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Why Trump Valet Walt Nauta Won’t Roll on Ex-President in Secret Documents Case

This week, Trump’s attorneys unveiled their legal strategy — delay at any cost — intended to make sure that the trial in what should be an open-and-shut Mar-a-Lago documents case doesn’t happen until after the 2024 election.

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Walt Nauta

By Emil Guillermo

Serial indictment collector Donald Trump, the disgraced, twice impeached 45th president has an unusual criminal defense: Run for president!

I doubt if any of us can rely on the presidential defense if we should have the misfortune of facing a felony, but this is what the justice system looks like for the privileged.

This week, Trump’s attorneys unveiled their legal strategy — delay at any cost — intended to make sure that the trial in what should be an open-and-shut Mar-a-Lago documents case doesn’t happen until after the 2024 election.

In the autocratic mind of Trump, running for president is the grand excuse. How can a millionaire and his lawyers prepare for trial? And so in lieu of a defense, in the Trumpian fantasy, the indicted one just needs to win the election. Then he sets up a new Justice Department and the case is dropped.

This is how an autocrat thinks in order to assure he stays above the law. It’s Trump’s prime motivator: White House or the Big House?

When literally the emperor has no defense, all delays help, which is why Waltine “Walt” Nauta, the Guam native and Trump co-defendant should be on your radar.

In this tale of the U.S. vs. Trump and Nauta, Nauta has the opportunity to be a hero. He is the former Navy enlisted man who worked his way up the White House mess to become a valet to the commander in chief. From AAPI in the White House, Nauta retired from the Navy and makes a reported $135,000 as Trump’s personal valet and body man.

He knows things. He could flip on Trump.

But he doesn’t. With Nauta, if Trump says delay, Nauta drags his feet and says ‘how long, Boss?’

Witness last week when Nauta showed up to enter a plea a month after Trump. Why? Because relying on his attorney paid for by a Trump Political Action Committee (PAC), Nauta didn’t have a Florida attorney in order to appear in court. Left hung out to dry? Well, Nauta is the help.

So, it was no surprise when Nauta showed up this time with his Trump lawyer, and a former public defender who does divorces and has no national security experience.

It just all adds to the delay.

THE COLONIAL MINDSET

The case involving the mishandling of boxes of classified top-secret documents and plotting with his former boss to hide them at Mar-a-Lago is so serious that both men could be sent to prison for a long, long time.

I just have a feeling when all is said and done, Nauta will be serving more time for this than his boss ever will.

And that would be criminal.

Maybe I feel for Nauta because he looks like me, only without hair.

Or maybe it’s because I’ve lived in 10 different cities and know what it’s like to pack and move boxes. Without the heavy weight of top-secret documents.

But am I the only one asking, “Who is Nauta’s body man?” By that, I mean, who really cares about Walt Nauta?

That he’s Guamanian may be all you really need to know. If you know the history of Guam and the indigenous Chamorro people, this is what always happens. It explains my fear that Walt Nauta is going to get the worst of it.

Unless he wises up. But in many ways, maybe he can’t help it.

You’re from Guam? Losing is in your blood.

GUAM, THE FOREVER COLONY

It’s baked in the system when you’re from Guam, where a colonial mentality has lingered since the 16th century

Spanish rule began when Magellan stumbled onto Guam in 1521. It was just the beginning of bad luck for the explorer who was killed later in the Philippines.

In 1898, the U.S. got Guam after the Spanish American War, almost as an afterthought. But that’s how the island is connected to our nation.

Guam’s role is to exist as the forever American colony, its people official second-class citizens of a great democracy.

As such, Guamanians have a Congressional representative who gets to sit in the People’s House but doesn’t get to vote. On anything. He’s window dressing. In fact, no Guamanian has a vote for president.

Maybe that’s why Donald Trump loves Nauta so much. He’s in that personal safe zone. Undocumented/documented? Nauta’s got all the documents he can get, and he’s still less than whole.

It’s a status that makes him constantly forced to prove his worthiness.

The way out of the colonial mindset has been to trade it for a military mindset, and Guamanians have enlisted in the Navy in great numbers.

Nauta enlisted as a teenager. At age 40, Nauta’s the modern Guamanian success story.

