On a balmy December weekend in Washington, Mitt Romney made an appearance on the Sunday political television staple Meet the Press to talk about why he won’t be seeking re-election to the senate in 2024. Romney has changed little since his 2012 presidential bid as the Republican nominee in an underwhelming election in which Barack Obama glided to a second term. At 76, he has retained the matinee soap-opera handsomeness, and his speaking voice is calm, almost courtly. In relaxed and reflective mood, he was a throwback to a more sanguine time in American political life, and he laughed when asked to predict the outcome of this year’s election.
“Well, because if I endorse someone that would be the kiss of death.”
But Romney’s take on the landscape was bleak. Not for the first time, he offered a withering synopsis of the chaotic effect that Donald Trump has had on the United States.
“One of the reasons I have such concern about President Trump is that he has affected the character of the nation,” he said. “We are a diverse nation. Whether people want it that way or not. We are highly diverse. Not just by ethnicity but also by religion, by sexual orientation; there are a whole series of dimensions in which we’re diverse.
“And that’s who we are. And the only way a nation as diverse as us is able to be strong is if we recognise the divine nature of humanity and recognise one another and our faults and don’t attack one another. Retribution, revenge, anger – that is not the future of a great country.”
Nor had he anything optimistic to offer about President Biden’s term in office, describing the on-the-street impact of his policies as the stark truth that hits people “as they go into the grocery store and bread costs five dollars a loaf”.
It was a striking image. On even a cursory stroll through Washington supermarket aisles it was obvious that the era of flinging items into baskets has at the very least been suspended: shoppers stopped and studied the price tags and often seemed bamboozled by the information they received.
Inflation was one of the daily obsessions in the run-up to Christmas. One of the lighter television stories featured the shopping bill accumulated by Kevin McCallister, the Macauley Culkin character in the 1990 seasonal blockbuster Home Alone. His $19 bill came to $65 in 2023 terms. The cost of airfares and electronics has begun to drop. But food prices continue to rise.
A few days after Romney’s valedictory, Trump appeared at a rally in Coralville, Iowa, continuing to ignore the official Republican debates with a playbook that has left his notional Republican Party rivals floundering. His speech was laden with familiar bombast while showcasing his accomplishments during his four years in the White House.
Trump is such a visual sensation that too little attention is paid to the potency of his voice. You do not have to have been born in the lifetime of Kennedy, Reagan or Clinton to instantly recognise their voices. Trump’s peculiar nasal drawl has become just as distinctive, and in Coralville he used it to express disappointment, as though the world itself had lapsed into chaos. And his verdict on his successor, in the uncanny cadence and repetition of key phrases, was delivered in the regretful tone of a schoolteacher saddened by the behaviour of the class after he had momentarily stepped away.
“When Trump was here, we had no problems,” he told his audience.
“With this man – the whole world, you could end up very easily in World War Three; you could end up in World War Three that would be like no other because of the weaponry – nuclear weapons in particular, but a lot of weaponry. This won’t be army tanks going back and forth shooting each other, this will be ... obliteration. And we have a man that is grossly incompetent as our chief negotiator. That’s Biden. And we can’t have this. You’ll end up in World War Three.
“We’ll once again have peace through strength if you put us in and when we become the 47th president of the United States, you’ll see things happening at a much different level. You will be respected again. We will be a great nation again.”
The election issues – illegal immigration, inflation, Gaza – have been overshadowed by a queasy, general sense that democracy and the mechanics of the American electoral system are what are truly up for debate
He paused for breath and applause. Twelve years ago, in the approach to the Romney-Obama election, it would have been unimaginable that a candidate would speak of nuclear war in such a blase manner. And certainly, a speech invoking the imminent threat of nuclear war would have made instant international headlines. But in Coralville, the supporters cheered, and Trump looked pleased. And when the speech finished, the Fox News anchors blinked at their audience for a second and moved on to the next item.
It was just another example of the way in which political language has become heightened. You can hear it in the debates and on the airwaves and on the streets.
