'If you went through the first term saying, 'This is an aberration; we just have to get through it,' defiance was a reasonable bet to make,' the ambassador told us. 'Now we've seen him be reelected. At least half of Americans are aligned with his politics. It's not just that he's back. Clearly there's been a shift in America more deeply.' Marc Short, who served as Vice President Mike Pence's chief of staff during Trump's first term, told us the flattery approach 'usually works.' He pointed to the strong relationship between Trump and French President Emmanuel Macron dating back to the early days of the Trump administration, when Macron—understanding the American president's love of pomp and circumstance and, frankly, just a damn good parade—invited him to Paris for Bastille Day. The two disagreed on a host of actual policy matters—the 2015 Iran deal and green energy among them—but 'that was one of the closest relationships of European leaders he had,' Short told us, in part because 'Macron was pretty good at those public communications of flattery.' 'It does seem that it's a little more exaggerated in the second go-round,' he told us. 'Maybe it's just the learning curve, but it seems like it's copied more now.' Still, not everyone is sold on the approach. After the White House paused some weapons transfers to Ukraine, Rutte faced fresh criticism for his fawning comments about Trump. Carlo Masala, an authority on the German military and a professor at the Bundeswehr University in Munich, tagged the NATO secretary general on X and asked, in a mélange of English and German, 'Where ist your Daddy now?' Golf trophies. Monarchy merch. Love letters. As foreign leaders and their allies have engaged in gossipy group shares about how to prepare for a meeting with Trump—or, at the very least, for the love of God and all that is just in the world, prevent it from going totally off the rails—nearly every country has come up with its own similar, yet distinctly homegrown, approach. Finnish President Alexander Stubb, who attended Furman University in South Carolina on a golf scholarship, played a round with Trump early in his return to power, much to the envy of fellow world leaders. (Lindsey Graham, South Carolina's senior senator and a reliable Trump sidekick, helped orchestrate the game, though it probably didn't hurt the transatlantic relationship that Stubb, playing on Trump's team at his Florida golf club's spring member-guest tournament, helped the U.S. president win the championship.) 'That's not an option for all the world leaders,' one European official told us, channeling the wistful desire for a links-blessed leader we heard from other diplomats. British Prime Minister Keir Starmer, who visited the White House in February, found success by bringing a personal letter from King Charles, inviting Trump for a second state visit—and adopting Trump's grandiose language in calling the possibility of a second such ceremony 'truly historic' and twice labeling it 'unprecedented.' (Trump is expected to visit this fall.) Here, the Brits engaged in a one-two titillation of Trump's diplomatic erogenous zones: his love of monarchies, particularly the British royals, and his passion for epistolary communication. In his first term, Trump waxed lyrical about his 'love letters' with North Korean dictator Kim Jong Un, and more recently, he relished recounting to Congress a letter Zelensky had sent him following their Oval Office spat. By the time Netanyahu announced his Nobel Peace Prize nomination last week, he was sufficiently savvy to present Trump with the letter he said he had sent to the Nobel Prize committee. 'The president respects good manners, and seems to value letters. He appreciates a slight formality,' a British diplomat told us. 'He clearly assigns a lot of value to, 'I have signed this, I have written this, I have touched this.'' (Indeed, Trump favors Sharpie-scrawled missives himself.) But Starmer's gambit also seemed to work because the offer he bore from King Charles was authentic. There still exists a 'special relationship' between the two countries, the working royals are diplomats by another name, and the British are experts at state visits and the accompanying ceremony. 'We will roll out the red carpet,' the British diplomat told us. 'Americans should expect a full royal display of the formal respect we afford our closest ally.' Or perhaps, as another European suggested to us, Washington's transatlantic partners have merely learned to act a bit like the Gulf states, which welcomed Trump with immense fanfare during his visit to the Middle East in May. The United Arab Emirates awarded Trump the Order of Zayed, the country's highest civil decoration. In Doha, Trump's motorcade included two red Tesla Cybertrucks—a nod to Trump's on-again, off-again billionaire best buddy, Elon Musk. The oil-rich nations also agreed to form business partnerships with Washington or to pump money into American companies. 'Trump is at home in the Gulf because he recognizes their style of family rule,' the diplomat told us. 'The Europeans gave up that method of governance about a century ago, but we know how to put on a show when we need to.' The Europeans have adopted similar tactics, not just spending lavishly with American defense contractors but also indulging Trump's interest in lineage, royalty, and, at times, even his romantic conquests. The German chancellor, Friedrich Merz, presented Trump with the birth certificate of his grandfather, who was born in 1869 in the German town of Kallstadt. A European diplomat from a different country made sure to mention their attractive friend, whom Trump had once dated. And Støre, the Norwegian prime minister, brought a photo of the country's current king as a young boy playing with Franklin D. Roosevelt's Scottish terrier, Fala—a nod, again, to Trump's penchant for monarchies. The Norwegians also brought a little gift for Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth—his ancestral tree, tracing him back six generations to Norway. All of the machinations are, of course, a far cry from the simpler diplomatic cajoling of the aughts, when then–British Prime Minister Gordon Brown gifted then-President Barack Obama a penholder made from wood pulled from an anti-slavery ship, and in return, Obama gifted him 25 DVDs of classic movies—all available on Netflix or at a local video store and, according to news reports at the time, unplayable on British technology. For now, diplomats and world leaders must be content with trading tips, sharing advice, and hoping not to become the centerpiece of a cautionary tableau in the Oval Office. The most common piece of wisdom we heard from the foreign officials with whom we spoke was: Prepare, prepare, prepare, especially for the unexpected. One diplomat told us they had learned that the 'real press conference' was in many cases not the official one featuring the two leaders, but the Oval Office meeting beforehand, with members of the media present. And another diplomat's advice inadvertently underscored the earlier 'play the cards you have' counsel of his peer: 'Our trade is balanced,' this person told us, wryly. 'That's an insider tip—keep an even trade balance.'
