One of the reasons I frequently find humor involving Trump unfunny is that I remember (among other things) that he is a rapist. Like Hitler jokes, Trump jokes come with an ominous atmosphere. Trump’s many peccadillos might be amusing, endearing even, were it not for his evil. Trump is an evil man the way Adolf Hitler was an evil man. Tony Schwartz, the actual writer of that piece of fiction called “The Art of the Deal,” says Trump is the most evil person he has ever met.
Like Hitler’s, Trump’s evil is multifaceted. For example, it’s in his best political and financial interest to deny climate change, never mind that every climate scientist in the world recognizes climate change as established fact. His evil concerning his dismissal of climate science is casual, incidental, arbitrary, indirect. He imperils the lives of every man, woman, child, animal and ecosystem on earth without a thought, let alone an afterthought. The details don’t concern him, only the results. If his masters in the oil and gas industries are happy then he is happy. Everyone else can die.
The lives Trump routinely devastates are of no concern to him. For political expediency alone Trump will destroy the life of a faithful, hardworking ambassador who has dedicated her life to her country. He needs a scapegoat and she is available. Her dreams, ambitions and diligence aren’t part of the equation. It isn’t personal, it’s just the all-important, bottomless need for Trumpist self-promotion, promotion over which no other consideration takes precedence.
For the fleeting sake of his own personal gratification he will destroy the life of a child or a woman. He is a rapist, and like all rapists the devastation he leaves behind is of no consequence. Indeed, he finds it infuriating when they complain and he tries to destroy them further for daring. Trump’s pleasure is the only consideration. It is an affront to him to suggest there is another consideration. Only the the Trump-beast, the Trump-thing and its appetites, matter.
When the Trump-thing raped E. Jean Carroll in a Bergdorf Goodman department store, it did so with the thoughtless impulse of gluttony. It needed – and neither a precious human being nor the fragile ecosystem of her life mattered. Only feeding the Trump-thing mattered. The Trump-thing was used to having its base instincts gratified. Its base instincts were therefore gratified. It could now move on, fed for a while, until it needed more. The husk of a woman it left behind accounted for nothing. To the Trump-thing she was an apple core.
This is the world of the Trump-thing. It once raped a weeping child and told her it would murder her and her parents if the child ever came forward. Today the child is a deeply damaged woman and the Trump-thing is president of the United States. It is no wonder this child, now a woman, thinks this is a world without justice.
On Thursday a New York State judge denied a motion to dismiss a defamation lawsuit. The Trump-thing had disparaged the life and besmirched the reputation of E. Jean Carroll, who dared to sue it for raping her and then calling her a liar. Carroll’s lawyer said, “We look forward to moving ahead in this case and proving that Donald Trump lied when he told the world that he did not rape our client and had not even met her.”
The rage of the Trump-thing against E. Jean Carroll is palpable through the dry, dusty and fusty academic language of the law. It could not believe anyone would dare to question its appetite nor the pursuit of its appetite. The Trump-thing is defeated – for now. But it will continue to glower and fight. The Trump-thing must eat, but it hates its food.
Robert Harrington is an American expat living in Britain. He is a portrait painter.