On a Saturday in early December, the afternoon weather was uncommonly warm in Washington, DC. At the Lincoln Memorial, Syracuse basketball fans, in the city for that morning’s college game against Georgetown, slowly climbed the four-score-and-seven steps to the interior and paused for photographs in the chamber. Whether for the first-time or as a returning visitor, standing in the hooded chamber beneath the 19-ft Lincoln statue is a humbling experience. For a tourist attraction, it is a solemn place. Seven million visitors are drawn to it annually and on this afternoon, after posing for photographs in front of Abe, many were clearly taking the time to read and absorb the famous words etched into the walls – the Gettysburg Address, his second inaugural address.
The Lincoln Memorial marked its 100th anniversary in 2022. At the opening dedication in May 1922, black attendees found themselves chaperoned to an area that left them segregated from whites. As a national landmark, the Memorial has, over the past 100 years, become enshrined as both a symbol and a part of US popular culture, featuring as a backdrop in everything from Y: The Last Man to The Simpsons. But over the past decade, Lincoln’s key phrases have become potent again.
As dusk fell over the city, a protester among a group who habitually sets up stall in Lafayette Square, directly in front of the White House, became involved in a heated debate with a passerby. The subject was slavery: the younger man was arguing the point that everyone is enslaved by the global system of corporatism, provoking the outrage of the protester who was aggrieved at the comparison between corporate working conditions and the deprivations of historical slavery. It was a discordant scene, set against the backdrop of a White House wreathed for Christmas while festive songs drifted across from 15th Street. The energy and heat of the words exchanged in the row drew a small crowd of listeners.
Nearby, a senior couple stood wearing placards protesting against the bombing of Gaza. They were both winter-coated and elegant, engaging other passersby in easy conversation. Marione Ingram is 88 years old. Daniel, her husband, is 93. They have stood in daily protest since the bombing started.
“This reminds me of my childhood,” Marione said. “It was something I experienced when I came to America – the racism. And as someone who has experienced all of this, I find it is my duty to protest.”
On Monday evening, the couple returned for a six o’clock vigil, with candles and song and speeches, including an address by Rashida Tlaib, the Palestinian-American congresswoman for Michigan. By now, the air had turned sharp and carried intimations of true winter. In the White House that evening, President Biden was hosting a Hannukah holiday reception. A crowd of about 200 people gathered to listen to the speeches on Pennsylvania Avenue, directly in front of Lafayette Square.
Becca Rothstein was among those who travelled into the city for the evening.
“Humanity,” she said when asked what drew her to the protest. “I’m a teacher and I am watching my students of the globe die in front of my eyes and all they have to do is call for a ceasefire to start and an end to the occupation, eventually. I can’t stand by, especially when, as a Jewish person, they are doing this in my name.”
Rothstein is in her 20s. Teaching, she says, has become a true vocation in America. You have to really desire to be an educator to pursue that path.
“You do. It has to come from the heart and that is how they exploit us. They know we are powerful so they want to keep us struggling to pay our bills and keep us divided among each other when really, we should have class solidarity and be together versus the top one per cent really. I mean, this is all imperialism, really. It is all for capitalism.”
Since the war in Gaza, Rothstein has debated and lost friendships over the issue and is unsure of how Jewish-Americans of her generation feel about the conflict.
“That’s a good question and I would love to see the statistics on this. I’ve had to block most of my old friends from high school who are Jewish. They just don’t want to know the truth even though it is right in front of our eyes. I’ve said goodbye to a lot of people and I’m okay with that.”
Marione Ingram was born in Hamburg in 1935. In breaks between the speeches, she gives a quick account of her life. Her family survived the firestorm of 1943 even though Marione and her mother were barred from the bomb shelters because the Star of David on their clothing identified them as Jewish. After the second World War , a Zionist group rounded up Holocaust children from across the continent. Marione was among those housed in villas owned by the Warberg family.
“Some didn’t know their names, even when they were born. My parents were still alive after the war. And I wanted to go to Palestine, as it was then. My parents were not happy about this. So, a meeting was arranged. And suddenly one of the speakers said: ‘We need intelligent young women to produce sons.’ At which point, I didn’t want to go.”
Instead, she moved to New York with her mother at the age of 17, all of 70 years ago.
“I came here believing every word of the American propaganda. I was here on a student visa. And I discovered almost immediately the racism. And I became immediately involved in the civil rights movement.”
She met Daniel on 14th Street in Manhattan and laughs as she recounts the details of how their romance started.
