DONALD TRUMP AND HIS DIVIDEND STATES OF DELUSION
It began, as it often does under Donald J. Trump, with a promise wrapped in bluster and delivered in all-caps: 90 trade deals in 90 days.
The goal, supposedly, was to restore America’s economic dominance and correct unfair trade balances by applying pressure—primarily through tariffs—on allies and adversaries alike.
Instead, what we witnessed was a spectacle of confusion, contradiction, and chaos: letters sent in place of negotiations, deadlines that moved like desert mirages, and declarations that made even seasoned economists ask, "What is he talking about?"
On July 8, 2025, markets trembled when Trump’s executive order threatened tariffs ranging from 25% to 40% on imports from 14 nations, including major allies like Japan and South Korea.
The Dow, Nasdaq, and S&P 500 all closed in the red.
While traders have learned to discount much of Trump’s theatrical economic brinksmanship, the uncertainty injected by this particular round of "policy roulette" was severe enough to shake the financial world.
The man dubbed "the taco guy" for his history of serving empty shells—promises without substance—had once again jolted the global economy.
Trump’s Treasury Secretary, Scott Bessent, emerged to declare the new tariff order not only official, but "already working," citing a flood of unspecified "new offers" in his inbox.
Yet when pressed for detail, neither Bessent nor Commerce Secretary Howard Lutnick could explain what the so-called offers entailed, or from whom they had come.
Meanwhile, Trump stood behind a podium mumbling contradictory statements, asserting confidently that most deals would be done by July 9th—but tariffs would take effect August 1st, unless they didn’t, because, as he said, the August 1st deadline was “firm, but not 100% firm.”
It was not diplomacy. It was improvisational theater. And worse, it was bad for business.
Despite Trump's claims that foreign governments would pay these tariffs, anyone familiar with trade policy knows the truth: tariffs are taxes paid by importers, and those costs are passed on to American businesses and consumers. Justin Wolfers, a University of Michigan economist, summed it up bluntly:
"Trump keeps saying he’s going to tax ‘them.’ He’s taxing us." Indeed, as Trump sent threatening letters to foreign capitals, what he should have done was send honest explanations to American manufacturers, farmers, and retailers who were about to feel the consequences.
Even the administration’s handling of allies defied reason. Japan’s top trade envoy, seeking clarity, came to Washington and managed to secure only two 15-minute phone calls—one with Howard Lutnick and none with Bessent. He stayed an extra 24 hours hoping for a meeting with the Treasury Secretary. He left empty-handed. South Korea, bound to the U.S. by a long-standing free trade agreement, was nonetheless slapped with a 25% tariff under the rationale that they were unfair to America—despite charging zero tariffs on most U.S. imports.
This wasn’t negotiation. This was coercion dressed up as patriotism and sold as economic nationalism.
Even the language of this trade war was surreal. Trump’s officials referred to letters sent to governments as deals, or at least “frameworks of deals.” When confronted by reporters, the president suggested that “sending a letter” was a perfectly acceptable way to finalize international trade agreements. His logic was closer to extortion than diplomacy: “Here it is. Congratulations. Welcome to the United States. I hope you make a lot of money—and you’re going to pay us money.”
Meanwhile, the White House could not even maintain internal consistency. Trump said one thing, Bessent another, and Lutnick still another. Bessent admitted on the record that many of the 100+ countries targeted never even responded. And who could blame them? When the rules are rewritten mid-game, deadlines are vaporous, and your counterpart denies your free trade agreement even exists, silence may be the only sane reply.
So what’s the dividend from all of this? Market chaos. Strategic drift. A diminished reputation on the world stage. Tariff threats not grounded in legal authority or strategic clarity, but in Trump's belief that the United States is a toll booth and he is the collector. Instead of securing economic growth or balanced trade, his policies have further isolated America, alienated its allies, and placed the burden of this spectacle on U.S. households in the form of higher prices and evaporating certainty.
In the world of Donald Trump, a letter is a deal, a deadline is a suggestion, and taxing Americans is winning. This isn’t policy. It’s magical thinking. These are the dividend states of delusion—a country run like a shell corporation, where bluffs are mistaken for strategy and contradictions are covered in the white noise of conviction.
And as Trump issues firm-but-not-firm deadlines and counts emails as negotiations, the rest of the world watches, confused and unimpressed. The consequences will be real. For American exporters. For farmers. For consumers. And for the next administration, which will inherit the fallout.
