Shortly before the last election, Scott Bessent, now Donald Trump’s Treasury secretary, assured The Financial Times that Trump had no interest in reducing international trade and that his threats to impose sweeping, 20 percent tariffs on foreign goods were simply a “maximalist” negotiating position to be watered down during trade talks. “My general view is that at the end of the day, he’s a free trader,” said Bessent.
A few weeks later, CNN’s Kaitlan Collins asked Howard Lutnick, now Trump’s commerce secretary, whether Robert F. Kennedy Jr. could become secretary of health and human services. “Of course not,” said Lutnick, treating the question as if it were absurd.
During the transition, Senator Thom Tillis, Republican of North Carolina, acted indignant when Democrats asked Pam Bondi, now Trump’s attorney general, if she and the president-elect might consider blanket pardons for Jan. 6 insurrectionists. “I was the last member out of the Senate on Jan. 6,” said Tillis. “I walked past a lot of law enforcement officers who were injured. I find it hard to believe that the president of the United States, or you, would look at facts that were used to convict the violent people on Jan. 6 and say it was just an intemperate moment.”
Just last month, Representative Dan Crenshaw of Texas, who is both a Trump apologist and a supporter of Ukraine, insisted that when Trump trashes Ukraine’s president, Volodymyr Zelensky, it’s actually a sign of affection. “Trump tends to talk that way to his friends,” said Crenshaw. “He tends to talk nicer to his enemies. So if he’s talking to you that way, it still means you’re his friend.”
Some of these men may have been deliberately dishonest, but I suspect there’s also a degree of self-deception at work here. In the four years Trump was out of office, an eerie amnesia about his erratic rule settled over the country, allowing people to project onto him hopes that were utterly untethered from reality. You might call this phenomenon, to appropriate a phrase, Trump Derangement Syndrome.
The right invented the term Trump Derangement Syndrome to dismiss analysis of Trump’s autocratic tendencies, compulsive lying and generally detestable character as liberal hysteria. For conservatives who don’t want to engage with substantive criticism of their leader, it functions as a thought-terminating cliché, a term often used by people who study cults to describe ideological formulations that short-circuit critical thinking. Trump Derangement Syndrome implies that if someone tells you something about Trump that you don’t want to hear, that person must be crazy.
But the real derangement lies in either the refusal or the inability to see Trump clearly. A few months ago, if people had predicted that Trump would cut off intelligence-sharing with Ukraine, destroy U.S.A.I.D., free all the Jan. 6 convicts, put his lackey Kash Patel in charge of the F.B.I. and turn us into a despised enemy of Canada, they’d have been accused of unhinged political hatred. As Nick Catoggio wrote in The Dispatch, Trump’s second term is “shaping up to be what doomsayers thought his first term would be.”
I’d argue that the doomsayers were also right about Trump’s first term, which was full of sadism, incompetence and corruption, and culminated in a coup attempt. But if it wasn’t as catastrophic as it could have been, it was because establishment figures often restrained him. The periods of relative stability provided by the adults in the room lulled people into complacency about how much damage an unfettered Trump could do.
Now the adults are gone, but Trump’s defenders are still pretending — perhaps to themselves as well as to the rest of us — that there’s order amid the chaos. After Trump berated and tried to humiliate Zelensky, the radio host Glenn Beck explained that he was really playing five-dimensional chess against Russia.
Trump’s plan to end the war, said Beck, lets Vladimir Putin “go home while declaring a win, but everyone else knows he actually lost,” because he only conquered a fifth of Ukraine’s territory, and America, not Russia, will get Ukraine’s rare earth minerals. A message had been sent to Putin, said Beck: “Cross into Poland, and see what happens to you, if you do that. The idea that Russia can just plow into Europe has now been proven to be false!”
In some ways, it’s understandable that Republicans would impute secret virtues to Trump given both his historic political successes and his rapidly increasing wealth. Trump’s opponents have repeatedly underestimated his connection with a large segment of the American electorate, and his improbable victories have made him seem, at least to his allies, like an almost mystical figure. And if you truly believe that America’s capitalist system rewards merit rather than audacity and grift, the riches Trump has extracted from his office imply a measure of genius. He keeps winning. Surely he must know what he’s doing?
It should be obvious, however, that extraordinary skill as a demagogue does not necessarily translate to wisdom as a ruler. If Trump’s lickspittles refuse to see that, it could be because facing up to reality — that they are party to the deconstruction of a once-great superpower — is at once shameful and frightening. Far easier to invent a Trump who isn’t there, a canny savant whose policy lurches are driven by some unseen strategic logic.
Speaking at The New York Times’ DealBook summit in December, Amazon founder Jeff Bezos said Trump had grown over the past eight years. “What I’ve seen so far is he is calmer than he was the first time — more confident, more settled,” Bezos said. Sounds like Trump Derangement Syndrome to me.
