From Turmoil to Tribute: How the Trump Presidency Will Ultimately Fortify the Status Quo

Michael Orion Powell

If you grew up in the United States as a Millennial or in Generation X, many of the historical names seem like a natural part of our environment. A main street is named after Martin Luther King, Jr. in close to every major city in the country, while New York's busiest airport is named after John F. Kennedy, parks and streets in major cities like Washington D.C. are named after Malcolm X, an airport in Kansas is named after Dwight Eisenhower, and a major stadium in Washington D.C. is named after Robert F. Kennedy.

It's normal for monuments to be named after leaders, but the process where it becomes finalized often occurs after a tumultuous period. The 1960s and 1970s were just that. Deemed "a long national nightmare" by President Gerald Ford (who also has an airport named after him in Michigan), that period started off with promises of "a new frontier," only to go through an unpopular war, multiple assassinations, the resignation of a president, inflation, an oil crisis, and social, class, and racial tension and conflict throughout the country.

Currently, we are passing through a similar phase. The eulogy of John McCain last week signaled a bipartisan group of former American heads of state coming together to actively spurn the sitting president, Donald Trump, while simultaneously building up a legacy for the Arizona Senator they were mourning.

Several comments seemed directed at Trump. One was from George W. Bush, who said, "Perhaps above all, John detested the abuse of power. He could not abide bigots and swaggering despots. There was something deep inside him that made him stand up for the little guy - to speak for forgotten people in forgotten places ... We are better than this. America is better than this."

Barack Obama added on by saying that "so much of our politics, our public life, our public discourse, can seem small and mean and petty, trafficking in bombast and insult and phony controversies and manufactured outrage. It's a politics that pretends to be brave and tough, but in fact is born of fear. John called on us to be bigger than that. He called on us to be better than that."

Trump is going to go down. At least every few days is a strange new accusation, departure, or friction between him and someone else, including people within his own administration. A few weeks ago, it was the departure of political aide Omarosa Manigault. As of this writing, it is bizarre accusations from veteran political journalist Bob Woodward of Trump behavior in the White House, including calling Attorney General Jeff Sessions "mentally retarded" and "a dumb Southerner" while imitating his accent in a Foghorn Leghorn manner. Woodward also claimed that he was told by an inside source that Trump wanted to "fucking kill" Syrian leader Bashir Assad, a strange accusation for someone who "colluded" with Russia, given Russia's decades-long support for Assad and his father.

And now, in perhaps one of the most shocking moments in modern political history, an anonymous op-ed published by the NY Times titled, " I am Part of the Resistance Inside the Trump Administration ," whereas a reported "insider" goes on to talk about an organic resistance that has developed within Trump's own circle in an effort to "thwart Mr. Trump's more misguided impulses until he is out of office."

With the eventual exit of Trump will be a gift for his predecessors, who will be hoping to shore up their legacies as America's "legitimate" statesmen. Donald Trump, the Alt Right, Russia, and whatever other far-right elements are associated with him, will be pinned with the nadir of American society that the country now sits in, instead of the destructive policies that led America toward Trump in the first place.

The true legacy of both George W. Bush and Barack Obama, no matter what role they are playing now, was war and decline.

Bush talked of a "humble foreign policy" while running for president, while one of Obama's first political appearances was at an anti-war speech in Chicago. The only change that Obama brought was changing how theatrical war appeared. Instead of relying on "troops on the ground," to coin a phrase from Secretary of State John Kerry, special forces and drones were used to maintain American supremacy in Libya, Somalia, Syria, Sudan, and elsewhere.

Bush's policies promised the end of terrorism, only to create a breeding ground for Al Qaeda to transform into ISIS and then Boko Haram. The invasion of Iraq touted democracy and the rule of law, but created so much chaos that people whose ancestors had lived in the Lavant for generations fled for Europe by the millions.

Obama promised "post-racialism," a phrase used often upon his election, only to see a small (and mostly one-sided) war between police and the black community escalate, as the federal government distributed military equipment to the nation's police departments.

All of this will be forgotten as the erratic housing tycoon-turned-president Donald Trump eventually falls, however. In the mainstream imagination, Trump will represent the treasonous forces of darkness that usurped those who wanted progress. Just as Martin Luther King Jr., John F. Kennedy, Robert Kennedy, and the like were venerated in the aftermath of Nixon's resignation, national holidays, monuments, and buildings will be memorialized after the establishment figures who stepped up against him - all with the purpose of whitewashing recent history and fortifying the status quo.

The reality of what all the last American presidents, Trump included, really is stands beyond what a theater of difference they stage. As Vladimir Putin put it in an interview with Oliver Stone, "It's very curious. Your presidents change but the policy never changes." The truly powerful people who run the United States only change the face of the United States every few years. If we go through difficulties, it's their doing and not the spokesperson they pick. This reality, while tested by the tumultuous Trump, will only be strengthened in his ousting.

Racism is the Status Quo: Relinquishing the Reigns of White Power

By Susan Anglada Bartley and Samuel Burnett

Three days after the murder of Alton Sterling, two days after the murder of Philando Castile, one day after the sniper attacks on police in Dallas, four hundred plus years after the start of the trans-continental slave trade, we come together, in the highest state of white privilege--a white male college student and his white female former teacher--at a coffee shop in Portland, Oregon, computer screens ablaze, to discuss how we might respond to the current political moment in a unified response that will help other whites to own, understand, and relinquish our white power in favor of a revolutionized society. Perhaps due to privilege, perhaps due to never being pulled over and harassed for a busted tail-light, never being followed in a store (even when I, the teacher, really was stealing at the age of 12), never being questioned and certainly never being beaten or detained for crimes we did not commit--perhaps due to these factors, or perhaps due to the tendency of our European ancestors to dream of utopian visions that we never fulfill, we have the audacity or the pretense to believe that this other society is still possible.

