When Rep. George Santos, a New York Republican, was about to be arraigned at a Long Island court on Wednesday afternoon, I was sitting about eight feet behind him with a clear view over his left shoulder. I could see his lawyer showing him a sheet of paper that had on it a bunch of print and, most notably, a copy of Santos’ own mug shot.
As Santos gazed at his image, I wondered if, after what sounds like a lifetime of allegedly scamming and scheming, these court proceedings could finally force Santos to face legal consequences for his alleged actions.
Santos’ response sounded awfully similar to that of another Republican, who happened to face charges of his own the same week: former President Donald Trump.
Federal prosecutors announced 13 charges against Santos this week: Seven counts of wire fraud, three counts of money laundering, one count of theft of public funds and two counts of making materially false statements to the House of Representatives. He could face up to 20 years in prison. (Santos has pleaded not guilty to all of the charges.)
“The reality is — it’s a witch hunt!” the congressman exclaimed to a swarm of reporters outside the courthouse Wednesday shortly after he was freed on a $500,000 bond. Santos’ response sounded awfully similar to that of another Republican, who happened to face charges of his own the same week: former President Donald Trump was found liable for sexual abuse and defamation of E. Jean Carroll in a civil rape case.
Beyond the familiar refrain, Santos appears to have emulated Trump in much of his career — from inflating the level of his own personal wealth to aligning himself with MAGA operatives to claiming news stories about him were an outright lie. Now it appears he has modeled his defense after Trump’s by claiming the federal charges against him are politically motivated and driven by his haters.
But legal troubles are where their similarities end. Santos will have to reckon with the fact that he has neither the money nor the connections nor the clout nor the political allies that Trump has to hoot and holler his way out of consequences. Unlike Trump, he doesn’t have years of experience managing the news media, and, if Wednesday’s events are any indication, he certainly doesn’t seem to have the same skill of telling a bald-faced lie and making it sound like the truth.
Santos insists that he will still be running for re-election — but his panicked demeanor, and the Republican response to ongoing allegations, indicate it won’t be easy to steamroll his way back into public favor, much less into office.
For his arraignment, Santos was dressed in what I call his “rich person costume” — his habitual white button-down, gray sweater, navy blue blazer and khaki pants — but the version of himself that pretended to be a wealthy and successful financial professional to win over campaign donors was not in attendance. His hair was mussed and his posture hunched as he hurried into the courtroom, averting his eyes from the press.
And in contrast to that persona Santos created for himself, part of the reason he’d been charged and hauled in front of a judge was because of one of those government handouts he claims to so despise. “At the height of the pandemic in 2020, George Santos allegedly applied for and received unemployment benefits while he was employed and running for Congress,” the U.S. Attorney’s Office for the Eastern District of New York contended in a news release Wednesday. The Feds allege that while he was employed by a Florida-based firm making a salary of $120,000 per year, he applied weekly to receive the emergency benefits, and ended up receiving more than $24,000 as a result.
Part of the reason he’d been charged and hauled in front of a judge was because of one of those government handouts he claims to so despise.
“I will get to clear my name on this,” Santos told reporters of the unemployment insurance claims. “During the pandemic, it wasn’t very clear. I don’t understand where the government is getting their information, but I will present my facts.”
Despite the months of press coverage and his attempts to be accepted by the firebrand wing of the House, Santos finds himself standing mostly alone. Though he claimed in a recent podcast interview that he counts such fellow Republican colleagues as Reps. Matt Gaetz, Tim Burchett and Thomas Massie as friends and mentors, only Gaetz has shown tepid support for the congressman as he’s routed through the Justice Department. “Like every American, George Santos is innocent until proven guilty,” he wrote in a statement. Hardly a ringing endorsement. Santos allegedly made a series of miscalculations that could land him in prison if he’s found guilty of the charges, and certainly may doom his political career. Perhaps he thought that by declaring himself a loyal MAGA foot soldier and adding “Trump 2024” to his Twitter bio that he’d get the backing of the former president and his many remaining allies, or maybe he thought by spending his first few months in Congress antagonizing the news media that he’d escape consequences. Maybe he thought by being a reliable vote for the slim Republican House majority that Speaker Kevin McCarthy and others in leadership positions would have his back. But fellow Long Island Republican Nick Lalotta said Santos would take focus away from “things like border, China and debt.” Rep. Tony Gonzales tweeted this week that Santos should be “immediately expelled.” And another fellow New York Republican, Nicole Maliotakis, told Axios Tuesday, “The sooner he leaves, the sooner we can win the seat with someone who isn’t a liar.” “I’m going to fight my battle,” Santos said after his arraignment. “I’m going to deliver. I’m going to fight the witch hunt. I’m going to take care of clearing my name and I look forward to doing that.” But with other inquiries into Santos’ activities pending at multiple levels of government, the only thing he can really look forward to is a massive bill from his attorney.
Marisa Kabas
Marisa Kabas writes about politics, media and gender and their many intersections. Her work has appeared in Rolling Stone, HuffPost and The New Republic, and she writes a newsletter called The Handbasket. She is based in Brooklyn, New York. 
