The Gangster-in-Chief
In the ten, excruciatingly long years Donald Trump has loomed over our public life like an oppressive monsoon cloud that refuses to break, there have been countless attempts to analyze his strange personality and even stranger cult-like appeal. These attempts have ranged all over the intellectual map, from high-minded philosophizing to low-brow psychologizing.
The psycho-analyzers ask: Did Donald Trump have a tortured childhood? Was he deprived of his mother’s love? Did he grow up in the shadow of a domineering father? Is he an aggrieved parvenue from Queens who can’t abide the fact that he will never, ever, be accepted by New York’s old-money establishment? Is he, as a result of all that, an insecure narcissist, a sociopath, or even a psychopath?
The philosophizers wonder: Is Trump the avatar of some inscrutable but deep-seated anger on the part of the body politic? Is he the present-day voice of Richard Nixon’s “silent majority,” the purportedly ignored and perpetually aggrieved denizens of “fly-over country,” who long to thumb their noses at coastal elites? Is he, for Evangelical Christians, the promised one, god’s imperfect but long-awaited instrument, who will at last salve their scabrous itch to scrub the country of its wickedness?
For all I know, Donald Trump may, to one degree or another, be all of these things—or none of them.
In the end, however, none of that really matters, for neither Trump himself nor the political pathology he embodies requires even a dollop of sophisticated analysis.
The simple, disagreeable truth is that the current President of the United States is a gangster, the son of a gangster, the father and father-in-law of gangsters, and the godfather of a political administration populated by gangsters. He is, to be sure, a stupendously low-brow and stupid gangster, but he is a gangster nonetheless. Once you recognize and accept this truth, all else falls into place.
What motivates all gangsters is the urge to make a quick buck. This, it should be said, is the same urge that motivates capitalists. The difference, in theory, at least, is that capitalists scratch their greedy itch legally, whereas gangsters couldn’t care less about the niceties of the law and not infrequently take perverse pleasure in breaking it. In Donald Trump’s case, this is a distinction without a difference, because, for him, “the law” is merely a blunt instrument to be used when it suits his purpose and discarded when it does not.
As anyone who has been to the movies can tell you, the fundamental way gangsters make their money is by extortion, a.k.a., “protection”. The business model is straightforward: pay me or I break your legs, torch your business, and kill your family. Protection isn’t complicated; it requires no capital investment or special managerial skill; and best of all, the risk is low, because, out of sheer terror, few of its victims are likely to complain, let alone resist. The best way to understand the Trump presidency, therefore, is to see it as a “protection racket” on a global scale.
From his first day in office, Donald Trump exploited the power of the presidency—or the mere threat of its use—to extort money from just about everyone: domestic and international corporations, foreign countries, wealthy institutions and individuals, and, increasingly, American taxpayers. None of this ever had anything to do with “making America great again;” still less did it spring from a coherent political ideology. Its sole purpose was—and is—to make Donald Trump as rich as possible.
The same purpose motivates the gang of sycophants and criminals who surround him:
Howard Lutnick, Trump’s oily Secretary of Commerce and one-time intimate of Jeffrey Epstein, is up to his waders in the cryptocurrency industry he supposedly regulates, from which not only Lutnick but Trump and his smarmy offspring are reaping millions.
Scott Bessent, Trump’s prissily condescending Secretary of the Treasury, flouted the law by taking more than a year to divest himself of blatant financial conflicts of interest, and even now, we have only his word that he has done so. All the while he was hemming and hawing, he was spending billions of taxpayer dollars to prop up countries and industries that enriched himself and his Wall Street pals.
Stephen Miller, Trump’s Deputy Chief-of-Staff (and a dead-ringer for Adolph Eichmann) owns a chunk of stock in Palantir, a murky tech company that gets much of its revenue from contracts with the very government agencies Miller uses to terrorize immigrants as well as the intelligence services of the genocidal Israeli state.
Topping it all off is Jared Kushner, Trump’s son-in-law, who has taken corrupt double-dealing to a level that would stagger the robber barons of the Gilded Age. Though Kushner occupies no official government position, isn’t qualified to do so, and has absolutely no idea what he is doing, his gangster father-in-law has given him the keys to the diplomatic kingdom. Needless to say, young Jared is taking full advantage of the gift and the grift.
Given this cornucopia of corruption and criminality, one must ask why Americans voted to send a gangster like Donald Trump to the White House in the first place—not once, but twice—and why one out of three Americans continue to support him even as he makes their lives more miserable by the day.
The unsettling answer is that Americans have always had a soft spot for gangsters. From Billy the Kid to Bonnie & Clyde, from John Dillinger to Don Corleone, the popular culture of the United States has for decades depicted criminals, not as the thieves, thugs, and brutal murderers they generally are, but as romantic Robin Hoods who stand up for “the little guy”. In the depths of the Great Depression, millions of down-and-out Americans poured into movie theaters to plunk down the few pennies they possessed to watch the likes of Jimmy Cagney and Humphrey Bogart, George Raft and Edward G. Robinson strut across the screen, brandishing guns, robbing banks, selling bootlegged whiskey and bathtub gin, and thumbing their noses at “polite society”.
It is no different with Donald Trump, who has always been simultaneously a gangster and an entertainer, posing as a faux Robin Hood. In the countless “rallies” he used to hold and has now all but abandoned out of the fear that he might hooted off the stage, he riled up his adoring, angry fans with crude, amusing take-downs of the “elites”. At one of those rallies, he even declared: “I am your retribution”.
Those antics worked for years and got him elected twice. But the entertainment value is running out of gas, much like the low-rent reality TV show that launched Trump’s political career in the first place. That show, The Apprentice, was a ratings hit for a couple of years, then went into a steep decline, was rescued for a few years more by a “reboot,” and finally died a natural death when it ran out of resurrectional tricks. The trajectory of The Apprentice is eerily similar to that of Donald Trump’s presidency.
When the curtain finally comes down on the Trump presidency, little will remain but the moral, political, and economic bankruptcy of a gangster…and of an entire nation. Reality will finally set in, not only for him, but for us.