On March 30, 2003, in Virginia, Minn., I gathered with three dozen people to protest the invasion of Iraq. Unlike Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump, we were quick and vocal opponents of that folly.
As our candles guttered in the wind, I understood we were a minority, and was incredulous that so many fellow citizens were rallying to war. My opposition was not pacifistic impulse, but calculation based on the history of Iraq. That nation was fragile, subject to sectarian hatreds. It was created in 1920 by European victors of World War I, disregarding the interests of Sunni, Shia and Kurd. Iraq was crippled from the start, and as Colin Powell noted in his famous Pottery Barn metaphor, if we broke it we'd own it. We broke it. About 5,000 Americans have died there, with many thousands permanently damaged, and that pales before the Iraqi toll. To produce what? Well, for one thing, the rise of the Islamic State in Iraq and the Levant.
I mention the Iraq debacle because it's allowed me to appreciate the appeal of Trump. Though supportive of the war in '03, he — like most Americans since — converted to the view of us protesters in Virginia. Trump wielded his conversion to savage Jeb Bush in the GOP primary race. He vocalized what no other Republican candidate dared: George W. Bush committed one of the greatest geopolitical, military and economic blunders in U.S. history. Jeb, attempting to protect his brother, was forced to impotently defend the indefensible and was crushed.
I was delighted. Since I view George Bush as a colossal failure and Jeb as an embodiment of the arrogance of the two-party elites, I yelled at the radio, "Give 'em hell, Donald!"
It was a purely emotional reaction, but in that moment Trump channeled my biases and anger, and I cheered him on.
So I get it. Those who share most of Trump's views are in political ecstasy. If Marco Rubio or Ted Cruz had so viciously speared Jeb, it would have been treasonous, but Trump, despite his privileged, multimillionaire status, is the outsider, the knight in Teflon armor. He's assaulted many: demeaned the war record of John McCain; fired insults at women, Mexicans, generals, Muslims, blacks; accused President Obama of founding ISIL; urged Russian spooks to offer e-mail evidence against Hillary Clinton; has only reluctantly repudiated the support of the Ku Klux Klan, and has retweeted racist slurs.
People excuse all this because Trump strikes such resonant emotional chords, tapping primarily into fear and anger. Even many evangelical Christians, presumptive inheritors of the Beatitudes and the Golden Rule, favor him. Recently, I read an anonymous political advertisement in a local newspaper. It was titled "A Christian Pastor's Analysis of the US Election Drama." The writer didn't mention Clinton, and acknowledged that Trump was "a bull in a china shop," a "disrupter," spoke offensively and "is not a saint." Then the major thrust: Trump is a "biblical Cyrus." Of course. I felt a flush of recognition, transported to my fundamentalist past.
Cyrus the Great, emperor of Persia (559-530 BC) is celebrated in the Old Testament. He was a conqueror who respected the cultures and tolerated the religions of those he dominated. And because he effectively ended the Babylonian exile of the Jews, paving the way for reconstruction of the Jerusalem temple, the Book of Isaiah refers to him as "Messiah," the only gentile to be so called.
As the pastor noted, to evangelical Christians the name of Cyrus became shorthand for "someone who is dynamically used of God even though not perceived by many as a God follower."
In other words, you may disregard the evidence of your ears and eyes; simply trust that Trump is being "raised up" by God as a divine instrument. I believe his chief appeal to religious conservatives is that he has vowed to weaken the separation of church and state and make it easier for clergy to be overtly political in the pulpit without jeopardizing tax exemption status. Trump's latest sound bite includes "one flag, one God!"
But blind faith also appears to work for Trump supporters in general. He said, "I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody, and I wouldn't lose votes." (Don't they see in that his contempt for them?) Many choose to believe he will "pivot" once he wins the White House, morphing his personality, temperament and mental infrastructure. Trump's unfitness for office is so manifest that only faith can deny it. What better display of our Puritan roots and penchant for magical thinking? You don't need to be overtly religious to buy in.
In 1935, Sinclair Lewis published a novel called "It Can't Happen Here," in which a character named Buzz Windrip wins the presidency by making grandiose economic and social-reform promises while promoting a revived nationalism — a "return to greatness" — featuring white male supremacy. He says: "My one ambition is to get all Americans to realize that they are, and must continue to be, the greatest Race on the face of this old Earth, and second, to realize that whatever apparent Differences there may be among us in wealth, knowledge, skill, ancestry or strength — though, of course, all this does not apply to people who are racially different from us — we are all brothers, bound together in the great and wonderful bond of National Unity … ."
Once in office, Buzz neutralizes Congress and establishes a paramilitary constabulary called "the Minutemen," who in addition to violently squelching dissent also facilitate the rollback of minority and female rights. The end state is revolution, civil war and an invasion of Mexico. At the time, commentators saw Lewis' book as a reaction to the ambitions of U.S. Sen. Huey Long, but it eerily foreshadows the present.
I cannot vote for Trump. In our electoral system of winner-take-all, that leaves only one option for my vote to have force — Hillary Clinton.
During the primary season, I sent money to Bernie Sanders, understanding that his chance of winning was nil. My motive was to help shift the Democrats to a more progressive platform. I've never been a Democrat or Republican, and in previous elections I've voted for candidates of both parties, plus independents, Greens, Socialists and write-ins. I believe our political structure needs an overhaul.
This season, especially, I long for a ranked-choice ballot on which I might vote for, say, Green Party nominee Jill Stein as my first pick and Clinton as my second. Then, if Stein fell short of the tally required, my vote would default to Clinton.
More important, legislative contests should be under a proportional representation voting scheme where the stranglehold and gridlock of two-party rule could finally be broken. After all, a majority of Americans now self-classify as unaffiliated with either major party, and the approval rating of Congress is — rightly — in the outhouse.
Alas, it is 2016 and the reforms we need have yet to materialize. Yes, we are long overdue for a female president. Yes, Clinton has an impressive public service record. Yes, she is smart, knowledgeable, capable. Yes, she's held to a tougher standard than any male, even one as flawed as Trump. But …
I listened to Bill Clinton's speech about his wife at the Democratic National Convention. I heard about her commitment to helping the underprivileged, and her actual work in doing so — the reference to "It Takes a Village." I want to embrace that story, but I haven't personally perceived it. What I and many others perceive is that she is closer to Trump's world than to ours. She is a member of the 1-percent, de facto oligarchy, and seems to have that cohort's interests closer to her heart than the interests of the rank-and-file. It took Sanders' challenge to make her a more attractive candidate.
I don't trust either Clinton or Trump. Nevertheless, I will vote for Clinton as the significantly better of two bad choices. It's a sad admission, but I believe this particular contest is too crucial to vote my personal values. And I'm not convinced that Hillary is a shoo-in. My vote will count.
Until our electoral mechanism is reformed, all third-party aspirations are futile. I regret my vote for Ralph Nader in 2000. Sorry to say, fellow lefties: a vote for Stein is a vote for Trump — for a reckless, ill-informed narcissist, whose presidency would be authoritarian, the repression and regression, violent. He is, after all, a fan of Vladimir Putin.
I, too, will cast a ballot based on fear and anger. That's what a demagogue does: plays on those emotions in his followers and instills them in everyone else.
On Nov. 8, we'll anxiously await results. If it's Trump, I'll try to temper foreboding. If it's Clinton, I'll heave a brief sigh of relief. Either way, I'll continue to push for significant changes in how we vote.
To be reduced to these two choices is not the hallmark of a healthy democracy.
Peter M. Leschak, of Side Lake, Minn., is the author of "Ghosts of the Fireground" and other books.
