There is more going on here than resentment about tough economic times — especially because Trump's economic policies, to the extent that they are comprehensible, are almost certain to leave the working class even worse off. It took more than the long-term secular stagnation of median household income in a prosperous and secure nation to bring us to the age of Trump. It is simply not possible to shy away from the ugly fact that racism was an essential ingredient to his election. Not everyone who voted for Trump is a racist, but pretty much every racist did, and that mattered. Moreover, things are not that simple. Trump's unmediated racism warmed the hearts of once-shadowy white supremacists (one pines for the days when politicians felt the need to couch such appeals in coded language), but many people who would self-righteously disavow the David Dukes of the world nevertheless felt, and articulated, what can only be described as ”white resentment" — and this emotion informed their votes. Scratch at the arguments of a Trump voter, and too often you'll find white resentment close to the surface. This is disheartening, of course, but it also raises questions about the future of the Grand Old Party. The ability of Trump, against every expectation, to cruise to the Republican nomination, suggested that the party's traditional coalition: social conservatives, foreign policy hawks, and tax averse, welfare-state-opposing well-off individuals and business interests, is no longer viable. What then? Something has to hold the party together. Will the Republicans become a nativist, white-nationalist party, similar to those miscreants we see on the rise in Europe? Throw in some tax cuts and conservative appointments, and that coalition could hold — and rule. Now that Trump — George Wallace with less charm and experience — ran, and won, on a campaign imbued with naked racism, it would be naïve to think that Republican politicians would not reach for any effective lever that might keep them in power.
The rise of an Angry White Party would be more than disturbing, of course, but it is way too easy to shout racism and call it a day. Racism is nothing new in America, and decade-by-decade we have made real progress (which may have precipitated the current backlash). And it's not like the Presidency was there for the taking by any white nationalist who wandered by — indeed, most have been soundly rejected. Trump is different. He is a featherweight, famous for his fame. He is Zsa Zsa Gabor, he is Khloe Kardashian.
That Trump was ever even taken seriously as a candidate for President of the United States (he was understandably viewed as a carnival freak-show by his adversaries and the media, each of whom hoped to fleece the suckers that gathered while the circus was in town — this too abetted his improbable rise), suggests that we have exposed the limits of our ability to competently govern ourselves.
Have we really gotten that much stupider? Probably not. More likely, as with the economic changes wrought by globalization and automation, we are more or less the same, but the playing field has changed, empowering some actors at the expense of others. Or put another way: no internet, no Trump. Just as some people are much better at playing basketball than baseball, the nature of media environment primordially shapes the way in which information is disseminated, processed, and understood. As a technical economic issue, the collapse in the price of entry (manifested most dramatically in the staggering rise of social media) has undermined the practice of reasoned discourse. A now-quaint allegory for the pathologies of the internet culture can be seen in the emergence of cable television, as falling costs of production and a multiplicity of viewing options led to smaller audiences and an even more intense fight for ratings shares, an environment which encouraged attention-getting outrageousness. The internet is exponentially more pernicious: entry is free, accountability is absent, and — here we are more stupid — the ability of people to distinguish between fact and fiction has virtually vanished. We are living in a post-fact, post-rationalist, post-deliberative society, in which people believe what they want to believe, as if they were selecting items from different columns of a take-out menu. This is an environment that plays to the strengths of a media-savvy celebrity demagogue, who, even when not purposefully trafficking in Orwellian lies, has shown an utter disregard for the known truth regarding events large and small, from claims of witnessing non-existent crowds of Muslims cheering the collapse of the twin towers to planting golf-course plaques commemorating imaginary civil war battlefields.
There is no happy ending to this story. It is not ”just one election." Yes, in theory, most domestic policy blunders can be reversed at a future date. But best case scenario, brace yourself for a horrifying interregnum. The fantasy that the Republican Congress might serve as a check on Trump's power is just that — a fantasy. Congress does have considerable authority, but mostly regarding those things that they agree with Trump about: slashing taxes on the wealthy, gutting environmental regulations, pretending climate change doesn't exist, overturning Obamacare, appointing very conservative judges. Moreover, the internet culture is not going away, so don't imagine that there is a silver lining to be gleaned from the looming policy disasters that we will all suffer through. If enough people enjoy watching the reality TV of the Trump Presidency, they will renew it for another four years. Nor should it be assumed that the Democratic Party, flat on its back, is poised for a comeback. The American left has its own deep divisions to tend to — largely along generational lines, as the young and the old articulate very different interpretations of the core principles of liberalism — which will not be easily papered over.
Worse still, even if we manage to endure the next four years and then oust him in the next election, from this point forward we will always be the country that elected Donald Trump as President. And as Albert Finney knew all too well in Under the Volcano, ”some things, you just can't apologize for." This will be felt most acutely on the world stage. Keep in mind that in those areas where Trump departs from traditional Republican positions, such as those regarding trade and international security, Congressional power is much weaker. Trump can start a trade war or provoke an international crisis just by tweeting executive orders from the White House. And that damage will prove irreversible. Because from now on, and for a very long time, countries around the world will have to calculate their interests, expectations, and behavior with the understanding that this is America, or, at the very least, that this is what the American political system can plausibly produce. And so the election of Trump will come to mark the end of the international order that was built to avoid repeating the catastrophes of the first half the twentieth century, and which did so successfully — horrors that we like to imagine we have outgrown. It will not serve us well.
We have lost, we are lost. Not an election, but a civilization. Where does that leave us? I think the metaphor is one of (political) resistance. They resisted in occupied France, they resisted in Franco's Spain. Even in the twilight years of the 1930s, times considerably darker than today, regular men and women stood up against much graver dangers and longer odds than those we now face. They did not resist, necessarily, because they thought they would win, they resisted because they simply could not imagine collaborating, even passively. And for us, even now there are oases of hope in our sea of despair — Trump did indeed lose the popular vote by a wide margin, and there are powerful states and municipalities that might protect many of the most vulnerable from the coming federal onslaught. But we will face a great moment of crisis, after the next major terrorist attack in the U.S. (something no American President could prevent), which will present something like a perfect storm: a thin-skinned, impulsive leader with authoritarian instincts, a frightened public, an environment of permissive racism, and a post-fact information environment. In such a moment basic civil liberties will be at risk: due process will be assailed as ”protecting terrorists"; free speech will be challenged as ”giving aid and comfort to the enemy." And that will be the moment when each of us must stand up and be counted, and never forget Tolstoy's admonition: ”There are no conditions to which a man may not become accustomed, particularly if he sees that they are accepted by those about him." Our portion is to make sure that never comes to pass.