There is an old Soviet joke that I hear repeated so often these days that I suspect many people just think it came fresh off from some late-night comedy monologue.
In the joke, a man walks by a newspaper stand every day. Each day, he buys a copy of the newspaper—in the original telling, Pravda. He scans the front page and then tosses the paper into the trash.
After this has gone on for a while, the newsstand guy asks, “You always look at just the front of the newspaper but never inside. What’s up with that?”
“I’m looking for an obituary,” replies the man.
“An obituary? But all those are in the back of the paper…”
“No,” says the man, “The one I’m looking for will be on page one.”
The joke is popular these days because it resonates with an uncomfortable element in our current national conversation. There’s a lot of talk about a subject that is pretty taboo. Maybe not on your higher-class TV news shows. But certainly on social media and in private settings.
I’ve even had the conversation with former cabinet-level government officials and other respected thought leaders who are household names. They all speculate about it. They have been since Trump’s first term. But the—whispered—chatter has become much more common in recent weeks.
The Drudge Report led with it recently. Among the stories on its home page this week was one from The Wrap talking about how “Trump’s health problems pose challenge for news media.” Another noted California Gov. Gavin Newsom calling out the strange bruise on Trump’s hand and how he has been covering it up.
Videos have proliferated on the subject on the web. Here’s one from The Lincoln Project. And here’s one from Don Lemon.
Here at the Daily Beast, there has been reporting about “the president’s health crisis” and how talk of it is triggering the White House. About how the White House has had “disgraced” former White House physician Dr. Ronny Jackson (in lieu of current staff or anyone qualified, for that matter) declare Trump “the healthiest president this nation has ever seen.”
Which, given Jackson’s track record, probably means Trump is headed for the ICU—or worse.
The White House has said the president’s swollen cankles and bruised hand are a result of a relatively common illness called “Chronic Venous Insufficiency.” But again, considering an administration that televised this week the absurd spectacle of its Cabinet lying fulsomely about Trump’s good looks, ability to end conflicts that haven’t even started, and master of the universe economic capabilities, the first assumption of many is that if they admit something small, it must be hiding something much worse.
Trump has not helped matters by appearing increasingly unhealthy. He’s undeniably an old man, and it shows not just in his cankles or hand bruises, but in his inability to walk in a straight line or speak coherently.
What’s more, recently, our not historically super spiritual president has indicated that he’s been thinking about getting into heaven. Which certainly suggests that a.) he is contemplating the long-awaited epilogue to The Art of the Deal and b.) winning the Nobel Prize is not the only ludicrous Trump dream that is certain to go unfulfilled.
That said, his yearning for an impossible affirmation from the Nobel committee is seen by many as a sign that, grappling with his own mortality, Trump’s thoughts have turned to his legacy.
Being a convicted felon, being twice impeached, being judged by a jury to have been guilty of sexual assault, being judged by historians as the worst president and most corrupt president in American history, and being remembered more broadly for serially betraying the country, the voters, and his family is just not the kind of thing you would want on your tombstone. Candidly, it’s hard to imagine a monument big enough on which to list all of Trump’s crimes, sins, transgressions, and violated commandments.
The gold leaf required would be prohibitively expensive.
Of course, speculating about whether the president is dying—or making jokes about it—as happens on the web and in virtually every conversation I have with virtually every person I know of virtually every political stripe from virtually every part of the world is wrong. Terribly wrong. There is nothing funny about it. Nothing secretly satisfying. The whole social media meme about the wild parties people would hold should Trump shuffle off this mortal coil any time soon is appalling.
You ought to be ashamed of yourself.
And your friends and family. And colleagues and the strangers you hear discussing it on the street.
Yes, it’s a bit odd that while this is a big part of the national conversation, it does not generate the kind of press that former President Joe Biden got when he stumbled through a debate performance last year. And given the fact that Trump does appear to be behaving increasingly erratically, it is pretty disturbing that no one around him will ever stand up to him—given his narcissism and lack of concern about the world after he departs it, he is capable of doing some really disastrous things.
Further, the really important part of this Trump story is that his days are numbered, one way or another. Thanks to his cankles, he is the lamest of lame ducks. And the prospects for who might succeed him are pretty awful—ranging from the smarmiest man on earth, CF Vance (you figure out what the CF stands for) to a secretary of State who is so spineless scientists have classified him as the first paramecium to be elevated to cabinet status to Trump’s own defective children.
Which suggests a big power struggle is ahead. We need to prepare for it. Whether it happens sooner or later, we have to be able to ensure that Trumpism and MAGA departs this earth with Trump—much like the classified papers that some conspiracy nuts suggest were buried with his former wife Ivana in the golf course that is now her final resting place. Absent an organized opposition ready to seize the moment, chaos can and almost certainly will ensue.
How do we know? Well, this is not the first time that a dictator or mad king has approached his grand finale, as the joke at the beginning of this column suggests.
In fact, we might study such good old-fashioned Soviet examples. After all, who knows, if he keeps serving the Motherland as he always has, Trump could end up buried in a glass casket in a mausoleum on Red Square like Lenin.
Therefore, to prepare for what is coming next, let me suggest that as soon as you get a moment, you tear yourself away from the time you’re spending on tasteless speculation about our Dear Leader and invest in the very best and most appropriate training film that has ever been made to deal with precisely this situation—which also happens to be, for my money, the best political comedy ever made. It is Armando Iannucci’s masterpiece The Death of Stalin, and it’s just what the doctor ordered for these waning days of summer…and possibly of Trump.
The post Opinion: It’s Tasteless to Speculate That Trump Might Soon Be Buried on Red Square Like Lenin appeared first on The Daily Beast.