And he’s done it all by constantly proving his worthiness and showing that selfless loyalty to his boss, the former commander in chief.

 

HOUSE NEGRO VS. FIELD NEGRO

I’m reading Oakland resident Ishmael Reed’s new play “The Conductor” where there’s a passage on the difference between the ‘House Negro’ and the ‘Field Negro.’ That’s where House Negros served the master’s family in the house, and the Field Negroes picked the cotton.

Malcom X, in a speech at Michigan State in 1963, said for the House Negro, the master’s pain was his pain. And it hurt him more for his master to be sick than for him to be sick himself. The Field Negro? When the master got sick, they prayed he’d die.

And perhaps that helps explain Trump’s valet Nauta.

We also know he’s almost as sick as the master.

In the unsealed affidavit this week, Nauta is shown in security camera footage carrying three boxes inside Mar-a-Lago on May 24. Then two days later, when interviewed by the FBI, he is alleged to have denied knowing anything about the boxes.

Four days after the interview, Nauta is seen on the surveillance footage moving 50 boxes out of a storage room.

Then on June 2, footage shows Nauta moved 25-30 boxes back to the storage room. On Trump’s command?

The arithmetic is damning.

But Nauta stays selflessly loyal. He’s doubly cursed: colonial mentality and House Negro all rolled into one.

Emil Guillermo is a journalist and commentator. He does a news-reality talk show on www.amok.com

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Black History

Henry O. Flipper: A Trailblazer at West Point and Beyond

OAKLAND POST — Flipper’s promising military career ended abruptly in 1881 when he was accused of embezzling commissary funds. A court-martial acquitted him of embezzlement, but convicted him of conduct unbecoming of an officer. The Army dismissed him in 1882. The circumstances surrounding his punishment would later be widely regarded as unjust and influenced by the racial discrimination of the period.

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Henry Ossian Flipper. Public Domain.

Henry Ossian Flipper’s life is a remarkable story of insistence, achievement, injustice, and ultimately vindication. Born enslaved on March 21, 1856, in Thomasville, Georgia, Flipper rose from the restrictions of slavery to become the first African American to graduate from the United States Military Academy at West Point. His accomplishments extended far beyond military service; he later became a respected engineer, surveyor, author, translator, and government official.

After the Civil War, Flipper’s family settled in Atlanta, where education became central to his future. He attended schools established for African American children by the American Missionary Association and later studied at Atlanta University. In 1873, Congressman James C. Freeman of Georgia nominated Flipper for admission to West Point. He entered the academy that July.

Flipper’s four years at West Point were extremely difficult. Because of racism, he experienced harassment and almost complete social isolation from many of his fellow cadets. Nevertheless, he succeeded academically and graduated on June 14, 1877, ranking 50th in a class of 76. His graduation represented a historic breakthrough for African Americans in the United States military.

Commissioned as a second lieutenant, Flipper was assigned to the 10th U.S. Cavalry, one of the famed African American regiments known as the Buffalo Soldiers. At Fort Sill in Indian Territory, now Oklahoma, Flipper served as an engineer, surveyor, construction supervisor, quartermaster, and commissary officer. One of his most lasting engineering accomplishments was a drainage system that eliminated pools of stagnant water around the fort and helped reduce mosquito-breeding areas. The system became known as “Flipper’s Ditch,” and portions of it remain associated with Fort Sill today.

Flipper’s promising military career ended abruptly in 1881 when he was accused of embezzling commissary funds. A court-martial acquitted him of embezzlement, but convicted him of conduct unbecoming of an officer. The Army dismissed him in 1882. The circumstances surrounding his punishment would later be widely regarded as unjust and influenced by the racial discrimination of the period.

Rather than allowing his dismissal to define his life, Flipper built an extraordinary civilian career. He became a civil and mining engineer and surveyor, working extensively throughout the American Southwest and Mexico. He established an engineering office in Nogales, Arizona, became knowledgeable about Spanish and Mexican land law, and later worked for the federal government, including service connected with the Department of Justice and the Department of the Interior.

Flipper died in Atlanta in 1940, but efforts to restore his reputation continued for decades. In 1976, the Army changed his dismissal to an honorable discharge. Then, on February 19, 1999, President Bill Clinton granted Flipper a posthumous presidential pardon.

