Most Americans seem to understand that the Fourth of July is about something bigger than ourselves. It is about celebrating our democracy and our role as citizens—as equals—in it. George Washington understood what that meant. In his last will and testament, he described himself as “a citizen of the United States, and lately president of the same.” He cherished being an American citizen—a title he and the other American revolutionaries helped to create—holding that status even more dear than the temporary honor of the presidency.
If only Donald Trump understood any of this.
Tonight, Trump made a brief appearance at the Great American State Fair in Washington, D.C., which was supposed to be a 250th birthday celebration for the greatest democracy in human history. He treated it instead as a kind of MAGA mini-rally.
From the start, the event seemed, at least on television, to have something of a deflated air about it, perhaps because the entertainment lineup was thin. Multiple artists canceled their their participation once they realized that Trump would use the evening for a partisan spectacle rather than a civic celebration. Various musical and choral units of the U.S. armed forces picked up the slack, and some military jets, including a B2 bomber, flew over the crowd, which was nice.
Then Trump delivered a short speech, and managed to bring everything down to his level. Which is to say, a presidential moment that could have been celebratory and grand became, like the character of the man himself, very small.
After dashing off some boilerplate phrases about American history, Trump went for division, grievance, and self-congratulation. He trotted out the usual rally phrases: The United States was once a dead country, everyone was laughing at us, we’re the hottest country in the world, and so on. He took a reality-challenged victory lap on Iran—even as the Iranians, earlier today, told him to pound sand about nuclear inspections. He assured the American people that he would stop “transgender mutilization” and not allow men to play in women’s sports. DEI, Critical Race Theory, the Gulf of America—all the usual red-meat issues from his rallies made appearances.
As one might expect at a celebration of democracy, he also mentioned a random program he likes: making interest on loans for the purchase of American cars tax-deductible. He castigated his predecessors for their shortcomings, and especially for their neglect of the capital. He even found time to rail about the supposed vandals that wrecked the Reflecting Pool. Washington, he said, was now the safest, prettiest, cleanest city in America—all because of him.
Trump did try at various points to read what his speechwriters probably thought were elevated reflections on America and its triumphs. He reeled off hackneyed references to railroads and skyscrapers, name-checked various U.S. military victories, and dropped a bizarre reference to “the storied alleys of Boston,” whatever that meant. (I lived in Boston. I know some of those alleys. “Storied” is not a word that comes to mind.)
To the extent Trump’s appearance was about anything besides Trump, it was about a kind of vulgar nationalism. Trump cannot comprehend patriotism, the love of one’s country. Instead he defaults to nationalism, the sour and hostile glorification of one’s own nation over everyone else’s. He does this because he views the world the way he apparently has viewed most things in his life: as a competition.
It is not enough for him to love America; the United States is not just great, it must be better than all those other places. It has better people, a better military, a better economy. Some of that is true, but a patriot celebrates love of country for its own sake, not as a continual comparison to others. The United States is worth the loyalty of every citizen because of what it is, because of its eternal character. But for Trump, it is great only insofar as it is superior to some other place, because otherwise those other nations are always laughing, taking advantage, and disrespecting us.
All Trump had to do tonight was walk out on the stage and remind the American people that the nation and its ideals are bigger than all of us. He could have told us that we are blessed to live in freedom and plenty. He could have reminded us that the survival of the American experiment, and the freedoms guaranteed in the Constitution, are miracles that bless every person who lives here.
Instead, he told America that he is great, and that because he is great, America is great, and thanks to him, it is now better than everywhere else. And then a handsome man in a bright military dress uniform sang “YMCA” to him, as the president of the United States danced and smiled.