The Excited States of America

Right next to the fence on the north side of the White House in the U.S. capital lies Lafayette Park, named after the French aristocrat and hero of the American Revolution, the Marquis de Lafayette. Incidentally, it was across this park that former President Donald Trump walked in June 2020 after ordering security forces to violently disperse peaceful protesters, just so he could pose with an upside-down Bible in front of St. John’s Church on the other side.

In the park stands a grand statue of the seventh U.S. President, Andrew Jackson, on horseback, bearing the inscription: "Our Union must be preserved." It is unknown whether Trump had the time to read that inscription during his walk, but even if he did, it clearly did not leave much of an impression. Long before that June day, and especially after January 6, 2021—when his supporters violently stormed the U.S. Capitol to try to prevent the certification of Biden's victory—Trump had already begun to do exactly what Jackson warned against: dividing the country and its citizens with lies, hatred, and attacks on constitutional institutions in a ruthless attempt to return to the White House, whatever the cost.

Jackson made his now-famous statement at a dinner in 1830 in response to demands from Southern states for the right to nullify federal laws they deemed unconstitutional. It was about, what else, taxes. Jackson won that round, then died a little over a decade later. If he had known what would later happen to the Union he so cherished, he might have fallen off his horse.

Fifteen years after his death, a bloody Civil War began. This time it wasn’t just about taxes but about the secession of Southern states unwilling to accept restrictions on slavery introduced by President Abraham Lincoln. Perhaps a point worth pondering for those who believe the right to self-determination is always inherently just and noble. Then, 175 years later, Trump walked past his statue.

Today, the issue isn’t slavery per se, though the effective realization of Trump’s agenda—which fuels and divides American public life—would inevitably lead to a highly segregated society where certain groups—women, the lower classes, ethnic and social minorities, immigrants—would be pushed into a position of utter subjugation and marginalization without basic human rights. In a word: slavery.

The June ruling by a Supreme Court packed with Trump appointees, which struck down constitutional protection for abortion rights, is just the latest, though not the only, step in that direction.

Trump is not alone. He is clearly supported by "his" Supreme Court. Beyond the issue of abortion, what I find horrifying is the court's stance on the death penalty. Although most Americans oppose state-sanctioned killing, recent appeals from death row inmates regarding the inhumanity and cruelty of lethal injection were flatly rejected.

The prevailing opinion came from Trump nominee Brett Kavanaugh, who argued that the Eighth Amendment, which prohibits cruel punishment, "does not guarantee a painless execution." Such inhumane cynicism is now part of American constitutional law. Trump is backed by most Republicans, whom he has coerced into blind obedience and the repetition of his blatantly stupid lies about "stolen" elections.

Only his vassals can survive politically in the party. Anyone who resists is excommunicated. One of the latest to experience the consequences of resisting Trump’s lies and attacks on American democracy is Liz Cheney, the influential and ultra-conservative soon-to-be former representative from Wyoming. She now hints she might run for president herself.

On the other hand, another potential Republican candidate, Florida Governor Ron DeSantis, bans books and school programs promoting equality and human dignity. He plans to prohibit pension funds from considering environmental impacts when making investment decisions. He is supported by influential conservative religious organizations. Religion—or rather, a reactionary, incendiary, and aggressive distortion of Christianity known as white Christian nationalism—is a key weapon in Trump’s renewed march on American politics.

Trump and the trumps—whether in Latin or Cyrillic script—pay no heed to the consequences of their actions. Only power matters. They speak solely to their base: those who feel, for various reasons, betrayed and forgotten. People who are afraid and buy into the lie that hatred, nationalism, selfishness, and discrimination bring safety and stability.

Democracy needs a variety of views and opinions, but it also needs a common rational and civilizational framework. Principles and values that everyone—regardless of political stance—accepts as the foundation of a democratic and civilized society.

Trump and his ilk not only reject those values, but they have also made tearing them down the centrepiece of their political agenda. The means is the end, and the end is the means.

I just returned from a trip across the Eastern United States. Americans are, as a rule, extremely polite and kind. But beneath that courteous surface, something is simmering. Tensions and polarization are visible at every turn—in political signs on lawns, in slogans on shirts and hats, in reactions to questions about where you're from and what you're doing, in offhand comments about what they think of their own country.

In university-town, post-hippie Ithaca in upstate New York, every store and restaurant displays signs proclaiming that women's reproductive rights are human rights.

Just three hours' drive west in Pennsylvania, a kind elderly lady in a roadside diner asked where we were headed. When I said Washington, she recoiled. "It's full of criminals," she snapped, and rushed to tell her friends about the Europeans going to the swamp Trump had promised to drain. This fall, Pennsylvania will elect a governor. Everywhere you go, there are signs supporting far-right Trump ally Doug Mastriano, accused of antisemitism and espousing the most extreme positions on abortion, minority rights, and immigration.

All this, of course, is not a deep analysis but merely a collection of personal impressions and anecdotes. But impressions are what they are. Driving past quaint houses with perfectly manicured lawns in the lush hills of Pennsylvania, I couldn’t help but recall a scene from the film Cabaret: a sunny afternoon in an idyllic beer garden on the German countryside, where cheerful people chat and laugh until a young, blue-eyed blond boy begins to sing a fanatical song, soon joined by everyone else. "Tomorrow belongs to me," they all sing. They looked so friendly.

Comparing these latest impressions to a trip years ago at the start of Trump’s presidency, it is paradoxical that I left the U.S. more worried this time. Despite Trump’s victory then, there was widespread engagement and resolve to resist unacceptable ideas and policies. Today, those ideas have become an entrenched part of reality, even with a new occupant in the White House. Among critics, one senses resignation; the initiative lies with those who claim the future for themselves alone.

I cannot shake the feeling that, in a confrontation with authoritarianism, democracy is powerless and lost. Its purpose is to uphold democratic rules and values, while authoritarians exploit the deliberate subversion of those rules for political gain. And thus, they seem to control the game, even when (temporarily) out of power. Not just in the U.S.

Like many, I love to travel and always return filled with experiences, impressions, and emotions. This time, one of those emotions was sadness. I don’t know what the future holds for travel—a passion that burdens both the wallet and the environment. I love traveling in the United States. Some may criticize me for that and see it as proof of my pro-American stance, but that’s not true. What makes traveling in the U.S. fascinating is the abundance of cultural references, scenes, places, customs, cities, music, people, and buildings we've absorbed all our lives through film, music, and literature. Traveling in America is like traveling through those references—like walking through a movie. And not all movies are happy or funny. Some are sad. Some are frightening. This last one was especially troubling in terms of the future of that country—and the world.