I don't know this columnist for The Guardian, and I guess this take on Trump's psychology (and his birthday celebration):
Trump presides over spectacles of violence like a dysfunctional Roman emperor
is not exactly new, but it's well written and accurate:
Hitler dreamed of a 1,000-year Reich; Putin is said to have baroque dreams of territorial conquest meant to restore a dubiously historical empire he calls “Greater Russia”. Sure, there are people around Donald Trump who imagine using his rise to power to establish some sort of grand, civilizational project: there are the white nationalists who dream of a country purged of those they deem racially impure; there are the Christian nationalists who imagine a future theocracy in which women wear long braids and skirts, and don’t vote; there are the techno-reactionaries who imagine a future of interplanetary colonies, techno-assisted eugenics, and polygamous harems.
But Trump himself is conspicuously small in his dreams: his are comparatively little ambitions, not extending far beyond the reach of his ego and his senses.He wants praise. He wants to see his name and his portrait everywhere. He wants to feel like a big man, to see those he feels have wronged him be penitent and upset. Maybe most of all, he wants to indulge in his own bad taste, repeatedly visiting the lowbrow staples of the 1980s, when he was young and at the height of his tabloid fame.
He loves the musicals of Andrew Lloyd Webber. He loves the music of Bon Jovi and the Village People. And he loves the gaudy, clownish tokens of masculinity that appeal to very small children: big trucks, big muscles, and demonstrations of physical strength.
And so it felt fitting that on Trump’s 80th birthday, at an event nominally meant to celebrate the 250th anniversary of the nation’s founding but really functioning as a celebration for a very special boy, the White House hosted a cage fight for the Ultimate Fighting Championship. The UFC is a competitive league for mixed martial arts – a vaguely sports-like endeavor that combines elements of kickboxing, wrestling, and traditional boxing, and seems designed to satiate a television audience’s appetite for maximum violence.The event, planned for months, required a diversion of Secret Service resources, use of military musicians, and the construction of a large octagonal cage and audience arena on the White House’s south lawn, all at untold taxpayer expense and in likely violation of numerous ethics rules. On Saturday, the night before the event, the combatants posed shirtless, nose to nose, at the ceremonial weigh-in – a press event that seems primarily designed to pique the interest of online gambling markets – in front of the Lincoln Memorial.
Let's skip a little, and note her paragraphs on UFC itself:
Mixed martial arts is a frantic and unbeautiful spectacle, with none of the redeeming grace of boxing and little in the way of required strategies. The primary assets required seem to be physical size and a willingness to hurt someone....
The object seems to be to inflict repeated head injuries, which might help explain why so many of the fighters issued effusive praise for Trump. After his fight, one victor, a redhead with pronounced cauliflower ear named Bo Nickal, thanked the president first and God second.
Yeah well - I don't even see "the redeeming grace of boxing", to be honest - but I agree with her about UFC, which if I ruled the world would be banned.
OK, two final paragraphs sum it up:
That the event was the UFC – cynically primitive, a celebration of violence and brute strength – similarly reaffirms his values. The US is him now, the event seems to say.
Trump wages war at will without Congress. That is already plenty imperial. Now he presides over spectacles of violence carried out for his entertainment, like some dysfunctional Roman despot eating grapes at the Colosseum. Soon, he’ll be appointing his favorite horse to the cabinet.
Well done, Moira Donegan.




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