Even if Trump loses, his cruelty, lies, and bullying will haunt America for years to come
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No matter who wins the U.S. 2020 election, there is trouble in the tribe of humanity. The very fact that Donald Trump has a decent shot at a second term reinforces what his surprise 2016 win taught us: that nearly half the country supports him consistently in polls, enough to wish to prolong his reign for four more years.
It taught us that cruelty isn’t disqualifying. That lying isn’t a red line. It taught us that bullies can win, and win big.
Even if Biden wins, Trump’s original victory cannot be undone. Up until then, I believed that history would ultimately bend towards justice; that human decency was both right and paid off in life. It will be very hard to think that in earnest again, thanks to the election of Donald Trump.
Like many others, that victory shook my foundation, the core that runs far deeper than politics. The values that I hold dear, of kindness towards other people, for generosity, selflessness, hard work, fair play, empathy, integrity and self-criticism — took a mortal blow at the ballot box in 2016.
It may sound faithless to allow a single election to jar my very sense of self, but Trump did not win in a vacuum. Half a year before the 2016 elections, I was stunned by a different political event: Brexit, too, shook my worldview. I felt it symbolized a choice to break alliances, to slam windows and doors, rather than move together towards a more cooperative world.
I took Brexit harder than I expected, and at that moment I realized America might tip towards the man who promised to put America first, to put men first, in fact, to put white men first, and roll America backwards.
I interpreted Make America Great Again as meaning that things were better before all this nonsense — before a law guaranteed health care to Americans like most other industrialized countries, before a Supreme Court ruled in support of same sex marriage, or even before the Civil Rights Act, the Equal Pay Act, and Roe v. Wade. But these were the very things that had removed America from a crueler, less fair, more violent past, which edged America closer to its lofty founding documents professing equality.
Didn’t we all want to move closer to our ideals? Didn’t we simply differ on the methods? Trump’s election meant to me that we didn’t actually share those political goals, which America wrote for itself. That’s what broke me. It’s not that I lost faith in the values of striving to be kind and good to one’s self and to others; I just lost faith that it works in this world. Meanness did better.
Perhaps I should have known this already. When I moved to Israel in the mid-1990s, I held few illusions that Israel had some superior moral standing. I never believed Jews to be somehow above humanity. But my convictions had made Aliya along with me: I maintained that Israel could do better. It could end the conflict with the Palestinians, free them from its grip and free itself to addressing its profound inner injustices (I viewed the two societies separately at that time). Very broadly, I believed Israelis shared those goals, just differed on the methods.
By 2016, I knew that Israel, very broadly, does not share my goals. The country uses its superior military, political and economic power to keep total control over all the land, and has every intention of doing so in perpetuity. Over time, I had to acknowledge that being in the political minority wasn’t a difference of methods; it was a deeply different worldview. The policies I reject prioritize Israeli Jewish rights over those of Arab citizens, and reject both equality and independence — either would suffice — for a population of millions of people Israel has controlled for decades.
Being on the political left in Israel involves tremendous contradictions: I embrace equality, yet claim citizenship through an unequal law that privileges my rights over those of people who were born here, or whose parents were born here; mine were not. I believe in democracy, yet for the sake of democratic values — equality, human rights — I support policies that the majority of my fellow citizens oppose.
Israel itself, like America, is a contradiction: National self-determination for Jews is often used as the excuse for denying the same right to Palestinians. Israel calls itself a Jewish democracy, refuses to define what either means, while legislating inequality. Being on the left means wading into these never-ending contradictions and knowing that there are no final answers, there is no perfect peace, no flawless equality — only a conviction that on the values I cherish, we can do better.
It is can be exhausting, frustrating, and confusing. But I can live with the contradiction. What I can’t live with is bullies. And what Brexit and Trump taught me is what no parent wants to teach a child: Bullying wins.
Trump didn’t just embrace cruel policies; he himself was cruel to women, political opponents, the disabled, migrants, and children. His cruelty extended to the truth itself; from Russia to COVID-19 to his taxes, his presidency has been built on lies. The Brexit campaign, too, flooded citizens with untruths about immigration, the economy, and crime; one of its leaders was a man whose career was founded on fabrication, betrayal, and pride in his scheming, cheating success. He is now Prime Minister; once again, the people’s choice. Alexandr Solzhenitsyn tells us that between violence and falsehood “lies the most intimate, the deepest of natural bonds.”
Being on the political left means a life of failed politics, but one of right intentions. Whether Trump wins once or twice, the victory of lies and meanness is a blow for goodness and integrity.
And whether he wins or loses, the most urgent task is to make the case for bringing them back.
Dahlia Scheindlin is an independent public opinion researcher and a political analyst based in Tel Aviv. She is a non-resident policy fellow at The Century Foundation.
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