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O crepúsculo de Donald Trump
Os políticos republicanos têm medo do Presidente.
Tornaram-se seus cúmplices. Esta semana, coube aos generais desafiar a Casa
Branca e garantir a defesa da Constituição. Apoiaram o direito ao protesto
pacífico contra “o racismo institucional”.
Jorge Almeida
Fernandes
6 de Junho de
2020, 6:30
Donald Trump
parece ter entrado na fase crepuscular. Os últimos dias foram marcados por
desastres. A mais dura denúncia veio de onde menos se esperava: dos militares.
Os generais fizeram uma maciça declaração de fidelidade à Constituição, que foi
interpretada como uma demarcação do Presidente e uma reafirmação da democracia.
As Forças Armadas americanas têm uma funda tradição civilista. Por sua vez, a
América nunca terá estado tão dividida como hoje. E tudo isto a 150 dias da
eleição presidencial.
O que marca a
situação americana não é a explosão de mais uma crise racial. Esta insere-se
num complexo: uma gravíssima crise sanitária, uma recessão económica de
dimensão ainda desconhecida, uma política internacional incapaz de competir com
a China, enfim, a degradação da imagem americana no mundo. Em nenhum destes
temas conseguiu Trump elaborar estratégias convincentes. Uma política de
deliberada polarização ajuda-o a manter a sua base de apoio e o controlo
absoluto do Partido Republicano.
É neste quadro
deprimente que entram em cena os generais. Numa posição de fraqueza e
desorientação perante os protestos contra o assassínio de George Floyd (25 de
Maio), Donald Trump decidiu exibir força da forma mais infeliz: anunciando que
ia pôr o Exército nas ruas. Avisou os governadores de que o general Mark
Milley, chefe do Estado-Maior Interarmas, coordenaria a repressão dos
protestos.
O fim do silêncio
Na segunda-feira,
dia 1 de Junho, Trump mandou dispersar com gás lacrimogéneo uma manifestação
pacífica na Praça Jefferson, limpando o caminho para o seu passeio até à
vizinha “igreja dos presidentes”, para uma photo-op. Após se mostrar de Bíblia
ao peito, fez-se fotografar ao lado do secretário da Defesa, Mark Esper, e de
Mark Milley, este em farda de combate. Bíblia e militares: entenda-se a
mensagem eleitoral. Ignora-se o que se passou nos quartéis. O próprio Milley,
muito embaraçado, declarou a uma televisão: “Toda a gente tem o direito de
protestar. A Primeira Emenda [da Constituição] é sagrada. É o direito de o povo
americano a protestar, mas protestar pacificamente.”
No dia 2, a
revista The Atlantic publicou um violento artigo do respeitado almirante Mike
Mullen, antigo chefe do Estado-Maior Interarmas: “Não posso permanecer em
silêncio.” Ficou “doente” com o que viu na Praça Lafayette. Se condena a
violência, denuncia o “racismo institucional”. Não admite o risco de
politização das Forças Armadas. “Demasiados países e demasiadas opções
políticas domésticas foram militarizadas. E demasiadas missões militares tornaram-se
políticas. Este não é um tempo para manobras. Este é um tempo para liderança.”
No dia seguinte,
na mesma revista, o general James Mattis, ex-secretário da Defesa, acusava
Trump de ser uma ameaça à Constituição e de ser, na sua vida, o primeiro Presidente
que “tenta dividir” os americanos. Mattis era considerado o único “adulto na
sala” da Administração Trump. Defendeu o direito ao protesto dos manifestantes
após o assassínio Floyd. O uso doméstico do Exército cria “um falso conflito
entre os militares e a sociedade civil”. No mesmo dia, outro general, John
Allen, antigo comandante da NATO e actual presidente da Brookings Institution,
publica um longo texto cujo mote é: “Talvez estejamos a testemunhar o princípio
do fim da democracia americana, mas ainda há um caminho para travar a queda.”
Entretanto, o
secretário da Defesa, Mark Esper, surge inopinadamente a declarar aos
jornalistas que não subscreve o plano de Trump de enviar as tropas para a rua.
Na véspera, Esper mandara avançar militares para Washington. No dia seguinte,
voltavam à base.
