POLITICS AND POETICS
A MENTOR FROM THE SHADOWS
MARCUS KOGAN
January 19, 2025
Power isn’t taught in classrooms. It’s learned in the shadows, behind closed doors, from people whose names linger like ghosts in the margins of history. And in the recent American playbook of power, few shadows loom as large as that of Roy Cohn.
A puppeteer, a master of manipulation, Cohn authored the scripts that would shape a young Donald Trump’s approach to power, influence, and, perhaps most notably, spectacle. Best known as Senator Joseph McCarthy’s right-hand man during the Red Scare, Cohn was a master of coercion, obfuscation, and narrative control. The Red Scare, which spanned the late 1940s to the 1950s, was a period of heightened fear of communist infiltration in US society. It led to aggressive investigations; blacklisting of suspected communists in government, Hollywood, and other sectors; and a general climate of suspicion and paranoia. Cohn played a pivotal role in all this as chief counsel to the Senate Permanent Subcommittee on Investigations, using fear as a weapon to intimidate witnesses and ensure compliance, all while positioning himself as a key figure in one of the most notorious witch hunts in US history.
When he crossed paths with Trump, the baton of ruthless and violent pragmatism was passed. The Apprentice (2024), a new movie directed by Ali Abbasi and starring Sebastian Stan as Trump and Jeremy Strong as Cohn, is a sharp and searing portrayal of this relationship. The film doesn’t just follow an arc of influence from one man to another; it traces the ideological inheritance from Cohn to Trump and from Trump to the world at large. It shows us the blueprint guiding Trump’s path to success, power, and, finally, the Oval Office.
The title is a layered metaphor. In his reality television show The Apprentice (2004–17), Trump was presented as a “teacher,” an authoritative figurehead whose approval contestants desperately sought. But the film makes clear that Trump was never the master. Instead, he was the apprentice—the student learning the art of power from Cohn. Trump’s infamous “You’re fired!” catchphrase—sharp, final, and unyielding—is unveiled as a direct extension of Cohn’s take-no-prisoners approach. What the TV show framed as Trump’s singular force of will was, in reality, an inherited tactic.
To understand Cohn’s influence on Trump, one must grasp the guiding principles that defined his approach to power. These principles, deceptively simple but endlessly effective, are presented in the film as three immutable laws: never show weakness or admit defeat; always attack, never concede; and control the narrative at all costs. These rules are not suggestions—they’re doctrine. They do not evolve or adapt. They are to be obeyed, repeated, and weaponized. In one pivotal scene, Cohn instructs Trump on how to deal with a Justice Department lawsuit. The advice is unambiguous and merciless: countersue. “Never settle,” he says. “If they punch, you punch harder—twice as hard.” This moment crystallizes the apprentice’s lesson. It’s not a matter of defending oneself. It’s a matter of domination. The approach is shown to define Trump’s strategy first in business, then in the media, then as the 45th and now 47th president of the United States.
Strong, as Cohn, perfectly captures this strategy’s grandeur and grime. We see his mastery of the moment, the way he shifts the emotional tenor of a room with a slight tilt of his head or a measured pause before a barb. The teaching is not logic but emotional control—a lesson his apprentice will study well.
Cohn’s influence is most vividly evident at Trump’s political rallies, which often resemble theatrical productions more than conventional speeches. These carefully staged spectacles are designed to provoke emotions, galvanize supporters, and silence critics. Like Cohn in countless court hearings, Trump wields accusations as weapons, deflecting blame and painting himself as the ultimate survivor. Every chant of “Lock her up!” in his 2016 campaign echoed Cohn’s strategy of framing opponents as existential threats.
On debate stages as well, Trump’s combative tactics bear Cohn’s unmistakable signature. Whether interrupting opponents or deploying biting nicknames like “Crooked Hillary” or “Sleepy Joe,” Trump mirrors Cohn’s instinct to attack first and keep adversaries off balance. His refusal to concede points or acknowledge missteps, even in the face of overwhelming evidence, is a direct application of Cohn’s edict to never admit defeat.
One of the most striking moments of Cohn’s influence came during the assassination attempt on July 13, 2024, in Butler, Pennsylvania. Rather than showing vulnerability, Trump used the event to stage his resilience. Just seconds after being shot in his right ear, he stood bleeding before a shocked crowd, raising his fist and yelling “Fight, fight, fight!” framing the incident as an attack not just on him but on his followers and their shared ideals. This masterstroke of narrative control turned a near-death experience into the ultimate public relations triumph.
