© Alex Brandon / AP
If the greatest mystery at the center of Donald Trump’s indictment is why he so zealously hoarded classified documents, a close second is how Walt Nauta ended up as his co-defendant.
The former president’s personal valet, a Navy veteran who was little known outside Trump’s inner orbit until last week, is an unexpectedly central player in the story. He now faces six felony charges for allegedly helping Trump hide classified documents from the federal government. Nauta fascinates because he is such a cipher—neither a political true believer like some of Trump’s confidants nor an obvious opportunistic grifter like most of the rest—and because of the impossible dilemma he faces. Like so many other Trump aides and advisers, as well as the Republican Party and the nation as a whole, he finds himself caught in a bind by Trump’s behavior.
Nauta seems screwed no matter what he does. If he sticks with Trump, he faces the prospect of years in jail on felony charges for a scheme in which he had no real stake and little to gain. Federal prosecutors apparently tried to squeeze him into flipping on Trump but were unsuccessful, and no wonder: His attorney is being paid by Trump’s political-action committee. If he cooperates against Trump, he might avoid prison, but he stands to lose his legal representation, his livelihood, and his chance at a pardon if Trump is reelected.
[David A. Graham: Trump misses the point]
Yesterday’s arraignment put the absurdity of Nauta’s situation on full display. He is both a co-defendant with and servant to the former president. He went along to a federal courthouse in Miami with his boss. Although Trump had to scramble to find lawyers to represent him in the brief hearing, he did manage to do so, and he pleaded not guilty. Nauta, however, had his arraignment postponed without a plea because he had no local attorney, as the court’s rules require. Trump’s PAC may be paying for Nauta’s representation, but that doesn’t mean he’s getting the best help.
From the courthouse, Trump traveled to Versailles, a landmark Cuban restaurant in Miami’s Little Havana. Here, the former president was in his element—prayed over by a priest and a rabbi, adored by fans, soaking in the attention. Those looking closely could spot Nauta too: He hovered as unobtrusively as possible in the background, helping direct traffic, keeping Trump’s clothes neat, managing the situation. In court, both men had stood equal as citizens and defendants in a criminal scheme. At the restaurant, the huge gap between their statuses snapped back into view.
Trump has good reason to want to keep Nauta close. He is said to be furious about how much of the evidence in his indictment came from people who work for him, whether lawyers or Mar-a-Lago employees, and he fears moles. He is probably also eager to avoid a repeat of his experience with people like the fixer Michael Cohen, former White House Chief of Staff John Kelly, and former National Security Adviser John Bolton, all of whom have become prominent thorns in his side since leaving his side. A magistrate ruled that Trump and Nauta may associate but may not discuss the case against them, the sort of restriction that would be challenging under the best circumstances but will surely be impossible for Trump, who has no regard for rules and no discipline over what he says.
[David A. Graham: The stupidest crimes imaginable]
Just how Nauta ended up here is not really clear. A native of Guam, he was serving in the Navy when he was assigned to the White House as a military valet to Trump. As The Washington Post reported in the most complete profile to date, he stuck out in the chaotic and self-interested atmosphere of the West Wing for not sticking out or having any apparent self-interest. “He was like, ‘Hey, I work in the White House and have a particular job here,’” a former official told the Post, which reported that although Nauta was always ready to attend to Trump’s needs, he never engaged in political talk or office gossip, and never tried to insert himself into meetings or conversations.
Around the time that Trump left office, Nauta was finishing his stint in the Navy, and Trump aides saw value in bringing in an assistant who understood the former president well at a time of upheaval. Nauta came to work for Trump as a civilian personal aide, which is how he ended up moving around the documents. That’s a straightforward gofer task—and it’s easy to imagine that Nauta was simply doing what was asked of him. “He told his mom there’s nothing to worry about. He didn’t do anything wrong. All he was instructed was to put the boxes where they were supposed to go,” his aunt told the Post.
More confounding is that when Nauta was first asked about moving the boxes, according to prosecutors, he denied any knowledge of classified materials. It was only in a second interview that he admitted that he had transferred them after Trump received a subpoena. But why? Was Nauta simply acting out of personal loyalty to Trump? As a Navy veteran, shouldn’t he have understood the gravity of classified material and of lying to FBI agents?
[Quinta Jurecic: Trump can’t bluster his way through court]
Some observers will have trouble conjuring much sympathy for Nauta. After all, he’s a man who willingly went to work for Trump in a civilian capacity when he had no need to do so, and at a time when Trump’s character was plain, as was his tendency to get his aides into trouble. Nauta is a 40-year-old and ought to know right from wrong. Perhaps he is not so naive as the limited information currently available about him suggests. But because he is not as savvy nor as plainly cynical as some of the others around Trump, perhaps some sympathy is merited.
Besides, there must be some grace for the tens of millions of people who were fooled or taken advantage of by Trump—space for them to see where they went wrong and try to get back on track. Permanently writing off nearly half the country isn’t really a viable option in a vibrant democracy. And Nauta’s dilemma is not just his. It’s similar to the one faced by the many aides who thought they could go to work for Trump while maintaining their personal integrity, or who believed they could control Trump or steer him in a better direction, and who instead realized that their reputations were stained and they had ended up as collaborators.
It’s also similar to the bind in which the Republican Party finds itself. The GOP cannot seem to rid itself of Trump, who looks stronger than ever in the 2024 presidential primary, and Republican candidates can scarcely win without his support. Yet the party also can’t win with Trump; he has led the party to underperform in three straight national elections, all while hollowing out its moral core and traditional values. The Republican Party made a horrible error in 2016 that it can’t manage to escape.
[Ryan Goodman and Andrew Weissmann: Jack Smith’s backup option]
And so did the country. Americans elected Trump as president in 2016, and now we are doomed to deal with the legacy of that decision for the foreseeable future. Prosecuting Trump is a jarring turn, in which an opposition politician is hauled into court on what his followers believe are politicized grounds. Yet the alternative, of allowing his serial abuses to go unchecked and unpunished, is even worse. For the nation, just as for Nauta, Trump’s indictment is a terrible predicament with no easy way out.