Como é clássico,
os generais na reserva falam em nome dos do activo. E, desta vez, no dia 2 de
Junho, toda a hierarquia militar se lembrou de escrever aos subordinados. O
general Milley começa por evocar a “o ideal da Constituição” e garante que a
Guarda Nacional está a actuar sob as ordens dos governadores. Os chefes da
Marinha, da Força Aérea e do Exército escreveram aos seus homens, em especial
aos afro-americanos, solidarizando-se com o seu sofrimento.
Os cúmplices
O significado
desta querela pode ultrapassar em muito os militares e acelerar o declínio de
Trump. A Atlantic antecipou, na segunda-feira, a publicação de um ensaio da
jornalista e historiadora Anne Applebaum, intitulado “A História julgará o
cúmplice” (History will judge the complicit). Está fora de causa resumir um
texto longo e complexo. Para lá do trabalho como jornalista de assuntos
internacionais, Applebaum é autora de livros sobre o Gulag ou a sovietização da
Europa de Leste.
A surpresa é
descobrir um paralelo entre a “resignação” e os “cúmplices” nos países
comunistas pós-Estaline, na Rússia de Putin ou dentro do Partido Republicano
americano. São casos diferentes. “Nas extremas ditaduras como a Alemanha nazi
ou na Rússia de Estaline, a pessoas temem pela vida. Na Alemanha Oriental pós-1950
ou na Rússia de Putin, as pessoas temem perder o emprego ou o seu apartamento.”
Mas nos Estados Unidos é difícil imaginar que o medo motive seja o que for. Mas
não é verdade. O mistério não são os trumpistas convictos. O enigma é outro:
como é que a elite republicana se deixou “aterrorizar” por Trump renegando
princípios e convicções? Estes são também “cúmplices”.
“Eles não têm
medo da prisão (…), mas de serem atacados por Trump no Twitter”, diz à autora
um velho republicano. “Têm medo de serem ridicularizados, ou embaraçados, como
Mitt Romney o foi. Têm medo de perderem os seus círculos sociais, de deixarem
de receber convites para as recepções. Têm medo de que os seus amigos e
apoiantes, e em especial os financiadores, os abandonem.”
Anota Edward
Luce, correspondente do Financial Times: “Trump tem um desejo ardente de ser
reeleito. Na sua cabeça, a derrota levaria ao desmantelamento da Organização
Trump, aos tribunais e uma possível prisão. Face à escolha entre sabotar a
democracia americana ou uma passagem pelas salas de audiência, não tenho
dúvidas de para onde os seus instintos o empurram. Têm de ser outros a
pará-lo.”
Trump exerce uma
fatal intimidação sobre o partido. A intimidação deixa de funcionar quando
alguém descobre que “o rei vai nu”. Que efeito terá o desafio dos generais? Há
motivos para imaginar que este possa ser um ponto de viragem. O Presidente
perdeu a face. Seria irónico que coubesse aos generais dar o sinal precursor do
crepúsculo de Donald Trump.
If He Loses
What happens to Trump’s cult of personality when the
personality is gone?
BY PAUL
WALDMAN MAY 28, 2020
We have no
precedent that could help us predict what would follow a Trump loss in
November.
President
Trump may continue to dominate the news, but he’s having an awfully hard time
persuading the public of anything. He rails at governors who imposed strict
lockdown orders to deal with the coronavirus pandemic, yet those governors have
become far more popular than he is. He urges us all to resume normal economic
and social activity, yet polls show most Americans still wary and in no hurry
to rush out to share each other’s droplets. He cries that voting by mail is
fraudulent, yet state after state—including many run by Republicans—is
expanding access to mail voting.
You know
what’s coming next: But his base! Those loyal Trump fans, the ones who watch
Fox News religiously, proudly don their MAGA gear, go to his rallies, and
believe everything he says. Nothing will diminish the fervency of their support
for him, right?
That is
undoubtedly true. And it raises this question: What will those people do if
Trump loses in November? What happens to a cult of personality when the
personality is forced by the electorate to leave?
