It's always a pleasure to read a post by Michael Jochum.
There is something uniquely offensive about watching a man with the aesthetic sensibilities of a casino arsonist wander through America’s civic inheritance like a drunk landlord with a demolition permit.
Today, Donald Trump apparently referred to the Reflecting Pool as a “reflecting lake” that he’s going to make “waterproof,” which is such a perfectly Trumpian phrase it almost reads like satire. Waterproof. As opposed to what, Donald? The famously leaky body of water? The concept itself tells you everything. A man so intellectually incurious, so monumentally ignorant, so allergic to history and nuance, that he treats national landmarks the way a mediocre property developer treats a tired golf resort. Rip it out. Rename it. Slap gold trim on it. Pretend improvement has occurred.
The Reflecting Pool is not some neglected feature outside a failing Mar-a-Lago annex. It sits in the shadow of Lincoln, a solemn axis of memory, sacrifice, protest, and national reckoning. It has reflected marches for civil rights, antiwar demonstrations, presidential memorials, grief, hope, and moments of actual American greatness. But to Trump, history is only valuable if his reflection appears in it.
So now, apparently, it’s a swamp. Fitting, really. Because everything this man touches eventually becomes one.
That’s the pattern, isn’t it? Institutions. Norms. Alliances. Language itself. He doesn’t build nearly as much as he brands, degrades, or repurposes for ego consumption. He treats democracy like a licensing opportunity. The presidency, to him, has never been public service. It’s been the ultimate vanity acquisition.
And yes, billionaires adore him, not because he represents strength, patriotism, or some mythical business genius, but because he functions exactly as intended: a tax shelter with vocal cords. He enriches the already grotesquely wealthy while selling working Americans a fantasy wrapped in grievance, flags, and manufactured enemies. The poor? Disposable. The vulnerable? Weakness to be mocked. The “unchosen,” as you so aptly frame it? Collateral damage in the prosperity gospel fever dream of Christian nationalism and oligarchic greed.
Which brings us to the real cruelty. Because cruelty is the point. Not accidental cruelty. Not unfortunate side effects. Deliberate cruelty. Toward immigrants. Toward political opponents. Toward the sick. Toward the poor. Toward women. Toward institutions that dared suggest accountability applies to him. Toward the memory of former administrations whose greatest offense was governing without worshipping him.
Even our monuments aren’t spared. Everything must be dragged into his orbit, rebranded in vulgarity, diminished by contact. He is not a steward of American history. He is its vandal.
And what exhausts me most is not even Trump himself anymore. It’s the endless chorus of enablers who continue to clap like trained seals while the furniture burns. Men in expensive suits. Cable news opportunists. Christian nationalists singing Onward, Christian Soldiers while kneeling before a man who embodies none of the values they pretend to defend. Billionaires congratulating themselves at private dinners while families wonder how to pay for groceries, rent, prescriptions, or another obscene tank of gas.
Donald Trump is not merely an embarrassment. He is a moral failure in a badly tailored suit, a narcissist who mistakes domination for leadership and spectacle for substance.
And when this chapter finally ends, and it will end, one way or another, history will not be kind to those who mistook this grotesque parade of ego, greed, and cruelty for patriotism.
Michael Jochum
Author of Not Just a Drummer: Reflections on Art, Politics, Dogs, and the Human Condition
Veteran drummer, writer, observer of the absurd, and still foolish enough to believe truth matters.
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