Hating Trump

I wouldn’t say this about myself.  Not to quibble about minor differences in the definitions of words, but I thought Trump was a sick joke, rather than an object of hatred, when he first entered the American political scene in 2015.

I remember calling my mom shortly after the first debate and asking her, “Isn’t there an unwritten rule that a candidate for the U.S. presidency has to be at least supposed to be a decent, honest, and reasonably intelligent person?  That standard certainly existed when I was a little kid.

“I watched the election returns with you guys in 1960 and you were disappointed that Kennedy had won, but you didn’t think he was dishonest.  When I was 13, the United States elected Nixon for the first time, and the second time when I was 17, but we didn’t know then that he was a criminal.  This strikes me as an important distinction.”

She and I enjoyed a quick laugh about Trump, and Mom immediately assured me that he didn’t have a chance.

A short nine years later, the entire Republican party is being led around by the nose by a career felon.

The party is composed by about 5% of highly educated but amoral rich people, and about 95% of uneducated racists, but that actually could be enough to win Trump a second term as the leader of the free world.