Multiple
Rally crowds don’t seem bemused at all by Trump’s dishwasher angst, his flush rage, his lightbulb fetishism. They cheer him along almost as forcefully on these subjects as when he threatens to imprison journalists or mock someone’s speech impediment. Like few other figures in recent memory, he manages to stir a crowd into a frenzy with what The New Yorker’s Susan Glasser calls ‘‘a weird combination of perpetual victim and perpetual bully’’.
It all leads me to wonder, am I missing something? What itch is Trump scratching here exactly? What, if any, subliminal genius is at play? Are these the inane ravings of a former property developer who’s been whining about water pressure and light fixtures ever since he started building tasteless condos, studiously refusing to let to tenants of colour, in suburban Queens in the 1970s? Or do these outbursts reflect a savant-like knack for grievance, an intuitive grasp of what animates his vaunted base, one that leaves mainstream commentators like me flailing about in our misguided sense of liberal decorum? Are we too fixated on the objectionable lyrics to catch the melody?
To answer these and other questions, I thought it might be helpful to speak to a Kiwi Trump supporter, not as easy a task as it seems. According to Gallup, the president’s approval rating in New Zealand hovers below 20 per cent, and I’m based in central Wellington where it’s likely much lower. But after posting an appeal on Twitter, I lucked upon a unicorn.
At his request, I won’t use Gibson’s real name. Confident enough to don a MAGA cap for our interview at a Wellington cafe, the 33-year-old policy analyst thinks revealing his countercultural leanings in a national newspaper is a bridge too far. As for wearing the unmistakable red cap on other occasions, he says: ‘‘I’ve been screamed at from car windows. People think you’re a racist Nazi. It’s such an us-versus-them mindset. It’s like ‘we’re noble and good, and you’re not just misguided and wrong; you’re evil’.’’
Gibson has followed US politics closely since he was a 15-year-old growing up in the Bay of Plenty. He certainly knows his stuff, turning up to the