There is a very King Lear-like quality to Donald Trump’s presidential enterprise, and it centres around the character and personality of the candidate himself.
Politics is an effort to make a human connection, whether in person or across technology, to a viewing audience, but Trump clearly seems to struggle at both. By accident or intent, he has arrived at a place in the campaign’s final days where he finds himself hold up in his bunker in Trump Tower essentially alone, friendless, advisor-less, with only the cold comfort of acolytes or hired guns. Much of his party, despite paper declarations of support, remains physically distant (name a single senior Republican political figure who has appeared in public with him on the same stage since the Cincinnati convention). Even his never-ending storm of tweets bespeaks a man so desperate for attention that one can imagine him rambling around his penthouse in the wee hours furiously tweeting the night away.
Imagine a scenario where one has to go through daily life without sharing quiet, kind or happy moments with family and friends. Now imagine not even being able to express those warm feelings. There must be is a medical term for this kind of behaviour, this inability to describe - or share - emotions, either to others, or oneself. People with whatever condition this is just can’t relate or understand others because they do not even know themselves.
To prove that they exist and have a state of being they rove constantly for attention. Lacking an acute sense of worth they seek validation through the pursuit of power, money and the slavish attention rendered by those whose loyalty is either paid for or entirely dependent on largesse.
As an outward manifestation of his personality, Trump’s campaign does not seem to have a definable centre – clear, concise core values around which people can discern a rationale for his running in the first place. Sure, there is anger, and many of his followers (i.e. white lower-middle class, blue collar, lower-income, alt-conservatives, those who in any way feel disenfranchised by the pervasive culture of excessive political correctness) feed off this as an outlet for their discontent. Yet anger is neither reason nor a concrete program for an election platform. It is certainly not a foundation for policy formulation. This is borne out by the acute sense that Trump’s vision is nothing more than a set of impromptu riffs bandaged together by ghost-written speeches.
And what if he wins?
The dark side of anger-motivated governance is that someone, something, needs to be blamed. Right now, it’s illegal immigrants (Build a wall!), rapacious Chinese sucking the US economy dry (Start a trade war!), globalization (Tear up the trade agreements. Renegotiate everything!). Follow this to its ultimate, dark conclusion and, after American pulls up the drawbridge on the rest of the world, who is left to blame? The lessons of post-world war Germany are there for all to review. Democracies must always be aware that the Weimar Republic is always only an election away from realization, and that in times of uncertainty and stride, the temptation to follow men on horseback can prove insatiable. It is possible to take over a government by winning no more than 43 – 45% of the popular vote in a hotly-contested, multi-candidate election, and has been done, to the occasional detriment of the human race.
Don’t get me wrong. Trump has told some very necessary truths this campaign: political correctness is out of control and there is a decided mainstream media bias against certain candidates (not just Republicans; ask Bernie Sanders) in favour of the liberal elite. There are also tough decisions to be made about social security, crime, racial violence, the deficit, entitlements and a porous immigration system that is not always either fair or efficient, which should be a part of political discourse and debate. However, there is a profound difference between being brutally honest in a ‘shoot from the hip’ way and just being plain brutal for shock value like a schoolyard bully. There is no reason to be occasionally right then tell everyone how great you are for being right.
When he’s not spouting fire and brimstone, Trump tries for the language of altruism and community service but it’s just not there. He cannot summon it up because it simply does not exist within him, in marked contrast to JFK, FDR, Teddy Roosevelt, all wealthy scions who still managed to win elections by transcending their class and offering hope across socio-economic lines. Given the constant fiery and provocative nature of his rhetoric, Trump seems incapable of displaying enjoyment or fulfillment in displaying compassionate attitudes.
If a campaign is orchestral in nature than Trump’s tunes are discordant. Indeed he is decidedly one-note, expressive only in fury and anger, even aggression. His debates are all of a “Me, myself and I” nature, full of primal chest-beating and testosterone-inspired strutting. Yet even animals have bands to retreat to, but Trump seems alone. What happens when the schoolyard empties and there is no one left to push around?
There was a moment, right at the end of the third presidential debate, after Trump left his podium and had shaken moderator Chris Wallace’s hand, when he watched opponent Hillary Clinton wander into the crowd to shake audience hands in much the same way her husband works an crowd. She doesn't do it particularly well, to be sure, yet she manages to put on a game face. He just can't. In that moment, he looked his age: an old man who saw victory slipping away. He looked as if he knew who he was and where he stood in pursuit of his dreams. It is a moment every one of us must face.
Imagine, for a moment how he must have felt. Trying to bluff his way through a debate; running for an office he is unqualified for, chasing a glimmer of validation through victory which every new day recedes further into the realms of fantasy.
And to know that he stands on the edge of defeat by Hillary Clinton, likely the weakest of recent Democratic party nominees since Michael Dukakis (in 1988!) must be the unkindest cut of all.
Sad!