The East Room, with its chandeliers and gold damask drapes, is the largest room in the White House; it might also be, to use a word favored by the President, the most elegant. Last Thursday, President Trump invited the White House press corps to assemble there so that he could debase them, while relying on them to air said debasement on live television—the mass-media equivalent of the schoolyard move known as “Why are you hitting yourself?”

The event was to begin at noon. At 11:50 a.m., the press corps stood outside the West Wing in the cold. Normally, a seating plan for an East Room press conference is drawn up well in advance. This conference, organized on a Presidential whim, would be a free-for-all. A few correspondents tried to elbow their way toward the front of the pack.

“O.K., guys, nice and orderly,” a press aide said.

“We’ll get orderly when you’re orderly,” one reporter muttered.

In the East Room, correspondents fanned out across a dozen or so rows of seats: the Huffington Post near the front, Newsmax in the middle, NPR near the back. Several White House staffers lined up against a wall. Omarosa Manigault, a former reality-show villain and now a communications staffer, glared at reporters while whispering to a colleague; she covered her mouth with a notepad, trying to prevent leaks via lip-reading. Boris Epshteyn, a former investment banker who once moderated a panel promoting American investment in Moscow, is now an aide; he paced the length of the wall, arms crossed.

Jim Acosta, CNN’s White House correspondent, walked toward the front of the room and stood on a small wooden riser facing a camera. He spoke remotely to the CNN anchor Jake Tapper, whom he could hear through an earpiece, but who was inaudible to everyone else in the room.

“That’s right, Jake,” Acosta said. “I sure hope this is not fake news.” The reporters in the room laughed; the White House staffers did not. When his TV appearance was over, he stepped off the riser, and the room sank into a tense silence.

“Jim’s trying to get on ‘S.N.L.,’ ” Epshteyn said.

“Did that work?” Acosta asked him.

“Nope,” Epshteyn said, stone-faced.

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The President arrived twenty minutes late, spent less than a minute discussing the ostensible subject of the press conference—his new pick for Secretary of Labor—and then got down to business. “We have to talk to find out what’s going on, because the press, honestly, is out of control,” he said, adding, “Russia is fake news.”

Jonathan Karl, of ABC News, asked about the Trump campaign’s contact with Russian officials: “Is it fake news or are these real leaks?”

“The leaks are absolutely real,” Trump said. “The news is fake, because so much of the news is fake.”

A few minutes later, Trump said, “I want to find a friendly reporter.” Jake Turx, from an Orthodox Jewish publication called Ami, asked how the government would deal with hate crimes against Jews. Jared Kushner, in the center of the front row, sat upright, his gelled hair gleaming in the lights.

“Not a simple question, not a fair question,” the President said. “Sit down.”

The next question was about DACA, a program that grants documentation to some young immigrants. “We’re gonna show great heart,” the President said. Stephen Bannon, sitting to Kushner’s left, rubbed his face.

April Ryan, of the American Urban Radio Networks, asked a question.

“That was very professional and very good,” the President said, as if to a child.

Ryan, who has been a White House correspondent for twenty years, said, “I’m very professional.” She followed up, asking whether Trump would meet with the Congressional Black Caucus.

“Are they friends of yours?” Trump said.

“I’m just a reporter,” Ryan, who is African-American, said.

The press corps was escorted back to the briefing room, where they exchanged shell-shocked smiles. “Did he literally say the words ‘Russia is fake news’?” one reporter asked another.

A correspondent who had covered Latin American dictatorships said, “Who’s the banana republic now?” Another reporter kept repeating the word “surreal.”

Several people asked Turx for his contact information. He bent down and pointed to his yarmulke, which was emblazoned with his Twitter handle. “My feelings for the President are of respect and appreciation,” Turx said. “I don’t blame him for being defensive.”

When Ryan walked in, several reporters glanced at her sympathetically.

“Do you know every black person in the country, April?” one asked.

“April, I have a black friend in Cleveland—could you send him a message for me?” another said.

Ryan shook her head and smiled. “I mean, I can’t even,” she said, and left it at that. ♦