The God Abandons Trump
I have already written about how Trump resembles Commodus, the mad emperor who reigned from 176 CE until 192 CE. Today, I would like to compare Trump with Mark Anthony.
No, not Marc Anthony, J Lo’s former husband. That’s Latin from Manhattan. I mean Marcus Antonius, the Roman general and politician who lived from 83 BC until 30 BC. Actually, I don’t mean the historical Mark Anthony, either. I mean the portrayal of same in the poem by Constantine Cavafy called the God Abandons Anthony.
The real Mark Anthony was nothing like Trump. He worked for a living. He was an able general and a skillful politician. He fought under Caesar in the Gallic campaigns and in the subsequent civil war. After Caesar was assassinated, he forged an alliance with Octavian and Lepidus to form the Second Triumvirate. Anthony was assigned the eastern provinces of the empire, including Egypt. Although married to Octavian’s sister, he hooked up with a certain Cleopatra Philopater, with whom he ruled his portion of the empire and had three children. Things went south when Lepidus left the triumvirate. Civil war broke out. Octavian’s forces defeated those of Anthony at Actium, after which Anthony and Cleopatra ended their own lives.
History looks kindly on Mark Anthony. He educated himself in war and statesmanship, played his cards skillfully, and fought well. He lost, but he did so to a masterful opponent, and he had the grace to bow out when it was clear that he had no route to victory. By contrast, Trump is a draft dodger who has made a career out of losing his father’s money, slinging shit and failing up. Now that he is checkmated, he has blockaded himself in the White House, is emitting a loud “ Whaaaa, whaaaa, whaaa” over broadcast and social media, and planning a strategy of sabotage. A few of his erstwhile Republican enablers in Congress have smelled weakness, which has caused them to disavow him. Reports are that he is holed up with his inner circle yes-men and women, none of whom dare tell him that the gig is up. The whole thing has a Hitler-in-the-bunker smell. The final blow appears to be that Rupert Murdoch has cut him loose. Fox polling called Arizona for Biden early, the Wall Street Journal urges Trump to concede graciously, and New York Post reporters have been told to change their slant. Murdoch doesn’t want to back a loser any more than anyone else — and there is a possibility that Trump could become a competitor, if he launches a media company after he leaves office. All but the most deranged rats are leaving the ship, but Trump continues his chorus of “Whaaa whaaa whaaa”.
In the poem, Anthony is advised by an omniscient narrator with the wisdom of hindsight to appreciate what he had and to take his loss like a man. Time is up; his luck has turned and, more hurtfully, the god of the city where he has made his life is leaving him. The best thing to do it to accept his fate with equanimity. Would that Trump would do likewise, but of course we are not dealing with the stuff of Mark Anthony here. The poet says it better than any of us ever could:
The God Abandons AntonyWhen at midnight you hear
an invisible procession passing
with exquisite music, voices,
don’t mourn your luck that’s failing now,
work gone wrong, plans
proved deceptive-don’t mourn them uselessly.
As one long prepared, and full of courage,
say goodbye to her, the Alexandria who is leaving you.
Above all, don’t fool yourself, don’t say
it was a dream, your ears deceived you:
don’t degrade yourself with empty hopes like these.
As one long prepared, and full of courage,
as is right for you who proved worthy of this kind of city,
go firmly to the window
and listen with deep emotion, but not
with the whining, the pleas of a coward;
listen-your final pleasure-to the voices,
to the exquisite music of that strange procession,
and say goodbye to her, to the Alexandria who is leaving you.
C. P. Cavafy (trans. Edmund Keely/Philip Sherrard)
In the good old days, emperors who lost power were blinded, castrated, or just thrown to the crowd to have its way with them. Pace Steve Bannon, we don’t do that anymore. Presidents who retire gracefully form foundations, craft furniture, or paint oil paintings. In this case, they will likely be granted a broadcast license and a platform for dangerous, venomous falsehoods.
Originally published at https://dirtlease.com on November 7, 2020.