"The Wandering Authority Problem"

How blurred authority and performative power plays inside this administration reveal a dangerous erosion of institutional discipline, accountability, and trust at moment democracy needs structure most

At the Trump Organization, contrary to the caricature that gets trotted out on cable news every night, people generally stayed in their lanes. That wasn’t some noble commitment to corporate governance or a Harvard Business School case study waiting to happen. It was survival. Lawyers did legal. Accountants did numbers. Construction guys worried about concrete, steel, and whether the elevators would work before the ribbon cutting. Everyone understood one sacred rule: don’t wander into someone else’s job unless you’re looking to get your head taken off.

That kind of order wasn’t about elegance. It was about efficiency. When egos are large and tempers are short, clarity of roles keeps the building from collapsing; sometimes literally. You didn’t see the head of licensing wandering into an accounting audit, or a branding executive suddenly deciding they were the chief engineer. Lines existed for a reason.

Which brings me to Washington, where those lines appear to have been fed through a paper shredder and ceremonially tossed into the Potomac.

Watching this administration operate feels less like a government and more like a group project where nobody read the syllabus, half the team showed up late, and one person insists they’re “basically the leader” because they brought donuts. Titles exist, but they’re more like suggestions. Boundaries are flexible. Authority is… interpretive.

Case in point: the recent spectacle of the Director of National Intelligence showing up at an FBI raid of a local election office in Georgia. Not observing from afar. Not quietly briefed afterward. No, physically present, hovering near evidence trucks like a tourist who wandered into the wrong museum exhibit and decided to stay for selfies.

Now, in the old Trump Organization world, that would be like me; then the lawyer, showing up unannounced at a construction site, hard hat crooked, telling the foreman I just wanted to “take a look at the rebar situation.” Best case? I’d be laughed off the site. Worst case? I’d be escorted out with some colorful language and a clear reminder that I was very much out of my depth.

Yet here we are, watching senior officials drift into roles that don’t belong to them, apparently driven by the modern Washington disease: visibility addiction. If there’s a camera, a controversy, or a headline to be squeezed out of an event, someone will show up who has no business being there; because process is boring, and spectacle sells.

Let’s be clear: intelligence is foreign. It’s external. It’s about adversaries overseas, not ballots in Fulton County. That division isn’t a technicality; it’s foundational. It exists to prevent exactly this kind of confusion, where law enforcement, intelligence, and politics blur into a single, messy smear. When those lines dissolve, trust follows them right out the door.

Even inside the administration, confusion seems to be the dominant emotion. When Justice Department officials are scratching their heads and quietly asking, “Why is she here?” that’s not a partisan talking point. That’s a flashing warning light on the dashboard. In any competent organization, corporate or governmental, that moment would trigger a pause, a meeting, and a reminder that presence does not equal authority.

But this isn’t about one person or one raid. It’s about a culture that increasingly treats governance like improv theater. Show up, play a role, see what sticks. The problem is that democracy isn’t an open-mic night. Elections aren’t props. And law enforcement actions aren’t branding opportunities.

I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again: Donald Trump ran his businesses with a clear hierarchy, even if the style was unconventional. He understood instinctively that chaos is only useful when someone is clearly in charge of it. What we’re seeing now isn’t controlled chaos; it’s unmanaged overlap. Too many hands reaching into the same cookie jar, each claiming they’re just “helping.”

The danger here isn’t optics, despite what some seem to think. It’s precedent. Once senior officials start inserting themselves into processes they don’t legally control, it sends a message down the chain: rules are optional, lanes are decorative, and authority is whatever you can grab in the moment.

That’s how institutions erode; not with a bang, but with a series of awkward, unnecessary appearances that make professionals wonder why they bothered learning their jobs in the first place.

At the Trump Organization, stepping out of line got you corrected fast. Sometimes loudly. Sometimes publicly. But always decisively. Washington could use a little of that discipline right now. Not because it’s glamorous. Not because it’s kind.

But because when everyone does everyone else’s job, eventually no one does their own; and the whole structure starts to fracture.

And trust me: once that fracture turns into a collapse, no amount of hovering near the evidence truck is going to put it back together.

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