In the presence of the House Judiciary Committee, was Pam Bondi auditioning for an avalanche induction?

Pam Bondi and her very able index finger. Screen shot: msnow/YouTube

Donald Trump probably had not been aware that his ebullient attorney general Pam Bondi can shout at—particularly out-shout—everyone in her presence. In order for him to hear her, she used her lung power to show that, while she was dressed for a funeral, she was not actually the one in the casket. We know she is belligerent, but we do not know she bellows, and so bewitchingly. It’s a rare gift, really. Most people require a megaphone to be that unvarnished, yet she achieved it with nothing but sheer pulmonary output. She had done the MAGA masses proud. A glaring and grating voice, possessing all the refined, melodic quality of Leatherface’s chainsaw hitting a thighbone. Such was the soundscape throughout Ms Bondi’s recent House Judiciary Committee hearing, primarily about the Justice Department’s handling of the Epstein files.

She arrived in a familiar shade of what WGSN might call Totalitarian Black. The dour suit was either an old favorite or part of a standard-issue rotation she maintains with the clinical detachment of an ICE officer fixing their mask—standard, severe, and entirely uninterested in anyone’s opinion, least of all those of members of the House Judiciary Committee. Beneath the blazer, with peak lapels sharp enough to open a tin of molasses or poke holes into any assertion that her boss is just good ’ol lousy, sat a similarly hued blouse featuring a low pussy bow, worn to un-pussy the looped knot. And, similarly, her performance (and it sure was), kept at a continuous, self-sustaining circuit of scolding and shouting, and scorching that fed back into itself, ensuring her yelling never actually reached a conclusion. She knew U.S. lawmakers would grill her over how she handled so-called the Epstein files, yet she was prepared not to answer any of the question posed to her.

The dour suit was either an old favorite or part of a standard-issue rotation she maintains with the clinical detachment of an ICE officer fixing their mask—standard, severe, and entirely uninterested in anyone’s opinion

The scolding was not merely a reflex action. Not at all. It was a preemptive strike. In all likelihood, she spent the car ride to Capitol Hill perfecting the trajectory of her indignation. When Representative Jamie Raskin, a man whose legal pedigree is as decorated as Bondi’s suit is darkly dull, attempted to probe the redacted voids of the Epstein Files Transparency Act, she called him a “washed-up loser lawyer” before his sentence could even find its period. She responded to Pramila Jayapal asking her if she would apologise to the Epstein survivors who were present: “I’m not going to get in the gutter with this woman. She’s doing theatrics.” The irony was thick enough to stall a turbine: Here she was, seated on a stage made of the very muck she performed to avoid. If that feat wasn’t dizzying enough, she even gleefully berated Republican Thomas Massie: “This guy has Trump Derangement Syndrome. He’s a failed politician, a political joke, and a hypocrite.” Who needs the chairman’s gravel when you have Pam Bondi’s voice?

Her voice alone was sufficient to peel paint, but her right index finger, fully extended and sometimes erect, was the true bandleader of bickering. It wagged, twitched, and pointed. It was rhythmic, but distracting. It metronomed with more vigour than a needle on a lie detector that had finally encountered an exemplar of self-delusion. It was licked so that her salivary microbiome can make silent friends with those on the paper of the thick binder from which she frequently referred to. Her hands, in fact, were the star of the show, her primary tool of deflection and dismissal. Additionally, by keeping her hands active and in the space between her and the microphone, she created a visual barrier. This made it harder for the committee members to break through her defences. Ms Bondi didn’t just bristle at the fair questions asked, she viewed them as procedural overreach. In her mind, she was less a participant in a two-way conversation and more a monument being interrogated by a parliament of pigeons.

A glorious trinity: finger, pen, ring. Photo: Getty Images

To make sure that her finger and her hand retained all the dexterous advantage that she intended them to wield, Ms Bondi wore almost no jewellery except on her ring finger. This was a sharp contrast to the unmissable finger-and-wrist adornments she adopted at her first senate hearing last October. There was now a hint of what could be a watch, but otherwise, she was quite bare-handed. When she held up her palm or wagged that finger, the viewer wasn’t looking at a diamond protrusion or a gold band, not even all-out nail art or colour, but at the authority of the office. The finger, in particular, worked as a rebuke that beautifully accompanied her retaliation. Typically, a witness at a congressional hearing is expected to be deferential. By wagging her expressive finger and using sharp retorts (calling her interrogators “washed-up”), Ms Bondi was signalling that she refused to accept the traditional subordinate role of a witness. Her hands were stripped of jewellery and her nails of bold colour to ensure nothing outshone her sparkling indignation. Shucked for the skirmish.

It’s a way of saying, “I am not here to be lectured; I am here to fight back.” But who was she repelling for? According to a Wall Street Journal report, Donald Trump privately said that his attorney general has been “weak” and “ineffective”. He reportedly felt she was failing to use the Department of Justice as a “sword”. In the Darwinian ecosystem of Mar-a-Lago, “weak” and unable to wield a sword are extinction events. Ms Bondi was not explaining her mode of governance. What we saw was a frantic, high-decibel tackle to stay in the game. When she shouted at the committee, she was really clamouring for the attention of one White House spectator who no doubt prefers a culler to a counsellor. She had to deliver a command performance, knowing that the one behind the Resolute Desk does not do subtle or subdued. “I’m not getting into the gutter for her theatrics” kept ringing out head. Oscar Wilde once said, “We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.” What was Pam Bondi gawking audibly at?