Ajay Kumar
Even by the standards of someone best known for scandal, corruption, and criminality, a recent New York Times listing of Donald Trump's controversial deeds makes for sober reading. "He is the only president in American history impeached twice for high crimes and misdemeanours, the only president ever indicted on criminal charges, and the only president convicted of a felony (34 counts, in fact)," the narrative begins.
By the time he ran for president in 2016, Trump had been involved in 4,095 lawsuits, in which he or his companies were defendants in 1,026 cases related to not paying taxes, not paying overtime, not compensating hired companies, and failing to abide by contracts. He was forced to shell out $25 million to students who accused him of scamming them, was found liable for widespread business fraud, and had his real estate firm convicted in criminal court of tax crimes.
Estimated by Forbes to be worth $5.5 billion, he has paid less income tax than at least half of American taxpayers, year after year. "That was smart," he has boasted.
Tony Schwartz, who ghostwrote Trump's bestseller The Art of the Deal, wrote recently: "There are seven characteristics associated with antisocial personality disorder, according to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders: deceitfulness, impulsivity, failure to conform to social norms with respect to lawful behaviour, irritability and aggressiveness, reckless disregard for the safety of self or others, consistent irresponsibility, and lack of remorse. I've observed all seven in Trump over the years and watched them get progressively worse. It's the last one - lack of remorse - that gives him license to freely exercise the other six."
Depending on how you count them, Trump has been accused of sexual misconduct by 19, 26, or 67 women. He has boasted about grabbing women by their private parts and is reported to have cheated on all three of his wives.
For the first time in its history, America may send a criminal to the Oval Office. The Chief of Army Staff who served under Trump has called him "a fascist to the core" and "the most dangerous man for this country". His longest-serving White House Chief of Staff has echoed these sentiments.
If elected, Trump has said he would turn the "military" on the "enemy within"—which he defines as anyone who crosses him or has crossed him in the past. To tackle urban crime, he suggests "one hour of widespread, extrajudicial violence by the police". Oh, and by the way, he has demanded the execution of the former Chief of Army Staff.
How does such a deceitful, narcissistic, and malicious man seek election to the most powerful office in the world for the third time as the head of a party once led by Abraham Lincoln? How does he stand a good chance of becoming the 47th President of the United States?
His 2024 campaign rallies resemble vaudeville acts where he alternately portrays himself as the saviour and protector, hurls lies and insults, compares migrants to Hannibal Lecter, promises political violence (mass migrant evictions will be a "bloody story"), and makes anti-democratic statements (such as prosecuting opponents and praising foreign dictators). He stumbles through words like "deportated," "bureucats," "Midworsten," and "Insaniticy." In a recent rally, when words ran out, he bobbed and danced to music for 39 minutes.
How does such a candidate improve his poll ratings from winning 41% of the electoral college vote in September, after a disastrous debate with Kamala Harris, to over 50% now? Most of his gains have come from the key swing states of Michigan, Wisconsin, and Pennsylvania.
To begin to seek answers to that question, one might explore the deep vein of emotional nativism in American history; it's only half-jokingly said that those who arrived on the Mayflower in 1620 regard all who came later as outsiders. A more definitive starting point would be 1993, the year the US signed NAFTA (North American Free Trade Agreement). NAFTA led to the shuttering of over 97,000 factories in the US, primarily in the Midwest and Pennsylvania, resulting in the loss of around five million jobs as manufacturing moved to Mexico. The ripples have not ceased.
Chancy Adams, 43, lost his job at an iconic lock-making company in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, as recently as March 2024, when the unit shut down without notice. He began working there in 2010 for $10 an hour and moved up to a supervisory role at $30. He even bought a house for his family of five, including four children. Now, he works two jobs a day and still earns less money. He does not plan to vote on November 5; if he does, it will certainly not be for Kamala Harris—maybe Trump. Adams is Black.
When Trump declared his bid for the presidency in August 2015, he was not a political novice, as widely thought. He had fully developed his playbook, drawing on his sharp political instincts. He would be a populist, a demagogue, a Macho Man. He would cater to the basest instincts of man, mining anger and sowing division.
