President Donald Trump recently stepped onto the red carpet at the Kennedy Center for a special screening of a documentary about First Lady Melania Trump. What should have been a straightforward cultural event quickly transformed into another episode of political deflection when reporters questioned the financial arrangements behind the film.
Amazon MGM Studios had committed $40 million to secure production rights for the documentary, a substantial investment that naturally raised eyebrows given the political connections of its owner, Jeff Bezos. When a journalist asked Trump how he would respond to critics of this sizable payment, the president delivered a rehearsed-sounding answer that immediately pivoted away from his own circumstances.
"I think they'd have to go and ask President Obama, who got paid a lot of money and hasn't done anything," Trump shot back, effectively redirecting scrutiny toward his predecessor.
This wasn't the first time the Obama-Netflix partnership had been weaponized as a political shield. Just weeks earlier, Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent employed an identical tactic when confronted with uncomfortable questions about Paramount Pictures. The studio had reportedly agreed to release "Rush Hour 4" following what sources described as Trump's personal request, raising concerns about potential conflicts while Paramount simultaneously sought administration approval for a major merger.
When CNBC's Andrew Ross Sorkin pressed Bessent on whether this constituted appropriate behavior, the Treasury secretary didn't refute the allegations. Instead, he swiftly changed the subject: "I don't know, the Obamas have a contract with Netflix. Is that appropriate?"
The problem with both Trump's and Bessent's defensive maneuvers lies in a fundamental misrepresentation of timing and context. Barack and Michelle Obama indeed established a production company called Higher Ground and entered into a lucrative partnership with Netflix. However, this agreement materialized after they had left the White House and returned to private life—a distinction that obliterates any meaningful comparison.
As private citizens, former presidents routinely pursue business ventures, book deals, speaking engagements, and media partnerships. The Obamas' Netflix collaboration produced substantive content, including an Academy Award-nominated documentary, demonstrating active creative involvement rather than passive profit collection. More importantly, they possessed zero ability to influence federal policy or provide preferential treatment to corporate partners when they signed that deal.
The ethical framework governing post-presidency commercial activities differs radically from the strict standards applied to sitting presidents. Once out of office, former commanders-in-chief enter the marketplace as ordinary—albeit famous—private citizens. Their business dealings might generate public discussion, but they don't create the same conflict-of-interest concerns that plague incumbent leaders.
Consider the hypothetical alternative: If President Obama, while still occupying the Oval Office, had accepted tens of millions from a major corporation seeking regulatory favors, the scandal would have dominated headlines for months. Congressional investigations would have erupted. Ethics watchdogs would have sounded alarm bells. The arrangement would have been universally condemned as an abuse of power.
That scenario never materialized during the Obama years. Yet remarkably similar circumstances have emerged during Trump's current term, making his red-carpet comments particularly puzzling. The president appeared to be drawing a parallel between his situation and Obama's without recognizing that the comparison actually highlights his own ethical vulnerabilities rather than diminishing them.
When a corporation like Amazon invests $40 million in a project directly benefiting the sitting president's family while that same president exercises power over regulations affecting the company, it creates a textbook conflict of interest. The transaction raises legitimate questions about whether the payment represents genuine commercial interest or an attempt to curry favor with the administration.
This pattern extends beyond the documentary deal. The Paramount situation illustrates how companies seeking government approval might feel pressured to accommodate presidential preferences. When a studio greenlights a specific film at the president's reported request while simultaneously awaiting merger authorization, the lines between business judgment and political calculation become dangerously blurred.
Ethics experts have long warned that such arrangements, regardless of explicit quid pro quo, corrode public trust in government institutions. The mere appearance of a connection between official actions and private gain can be as damaging as actual corruption. Presidents have historically gone to great lengths to avoid these situations, often sacrificing potential profits to preserve the integrity of their office.
Republicans searching for historical precedent to justify Trump's enrichment efforts face an impossible task. No previous American president has so brazenly mixed personal business with official duties on this scale. Past leaders typically placed their assets in blind trusts or avoided such arrangements entirely to maintain public trust and prevent even the appearance of impropriety.
The Obama-Netflix partnership, far from providing cover for Trump, actually underscores the proper sequence: public service first, private enterprise later. By attempting to equate his in-office dealings with Obama's post-presidency activities, Trump reveals either a profound misunderstanding of governmental ethics or a calculated effort to muddy the waters.
Either way, the deflection strategy fails on its merits. The American tradition of presidential ethics has always drawn a bright line between actions taken while wielding federal power and those pursued after returning to civilian life. Trump's attempts to blur that line may serve as temporary political talking points, but they don't alter the fundamental standards expected of the nation's highest office.