If Trump was a Leftie, he’d be hailed a hero

Whenever Donald Trump commits some new outrage against decency, manners, foreign nations or the English language, I share the widespread dismay. But then I listen to his critics, and I pause.

Take his rude private remarks about countries like Haiti. These are allegedly unprecedented. They aren’t. The Democrat Lyndon Johnson was a frequent user of more directly racist expressions, such as “gooks” and the “N” word. The Republican Richard Nixon, in White House tapes, had something disparaging to say about several races: “The Jews are born spies,” he claimed, the Italians “don’t have their heads screwed on tight” and the Irish get very “mean” when drunk.

The same applies to tantrums at the White House, or allegations of mental incapacity. The former were commonplace in the early Clinton years, the latter were alleged in the later President Reagan ones.

Here is a different way to look at the Trump phenomenon. One of the strongest rhetorical devices in American politics is to tell voters that you are going to “tell the folks in Washington” where to get off. But when the new president hits town this hardly ever happens, because he got there through the patronage of many of the folks in Washington.

Mr Trump really is against the folks in Washington and really does not owe them – even the ones in his own party – very much. So he is a radical force. In a way, he fits the bill as what the Americans call a “trustbuster” – a man who takes on a powerful monopoly or cartel. Such people are strong in the American imagination and often become the heroes of films.

In this case, the cartel is not a single corporation, industry or gang, but a mixture of liberal media (both television networks and grand old newspapers), Hollywood, academia and more than 90 per cent of the Washington bureaucracy. When they attack trustbusting Mr Trump, they exhibit all the symptoms of a cartel under threat – most notably a pompous sense of affront at being disrespected, and a confusion of their own interests with things that matter, like democracy and the constitution.

Mr Trump, on the other hand, bawls out his version of what matters to the “Ordinary Joe” of American myth. He backs the police against rioters, low energy prices against “saving the planet”. In his reported “s–––hole” outburst against Haiti, he singled out Norway as a nicer place for new Americans to come from. I bet that tens of millions of people who are not foul-mouthed and not white supremacists would agree with that.

It is perfectly possible that Mr Trump will end up doing the cause of the people more harm than good. His egotism may turn into full-blown megalomania, his ignorance may cause him to make colossal mistakes, his strange gallimaufry of family and flatterers may mire him in corruption. But he shows undoubted courage in taking on the cartel of the powerful who have had it too good for too long. America was constituted to try to do that.

King Henry IV, in Shakespeare’s version, complains that the cares of state prevent him sleeping: “many thousands of my poorest subjects sleep”, he says – even the “wet sea-boy” at the top of a ship’s mast – but not he. Then he delivers the famous line, “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown”. In the BBC programme The Coronation last night, the present Queen confirmed that the crown is, literally, a heavy weight to bear (though one assumes that she has never had to lie down still wearing it). She can’t bend forwards to read out her words: “Because if you did, your neck would break.” This confession led her to venture that: “There are some disadvantages to crowns, but otherwise they are quite important things.”

In both parts of this characteristic understatement is contained the story of Elizabeth II’S life. Her role is difficult, but it matters. One imagines that, over the past 66 years, she has had many worries that might have made her as sleepless as her ancestor. One of the many reasons to thank her is that she has not inflicted them upon the rest of us. And that means, in turn, that the rest of us have been able to sleep sounder in our beds.

Mike Veale, the chief constable of Wiltshire, handled the childabuse accusations against the late Sir Edward Heath appallingly. He pointlessly investigated a dead man (who therefore, even if guilty, could not have been charged). He believed the evidence of a liar and fantasist. He let one of his officers stand in front of Sir Edward’s house and appeal for anyone abused by Sir Edward to come forward. And when the tottering edifice of non-evidence collapsed, Mr Veale never admitted he had been wrong.

Mr Veale’s Wiltshire contract was, rightly, not renewed. But it turns out he is the “preferred candidate” (preferred, that is, by the Police and Crime Commissioner, over a local man) to become the chief constable of Cleveland instead. Apparently, he has “an exciting and compelling vision” for Cleveland. One of the sub-scandals of genuine child abuse has been the discovery that priests, teachers etc found to have abused children were allowed to continue their jobs so long as they moved. Isn’t it also a scandal when police officers who merrily took part in witch-hunts against people not guilty of child abuse are allowed to do the same?