His personality was shaped by his father and his mentor, lawyer Roy Cohn, around three pillars: Attack, attack, attack—never say sorry, never admit defeat, and follow your gut instincts. His public image was constructed as that of a highly successful businessman on the hugely popular reality show The Apprentice, which obscured his massive inheritance and his six bankruptcies. Trust in politicians has dipped to a new low in the US, and Trump, the master of branding, never pretended to be one—in fact, quite the opposite. His Make America Great Again (MAGA) voter base was ready to be shaped into a cult.
By August 2015, he had already built an electoral base of 15% of what would eventually become his MAGA support by long cultivating three populist audiences: listeners of ultra-right-wing conspiracy theorist podcasts, followers of professional wrestling (WWF) who enjoy the spectacle despite knowing it's scripted, and readers of tabloids like the National Enquirer. Common to all three groups is an inability to distinguish fantasy from reality.
Political and behavioural scientists have offered a range of insights into human behaviour that explain Trump's enduring appeal. Social status is one of the strongest motivators for human behaviour, and citizens care much more about relative losses than about equivalent gains. Across developed democracies, the lower people feel their social status is, the more inclined they are to vote for anti-establishment candidates.
White men react more aggressively to a lack of status than any other group in US society, and there were many warning signs flashing for them in the 21st century. While non-college-educated white men bore the brunt of NAFTA, college-educated elites benefited from the growing digitalisation and financialisation of the economy. Much of Trump's appeal stems from his ability to turn the shame of downward mobility among white, non-college-educated individuals into a sense of blame.
Adding insult to injury, men were feeling overshadowed by the growing feminisation of US society, with girls outscoring boys in school and women outnumbering men in college admissions. The dominant dread among white men became the "fear of falling"—anxiety that, in the face of economic or cultural shocks, they might descend further down the social ladder.
US politics, meanwhile, was dominated by high-status professionals in both parties. Their alienation from the underclass, along with the erosion of the Democratic Party's blue-collar base, was best reflected in Hillary Clinton's characterisation of Trump's supporters as a "basket of deplorable." This constituency of "cultural losers of modernisation found themselves without any mainstream political actors willing to represent and defend their way of life", as one commentator noted. Enter Trump with the Authentic Appeal of the Lying Demagogue: "The greater his willingness to antagonise the establishment by making himself persona non grata, the more credible his claim to be his constituency's leader," the commentator continued.
Racial animus and general resentment toward minorities among whites—particularly Blacks, Hispanics, Muslims, and LGBTQ+ individuals, who are more inclined to vote Democrat—are among the strongest forces binding MAGA supporters. Trump built on this animus to incite fear of migrants.
He claims that 20-25 illegal migrants are "terrorising" the US; in fact, according to the nonpartisan Congressional Budget Office, 9 million migrants have entered the country under Biden, of which half may be illegal. He began targeting migrants in 2016, labelling them as "rapists" and "criminals". Today, he holds them responsible for high home prices, unemployment, infectious diseases, rising car insurance costs, unsafe elections, and even missing house pets. Not coincidentally, more than half of Americans support mass deportation of illegal migrants.
The final word on Trump's enduring appeal rests with historian Richard Slotkin. The professor of American Studies argues that Trump rides on several key American myths. The first is the 'Myth of the Frontier', which posits that the increase in white wealth was predicated on expansion to the beyond and the subjugation of Native Americans, thereby embedding racial exclusion as a societal norm.
According to Slotkin, Trump's MAGA appeal also rests on the 'Myth of the Lost Cause'—the South's yearning for the days before the Civil War. This myth, Slotkin writes, "celebrates the Old South and its culture, and justifies violence, sometimes extreme, first to defend and then to restore its traditional structures of patriarchy and white supremacy".
Trump's 2024 campaign rhetoric, Slotkin notes, follows the 'Lost Cause' playbook. "He invokes fear of racial pollution by characterising liberal policies on immigration as the poisoning of the American bloodstream. He identifies himself as the agent of his people's retribution."
Trump has repeatedly refuted all charges against him—personal, political, or relating to his business dealings—and has asserted that the true judgment of the American people will be delivered on November 5. That will be the day the American electorate demonstrates how good, or otherwise, they are at judging a person's character.
(Ajay Kumar is a senior journalist. He is former Managing Editor, Business Standard, and former Executive Editor, The Economic Times.)
Disclaimer: These are the personal opinions of the author
Ajay Kumar