Manafort’s Virginia trial is about to end. Don’t believe the hype.

A sketch of Paul Manafort in federal court. Source: PBS

The bank fraud trial against Paul Manafort has captivated at least a small part of the politics-addicted nation. Manafort stands accused of bank fraud and tax evasion charges that could land him in prison for decades. More importantly, his case is the first to show the strength and breadth of the Robert Mueller investigation. Manafort’s trial, held in the slow news cycle of early August, has been seen as heralding the future of the Mueller probe. Conviction would mean a validation of the probe and Mueller’s security in his position as special counsel, while acquittal might give Trump the political cover he needs to fire Mueller. “Manafort trial will test Mueller investigation and Trump witch hunt claim,” read a USA Today headline from the first day of the trial, while a Politico writer argued, “An acquittal of the former Trump campaign chairman in a trial that opens Tuesday could deal severe legal and political blows to the top Russia prosecutor’s work.”

But is this trial really that important? Does the entire Mueller investigation hinge on the trial of one person? And in the end, does Manafort matter at all to the future of the Trump presidency?

Paul Manafort is a stock character in American history. Over the past two centuries, there have been countless men and women who have traded in their morality to help their political connections. New York politicians such as Aaron Burr and Fernando Wood cultivated the political machine, an entity that perfected the art of money laundering and under-the-table payments that Manafort is currently being charged with. This trend continued throughout the 20th century. Tammany Hall controlled billions of dollars in local, state, and federal spending and helped defined the careers of national politicians such as Al Smith and Averell Harrimann.

As soon as Tammany was shuttered in 1967, less formal schemes emerged to take its place. Corrupt New York City politicians such as Matthew Troy, Miguel Martinez, and Dan Halloran have all been convicted of the sorts of thefts and bribery scandals that were a hallmark of Tammany. Chicago, Buffalo, Miami, and other major cities have had political machines that in recent decades have worked with organized crime. One of Manafort’s alleged crimes, that of offering the post of Secretary of the Army to a bank manager in exchange for a loan, is a reminder of both Tammany and the entire patronage era in American history, when federal jobs regularly rewarded political supporters, often (though not always) for a price.

This history shapes and defines the case against Manafort apart from the separate Mueller-led investigation of the Russian intervention into the 2016 presidential election. Members of Trump’s campaign have been investigated for participating in a multi-layer criminal conspiracy with a foreign power to sway an election. The Russia investigation is a complex web of hacking, intelligence operations, and meetings between political operatives. As a combined case of espionage and obstruction of justice, the case is far outside of the norm of corrupt machine politics. Apart from his Russian connections, Manafort’s role is similar to that played by Richard Nixon’s Vice President Spiro Agnew: a crook who committed his own crimes outside of his president’s primary scandal.

The nation should still follow the Manafort investigation closely. Any news coverage of political corruption may produce disgust among the viewing public and a campaign for reform. Also, Manafort is a sleazy political operator who blatantly violated the law and deserves to be prosecuted. But a conviction will win Mueller little more than a news cycle or two. A win would also change nothing significant for Trump’s team, which will bloviate and attempt to distract no matter the verdict. This week will not settle the Mueller investigation. Liberals and conservatives should both resist the temptation to make much of this trial during a quiet news cycle, and simply let the jury decide whether or not Paul Manafort should follow in the footsteps of Jack Abramoff, Jimmy Hines, and Boss Tweed — who all went to jail.