Until then, the dividend of delusion continues to compound. And it’s the American people who pay it.
THE BANALITY OF CRUELTY: WHY DONALD TRUMP’S SADISM IS CELEBRATED BY SOME AMERICANS
What we are witnessing right now in the United States is not just policy failure or political dysfunction—it is the weaponization of cruelty as a governing principle. Donald Trump, in his second term, is again exposing a fundamental truth about his leadership: he does not govern with reason, principle, or compassion. He governs by spectacle and spite, and some Americans celebrate it.
When Trump guts Medicaid, slashes food assistance, shuts down USAID, or builds makeshift prison camps in Florida for immigrant detainees, he is not doing so to save money or increase national security. These are calculated acts of domination, designed to signal who is in power and who must suffer. He takes away life-saving medications from the world’s poorest, not because we can't afford to help, but because he believes helping others is weakness.
Cruelty is the point.
This cruelty is not accidental. When Trump forces Republican senators to vote to allow Medicaid to be stripped from women while they are giving birth, he is not making a budgetary decision—he is making a moral statement. And it is being cheered. "Alligator Alcatraz"—a grotesque name now printed on Republican campaign t-shirts—has become both policy and merchandise. He is selling suffering like it’s a brand.
How does this happen in a country where the majority of citizens still believe in decency? The answer lies in the psychology of grievance. For decades, a portion of the American electorate has been told that their problems—economic insecurity, cultural change, political irrelevance—are someone else’s fault. Trump doesn’t solve these problems. He validates the rage. He offers cruelty as catharsis. He punishes the poor, the foreign, the sick, and the weak not because it helps anyone, but because it makes his supporters feel like someone is finally on their side by being against someone else.
In Trump’s rhetoric, kindness is a con. Empathy is weakness. Compassion is for losers. He doesn’t speak to the better angels of his voters. He whispers to their resentments.
That is why facts do not matter in Trump’s America. He lies about Medicaid cuts. He contradicts his own policies. He forgets what he is talking about mid-sentence. And none of it changes the loyalty of his followers. Because the relationship isn’t built on truth. It’s built on the shared pleasure of watching their enemies squirm—immigrants, journalists, liberals, scientists, the disabled, the global poor, even fellow Americans in blue states or urban centres.
We call this sadopopulism—a political movement where the supporters derive satisfaction from the suffering inflicted on others, even if it harms them, too. In many Trump counties, Medicaid is the primary source of health care, and yet Trump voters support his cuts because they believe someone else—someone undeserving—is getting more than they are. This is the dividend of delusion: the emotional reward of cruelty disguised as economic policy.
Some of the people celebrating Trump’s cruelty don’t think it’s cruel. They think it’s justice. They believe America has been too generous, too soft, too fair. They believe their pain is noble, and others’ pain is deserved. And Trump gives them a president who doesn’t just reflect their pain—he reflects their need for revenge.
But cruelty spreads. It doesn't stay confined to its original targets. Once it becomes acceptable to take health care from the poor, it becomes acceptable to take it from anyone. Once it becomes acceptable to let children go hungry in the name of political posturing, it becomes acceptable to let anyone suffer. The cruelty doesn’t stop. It becomes governance itself.
This is the danger: we now live in an age where the banality of cruelty has replaced the banality of evil. The decisions are made in suits and ties, under Capitol dome spotlights. They are debated with procedural language and cloture votes. But the result is the same: lives ruined, dignity stripped, futures erased.
What Hannah Arendt described as “the banality of evil” is unfolding again—not through bureaucratic indifference, but through bureaucratic enthusiasm for suffering. A political movement has grown around it. A media machine amplifies it.
A political party defends it.
And Donald Trump, whose mind wanders when asked how long detainees will be held in cages in Florida, continues to preside over it—not as a mastermind, but as a vessel for it.
His cruelty is not brilliant. It is brainless. It is reflexive. It is emptiness filled with rage.
The tragedy is not that Donald Trump is cruel.
That is old news. The tragedy is how many people in power now view that cruelty not as a bug in the system, but as the system itself.
The cruelty is not hidden.
It is live-streamed. It is platformed. It is merchandised.
And unless it is rejected—openly, loudly, and relentlessly—it will become America’s default setting. And it will not stop with the vulnerable. It never does.