A few of my friends have challenged me on my fixation with the emerging American political tragedy. My Facebook page and every known platform have been adorned with my outrage at what I have witnessed of a society in the terminal state of decay. I have often been told that with the new visa policies that have been rolled out in America, I may not qualify to visit America once my ideology is filtered in the social media, but do I really care? If a persona in the status of an international figure like Wole Soyinka could have his visa withdrawn, who am I?
In the School of Ministry, I was taught that actions must be judged by both intention and outcome. Good intentions do not excuse destructive outcomes, and impressive rhetoric does not sanctify corrosive results. Vanity, I learnt, eventually betrays itself—most clearly when promises are subjected to critical, clinical examination of their deliverables.
That framework has become unavoidable in assessing the political transformation of the United States over the past decade particularly since the accident of Donald J Trump on America. I am glad I now have the last laugh on some of my friends who openly supported the ascent of DJ Trump because of his pretentious Christian convictions. I can now ask with glee, “how market?”
For those of us who grew up in the Third World, America was once shorthand for institutional restraint, public decency, and democratic guardrails. We excused our own political dysfunctions by saying, “This cannot happen in saner climes.” Those “saner climes” included the United States. Not because America was perfect, but because it seemed to possess a self-correcting moral architecture—strong institutions, an independent judiciary, a political culture that still felt shame.
That America is now in question.
Donald Trump did not merely emerge from the American system; he exposed its unexamined fragilities and then systematically exploited them. He promised to “drain the swamp,” but what followed was not institutional purification—it was personalisation of power, erosion of truth, and the normalisation of conduct that previous American leaders instinctively knew crossed red lines.
What distinguishes the Trump phenomenon is not policy disagreement. America has survived fierce ideological battles before. What is unprecedented is the deliberate assault on the moral foundations of democratic life: truth, restraint, accountability, and respect for institutions that are meant to outlast individuals.
I still recollect the furore generated when President Carter admitted he had once committed adultery. The whole nation was aghast until he pointed out the biblical definition of adultery: he told the listening nation that adultery is committed simply by looking and desiring. He never physically touched any woman, at least to our knowledge but even then, President Obama and family lived in the White House for 8 solid years without a single personal controversy whereas with the new occupant of the White House, it is at least 1 mega controversy per day.
Lies—once career-ending in American politics— have become routine. Falsehoods are no longer corrected but excused when driven to the wall; they are repeated, amplified, and weaponised. The presidency is now recast not as stewardship of a republic, but as a permanent campaign of grievance. Journalists have become “enemies.” Judges become “Obama judges” or “Trump judges.” Electoral defeat become “rigged,” not because evidence supports the claim, but because ego demands it.
Here, intention and outcome converge in a deeply troubling way. The intention—to retain personal power at all costs—has produced outcomes that have shaken the world’s confidence in American democracy itself. The peaceful transfer of power, once America’s most potent democratic symbol, has been placed under unprecedented strain. That this strain culminated in a violent assault on The Capitol is not an aberration; it is the logical end of sustained delegitimisation of democratic processes.
More disturbing still is the complicity—or exhaustion—of institutions meant to act as brakes. The lower courts, often staffed by judges with no public profile to protect, repeatedly demonstrated fidelity to law over loyalty. They rejected baseless election claims, upheld constitutional norms, and resisted political intimidation. In contrast, the Supreme Court—once revered as the final moral arbiter of American constitutionalism—has increasingly appeared entangled in ideological calculation and partisan proximity.
Perception matters. Courts do not command armies; they command respect. When the highest court appears less concerned with guarding democratic order than with advancing ideological victories, it risks becoming an appendage of political ambition rather than a bulwark against it. An empire does not collapse when it loses power; it collapses when it loses legitimacy.
Trump’s ongoing agenda to “recalibrate” America—especially the electoral system—should alarm not just Americans but the global democratic community. Georgia has just become another ground to test the weapons to be deployed for the 2026 mid-terms which Mr President has predicted will lead to his impeachment if he loses. No previous American leader dared to so openly undermine confidence in elections while simultaneously benefiting from the very system he derides. No modern president so casually blurred the line between personal survival and national interest. No occupant of the Oval Office so relentlessly tested how much democratic erosion a society would tolerate if it were dressed in the language of patriotism.
The consequences are already visible. America’s long-standing allies—Canada, Western Europe, even parts of Asia—now speak of the United States with a mix of caution and disbelief. The moral authority America once wielded in lecturing fragile democracies about the rule of law has been severely weakened. How does a nation warn others against election manipulation when it flirts openly with it at home? Afterall, how do you criticise President Museveni of Uganda’s bastardisation of the electoral process when DJ Trump of America wants to be like Vice Chancellor Idi Amin?
History teaches that empires rarely fall because of external enemies alone. The most fatal wounds are self-inflicted. Rome decayed from within long before Barbarians breached its gates. The once Great British empire withered not just from colonial resistance, but from moral and economic exhaustion. Decline begins when a society convinces itself that it is exceptional enough to survive the abandonment of its own principles.
This is the real danger of the Trump era—not Trump the man, but Trump the mirror. He reflects what happens when a society confuses strength with spectacle, loyalty with truth, and leadership with domination. He exposes how quickly democratic norms can erode when enough people decide that “their man” matters more than the system that made leadership possible in the first place.
For other nations—especially those in the developing world who once viewed Western democracy as failsafe—this moment is instructive. Democracy is not self-executing. Institutions do not defend themselves. Courts, laws, and constitutions are only as strong as the moral consensus that undergirds them.
When that consensus fractures, when decency is dismissed as weakness, and when lies carry no cost, decline becomes a choice—not a tragedy.
Herein lies the tragedy of the American Republican Party – a party that has lost everything to the rampaging bull, and its elected representatives rather than act as a check on dictatorial excesses as demanded by the Constitution have surrendered because of the fear of being labelled as “never-Trumpers”
It is tempting to say, “Goodbye, America,” as one might bid farewell to past empires that mistook permanence for destiny. But resignation is not the only option. Warnings still matter. Voices—especially from those who once believed in the myth of democratic invincibility—must speak plainly.
A respectable society is not defined by power, wealth, or military reach. It is defined by restraint, truthfulness, and the humility to accept loss without burning the house down.
If America wishes to remain admirable rather than merely formidable, it must relearn what it once taught the world: that no man is bigger than the law, no victory justifies the destruction of trust, and no empire survives the loss of its soul.
Victor Olumekun, a passionate Public Affairs Analyst is a Professor at Adekunle Ajasin University, Akungba-Akoko.
