Donald Trump’s second inaugural speech will be remembered as worse than 59 others, including his first.
Inaugurations should be solemn yet celebratory components of America’s civic liturgy. Instead, we heard on Monday
that because of “corrupt” and “horrible” “betrayals” by others, “the
pillars of our society” are “in complete disrepair.” The challenges will
be “annihilated,” not because God blesses America, but because God
chose him.
The (mercifully) final clergyman at the inauguration defined divinity down by declaring Trump’s election a “miracle.” The 2024 election
was, Trump allowed, the “most consequential” in U.S. history. Eclipsing
1800 (the world’s first peaceful transfer of power by voters from one
party to another), and 1860 (the elevation of a nation-saver).
Previewing things to come, 30 minutes into his term he announced two more presidency-aggrandizing “emergencies” (the 44th and 45th existing concurrently). The 45th, his energy “emergency,” arrived when Monday’s average price of a gallon of gasoline ($3.12) was less than it was 70 years ago ($3.41, which is 29 cents in 1955, adjusted for inflation).
The
speech replicated what have become the tawdriest events on our
governmental calendar: State of the Union addresses. Wherein presidents
leaven self-praise with wondrous promises, as their partisans repeatedly
leap onto their hind legs to bray approval. There was much such leaping
in the Capitol Rotunda on Monday.
The
speech was a reminder of why many Americans watch the political class
in action the way they swallow an emetic: only when they cannot avoid
it. This is partly because the new president persistently challenges
good taste.
Many Democrats, whose party’s tone is set by the expensively schooled (this is not
a synonym for “well-educated”) and affluent, recoil from the 47th
president much as many upper-crust Americans recoiled from the seventh —
the first populist president, Andrew Jackson.
His Tennessee frontier coarseness (which his supporters admired as
authenticity) was, they thought, an affront, coming after six presidents
(two from Massachusetts, four from Virginia) with connections to the
Founders. Half a century later, some too-fastidious Republicans, called
Mugwumps, recoiled against politics itself — the acrimony of party
competition in a nation rapidly urbanizing, industrializing and
assimilating immigrants by the millions.
Those
who today recoil against an exuberant urban vulgarian should accept
that popular sovereignty is not the sovereignty of good taste. Stephen Kotkin has some advice for the recoilers.
The day after the election last fall, Kotkin, of Stanford’s Hoover Institution, conversing with Justin Vogt
of Foreign Affairs, expressed impatience with those who say of Trump,
“That’s not who we are.” Kotkin asked, “Who’s the ‘we’?” Trump, he said,
is not “an alien who landed from some other planet”:
“This
is somebody the American people voted for who reflects something deep
and abiding about American culture. Think of all the worlds that he has
inhabited and that lifted him up. Pro wrestling. Reality TV. Casinos and
gambling, which are no longer just in Las Vegas or Atlantic City, but
everywhere, embedded in daily life. Celebrity culture. Social media. All
of that looks to me like America. And yes, so does fraud, and brazen
lying, and the P.T. Barnum, carnival barker stuff. But there is an
audience, and not a small one, for where Trump came from and who he is.”
Many
Americans today resent sharing citizenship with an approximately equal
number of other Americans. Each group abhors the other’s politics and,
perhaps as important, their manners.
Most
people, however, realize, around age 7, that the universe under its
current administration produces many disappointments. Then they shrug
and get on with their lives. Today, many emotionally dilapidated
obsessives experience either despair or euphoria about the inaugurations
of presidents, who come and go. Both groups should rethink what they
expect from politics, and why they do.