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288 pages, Hardcover
First published June 1, 2020
Every political project requires a definition of "us," the community of people it aims to unite and protect.And Trump has been narrowing that "us" over the course of his presidency. America and being a True American, a Patriot, has become smaller, less. After all, anyone who doesn't agree with you isn't a patriot, isn't American.
But a reading of contemporaneous accounts will show that both Hitler and Stalin struck many of their countrymen as a men of limited ability, education, and imagination--and, indeed, as being incompetent in government and military leadership. [...]It was rather the blunt instrument of reassuring ignorance that propelled their rise in a frighteningly complex world.
Magyar's description of the mechanics of autocratic attempts in post-Communist countries {...} talks about capturing the institutions of the state, obliterating distinctions among branches of government, and packing the courts. In Trump's case, the takeover of the state institutions has consisted of two parts: using them for personal gain and handicapping their service to the public.
Trump's lies are outlandish because they are not amendments or embellishments to the shared reality of Americans--they have nothing to do with it. When Trump claimed that millions of people voting illegally cost him the popular vote, he was not making easily disprovable factual claims: he was asserting control over reality itself.
Here were two possibilities of viewing the relationship between the nation's leading newspaper and the president: as adversaries; or as, explicitly, not adversaries. By choosing to act as though in the war on reality it was possible not to choose sides, the Times--and with it, the American media mainstream--became, reluctantly though not unwittingly, the president's accomplices.
Speaking from a place of moral authority--and moral aspiration--is the strategy historically adopted by dissidents in undemocratic regimes such as totalitarian Poland, apartheid South Africa, or contemporary autocratic Belarus. Trump, an attempting autocrat, intuits that moral authority poses a threat to his project.
Donald Trump has played this trick on Americans many times, beginning with his very election: first, he was impossible, and then he was president. Did that mean that the impossible had happened—an extremely hard concept to absorb—or did it mean that Trump was not the catastrophe so many of us had assumed he would be? ...It is the choice between thinking that whatever is happening in reality is, by definition, acceptable, and thinking that some actual events in our current reality are fundamentally incompatible with our concept of ourselves—not just as Americans but as human beings—and therefore unimaginable. The latter position is immeasurably more difficult to hold—not so much because it is contentious and politically risky, but because it is cognitively strenuous. It makes one’s brain implode. It places concepts—moral concepts in particular—above the simple human need to be unconflictingly present in the present. It is also the only meaningful response to Trump’s attempt to redefine the nation. (200-201)
The two realities of Trump’s America—democratic and autocratic—collided daily in the impeachment hearings. In one reality, Congress was following due process to investigate and potentially remove from office a president who had abused power. In the other reality, the proceedings were a challenge to Trump’s legitimate autocratic power. The realities clashed but still did not overlap: to any participant or viewer on one side of the divide, anything the other side said only reaffirmed their reality. The realities were also asymmetrical: an autocratic attempt is a crisis, but the logic and language of impeachment proceedings is the logic and language of normal politics, of vote counting and procedure. If it had succeeded in removing Trump from office, it would have constituted a triumph of institutions over the autocratic attempt. It did not. The impeachment proceedings became merely a part of the historical record, a record of only a small part of the abuse that is Trumpism. (81)
Trump’s lies are outlandish not because they are amendments or embellishments to the shared reality of Americans—they have nothing to do with it. When Trump claimed that millions of people voting illegally cost him the popular vote, he was not making easily disprovable factual claims: he was asserting control over reality itself. When he insisted that the Obama administration had had him wiretapped, and continued to insist on this even after FBI Director James Comey said that it wasn’t true, Trump was splitting the country into those who agreed to live in his reality and those who resisted and became his enemies by insisting on facts. When in the fall of 2019, he lied that he had traveled to Alabama to aid in preparing for Hurricane Dorian, which, in fact, was never expected to hit Alabama, and when he insisted that the National Weather Service had predicted that Dorian would hit Alabama—lying about the weather again—Trump was making a reality claim by way of a power claim. When, in the winter and spring of 2020, Trump claimed that the United States was prepared for the coronavirus pandemic, when he promised quickly to triumph over the virus, when he said that hospitals had the necessary equipment and people had access to tests, when he promised health and wealth to people facing illness and precarity, he was claiming the power to lie to people about their own experience. (106-107)
We learn to think of history as something that has already happened, to other people. Our own moment, filled as it is with minutiae destined to be forgotten, always looks smaller in comparison. As for history, the bigger the event, the more mythologized it becomes. The myth becomes a caricature of sorts. Despite our best intentions, the myth becomes a caricature of sorts. Hitler, or Stalin, comes to look like a two-dimensional villain—someone whom contemporaries could not have seen as a human being. The Holocaust, or the Gulag, are such monstrous events that the very idea of rendering them in any sort of gray scale seems monstrous, too. This has the effect of making them, essentially, unimaginable. In crafting the story of something that should never have been allowed to happen, we forge the story of something that couldn’t possibly have happened. Or, to use a phrase only slightly out of context, something that can’t happen here.
A logical fallacy becomes inevitable. If this can’t happen, then the thing that is happening is not it. What we see in real life, or at least on television, can’t possibly the same monstrous phenomenon that we have collectively decided is unimaginable. In Russia, people who know Vladimir Putin and his inner circle will insist that they are not monsters. Yes, they have overseen assassinations, imprisonments, and wars, but they are not thoroughly terrible, those people will claim—they are not like Stalin and his henchmen. In other words, they are not the monsters of our collective historical imagination. (199-200)