Long before he became Trump’s mentor, Cohn was already a master of the political arena. His role in the McCarthy hearings turned Washington’s corridors into a gladiatorial stage. His tactics were as brutal as they were vicious: Evidence was malleable. Accusations were wielded like spears. Guilt didn’t need to be proven, just implied. His domination of narrative transformed trials from judiciary proceedings into performance art, where spectacle and media attention played as much of a role as legal arguments.
Cohn’s role in the 1951 Julius and Ethel Rosenberg trial epitomized this. The trial, one of the most infamous espionage cases of the Cold War era, involved a married couple accused of passing atomic secrets to the Soviet Union. It captured national attention and was regarded as a pivotal moment in the United States’ battle against communism. Cohn played a significant role in influencing the selection of Judge Irving Kaufman, who was known for his hard-line stance on communism. Cohn also took an active role in orchestrating the prosecution’s case, ensuring that witnesses provided the most damning testimonies possible. He took pride in his role in securing the Rosenbergs’ execution, a fact he would later boast about as evidence of his capacity to win any trial, whether by legal or (often) illegal means.
When Trump first appears on-screen in The Apprentice, he has yet to find confidence and command; he is still a man in flux, cocky but callow. Cohn’s influence is depicted as a slow but steady process of metamorphosis. Trump’s posture shifts, his tone hardens, his gaze becomes more calculating. These are not accidental changes. They are learned behaviors. By the time Trump engages in his first major real estate battle—a legal fight against the US Justice Department in the early 1970s—he is no longer “young Donald” but a vessel of his mentor’s dark ideals. This battle involved accusations that the Trump organization had engaged in discriminatory practices by refusing to rent apartments to Black tenants. Trump sued the federal government for $100 million rather than settling or admitting wrongdoing, and this aggressive strategy established his reputation for fighting back harder when challenged.
After the debut of The Apprentice at the Cannes Film Festival in May 2024, the Trump team wasted no time in attempting to quash its distribution, firing off a cease-and-desist letter accusing the filmmakers of defamation and labeling the project “a concoction of lies.” Undeterred by the legal saber-rattling, the filmmakers defended their work as “a fair and balanced portrait of the former president” and pressed forward. Ultimately, The Apprentice secured a limited US release mere weeks before the 2024 presidential election, but the damage was done; the specter of controversy and litigation cast a long shadow, deterring distributors and limiting the film’s reach. The saga speaks to the fraught nature of independent filmmaking when it dares to tackle politically sensitive figures, particularly when those figures wield the power and resources to fight back.
Trump and Cohn’s relationship ended abruptly and bitterly, and was perhaps the first time we witnessed Trump’s signature move of distancing himself from those he no longer found useful. Cohn was diagnosed with AIDS in the mid-1980s. At the time, the disease carried significant social stigma, especially within the conservative business and political circles where Trump operated. As Cohn’s health deteriorated, he could not wield his once-formidable influence, and Trump effectively ghosted him, no longer returning phone calls and cutting off their once-frequent communication. Perhaps the most symbolic moment of their falling-out was when Trump, who had long relied on Cohn’s fierce loyalty and legal prowess, failed to support Cohn when he was disbarred in 1986 for unethical and unprofessional conduct.
Cohn, feeling betrayed, allegedly told friends that Trump had “dropped him like a hot potato.” He died in August 1986, disillusioned with how quickly his former protégés and allies had abandoned him. Trump’s treatment of Cohn emphasizes how a philosophy that you espouse and cultivate in others may ultimately be used against you. The story is a dark narrative of master and apprentice, with Trump ultimately surpassing and then discarding his mentor in a manner consistent with the master’s own lessons.
The tragedy of Cohn’s life was mirrored in his death. The man who had thrived on dominance was now subject to forces beyond his control. Cohn treated his illness with the same obfuscation he once wielded in court, calling it “cancer,” as if admitting the truth would mean defeat. It is a striking irony that he who lived by the principle of never admitting weakness faced death as his final adversary and, in true Cohn fashion, denied its terms to the very end.
Marcus Kogan is a former litigator who dazzled courtrooms until his disbarment and brief imprisonment in the mid-1980s. Once a legal adviser to the Trump Organization, he has since reinvented himself as a sharp-tongued commentator on legal affairs and high-profile crime. His incisive takes blend firsthand experience with a touch of scandal, making him both controversial and compulsively readable.
Cover image: Roy Cohn, a legal pit bull
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