Sometimes a shoe is more than a shoe.
In the mayhem of the assassination attempt on former president Donald Trump at his rally in Butler, Pennsylvania, a single black Oxford shoe was left behind, abandoned on the platform where the former president was wounded by a sniper’s bullet and smothered in a Secret Service protective scrum.
Trump, it seems, lost one shoe in the melee on stage. That shoe–a sole survivor–reveals a lot about Trump as a consummate performer who cannily thinks first about himself and then about his audience. Under fire and on camera, the events in Butler offer a remarkable window into Trump’s primal instincts and mastery of political theater.
After the first burst of three sniper shots rang out, a male agent says, in a transcript detailed by CNN, “Get down, get down, get down.”
At least five agents, including one woman, rush to surround Trump, who crouches on the ground behind the podium. Agents call for an armored vehicle–“the spare”–to get away from danger. And they confirm that “Hawkeye”–a counter-assault team–is on the scene to defend the former president.
The agents pose a key question, “Are we clear?” and “Are we good to move?”
After an eternity (48 seconds), an agent reports the would-be assassin has been neutralized. “Shooter’s down,” the agent says. “We’re good to move.”
The goal, in Secret Service jargon, is to get Trump off the “X” (the target) as fast as possible. But Trump doesn’t sound in any particular hurry.
“Let me get my shoes,” he says, “Let me get my shoes.”
A male agent says, “I got you sir, I got you sir.”
Trump repeats: “Let me get my shoes on.”
Another agent suddenly notices the former president has been wounded. “Hold on,” the agent says, “your head is bloody.”
“Sir, we’ve got to move to the car, sir,” an agent says. Trump is wounded and bleeding. Every second counts.
But Trump is undeterred. He insists for a third time in only nine seconds, “Let me get my shoes.”
A female agent says “OK” and another agent says: “We got to move, we got to move.”
Settling for one shoe, Trump realizes there’s another opportunity to seize. “Wait, wait, wait,” he insists.
Fully 74 seconds after being grazed, with agents trying to rush him off the stage, Trump wants a moment.
Making space with his hands in the middle of the phalanx so that he can see the crowd–and the cameras can see him–Trump mouths the words “fight, fight, fight” while pumping his fist.
The crowd roars like in the coliseum or one of the UFC Fight Nights that Trump enjoys attending. An agent can be heard saying: “We got to move, we got to move.”
In the midst of an assassination attempt with unknown danger around them and young agents using their bodies as shields, it takes 81 seconds from the first shot to get Trump off the stage.
As the first reality television president, Trump instinctively understands the visuals and symbols of the moment. This is the performer two-step: Me, then you.
Trump’s first thought: Himself. He needs his shoes for whatever reason–to run, to stand tall, they’re expensive. But then, his mind turns to his second thought: The crowd and what they really want. A gladiator rising back to his feet, his head bloodied and unbowed, shoes or no shoes.
In a historic sense, of course, the shoe won’t matter. A former president was almost killed, one supporter died from a bullet wound, another two were badly injured and an assassin was neutralized.
In time, every aspect of this incident will be analyzed and investigated by the Secret Service and congressional committees. Reports will be written. And every political dimension and implication will be pundited and polled.
In the contest of shoes, however, we don’t need to wait. No polls are necessary to show that Trump is winning.
For his supporters, Trump’s well-polished shoe left on the stage surely stands for his invincibility and indestructibility.
In this same moment, his opponent’s shoes stand for the very opposite: President Joseph R. Biden’s vulnerability and even frailty.
For a politician who spent a half century in traditional black leather shoes, Biden’s recent footwear choices reveal an older man focused on his own stability, steadiness and comfort: black Hoka Transport sneakers with cushioned soles, Sketchers slip-in sneakers, and Cole Haan Brogue Oxfords with rubber soles.
Yes, shoes matter in politics. In the early 1970s, President Richard Nixon tried to show his casual side with strolls on the San Clemente beach. On the white sand, he wore black wingtip dress shoes. That faux pas confirmed what many suspected about Nixon. In 2008, the holes in Barack Obama’s shoes reminded voters of Adlai Stevenson soles with holes. Men of the people, those holey shoes proclaimed.
For Trump, one shoe is a reminder of his moment in crisis. His first impulse was that he needed his Oxfords and didn’t want to leave them behind. But then his second instinct took over, making an even more indelible mark. At this moment in American politics, it seems this enduring image of a raised fist in the midst of chaos and confusion is winning over stability and comfort.