On Monday night, on the stage at Hofstra University, Hillary Clinton made a joke. “I have a feeling that by, the end of this evening, I’m going to be blamed for everything that’s ever happened,” she quipped.
His lips pursed, his face smug, Donald Trump replied, “Why not?”
That brazen disregard for integrity set a tone for the debate. And it illustrated a pattern that has defined one of the most unusual campaigns for the presidency in recent memory: Trump does not only flirt with the boundaries of fairness—he takes pride in those flirtations.
That pattern emerged when Clinton pulled out the story of Andrew Tesoro, the architect whom Trump neglected to pay in full after Tesoro built a clubhouse for Trump. To Clinton’s jab, Trump retorted, “Maybe he didn’t do a good job and I was unsatisfied with his work … which our country should do, too.” In this markedly ill-defined metaphor, the Republican nominee boasted about the way in which he took advantage of an employee, then made that episode a blueprint for national governance.
He did not hide from his indiscretion; he embraced it. He did not rebuff Clinton’s criticism; he broadened it.
That pattern emerged again when Trump seemingly confirmed Clinton’s suspicions about his tax returns. After Clinton posited that one of Trump’s old tax returns “showed he didn’t pay any federal income tax,” Trump countered, “That makes me smart.” No denial—no argument—just a disturbing dash of hubris. A few moments later, Trump turned his potential taxpaying negligence into an attack on inefficient government. Had he paid his share of taxes, “It would be squandered, too, believe me,” he proclaimed.
It takes a certain kind of nerve—and not a presidential kind—to ignore the issue of the tax returns yet brag about it, too. More remarkable than Trump’s nod to the questionable contents of his tax returns was his unabashed arrogance about documents that may prove him to be fraudulent.
Politics has long been a game of deceit. Trump sets no new bar for lack of character; leaders of this country have an unfortunate history of bending the barriers of decency to fit their political needs. But successful politicians never simply lied. The trick of politics was to lie and seem like a truth-teller. Only an unsuccessful politician lied and seemed like a liar.
At Monday’s debate, Trump felt like a new brand of politician—one who discounts honor, seems proud of it, and gets votes because of it. It is his obvious satisfaction in his insincerity that sets him apart. When did it become acceptable, even admirable, to be openly and unapologetically immoral? And when will the madness stop?
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In 2008, on the cusp of the presidential election, my father said something to me that has stuck with me these past eight years: “If we elect Barack Obama,” he commented, “our reputation around the world will improve overnight. The world will wake up the next day with more respect for the United States of America.”
At 12 years old, I internalized my father’s words very deeply. I felt a surge of something—perhaps hope, maybe fear—because I wanted so badly for my father’s prediction to come true.
I could just imagine it. I could just hear the beeps of millions of alarm clocks as British people and Japanese people and South African people and Brazilian people and Australian people awoke on November 5. In some great choreographed dance across the globe, they would fumble for their slippers. They would slip out of their beds and pad down their staircases. They would brew their morning cups of coffee. They would unfold their newspapers. They would see the splashy headlines that America had elected its first black president. And they would think to themselves, “Huh, America is on the right track, after all.”
I assume that parents across this country are telling their children, just as my father told me, about the stakes of this upcoming election. And I assume that those children are taking the implications of this election as seriously as I did in seventh grade.
Monday night’s debate gave those kids a lot to fear.