“It was one of those weird things. I was a struggling artist. My friend and I had taken our last money to have a coffee in a fancy place on Fifth Avenue. And while we were there, a guy from Texas invited us to a party. I didn’t want to go but my friend said ‘there will be food’. So, we went. And Daniel saw me coming down some stairs. And he crashed the party to meet me – something he would never do. And we have been together ever since.”
The couple have lived in Washington since the 1970s. Even though their conversation is bright and full of laughter, they admit to being deeply troubled by the political direction of the past decade.
“Right now?” Marione says, pausing for a second when asked about the best thing about living in America.
“This. The ability still to protest. And less and less so, because almost with every passing day I feel less at home here. And more frightened because it is a repeat of the mid-century. It is dangerous. I view the possibility that this other person can be elected again is a danger not just to America but globally. And wherever there are movements to the right, this will just encourage them. What I see now is Nazi Germany in the 1930s, with the vilification of the press, the scapegoating of others and making people who are not victims think they are victims. You are told – as a white male American – that your rights are taken away by black people, by women, by immigrants. The former president even uses the terminology of the fascist movement.”
Marione’s words and viewpoint might sound extreme. But they echo a sense of alarm rippling through the commentarial as the clock began ticking to election year.
A headline in the New Yorker asked Are We Sleepwalking Towards a Dictatorship?, evoking the assertion by banished Republican grandee Liz Cheney that a Trump win in November could mark the end of the presidential election cycle in the United States. The January issue of the Atlantic magazine is dedicated to a projection of 2024 under the title If Trump Wins. The editor’s note carries the stark opening: A Warning.
Those headlines reflect the national anxiety about the months ahead. The Republican candidates have spent the Christmas and early new year barnstorming Iowa ahead of the first caucuses. The most recent polls confirm that Trump has established a vast lead, at 50 per cent, a staggering 32 per cent ahead of Nikki Haley, who has been touted as the best non-MAGA Republican alternative to a second Trump candidacy.
In 2016, Ted Cruz blitzed Iowa with rallies and visits and defeated Trump in the caucuses that February. All polls suggest that Trump will hold sway after this year’s voting is concluded on January 15th. A week later, New Hampshire will hold its primary, after which the Republican presidential candidate field is likely to narrow drastically.
[ Who is Nikki Haley, the Republican presidential candidate rising in the polls?Opens in new window ]
The election issues – illegal immigration, inflation, Gaza – have been overshadowed by a queasy general sense that democracy and the mechanics of the American electoral system are what are truly up for debate. The polls have consistently demonstrated that the series of legal indictments facing Trump has done nothing to damage his popularity among the many millions who fervently believe in him.
David Axelrod, a former adviser to Barack Obama, last week warned on CNN that any state court attempt to remove Trump from the primary ballot, as has most recently been advocated by the secretary of state for Maine, could have devastating consequences. “I do think it would actually rip the country apart if he were prevented from running,” he said, “because tens of millions of people want to vote for him.”
Axelrod was measured in his delivery. But given the message of absolute hope and unity contained within the first coming of Obama, it must privately bewilder him to articulate the idea of the political and social fabric of the country being torn asunder.
The day after the Gaza vigil outside the White House marked the closure, after 109 years, of the nearby Harrington Hotel. One of the post-pandemic concerns in Washington has been the struggle for many downtown businesses to recover during a period of rising rent and an alarming spike in crime.
The Harrington had been Washington’s oldest continuously operated hotel. In the end, it was renowned for its longevity rather than its charm; a budget, lived-in hulk of a building in a downtown area where prices are at the higher end. Its adjoining watering hole, Harry’s Bar, became the gathering place after the Million Dollar MAGA March protests held in November and December 2020 to protest against the election results. It was a short walk from the Capitol, it opened late, and the drinks were cheap, so it drew a thirsty, rowdy crowd. Significantly, the Harrington owners made the decision to close both the hotel and bar for the planned protests of January 2021, which culminated in the storming of the Capitol. After that, it faded from view again and on that Tuesday, its last day in existence, there was no fanfare or nostalgic last drinks at the bar. The front door was already closed and apart from a security guard, the foyer was deserted. It just shut down.
The Harrington Hotel was older than the Lincoln Memorial. It too attracted millions of visitors down the years. It was sombre evidence that traditions, institutions or places that people take for granted can just cease to be.