We have no
recent precedent that could help us predict. Presidents who obtain anything
like the kind of worship Trump enjoys from within their own party tend to win
two terms, then depart in the glow of strong approval ratings. Those who lose a
bid for re-election (a group that in the last hundred years includes only
George H.W. Bush, Jimmy Carter, and Gerald Ford) have had no cultists to mourn
their defeat.
The typical
path for any defeated candidate’s supporters—moving from denial to anger to
acceptance—may not work the same way for Trumpists, because of the instruction
he has given them in understanding the world in which we all live. It’s a
picture of institutional corruption, the necessary rejection of norms, rules,
and laws, and the fundamental idea that any outcome you don’t like is
illegitimate by definition.
Trump’s new
obsession with mail voting is a good illustration. In truth, all the evidence
suggests that absentee ballot fraud is exceedingly rare, and in general mail
balloting advantages neither Democrats nor Republicans. But in an election in
which there will be more ballots cast by mail than ever before, Trump continues
to insist that if there are significant numbers of mail ballots then the
election is fraudulent, already predicting that this “will be the greatest
Rigged Election in history.”
Now let’s
imagine it’s Wednesday, November 4. Joe Biden has won the election and declared
victory. The most die-hard Trumpists—let’s call it 10 or 20 percent of the
public—are gripped not just by disappointment but by rage. Because Biden won,
they know the election was stolen. Not only will they see it as history’s
greatest moment of injustice but as a direct threat to themselves, since they
know that when Democrats take over they’re going to become a target for all
manner of oppression.
For most
Trump voters, who were Republicans before he came along and will be afterward,
the immediate anger will fade. Many of their leaders will begin saying they
never liked Trump anyway, as they try to distance themselves from his failure,
determine the course of the Republican Party’s future, and fashion a place for
themselves in it.
But the
Trumpists will see little role for themselves in that process. They never had a
policy agenda to unite around, one that could be easily championed by another
politician. Sure, there were some things they wanted (mostly on immigration),
but they aren’t going to wait on line for hours to rally for upper-income tax
cuts and environmental deregulation. It was Trump they loved, in all his crude,
hateful glory. No future campaign, no policy fight will make them feel the way
Trump did. They could pour their energies into the anti-Biden movement, the
next iteration of the Tea Party. But having tasted the ecstatic glory of
Trumpism, will that really have much appeal?
They’ve
been convinced that the system is inherently corrupt, yet there is no program
they advocate to reform it. There isn’t a hypothetical set of rules you could
institute that would make the system what they want it to be. It’s corrupt and
always will be, they’re convinced, so the only acceptable state of affairs is
for someone with Trump’s majestic power to take temporary control of all its
corrupt means and force it to serve his own ends. When he’s gone, it goes right
back to what it was before.
So if
you’re a Trumpist but Trump has permanently retreated to Mar-a-Lago, what would
be the point of engaging in traditional political action? Are you going to
knock doors for some pale imitation of Trump, let alone the Marco Rubio or
Nikki Haley types who will be running for president in 2024? What’s even the
point of voting?
If you’re a
Trumpist but Trump has permanently retreated to Mar-a-Lago, what would be the
point of engaging in traditional political action?
That may be
the most serious danger the Republican Party faces post-Trump. They could
decide to put this horrifying period behind them, raise up more mainstream
leaders, and construct an appeal that reaches beyond their shrinking base. But
as they do so, a significant chunk of their voters may just drop out, seeing
nothing in Republicans worth supporting.
We should
also be prepared for the possibility of a spasm of violence after the election.
If you’ve spent years nodding your head as Trump and others tell you that the
white man is being targeted by sinister forces that are literally out to
destroy everything you believe in, and then Trump is defeated, you may conclude
that politics is no longer a viable path to save the country and violent
revolution is the only alternative. As private citizen Trump tweets out all his
bitterness and Democrats triumphantly take the reins of power, we could see
more mass shootings and attempts to trigger a civil war.
Perhaps
we’ll be lucky enough to avoid that kind of reaction. And it’s possible that
Trump has so altered the Republican Party that it will continue on in his
image; when a QAnon conspiracy loon wins the party’s nomination for a U.S.
Senate seat in Oregon, it’s tempting to conclude that the GOP has become so
deranged that even Trump’s defeat will not be enough to shock it back to
sanity.
