What's really behind Pelosi's 'don't mess with me'

That is not surprising, given her position in Baltimore's storied D'Alesandro political family, where she was the only daughter among five brothers. One thing she learned growing up in that milieu was to channel that religious and Democratic savvy into practical politics. It's not productive to get mad, she believes, but it is productive to get even.

I learned this about Pelosi while researching my biography of her. And so it was understandable why she chose to snap at a reporter, James Rosen, Thursday, when in a press conference he asked if she "hates" President Trump.

Taken aback, the California representative approached Rosen and spoke directly to him: "I don't hate anybody. I was raised in a Catholic house. We don't hate anybody. Not anybody in the world. Don't accuse me."

Stepping back to the microphone to underscore the point, she added, "As a Catholic, I resent your using the word hate in a sentence that addresses me. I don't hate anyone. I was raised in a way that is a heart full of love and always prayed for the President. And I still pray for the President. ... So don't mess with me when it comes to words like that."

Shortly thereafter, of course, the President tweeted that she "had a nervous fit" in the encounter. Hardly, and the President likely knows this well by now. Her few words to the reporter reveal something more consequential about Pelosi, who titled her latest book, "Know Your Power: A message to America's Daughters."

The words "don't mess with me" emphasized that she is powerful and cannot be taken lightly when it comes to describing her motives — particularly where they concern the guideposts of her religion. And "don't accuse me" also brings to mind her rejoinder to President Trump a year ago, after Democrats took back the House, vaulting her into the speakership for the second time.

In a White House meeting with Trump, he appeared to try to diminish her. "Mr. President," she said, pointedly, while cameras rolled "please don't characterize the strength that I bring to this meeting as the leader of the House Democrats, who just won a big victory."

Pelosi projects power and authority calculatedly — measuring her angry retorts — because power is the key to her ability to lead the fractious and often uncooperative Democratic Party in the House, where she has served for 32 years.

When four young Democratic Congresswomen went "rogue" early in their terms, for example — and were publicly at odds with the Speaker — Pelosi met with one of them, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, privately to "explain," apparently, what she could do (and not do) for and to the incoming lawmakers. While not exactly quieted, the "Squad," as they are known, seem to be less confrontational — and more respectful — of Pelosi lately.

Religion, too, has been a particular source of strength for Pelosi, who is a product of the Institute of Notre Dame high school in Baltimore and of Trinity College, a Roman Catholic college for women, (now Trinity Washington University) in Washington, DC.

But she has also run into trouble over her Catholicism, mostly because of her long support for abortion rights (she says many in her family are "pro-life").

Her expressions of religious faith — and its central role in how she carries out her job — have remained steadfast, nonetheless. On Thursday, she appeared to be citing the Catholic tenet on hatred, which holds that "hatred of the neighbor is a sin" and that believers should "love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you..."

When she was a child, Pelosi has said, her mother thought it might be nice if she became a nun. But Pelosi laughingly suggested she would like it better if she could become a priest, since they had all the power. Exactly.

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