But we see a paradox. The path to the real "America" requires us to fully relinquish our privilege. For many white individuals, myself included (the student) discussions of race and privilege bring with them a slight discomfort, partly due to the knowledge of my ancestors brutality and savagery, but even more so because these discussions cause me to address a grim truth: I am, at some level, despite years of education from liberal mentors, despite deep analysis of how racism and racist practices are perpetuated at a state and international level, and despite an overpowering desire for equity, racist. This racism is not conscious--I don't actively mentally discriminate based on the color of a human's skin. But simply through growing up in a predominately white neighborhood, watching and engaging in mainstream media (which perpetuates negative stereotypes and tropes of black and brown individuals), and refusing to speak out against racist comments made in institutional settings, I developed a latent racism. The truth is this: for white America, modern racism isn't your "antiquated" aunt who comes to ruin Thanksgiving dinner; it isn't your grandfather who grew up during legalized segregation and viewed Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. as a "radical." It is you. The status quo in white America is racism, and while it is not pleasant to admit, while it brings me no pride to say, and while it forces me to confront my innermost demons and my external family and friends at the same time, it is a truth I cannot remain silent about. Until we admit that we, as privileged white individuals, have been indoctrinated into a racist system since the moment we were born, we cannot achieve the real American Dream. We cannot achieve equity--in fact, we promote the racist violence that continues to plague us.

On Facebook, Twitter, any social media site, I see many brave individuals speaking out and protesting against police brutality and targeting of minority communities (a practice that has been going on since the slave trade, but has only recently caught widespread attention). When it comes to being on the front lines, when it comes to speaking out in a board meeting, or in a political discussion with other whites, these individuals remain where they were--behind the computer screen. The historical moment requires us to consider the meaning of brave. Posting and sharing informative and supportive pieces on social media sites certainly requires some elementary level of guts, but true bravery in these situation is to, as a white individual, challenge yourself to combat your latent (or manifest) racism. Recognize you have been set up to operate with racist undertones, and refuse to be spellbinded by them. Scan your memories for times you let this racism influence you, and be resolved to eliminate it from your mental channels entirely. Bravery is using your whiteness to shield people of color at protests from unruly officers. Bravery is speaking up to your acquaintances, friends, and yes, even family, knowing that some bridges may be burned along the way. But if someone refuses to consider your sentiments when you question a racist comment they made, do they deserve your friendship? More importantly, do you really want theirs?

Along with the whites who create anti-racist posts, I also see an alarming number attempting in futility to justify the murders of minorities. Why is it that so many white individuals relate more to white police than to black or brown civilians? I (the teacher) remember looking up to my older brother as he refused to wear anything other than his policeman suit for several years of our childhood. While he also became a radical activist, and was raised by leftist parents who participated in anti-racist work during the 1980s, even he--and even I--developed the concept that police were there to protect me. The concept of white policemen as a key representation of the pinnacle of white masculinity engenders an extremely strong bond of trust in police for many whites in society. I can only imagine how deeply ingrained the (very paternalistic) concept that police protect the community is inside the homes of officers and their families. Many of these families must revere the men and women who leave their homes every day, risking death, to work among the 80% of us who will never own much more than our names and our legacies. Still, and this is the reality that is toughest to swallow, making a sacrifice for society does not mean that you are not a racist. Often, the very same paternalistic concept that motivates an officer to do police work leaks into an us-against-them mentality--a cops vs. thugs philosophy if you will, that is code for just-above-poor whites against stereotyped people of color.

How is it impossible to believe that police operate in a racist institutional framework, and that some of them are aware and actively perpetuate this racist framework? Police officers are as vulnerable to this latent racism as the rest of us, and for them too, racism is the status quo. Officer Nakia Jones of Warrensville Heights spoke out against police malpractice, and this is something we need more of--police within the racist justice system speaking out and actively trying to revolutionize it, as opposed to perpetuating racist practices. Yet, it is indeed fascinating that we have not yet seen a viral video from a white police officer who is willing to confess to the massive racism that Jones documents. Racism is a white problem, a problem whose consequences unfairly manifest themselves in minority communities. But it is a problem that abhors the entire human condition, and undermines all but those who benefit the very most from it. We are once again fortunate to live among such heroic black activists who refuse to allow us, as white people, to continue to profit from what Jesse Jackson termed the mental disease of racism. Instead of accepting the polarization of black Americans against the police, we must admit the omnipresence of racism in society, in ourselves, and even in the coffee cups we sip as we stare at our screens.

Privileged, white male scientist Stephen Jay Gould wrote, "I am somehow less interested in the weight and convolutions of Einstein's brain than in the near certainty that people of equal talent have lived and died in cotton fields and sweatshops." It was a wonderful remark; now it is time to refuse to accept this reality, to admit our responsibility to end the Apartheid state, to extract it from ourselves, and to refuse to propose a utopian vision for a new society without the presence of people of color who possess as much or more genius and insight than we ever will. Our vision, then, is not a portrait of shiny, happy people holding hands; but of fellow whites admitting, admonishing, and eliminating the latent racism in which we have been bred, and buttered.