By Kenneth Tiven
The corrosive effect of US President Donald Trump and his ideologically fascist advisers was crystal clear from his unhinged and factually transparent national speech on US TV on July 16 (Thursday) night about voting issues and other complaints he has.
Americans have lost respect for a man whose poor mental and physical health embarrasses the office of the once most powerful nation on earth. His war with Iran, unprovoked and ill considered, is lost. His cabinet is cowardly, acting as “praise singers” for this caricature of a president, unlikely to use the 25th amendment to declare him unfit to lead. Selected for fealty to the “boss” without regard to knowledge or leadership they are a hopeless lot on paper, but might surprise America.
For many Americans, the approach of the United States’ 250th anniversary is less a celebration than an unsettling national reckoning. Rather than commemorating the endurance of constitutional democracy, each passing day feels, to them, like another scene in a slow-moving political drama in which democratic guardrails are steadily being dismantled. At the centre of that anxiety stands Trump.
To critics, Trump’s second presidency represents the culmination of a lifelong conviction that rules exist for others, not for him. Throughout his business career and political life, he has projected the belief that legal, institutional and ethical restraints are negotiable if they obstruct personal ambition. His return to the White House, they argue, has amplified that philosophy rather than moderated it.
For Americans who lived through the Vietnam War, today’s political climate evokes memories of another deeply divisive era—but with one crucial distinction.
Vietnam affected nearly every family because military conscription made the war personal. Public opposition grew as casualties mounted. Today’s all-volunteer military has insulated much of the population from the direct costs of conflict, while social media has fragmented public discourse into ideological echo chambers where competing realities coexist with little overlap. The nation’s electoral arithmetic reflects that division.
Roughly a third of American voters remain firmly committed to Trump and the MAGA movement. A somewhat larger bloc opposes him for a wide variety of reasons. A sizeable portion of eligible citizens either abstains from voting or remains politically disengaged. That leaves a relatively small segment of persuadable voters determining national elections—explaining why campaigns invest billions of dollars to influence a narrow slice of the electorate.
Trump’s victory in 2024 was fuelled by multiple forces. Many voters believed Republicans would better manage inflation and the economy. Others were influenced by concerns over then President Joe Biden’s health and fitness for office. Conservatives also successfully marketed Project 2025 as a blueprint for restoring America’s strength, while critics viewed it as an attempt to fundamentally reshape the federal government around an expansive vision of executive authority.
Political polarization has now become so intense that even humour serves as a litmus test of ideological identity. A satirical online joke describing Trump as “a con man, a pedophile, and a convicted felon” walking into a bar has become less about comedy than about illustrating how Americans increasingly inhabit separate political universes. To Trump’s supporters, such attacks merely reinforce what they dismiss as “Trump Derangement Syndrome”. To opponents, they underscore concerns about accountability and democratic norms.
Beyond rhetoric, critics point to a series of developments they believe reveal a broader transformation of American governance.
Among the most contentious is the administration’s aggressive immigration enforcement. Opponents argue that expanding federal policing powers through heavily militarised immigration operations risks normalising domestic security practices previously associated with authoritarian governments. Supporters counter that stronger enforcement is necessary to restore border security and uphold immigration law.
Foreign policy has generated equally fierce debate. Trump’s military action against Iran without explicit congressional authorisation reignited longstanding constitutional arguments over presidential war powers. Critics argue that bypassing Congress weakened democratic oversight while complicating America’s relationships across the Middle East. Others contend that Iran’s strategic leverage—particularly its ability to threaten shipping through the Strait of Hormuz—continues to reshape the global energy balance irrespective of American military action.
Questions have also been raised about civilian leadership of the US military and America’s broader international posture. While Russia continues its grinding war in Ukraine, Washington’s image as a steady global leader has become increasingly contested, with allies often uncertain about the durability of American commitments.
Domestic politics remain equally turbulent. Trump continues to face the shadow of multiple legal defeats, including the civil judgments in favour of writer E Jean Carroll. Yet, none of these setbacks appears to have significantly diminished his political standing among core supporters. His extensive business empire continues to generate enormous revenues, reinforcing the perception that financial consequences rarely alter his public trajectory.
Even symbolism has become politically charged. The administration’s decision to place Trump’s signature on newly printed US currency—and proposals to feature his image on commemorative coins—have sparked criticism from those who argue that America’s institutions should remain larger than any individual president.
On the international stage, critics contend that Trump’s ability to frame foreign policy as a succession of victories has become increasingly difficult. Iran has shown little inclination to validate his claims of success, while controversies surrounding highly publicised domestic
projects have further fuelled accusations that image management often takes precedence over governance.
Questions surrounding the president’s age, health and public appearances have also become a recurring feature of political debate. Supporters dismiss such concerns as partisan attacks. Critics argue that they deserve closer scrutiny, particularly given the immense responsibilities of the presidency.
Whatever the competing interpretations, America’s international standing has undeniably become a central issue.
Trump’s renewed suggestions about acquiring Greenland drew little more than diplomatic silence abroad. His sweeping tariff strategy exposed the limits of unilateral American economic pressure as countries increasingly diversify trade relationships, develop alternative payment systems and deepen commercial ties with China. Economists warn that even longstanding allies are recalibrating their economic dependence on the United States.
The administration’s handling of an international football tournament (World Cup 2026) likewise became an unexpected diplomatic flashpoint. Restrictions placed on the Iranian national team and controversy surrounding disciplinary decisions involving the US squad generated criticism that politics had intruded unnecessarily into global sport.
As America approaches its historic 250th birthday, the deeper question extends beyond the fortunes of one presidency. It is whether the institutions built over two and a half centuries remain resilient enough to withstand unprecedented political strain—or whether future historians will view this era as the moment when constitutional norms began yielding to the force of personality. For many Americans, that uncertainty has become the defining story of the republic itself.
—The writer has worked in senior positions at The Washington Post,
NBC, ABC and CNN and also consults for several Indian channels
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