The Unprecedented Erosion of Scandal: How Donald Trump Redefined the Boundaries of Public Shame
In an era where accountability seems to be a distant memory, one man has single-handedly rewritten the playbook on public scandal. Donald Trump’s ascension to the White House in 2017 marked a seismic shift in the way we perceive, process, and ultimately, respond to scandal. The Atlantic’s thought-provoking article, aptly titled “Donald Trump and the Death of Scandal,” invites us to ponder a provocative question: has the president’s unapologetic approach to controversy effectively normalized the unacceptable, rendering the very concept of scandal obsolete?
The Attack on the Conditions of Scandal
President Donald Trump is maintaining and escalating lawsuits against news organizations. He has fired inspectors general who serve as “watchdogs” in 17 executive-branch agencies. Trump has fired the head of the Office of Special Counsel, whose responsibilities include enforcement of the whistleblower statutes, and replaced him with a former Republican member of Congress who is also the secretary of Veterans Affairs—effectively making it a part-time position.
He is exploiting the fractured and polarized media environment to create alternative realities, rendering it very difficult for any sort of unified narrative of scandal to emerge and take hold. A sterling example is his redefinition of the January 6 assault on the Capitol as “a perfect protest” and “a very peaceful protest.”
The Consequences of Undermining the Institutions that Foster Scandal and Reform
The collapse of scandal is both cause and effect of democratic decline: It makes reform less possible, and it indicates erosion of the conditions that made such revelations possible in the first place. Trump is redefining the presidency, resetting expectations of his office. Nixon had resigned and left his office before he told an interviewer that, by definition, no presidential action can violate the law. Trump expressed the same view—that no president can violate the law if he is striving to save the country—in the first weeks of his second term.
Personal Stories of Resistance and Betrayal
In 2011, I was hired, straight out of college, to work at the White House and eventually the National Security Council. My job there was to promote and protect the best of what my country stands for. I am a hijab-wearing Muslim woman––I was the only hijabi in the West Wing––and the Obama administration always made me feel welcome and included.
I lasted eight days. When Trump issued a ban on travelers from seven Muslim-majority countries and all Syrian refugees, I knew I could no longer stay and work for an administration that saw me and people like me not as fellow citizens, but as a threat. The evening before I left, bidding farewell to some of my colleagues, many of whom have also since left, I notified Trump’s senior NSC communications adviser, Michael Anton, of my departure, since we shared an office.
A Muslim Woman’s Experience in the Obama White House and the Trump Administration
My whole life and everything I have learned proves that facile statement wrong. My parents immigrated to the United States from Bangladesh in 1978 and strove to create opportunities for their children born in the states. My mother worked as a cashier, later starting her own daycare business. My father spent late nights working at Bank of America, and was eventually promoted to assistant vice president at one of its headquarters.
The Trajectory of J.D. Vance: From Truth-Teller to Contemptible Clown
What do we call a man who turns on everything he once claimed to believe? For a practitioner of petty and self-serving duplicity, we use “sellout” or “backstabber.” (Sometimes we impugn the animal kingdom and call him a rat, a skunk, or a weasel.) For grand betrayals of weightier loyalties—country and faith—we invoke the more solemn terms of “traitor” or “apostate.”
But what should we call J. D. Vance, the self-described hillbilly turned Marine turned Ivy League law-school graduate turned venture capitalist turned Senate candidate? Words fail. His perfidy to his own people in Ohio is too big to allow him to escape with the label of “opportunist,” and yet the shabbiness and absurdity of his Senate campaign is too small to brand him a defector or a heretic.
Conclusion
As we reflect on the trajectory of Donald Trump’s presidency and its profound impact on the notion of scandal, it becomes increasingly evident that the article “The Death of Scandal” (The Atlantic) has struck a chord that resonates far beyond the realm of politics. At its core, the piece challenges the conventional understanding of scandal, arguing that the era of Trump marked a seismic shift in the way scandal is perceived, managed, and ultimately, rebranded. The author skillfully weaves together a narrative that highlights the ways in which Trump’s scandal-averse approach has normalized the concept of scandal, rendering it a mere marketing tool rather than a serious moral reckoning.
The significance of this development cannot be overstated, as it has significant implications for the future of politics, media, and our collective understanding of accountability. By blurring the lines between scandal and showmanship, Trump’s presidency has set a precedent that threatens to undermine the very fabric of our democratic institutions. The article’s central argument – that the death of scandal has led to a culture of calculated risk-taking and a diminished capacity for public outrage – serves as a stark warning about the dangers of complacency and the erosion of civic discourse.
As we move forward, it is essential that we recognize the far-reaching consequences of this phenomenon and work towards a renewed emphasis on accountability, transparency, and genuine moral reckoning. The era of scandal, in all its messy, uncomfortable glory, may be dying, but its legacy will only continue to shape our politics and our society if we choose to acknowledge and address its underlying issues. Ultimately, the question remains: will we allow the spectacle of scandal to become our guiding principle, or will we reclaim our capacity for outrage and insist on a politics of substance over style?