The thing that’s always stood out to me about Donald Trump, besides his cruelty and utter incompetence, is that he’s just so sad and hostile. He comes across as a man who has never experienced a legitimately cheerful moment, aside from the schadenfreude he appears to derive from the misery he inflicts on others.
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Take his behavior at the G7 summit this week. He secreted the vibe of a man hellbent on taking revenge against those around him, and all of the other world leaders took note. At this event, and similar to previous ones, he was treated as if he had the plague while, at the same time, seeming disconnected from the moment.
During the group photos, while the others chatted and interacted with one another animatedly, Trump was detached, staring straight ahead as if in a deluded trance. It wasn’t just that they were all rejecting him. He appeared to be rejecting himself, so uncomfortable in his own saggy skin that it proved jarring to look at.
Several of my friends sent around one photo of Trump, surrounded by the leader group, looking beleaguered, stiff, awkward, like his own barren island, his arms stiffly at his side and a grim expression lining his face. The contrast with the others couldn’t possibly have been more stark. It was actually stunning.
“Is that A.I.?” my wife asked.
“No, it’s real,” I assured her.
“What the hell is wrong with him?” she then asked.
“Well, everything,” I assured her.
The thing is, this had nothing to do with Trump’s health. It wasn’t about bruises on his hands or the pallor in his appearance. It was just about a man who looked utterly out of his element simply having to socialize with other humans who were not predisposed to bow at his feet. He looked almost shellshocked.
None of this would matter, of course, if this guy were not the most powerful human being in the world. He appears desperately unhappy, deliriously angry at everyone and everything, immeasurably out of touch with the citizens he represents. He appears hellbent on pushing the hostility he feels onto a world that he believes continues to hold him in such contempt which is, in fact, self-fulfilling. The heartache and suffering he inflicts emanates from his own poverty of the soul.
The damage Trump inflicts daily on the country and the world can be traced to this gnawing resentment he carries around, this chip on the shoulder that’s more like the Rock of Gibraltar. He is getting vengeance for the mound of disrespect that follows him around and inspires him to lash out over slights both actual and merely perceived.
We don’t need to guess about this stuff. It’s etched all over his face. It’s attached to his very DNA. He makes not even the thinnest attempt to be friendly, engaging, gracious. Think about that. The very idea that Trump would consistently demonstrate courtesy is unimaginable.
What we’re dealing with here is a tired, cranky old man who lacks the energy to even feign cheerfulness. He can’t practice civility because he’s too busy snarling.
Imagine having so many people in your life who don’t actually like you in the slightest, who in fact hate you, but feel as if they have to pretend you’re terrific because of all the horrible things you can do to them if you don’t. If you’re Trump, what a lonely place that must be, even if it’s an island of his own creation. He conveys such negativity, intimidation and aggression that being close enough to breathe the same foul air has to be traumatic in itself.
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This is the kind of crap you need to spout in order to stay on this man’s good side: “He and I are very, very close. And when you think about what you would deem a best friend in your life, he is definitely one of those guys.”
That was UFC President and CEO Dana White. Imagine how much sucking up it requires to say something so outrageous, because it’s not possible for anyone to actually feel a genuine closeness to such a bloated bag of pomposity.
The Trump White House is widely viewed as a joyless place of competitive angst and paranoia. No animals are running around, there is no music, no cultural events, no relaxed social gatherings. In their place are things like the violence of the UFC outrage. Human beings pummeling each other is his idea of a good time. It is an environment where perpetual tension and grievance hold court.
This rampant negativity is one reason why I believe Trump is deteriorating physically. His default about everything is rage. That has to take its toll.
Contrast all of this carcinogenic rancor with the positive energy and delight that greeted the dedication ceremony for the grand opening on Thursday of the Barack Obama Presidential Center in Chicago. Besides the Obamas, all three living former Presidents and First Ladies were there. You’ve got to believe the only event that would inspire all eight to gather in the same space to honor Trump would be his funeral.
The Obama Center celebration featured warm, genuine words about the Obamas; a gathering of real stars; and eloquent, articulate speeches from Barack and Michelle about the country they love despite it all. A tour of the center campus showed not tacky gold plating everywhere your eye went but a museum featuring digital exhibits about the Obama Presidency, a basketball court, a branch of the city’s public library and acres of green space.
It felt like a nostalgic throwback to a time when the American presidency was draped in class and distinction rather than greed and fake patriotism. The Obamas remain the epitome of cool. The Trumps stand small as paragons of criminality.
It remains a tragic shame that the nastiest American who ever lived somehow continues to preside as its leader. Come back, Barack, come back!
(Ray Richmond is a longtime journalist/author and an adjunct professor at Chapman University in Orange, CA.)
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