But
especially if this November’s election gives Democrats not only the White House
but control of the Senate and wins at the state level, the GOP establishment
will be highly motivated to reject Trumpism and head toward a future where they
can assemble a majority in a changing America. For the Trump cultists, that
will be proof that there’s no point in participating.
Because
Trump is so unique, he is likely to leave his fans uniquely bereft. Devotees of
Ronald Reagan or Barack Obama might not find another figure as charismatic as
the president they revered, but each had a vision of progress they left behind,
one that could be carried by others. Trumpism is just about Trump, and without
him, nothing will remain. We can’t know for sure what his superfans will do in
that post-Trump world, but his party should be very worried.
IDEAS
What Would Happen If Trump Refused to Leave
Office?
A peaceful transfer of power is necessary for American
democracy to survive.
FEBRUARY
22, 2020
Barbara
McQuade
Former U.S.
attorney for the Eastern District of Michigan
If Donald
Trump is defeated in November 2020, his presidency will end on January 20,
2021. If he is reelected, then, barring other circumstances such as removal
from office, his administration will terminate on the same day in 2025. In
either of these scenarios, Trump would cease to be president immediately upon
the expiration of his term. But what if he won’t leave the White House?
The
American Constitution spells out how the transfer of power is supposed to work.
Article II provides that the president “shall hold his office for the term of
four years.” The Twentieth Amendment says that the president’s and vice
president’s terms “shall end at noon on the 20th day of January … and the terms
of their successors shall then begin.” Of course, a president may be reelected
to a second four-year term, but under the Twenty-Second Amendment, “no person
shall be elected to the office of president more than twice.”
For nearly
250 years, presidents have respected the law. Even when electoral defeat has
been unexpected and ignominious, presidents have passed the baton without
acrimony. In a sense, perhaps this is the central achievement of the American
system: to have transferred power peacefully from one leader to the next,
without heredity to guide the way.
That a
president would defy the results of an election has long been unthinkable; it
is now, if not an actual possibility, at the very least something Trump’s
supporters joke about. As the former Arkansas Governor Mike Huckabee tweeted,
President Trump “will be eligible for a 3rd term due to the illegal attempts by
Comey, Dems, and media , et al attempting to oust him as @POTUS so that’s why I
was named to head up the 2024 re-election.” A good troll though it may have
been, Huckabee is not the first person to suggest that Trump might not leave
when his presidency ends.
In May, the
faith leader Jerry Falwell Jr. tweeted an apparent reference to the completed
investigation of Special Counsel Robert Mueller into Russian election
interference. “I now support reparations,” he wrote. “Trump should have 2 yrs
added to his 1st term as pay back for time stolen by this corrupt failed coup.”
Trump retweeted Falwell’s post.
One of
Trump’s former confidants, Michael Cohen, has suggested that Trump won’t leave.
In his congressional testimony before heading to prison, Trump’s former
attorney said, “Given my experience working for Mr. Trump, I fear that if he
loses the election in 2020, there will never be a peaceful transition of
power.”
Trump
himself has joked about staying in office beyond his term, and even for life.
In December, Trump told a crowd at a Pennsylvania rally that he will leave
office in “five years, nine years, 13 years, 17 years, 21 years, 25 years, 29
years …” He added that he was joking to drive the media “totally crazy.” Just a
few days earlier, Trump had alluded to his critics in a speech, “A lot of them
say, ‘You know he’s not leaving’ … So now we have to start thinking about that
because it’s not a bad idea.” This is how propaganda works. Say something
outrageous often enough and soon it no longer sounds shocking.
Refusal to
leave office is rare, but not unheard of. In the past decade, presidents in
democracies such as Moldova, Sri Lanka, the Democratic Republic of Congo, and
Gambia have refused to leave office, sometimes leading to bloodshed. In 2016,
Joseph Kabila decided not to step down after three five-year terms as the
president of Congo, announcing that he would delay the election for two years
so that a census could be conducted. His decision was met with mass protests in
which 50 people were killed by government security forces. Still, he followed
through and an election took place in 2018. He left office thereafter.
