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Despite the lack of televised coverage of Donald Trump in court, the trial of the century -- or do I mean of the month, week, day, minute, or second? -- has caught our attention. And yes, a crucial witness is indeed likely to be a porn star. But no matter, the real news is that, for the first time in memory, the former president has actually had to shut up. The man who can't stop talking and hasn't done so for years is now forbidden to say a word (unless he agrees to testify at the trial, in which case he could easily sink himself, word by word by word). All anyone could hear from him in court in these weeks was possibly (as TomDispatch regular Robert Lipsyte points out today) The Donald farting or, given that he's dozed off more than once, perhaps snoring. (I'm not there, of course, so I can't know or confirm anything.)
But isn't it strange to have the old man who couldn't stop yakking transformed into an overgrown child being disciplined? It's hard to imagine that such a figure might once again, within the year, be -- yes! -- president of the United States and leave so many of the rest of us functionally all too silent and on trial in a courtroom presided over by Judge Trump and crew. Because, were he to return to the White House in 2025, for so many of us, not to speak of the planet itself where all he wants to do (other than talk at the top of his voice) is "drill, baby, drill," he could prove to be the trial of the century. As he put it recently on the campaign trail, "When they start playing with your elections and trying to arrest their political opponent -- I can do that, too! If I win -- which I hope I do because we're not going to have a country -- but if I win, I could then say, I don't know: 'This guy, this Democrat is doing great. I don't like the poll numbers. Attorney General come down, arrest that guy, will you, please? Give him a subpoena! Indict him! That's the end of him.'"
With that in mind, let Lipsyte, a former sports correspondent and columnist for the New York Times and author of SportsWorld: An American Dreamland, consider what strange parallels exist between O.J. Simpson (who died just weeks ago) and Donald J. Trump -- both of whom he knew as a reporter years ago. Tom
Donald Trump and O.J. Simpson
Testing the Limits of Justice
It was the jokes about Trump's rumored flatulence in the courtroom that pushed me toward despair. And don't think it was disgust with the subject matter either. After all, I've lived with teenagers and I wasn't all that surprised by yet another Trump-inspired trivialization of a critical civic institution. What appalled me was the possibility that -- let's be clear here -- such stories would somehow humanize the monster, that his alleged farting and possible use of adult diapers would win him sympathy. I even wondered whether such rumors could be part of a scheme to win him votes.
So, yes, Trump can make you that crazy.
Or maybe it's something about important trials, about the slow unspooling of evidence and our hunger for resolution that makes us simultaneously twitchy and increasingly catatonic. I experienced this once before on a national level, just a little less than 30 years ago, when lawyers for another adored psycho tested the American justice system with what could only be called a sleazy brilliance. They put racism on trial. This time around, democracy may be at stake and it's possible the defense lawyers may win again (as they just did with another monster, Harvey Weinstein).
Since the first day of Trump's trial, I've been remembering bits of the O.J. Simpson extravaganza, especially the moment when he was declared not guilty of killing his wife, Nicole Brown Simpson, and her friend Ronald Goldman, outside her condominium in Los Angeles. I recall that moment vividly. I was eating lunch in a Boston sports bar on Tuesday, October 3, 1995, when the verdict was suddenly trumpeted on what seemed like a dozen giant TV sets. The diners, predominantly white, froze in shock. As we sat there, silent, we slowly became aware of a presence surrounding us and then raucous sounds filled the dining room. The kitchen and wait staff, mostly Black, were on the perimeters of that room, clapping and shouting. I was stunned. I had never before witnessed, close up, such irreconcilable factions.
Other Divisions
There certainly have been other examples of the cleaving of America. The Revolution and the Civil War come to mind, not to speak of the half-century-old Boston school-busing controversy and, of course, the insurrection of January 6, 2021. Still, the division over the O.J. decision was so simple, focused, and emotional that it remains for me a dangerous symbol of intransigence. O.J. may have been more representational than real as a national influence, but he was enough of a force to make me wonder what his story presaged and what a verdict in the current trial might provoke in this far shakier time of ours, especially from former president and MAGA goon Donald Trump, a man eager to intimidate those trying him as well as everyone else.
Looking for parallels between Orenthal J. Simpson and Donald J. Trump may produce shaky outcomes, but it could also help sharpen our sense of their symbolic meanings. They were born 13 months apart in the post-World War II boom years. Although Trump was a white, rich New Yorker and O.J. a poor, Black Californian, they were both driven throughout their lives by a desperation to be admired. Both of them were also large men, gabby and good-looking. Their social cunning, however, wore distinctly different masks. Trump is crude in an entitled frat boy way, while O.J. was smooth and ingratiating, particularly with white men (though distinctly rough with women).
In my years as a sports reporter for the New York Times, I dealt with both of them. In one-on-one situations, I always felt I was being played but never threatened. With O.J., it was hard not to be overwhelmed by his neediness to be liked, but I must admit that I was flattered by the attention. With Trump, I knew I was being manipulated by his unctuousness, but he was good copy, too. Early on, it was easy to write Trump off as a buffoon and assume O.J. was a harmless, sweet-natured guy (although the broadcaster Howard Cosell dubbed him "the lost boy"). That either of them might go beyond being an entertainer seemed a silly notion at the time.
In some ways neither did. For all Trump's power to energize crowds, it's never been thanks to an overwhelming idea, an inspiring example, or even an alluring promise. He merely gives his followers permission and justification to enjoy the short-term energy of hate. Eventually, it will undoubtedly turn against him, but not soon enough for the rest of us.
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