In a scene that could have been ripped from a particularly tasteless episode of a reality show set in a dementia ward, the former president, one Donald J. Trump, has once again treated the fourth estate with all the dignity of a toddler rejecting his broccoli. He walked out of an NBC interview. Yes, walked. Out. As if the very act of answering questions from a trained journalist was an affront to his majestic person. One can only imagine the precise moment his own sense of self-importance became physically unbearable, causing him to rise from his chair with the grace of a startled hippopotamus and storm towards the exit, leaving a trail of bewildered producers and half-elected congressmen in his wake.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the Atlantic, the British government has issued a stern warning about the sanctity of electoral integrity. Which is a bit rich coming from a nation that once brewed tea in the Houses of Parliament. But there it was, a statement so grave you could practically hear the metaphorical monocle popping out in horror. They declared, in the sort of language usually reserved for admonishing recalcitrant colonials, that electoral integrity must be 'sacrosanct.' A word that sounds like a cross between a saint and a sacrement, and probably about as useful as a chocolate teapot in the current global political climate.
The juxtaposition is, to put it mildly, exquisite. Here is a man who seems to believe that electoral integrity is whatever he says it is, especially if he's the one doing the electing or the integritying. And there is a nation, once proud, now reduced to lecturing others on proper procedure while simultaneously trying to figure out how to extricate themselves from a self-inflicted constitutional crisis. It's like watching a dentist with a mouthful of rotten teeth tell you to floss more.
But let us not be too harsh. After all, Trump walking out of an interview is hardly breaking news. It's more like a weather report: expect hot air, followed by a sudden departure, with a chance of incoherent tweets. The real spectacle is the sheer, breathtaking audacity of his performance. He treats the media like a recalcitrant waiter who has failed to bring his ketchup fast enough. And the media, let's be honest, are just as addicted to the drama as he is. It's a codependent spiral of mutual self-destruction, and we are all, regrettably, in the passenger seat.
As for the UK's warning, one can't help but wonder if it's not a little bit of projection. After all, the British have a long and storied history of electoral peculiarities, from rotten boroughs to the decidedly odd concept of a hereditary house of legislators. But never mind that. The important thing is that someone, somewhere, is taking a stand for the sacred principle that votes should be counted fairly. Even if that someone is a country currently grappling with its own existential democratic questions.
So, here we are. The circus rolls on, with the clown car emitting puffs of outrage and a cross-Channel ally waggling a finger. In the end, one suspects that electoral integrity will survive both Trump's tantrums and Britain's pious declarations. But it will be a close-run thing, and undoubtedly involve a lot of gin.
Biff Thistlethwaite, propping up the bar of democracy, signing off.
