You can no longer look to see the man behind the curtain.

You can no longer tell the world the emperor has no clothes, and you can’t inform the world how full of shit the president of the United States is.

Not anymore.

The coronavirus has done the president an immense favor, and he’s seized upon it: There’s almost no chance he’ll present himself before a large group of reporters anymore and zero chance he’ll let a large group of reporters see him on the South Lawn, at a social event or rally or anywhere on the grounds of the White House.

Tents have been seen outside the White House main gate to ensure only healthy reporters can get inside to visit Commodus. I mean Caligula. I mean Trump. The remainder of the press corps is shut out of the White House complex. Trump is talking in the Brady Briefing Room to mostly empty seats on a daily basis.

The folly cannot be overstated. I repeat: The president of the United States, during a time of national crisis, is conducting daily briefings to a mostly empty room. He tells us to practice social distancing while cramming a small stage with 10 health experts who don’t follow their own advice.

Alice in Wonderland on purple windowpane acid would make more sense.

But here’s the kicker: While the coronavirus has enabled Trump to limit his exposure to the American press—and by design the American people—he’s still trying to limit our access to him in other ways.

Playboy sued Donald Trump to keep my hard pass after an incident at the White House last year. The courts granted my motion for a temporary restraining order, gave me back my pass and told the White House I’d probably win on the merits. That didn’t stop Trump, who appealed the court decision, didn’t accept the court’s finding of fact and continues to attack the press, trying to tell us how we can cover the president, who can cover him and what we should say and how we should say it when we do so.

The president is deep in his hatred of free speech. His administration buckles and cringes when pressed. They just want us to take what is spoon-fed to us and go about our business while Trump loots the public coffers and strips away our constitutional rights for his own benefit and that of his corporate friends. Trump is incompetent, insecure and ineffectual—a twit and a turgid terror—but he is also conniving and backed by those with a great deal of power and money, and he works in those interests. All of which explains how he has dealt with the COVID-19 outbreak.

At the beginning of the crisis—which he helped manufacture with his slow response—he denounced it as a Democratic and media effort to discredit him. He struggled to ramp up testing and lied to us about it. He continues to push false narratives.

He “hoped” a protocol used to treat malaria would help coronavirus victims. That wasn’t true. He said at one point we had 15 cases and would soon “have none.” That’s untrue. He has locked down the country, but the resulting economic woes have him twitching like he’s suffering from St. Vitus’s dance. All his moves were designed to reduce the economic carnage, but he brought more volatility and uncertainty instead.

In the end, it may not matter.

I recently traveled to L.A. to see my son get married. The coronavirus caused the wedding to be postponed. Flights were canceled and I found myself driving across the country to get back to D.C.—so I can be told to my face I cannot enter the White House even though I have a court’s assurance that I can.

As attorney Ted Boutrous tackled the Department of Justice on Monday and explained to the courts the need for a vital and combative press corps, I listened to a live-stream broadcast of the proceedings from the sun-drenched balcony of a beautiful (and, because of the virus, very inexpensive) hotel room overlooking the Las Vegas Strip.

The Strip was empty. Closed. I could see the empty gold-painted Trump Hotel in the distance. Nary a soul ventured anywhere in America’s Playground. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas—now because nothing is going on in Vegas. I watched plastic bags cascade like tumbleweeds down the empty streets. They closed every slot machine, roulette wheel, craps table, poker table, bad Hollywood show, good Hollywood show, whorehouse, outhouse and even the chapels where you can get married to anyone or anything you want at any time of day. (Photo packages are extra, of course.)

It was already a historic day as Boutrous told the court, “There’s no question it’s irreparably harmful to be denied to be able to cover the White House, to do your job.”

He went on to argue that, in the face of the pandemic, it’s especially important that reporters have full access to the White House in order to get answers—or at least ask questions—regarding the government’s handling of the situation.

But we cannot do that. Not today. No one has even asked the president why he continues to hold briefings and warn us about “social distancing” while failing to practice it onstage. The press is a pale shadow of its former self.

My road trip across the country taught me a couple of pointed things: For one, the federal government is weak. Most people I’ve spoken to have no fondness for it—especially the House and the Senate. Even those who like Trump think he has bungled the coronavirus issue—even if they like that he’s still trying to tackle it.

A lot of people are placing faith in their state governments. They also don’t trust the press—surely because of Trump’s constant barrage of attacks, but also because we’re perceived as being part of the ruling class. We’re part of the club and hence part of the problem.

Nothing drives that point home more than having a mere handful of corporate media entities covering the White House while everyone else is kicked out. The corporations that in a very real sense own the White House press pool do not want to rock the boat and risk getting kicked out of the rotation, as I and others have been.

They want access. And that often means a level of acquiescence to the president others will not embrace. But in these days of heightened tension, there’s still a good chance the president will bust a blood vessel and come at you. Just ask Peter Alexander from NBC, who tried to ask a softball question designed to give people hope and was called a “terrible reporter.”

Trump is not capable of rational discourse. Trump is not capable of dealing with the coronavirus. I’ve run across a few people during my trek across the country who quote the president, believe the virus is a hoax and think that since he doesn’t practice social distancing they don’t have to either.

But one look at an empty Vegas Strip should tell everyone this is no joke. No one in their right mind gives up billions of dollars in revenue on a “hoax.” Trump Tower sits as empty as any other property in Las Vegas.

The virus is real.

The threat is real.

The existential threat from Donald Trump is real.

And Boutrous is right: We have to have access to the president. We have to press him on the issues. We have to engage him in a conversation about the future of the country.

But Trump hides. It is he who engages in deception. If he were concerned about the dissemination of information during the coronavirus crisis, he wouldn’t prostitute the Brady Briefing Room as he does.

There’s a large auditorium next door in the Eisenhower Office Building. It can comfortably fit a couple hundred people—and with social distancing perhaps 100 reporters. The stage is ample enough to fit several lecterns and microphones; even six feet apart, there would still be enough room for half a dozen people. The daily briefings could happen there with little trouble. That’s an answer. That’s how the administration could serve the public if it chooses to do so.

There are answers to the coronavirus. There are answers to Trump’s disruption of the press, and there are answers to the questions we ask. It takes sound heads and a calm demeanor to face them squarely. I assure you Trump is of neither sound mind nor cool demeanor.

He downplayed the virus when it broke because he didn’t want to upset the economy. He’s panicking now, threatening to open up the country quickly so people can get back to spending and making money—their health and safety be damned.

And here we are—the eyes and ears of the American people—stuck in a room with a madman if we’re among the few left at the White House, or working from home trying to make sense of a world turned upside down.

In my case, I’m traveling from L.A. to D.C. in an SUV, listening to rock music, interviewing people I’ve never met, seeing things I’ve rarely seen and learning that there is still hope and that people do not fear for the future—but their patience with Washington is as big a concern as the virus now ravaging the country.