The rhetorical signature of this committed hater.
One of the burdens Americans have had to carry for some years now is living with a figurehead–the nation’s leader, citizen number one, the country’s official spokesperson–who at the same time can rarely keep himself from unleashing the tired arts of denigration and retribution. At the risk of delivering old news, his output of public vituperation is off the charts and unlike any “leader” the nation has known. On occasion our leaders have unkind things to say about someone else. But they usually choose carefully when to share those negative judgments, reserving the public realm for silence or faint praise. It is hard to fathom how the nation managed to put a chronic bully in the role he inhabits.
To be sure, we know his type from any number of movie thugs. We can’t say that we haven’t heard his stale taunts before, but not from the person atop our political system. Even as a child he had a reputation as a bully that even placement in a private school apparently could not tame.
Trump professes to like “nice” things. People: not so much. He is a nonstop trash-talker. It does not help that the President’s grasp of language is limited. He and all of us are captives to the same name-calling that recycles endlessly. You know his favored terms of invective by now: “corrupt” “evil,” “crooked,” “failing,” “dishonest,” “crazy,” “phoney,” “Lyin,” “weak,” “vermin,” “wacko,” “nasty,” and so on. These are used in various combinations to describe the miriad ways others manage to spoil his world.
This is vitriol 101: the simple and tired language of a hater who lacks the capability to expand thoughts into more complex formulations. He uses Old Testament certainty that bolsters his own self-regard while diminishing others. People like Nancy Pelosi or Adam Schiff are “horrible persons.” Journalists are from outlets that are “crooked,” “fake news” or “Lyin.'” Hecklers should be “roughed up.” Political enemies are “Communists, Marxists, fascists, and radical-left thugs.” It is our misfortune that Trump thrives on ad hominem attacks that would be considered out of bounds by any high school debater.
A key presidential role is to act as a celebrant of all things American. It is not compatible with a person who needs to use the language of a misanthrope. Presidential rhetoric usually includes references to the generosity of others, the grace to not make every moment about oneself, and the impulse to resist another’s victimization in favor of pointing out the humanity they share with all others. For example, John Kennedy generally refrained from attacking any individual in personal terms. Instead, if he needed to, he focused on the faulty ideas that the individual favored, preserving his chances to protect his office. This norm of generosity is now violated every day. Will we remember what we lost?
A reasonable noise level for a busy restaurant should be about 65 decibels. But many restaurants easily top 85 in their bars and main dining areas, a fact aggravated by the tendency of well lubricated patrons to talk even louder. Maybe the hard stuff should come with a noise warning as well as a proof number. Little wonder noise is the single biggest complaint leveled against eateries of all sorts. In fact, noise complaints are often first on the list of problems communicated to municipal offices.
A lot of these suggestions are both common sense and also commonly ignored. Entertainment culture in the U.S.—from pro sports to restaurants to movie theaters—revel in unhealthy sound levels. Would establishments along Bourbon Street, Española Way or Beale Street still attract tourists and locals without their music spilling out onto the street? The question raises the uncomfortable conclusion that we use loud music as a signifier of the high life. There was a time when a plush hotel restaurant or subdued steak house was the epitome of cool. For an example, see the depiction of Hollywood’s Coconut Grove nightclub after hours in A Star is Born (1956). Cool then, but not now. These venues were usually better options for a group that actually wants to hear a conversation at the table. Now these rooms fill with young patrons who expect to be confronted with sonic tsunamis (and functionally isolated from their friends).