So Donald Trump isn’t the raging demon of our nightmares after-all. Or so we are meant to believe. Watching him at the meeting with President Obama at the White House yesterday, he looked like a school kid who’d won first prize in an essay about the President of the USA and was given the honour of meeting the great man himself. I don’t want to come over all cynical even though I’m depressed about yet another weirdly worrying result of a democratic vote. Maybe, Trump is a sweetie, just a nice guy with a big mouth and a warm heart. If we can find any optimism here, it is that he’s not rabid Ted Cruz, and, in fact, he might not have any real political opinions at all. I was tempted to believe that he was sitting there meekly listening to Barrack Obama and changing his mind about all those wild things he was saying during the election campaign. You know, he might have been saying this kind of thing. ‘Well, I didn’t realise that Mr President. You were right all along and I’m really sorry that I doubted you.’ It is difficult to see that humble and rather shy-looking guy in the Oval Room being the same man that electrified a substantial percentage of the American electorate with his fiery speeches about Mexicans being rapists, about punishing women who under-go abortions, about banning all muslims from entering the USA and even how Barrack Obama wasn’t even an American.
For a moment or two, I thought, it couldn’t be the same man. This wasn’t the monster we’d been told about – the sexual predator, the misogynist xenophobe who was going to dismantle all the social reforms of the Obama days. No it was all a dream. Donald Trump, we were encouraged to believe, was really the Wizard of Oz. Not nearly as frightening or as powerful as we’d thought.
I love Hollywood fantasies as much as the next guy, but, sorry, I’m not buying this one.