Today, Henry Ossian Flipper is remembered because his life helped open doors for generations of African American military officers, engineers, and public servants who followed him.

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Commentary

Alameda County DA Sees Gun Violence Greatest Threat to Black Community

OAKLAND POST — “One person can affect policy that changes the office,” Jones Dickson said. For her, one of the most urgent priorities is gun violence, an issue she says has deeply affected Black communities for generations. “Gun violence has always been a (concern) in the Black community,” she said. “We all have a visceral reaction to a helicopter because it often means there has been a chase or gun violence.”

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Victims’ rights are also a priority for Ursula Jones Dickson

“I don’t like it when people say ‘my office.’ It doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to the people.”

That philosophy is at the heart of Ursula Jones Dickson’s approach to leading the Alameda County District Attorney’s Office. Asked whether one person can rebuild an office that has experienced years of change, disruption and a massive backlog of cases, she said the answer is ‘yes,’ but only with time, focus and a willingness to change priorities.

“One person can affect policy that changes the office,” Jones Dickson said.

For her, one of the most urgent priorities is gun violence, an issue she says has deeply affected Black communities for generations.

“Gun violence has always been a concern in the Black community,” she said. “We all have a visceral reaction to a helicopter because it often means there has been a chase or gun violence.”

Jones Dickson said gun violence is personal to her because it has hurt both her and her community. “I take it personally,” she said.

She worries that America, and particularly its young people, are becoming desensitized to violence. School shootings and repeated lockdowns are leaving children with experiences previous generations never imagined.

“We can’t act like this isn’t affecting our children,” she said. “When schools become places where shootings take place, they are affected in a different way.”

She believes the community has become dangerously accustomed to guns and violence.

“We have to stop normalizing guns,” she said. “We have so many guns and so many people with guns.”

Perhaps one of the most disturbing changes she sees is the way ordinary disagreements can now become deadly.

“Nobody fights anymore,” she said. “They kill.”

Jones Dickson said the question communities must ask themselves is: “When gun violence becomes a part of the community, how many vigils and how many marches can we stand?”

At the same time, she is determined that victims’ voices will not be lost in the criminal justice system.

“I sit with victims on a regular basis,” she said. “There isn’t a week that goes by that I don’t sit down with a victim’s family and hear them ask why a case has not been charged.”

Victims often need far more than updates about a court case. They need assistance navigating the criminal justice system, counseling, burial assistance and, sometimes, simply someone to sit with them during one of the most painful moments of their lives.

“Victims’ rights have been pushed aside,” Jones Dickson said. “What I want to leave to this office is that victims’ voices will be heard. I don’t care whose toes I step on. Victims will be heard.”

The challenge, however, is enormous. Her legacy is to help victims feel seen and protected.

The office is working through a significant backlog of serious cases while trying to rebuild an experienced, well-trained staff. Jones Dickson said years of disruption, including the impact of COVID and frequent leadership changes, left attorneys needing additional training and contributed to delays.

“There have been three district attorneys in four years,” she said. “Every district attorney wants to build their own culture.”

Her goal is to create a stable office with skilled prosecutors who understand their responsibilities and can move cases through the courts. She emphasized that the work is not simply about winning cases.

“It is our job to prove a case beyond a reasonable doubt,” she said. “Just because law enforcement brings us a case doesn’t mean we can prove it.”

Jones Dickson also believes rebuilding public safety requires rebuilding relationships between law enforcement and the community.

Residents have told her they sometimes see police cars drive through their neighborhoods without officers getting out and speaking to residents.

“When police are in neighborhoods and stop and talk to kids, there is a connection,” she said. “We need more community-based relationships.”

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Black History

OPINION: Nolan Wells’ Death One of Several Signifying Racial Terror Lives on in U.S. South

The legacy of lynchings and racial terror in the American South continues in 2026 in a spate of suspicious deaths of young African Americans across the region. Local authorities have perpetually underinvestigated and even covered up these cases. The most prominent recent case is

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Nolan Wells. File photo.

The legacy of lynchings and racial terror in the American South continues in 2026 in a spate of suspicious deaths of young African Americans across the region. Local authorities have perpetually underinvestigated and even covered up these cases.

