You probably saw it circulating on Twitter this week: a comically ridiculous image claiming to be an official Christmas card, signed “President Donald J. Trump” and datelined “The Winter White House.” The phallic imagery is glaring, and the design looks homemade. It looked extravagant and gauche, which made it more plausible: we’re discussing a man who owns a solid gold toilet in a Manhattan penthouse.
Only one problem, of course: it’s fake. The “card” doesn’t appear on the former president’s website, and I’d question the legality of him using the presidential title (though he’s entitled to be addressed as “Mr. President” for the rest of his life). The tuxedo image comes from a particularly embarrassing photo taken during a state meeting with Queen Elizabeth II in June of 2019. The aggregate image looks handmade because it probably is.
Despite being a transparent forgery, the image burned hard across Twitter yesterday for one simple reason: it told True Believers what they already believed. By depicting the former president as a literal dickhead, it permitted his opponents to engage in worldwide mutual congratulations, an exercise that blurred the lines between applauding each other, and a circle jerk. It made us feel good about ourselves without actually doing anything.
The contemptuous attitude underlying this meme definitely precedes the Internet. Ridiculing your ideological opponents’ looks and lack of perceived grace has been a staple of talk radio, late-night comedy, and basic cable discourse at least throughout my lifetime. Its tendencies, however, have been accentuated by use of algorithms on search engines and social media. We’re guaranteed to see whatever image verifies our existing views.
Watching this demonstrably fake image circulate this week, I’m reminded of something I told Freshman Comp students back in my teaching days: being mean is fun. Taking potshots at your opposition, highlighting their awkward quirks and personal shortcomings, maximizing the other side’s insignificant image problems: it’s fun. Anybody who’s ever participated in online dogpiling knows this. Like schoolyard bullies, you quickly get addicted to the endorphin rush of being cruel.
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| The source of the tuxedo image, June 2019 |
Furthermore, rhetorical cruelty can serve a valid purpose: it builds group bonds. Conservatives listening to Rush Limbaugh dump personal invective on Democrats, or Keith Olbermann unload personal animus on Republicans, has felt the rush of insidership. We’ve felt vindicated, watching these professionals state the opinions we already have, except with more eloquence. Watching this kind of partisan pettiness reminds us we’re on the “right” side of the argument.
Therefore, if you want to energize a base to action, casual cruelty is an effective tool. The former president utilized this tool effectively, and while it never netted him a popular majority, it delivered an electrified base sufficient to win on a technicality. Democrats, preserving the Obama-era philosophy of “When They Go Low, We Go High,” have meanwhile struggled to hold onto a fiddling plurality by their shrinking fingertips.
However, whatever short-term gains rhetorical spitefulness delivers, it always undermines the long-term agenda. Coalitions held together by malice and wrath attract few converts, and inevitably lose followers when someone crosses some invisible line. Consider your MAGA friends who supported the January 6th insurrection, and ask yourself: would you trust them to babysit your dog? Do you think you’ll ever trust them again?
Whenever I see people I generally consider trustworthy sharing the above meme, with its implicit message of “Haha look, the man’s a literal dickhead,” I find myself questioning how trustworthy I’d consider them in power. If someone’s entire political mindset is based on being as mean as possible to the other side, I question how genuine their motivations are. What’s to stop them, when their candidate gets elected, from seeking vengeance?
Don’t misunderstand me: I’ve fallen prey to this before. I too-credulously accepted accusations like the “Defend Billionaires” billboard or fabricated politician quotes. It’s easy to assume that the worst possible behavior from the other side is not only plausible, but commonplace. And it feels good to push that conclusion to its ultimate end, pat myself on the back for being right all along, and brag. I definitely understand the temptation.
But that doesn’t make the action any less wrong. Just as important, it doesn’t make the behavior any less detrimental to our long-term goals. The algorithm and the 24-hour news cycle mislead us into believing scoring points against the enemy is of paramount importance— and, in fairness, it helps. But petty spitefulness only works to deepen divisions, make the other side unwilling to listen, and make our national situation worse.
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