On Trump at the Super Bowl
This past weekend, Donald Trump made what our minute-by-minute age calls “history” by becoming the first U.S. president to attend a Super Bowl game. In other words, true to form, Trump was the first president in American history crass enough to think it appropriate to turn even his country’s most popular annual apolitical entertainment event into a divisive and hyper-political photo opportunity for himself. That is to say, he was, as usual, unable to admit, and therefore unwilling to allow, that the American people might indeed be able to live their lives and enjoy themselves as a people in a way that has nothing whatsoever to do with him, his presidential power, or electoral politics in general. As one might expect, he was cheered by a portion of the crowd, while “pop diva” (aka talentless advertising prop) Taylor Swift, who was also in attendance because her dupe du jour happens to be one of the (absolutely-not-growth-hormone-enhanced-because-my-heroes-would-never-do-such-a-thing) athletes on the field, was booed, presumably by the same people who cheered for Trump. Both factions in America’s ever-worsening tribal war naturally took to their social media platforms to defend their preferred idol and rage against their chosen Goldstein; and so, thanks to Trump’s ever-irresistible urge to spiteful solipsism, the closing chapter of the American era continues breezily toward its sadly predictable resolution.
For the record, none of the above matters in the least, least of all to me, except as yet another, albeit superfluous, demonstration of the ugliness of this moment of rampant demagoguery and irreligious idol worship. For I neither watch nor care about the Super Bowl, and I am about as likely to intentionally listen to a Taylor Swift song as I am to intentionally read Donald Trump’s social media posts — that is, I have done so only with the most extreme rarity, only for thirty seconds or less, and only to satisfy a morbid curiosity before quickly washing my brain out with soap. But as for this ugly moment of rampant demagoguery and irreligious idol worship itself, it is always worthwhile to be reminded of Socrates’ perfectly clear explanation, in Plato’s Republic, of how such a moment constitutes the final transitional phase in a society’s inexorable devolution from the inherent contradictions of democracy into the abyss of full-blown tyranny.
Now, as the happiest or most wistful antidote to the demagoguery currently disintegrating the last fibres of the American era, here is my idea of what a President of the United States is supposed to sound like. Note the startlingly fresh lack of cowardice, the refusal to treat allies as adversaries, and the humbly self-assured insistence that the American people do not need an all-powerful protector-savior to hide behind, but rather a government that respects their rights and abilities.
I highlight the following, which pretty much sums up the difference between a man and a mouse, for those who whose souls are not yet so diminished as to hear only squeaks:
Yet today protectionism is being used by some American politicians as a cheap form of nationalism, a fig leaf for those unwilling to maintain America’s military strength, and who lack the resolve to stand up to real enemies, countries that would use violence against us or our allies. Our peaceful trading partners are not our enemies, they are our allies. We should beware of the demagogues who are ready to declare a trade war against our friends, weakening our economy, our national security, and the entire free world, all while cynically waving the American flag.
What’s that little scratching sound I hear under the cupboard? Oh dear, I think it might be an American president!
And as an added bonus, here is what an actual American “pop diva” sounded like, back when there was still such taste and talent, and an American public capable of hearing and caring about such things as taste and talent.