The most prominent recent case is that of Nolan Wells, an 18-year-old Black man whose body was found on July 6 on Horn Island, off the Mississippi Gulf Coast, after a Fourth of July trip with three white friends.

The NAACP announced its formal involvement in the case on Aug. 17, joining the legal team representing Wells’ family alongside prominent civil rights attorney Ben Crump.

The family has raised questions about discrepancies in accounts of Wells’ final hours, including why his phone was found with one of the friends rather than with his body. An independent autopsy commissioned by the family found that his “manner of death remained undetermined.”

In what was likely a retaliatory act for speaking up about her son’s death, Wells’ mother, Christine Wonsley, faced anonymous attacks on her nursing license.

In a recent vigil commemorating Wells’ 19th birthday, Rev. Dr. Jamal Harrison Bryant said, “To go from Medgar Evers to Emmett Till, to Nolan Wells, the blood stops here. We came tonight to stop a blood cycle. We are tired of all of these innocent Black bodies being killed.”

In the notorious 1955 case of 14-year-old Emmett Till, Roy Bryant and J.W. Milam were acquitted by an all-white jury after torturing and murdering Till for allegedly whistling at a white woman in a Mississippi grocery store. While Till’s death is well-known for having galvanized the Civil Rights movement, thousands of lynchings of African Americans have gone unreported.

According to the Equal Justice Institute (EJI), 4,084 lynchings of African Americans occurred in the 12 Southern states from 1877 to 1950, and not a single white person was convicted of murder during this period.

The Congressional Black Caucus has also thrown its weight behind the Wells family, sending a letter to U.S. Attorney General Todd Blanche and FBI Director Kash Patel, urging the Department of Justice (DOJ) to launch an independent federal review of the case. This request faces the challenge of a hostile environment towards racial justice at the DOJ.

Under the Trump administration’s attacks on Diversity, Equity & Inclusion (DEI), the DOJ has focused primarily on litigating employers for hiring underrepresented minorities.

Though Nolan Wells’ case has reached headlines today, the deaths of other young African Americans across the South remain under-reported and under-investigated.  Crump is simultaneously handling a portfolio of other cases involving the deaths of young Black men, namely Daniel Erving and Tyler Smith – 18-year-old Black men who died within three months of each other.

Erving of Sachse, Texas, died on April 14 at Lake Ray Hubbard after jumping from a railroad bridge with friends. His body was recovered four days later, and his death was ruled an accidental drowning—a finding his mother disputes. “The autopsy report shows my son had an unobstructed airway, so my son did not drown,” Tameca Erving said. In July, two individuals were arrested and charged with tampering with physical evidence after allegedly discarding Erving’s clothing and cell phone.

Smith of Lexington, Kentucky, died on July 4 after what police described as an accidental self-inflicted gunshot wound. His family has strongly disputed that account. According to a Lexington Police Department citation, the firearm officers recovered did not match the shell casing found at the scene.

A 20-year-old man has been charged with tampering with physical evidence in connection with the shooting. “For 17 days, my sons and I worked tirelessly investigating everything on our own. The police department gave us nothing, absolutely nothing,” Smith’s grandmother said.

Crump has framed all three cases as part of a troubling pattern requiring national attention.

Earlier this month, Tasia Fortune, a 29-year-old Black woman and mother of four, was found hanging from a tree in the backyard of a vacant home in Jackson, Mississippi, on Aug. 3. Her mother, Christy Spivey, has insisted that her daughter did not take her own life.

The county where Fortune’s body was found was the site of 11 known lynchings between 1895 and 1908, and nearby Hinds County saw 34 lynchings between 1835 and 1934. Unfortunately, this terror cannot be relegated to the history books as Fortune’s case follows two other incidents of African Americans being found hanging from trees in Mississippi within a year.

In September 2025, Demartravion “Trey” Reed was found hanging from a tree at Delta State University in Cleveland, Mississippi. On the same day, Cory Zukatis was found hanging from a tree in Vicksburg, Mississippi. Both deaths were ruled as suicides by local authorities.

As of this publication, Fortune’s case is still under investigation by local authorities, and the DOJ and FBI have remained silent about Wells’ case.

Krista Chan is a civic tech professional and Chinese medicine student in Oakland. She writes and organizes around issues of global peace and racial justice.

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