Elected
officials in the U.S. have also refused to step down, albeit from lower offices
than the presidency. In 1874, a Texas governor locked himself in the basement
of the state capitol building after losing his reelection bid. The saga began
when Republican Governor Edmund J. Davis lost the 1873 election by a resounding
2-to-1 ratio to his Democratic challenger, Richard Coke, and claimed that the
election had been tainted with fraud and intimidation. A court case made its
way to the state’s supreme court. All three justices, each of whom had been
appointed by the incumbent Davis, ruled that the election was unconstitutional
and invalid. Democrats called upon the public to disregard the court’s
decision, and proceeded with plans for Coke’s inauguration. On January 15,
1874, Coke arrived at the state capitol with a sheriff’s posse, and was sworn
in to office while Davis barricaded himself downstairs with state troopers. The
next day, Davis requested federal troops from President Ulysses S. Grant. Grant
refused, and Davis finally stepped down three days later.
In 1946,
Georgia endured the “Three Governors Crisis,” when the governor-elect died
before taking office. Three men—the outgoing governor, the son of the
governor-elect and the lieutenant governor-elect—each claimed a right to the
office. The state assembly voted for the governor-elect’s son to take charge, but
the outgoing governor refused to leave, so both men physically occupied the
governor’s office. The outgoing governor yielded when the governor-elect’s son
had the locks changed. The state supreme court finally decided in favor of the
lieutenant governor-elect three months later.
The closest
thing to a refusal to leave office that the U.S. presidency has experienced was
Franklin D. Roosevelt’s break with tradition by seeking a third term. Roosevelt
rejected the norm set by George Washington, and followed by successive
presidents, to step down after two terms. FDR was elected to a third and even a
fourth term, but concern about a permanent executive led to the ratification of
the Twenty-Second Amendment in 1951, limiting presidents to two terms.
If Trump were
inclined to overstay his term, the levers of power work in favor of removal.
Because the president immediately and automatically loses his constitutional
authority upon expiration of his term or after removal through impeachment, he
would lack the power to direct the U.S. Secret Service or other federal agents
to protect him. He would likewise lose his power, as the commander in chief of
the armed forces, to order a military response to defend him. In fact, the
newly minted president would possess those presidential powers. If necessary,
the successor could direct federal agents to forcibly remove Trump from the
White House. Now a private citizen, Trump would no longer be immune from
criminal prosecution, and could be arrested and charged with trespassing in the
White House. While even former presidents enjoy Secret Service protection,
agents presumably would not follow an illegal order to protect one from removal
from office.
Although
Trump’s remaining in office seems unlikely, a more frightening—and
plausible—scenario would be if his defeat inspired extremist supporters to
engage in violence. One could imagine a world in which Trump is defeated in the
2020 election, and he immediately begins tweeting that the election was rigged.
Or consider the possibility, albeit remote, that a second-term Trump is removed
from office through impeachment, and rails about his ouster as a coup. His
message would be amplified by right-wing media. If his grievances hit home with
even a few people inclined toward violence, deadly acts of violence, or even
terrorist attacks against the new administration, could result.
Ultimately,
the key to the peaceful transfer of power is the conduct of the outgoing leader
himself. America has thus far been lucky in that regard. After voluntarily
relinquishing the presidency after his second term, Washington took measures to
demonstrate the peaceful transfer of power. He attended the inauguration of his
successor, John Adams, and insisted on walking behind Adams after the ceremony
to display his subservience to the new president. Through this example, the
citizenry was able to accept that the power of the presidency now resided in
its new occupant.
More
recently, upon leaving office after a heated campaign, George H. W. Bush left
behind a letter to welcome Bill Clinton into the White House on January 20,
1993. It concluded, “You will be our president when you read this note. I wish you
well. I wish your family well. Your success now is our country’s success. I am
rooting hard for you. Good luck.” Imagining such a gracious note from the
current occupant of the White House to his successor is difficult.
But if
Trump should fail in his final duty as president to transfer power peacefully,
the nation’s laws, norms, and institutions will be responsible for carrying out
the will of the electorate. Should those fail too, then the American
experiment’s greatest achievement will come to a grinding halt, and with it the
hope that a republic can ever be kept.
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