Donald Trump’s favorite movie is “Sunset Boulevard.” That movie tells the story of an aging silent film star, Norma Desmond, who has locked herself away from the real world so that she can endlessly replay past glories until she loses her mind entirely. In his Independence Day speech, Donald Trump indulged in his own protracted Norma Desmond moment.
The 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence has been a Trump-made fiasco from start to end. The grand finale was disrupted by a thunderstorm that postponed Trump’s speech until past 11 p.m. Eastern—and pushed the costly fireworks show into the early hours of July 5.
Trump’s speech honored living heroes of past American wars. Each man was called to the stage to be recognized before a notable historical American flag. Trump dutifully read his speech more-or-less as written, indulging in only a few brief ad libs delving into personal grievances or political agendas. As written, the speech was a typical product of the Trump speechwriting shop: turgid and boastful, without a single memorable line or inspiring grace note. ChatGPT would have done better—probably a lot better.
But it also had a “Sunset Boulevard” aspect.
The very first sentence of the document honored on July 4 invoked “a decent respect for the opinions of mankind.” Throughout their history, Americans have been highly conscious of the opinions of others about their experiment in republican government. In his first July 4 message to Congress in 1861, Abraham Lincoln declared the fate of the American Union a contest of urgent interest to “the whole family of man.” Or as Ronald Reagan often said, quoting the Bible via John Winthrop: America is like a city on a hill, the eyes of the whole world are upon it.
Whoever wrote last night’s speech for Trump retained some memory of this ancient American rhetorical tradition. Like the aging actress Norma Desmond, Trump and his writing team replayed favorite scenes: the liberation of Europe from Nazi rule, the defeat of communism. And, as with the actress, those scenes—once so powerful—have become poignant, because they took place so long ago, and the actress has lost her stardom and been forgotten.
Under Donald Trump, the United States has fought military conflicts in Venezuela and Iran. It nearly fought a war with Denmark to seize Greenland. It often speaks of annexing all or part of Canada. It has waged economic war on allies and partners in violation of international trade agreements and domestic law. Soon the United States may be engaged in a war in Cuba. Already, the U.S. has cut back aid to Ukraine as that country fights for its survival and freedom. Trump has repeatedly made clear that the goal of his wars is plunder: that he wishes to seize oil and other resources. In turn, the course of his most ambitious war, with Iran, appears to have been swayed by client states, which have made payments to him and his associates.
Trump’s preferred rhetorical style on such occasions is to brag about the strength of the U.S. military, how nobody can equal it, how it crushes all before it. He reportedly tells his inner circle that he personally is a more powerful warlord than Attila the Hun or Genghis Khan. The authentic Trump does not care about any ideals beyond national fearsomeness and personal enrichment. But somebody got some ill-remembered fragments from the Before Times about freedom onto Trump’s teleprompter—and on this unusual occasion, Trump read the fragments without balking.
Americans are accustomed to those fragments. When Trump rejects them, as he usually does, Trump’s domestic audiences may feel uneasy that something has been omitted that used to be important. But when Trump pronounces them, as he did on July 4, he reminds his global audience how he has jettisoned the generous principles and emancipatory ideals that once made America not only feared, but trusted and admired. Trump’s speech demanded credit for a history that Trump regards as a sucker’s mistake. Trump is building an American future oriented toward authoritarian and corrupt states: Russia, Turkey, Saudi Arabia. Democratic allies are treated, at best, as subjects to be bullied and, at worst, as targets to be carved up into new American territories.
To the extent the decision is up to Trump, the United States that his speech celebrated on July 4 will exist no more. Trump’s grotesque botch of the 250th anniversary of “We hold these truths” aptly demonstrates how far his leadership has already pushed the United States away from its noblest past. Americans may not wish to acknowledge what Trump has done to their standing in the world. Such denial does not change reality. Norma Desmond’s last lover—and doomed narrator—delivers a verdict on the fading star’s descent from delusion into madness: “The dream she had clung to so desperately had enfolded her.”
Americans have not clung to their dream nearly desperately enough, but they too are now enfolded in something dark and diminished.
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