The multi-part question 🪤 trap

Less is more in the theatre that is the White House press briefing.

The James S. Brady Press Briefing Room inside the West Wing resembles a Manhattan-bound a.m. subway car these days, over-perfumed and caffeinated bodies pressed against each other, forearms lifted, faces obstructed, toes trampled, reporters from legacy institutions climbing to their assigned seats over the nest of eager newcomers who assertively maneuver for a scintilla of aisle space, all with fanciful hope of catching Karoline Leavitt’s eye and pity when the hands begin bobbing for questions. Even though this president chats with the press in some capacity at least once a day, the Trump briefings are bursting at the seams. It’s the epicenter for action in a White House that prides itself on accessibility even as it bobs and weaves around genuine transparency and accountability. Success inside them can be reduced to a very human desire: The ability to get noticed.

'I don't have anything': Notes from a White House briefing

The traditionalists will tell you the show is about eliciting information, the push-and-pull of sustained reportorial force, and yes, of course, ideally. But in actuality, it’s a performative affair that allows for television reporters to secure prized screen time, pushing the press secretary for answers, and for she to showcase her linguistic jujitsu for POTUS, avoiding kicks and punches that would undermine or perhaps overindulge on the assigned messaging. She’s also there to keep the cattle herded and tase them back into form when one goes astray. A briefing is rarely notable for the disclosure of new and valuable information; it catches virality for the scuttles over defiant evasion.

As someone who has partaken in many a briefing and observed innumerable, I’ve come away with a unassailable axiom: Craft one tight question to hurl at the podium —