We are the only guardrail left

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Mark Milley is not the only general to call Donald Trump a fascist.

“Certainly the former president is in the far-right area, he’s certainly an authoritarian, admires people who are dictators — he has said that,” John Kelly, the former Marine general who served as Trump’s chief of staff, said during a recent interview with my New York Times colleague Michael Schmidt. “So he certainly falls into the general definition of fascist, for sure.”

Kelly even went as far as reading a definition of “fascism” to prove his point. “Well, looking at the definition of fascism: It’s a far-right authoritarian, ultranationalist political ideology and movement characterized by a dictatorial leader, centralized autocracy, militarism, forcible suppression of opposition, belief in a natural social hierarchy,” he said.

Those are the kinds of things, Kelly added, that Trump “thinks would work better in terms of running America.”

And while he is not a general, Mark Esper, Trump’s onetime secretary of defense, told CNN that he thinks the public should take the former president “seriously” when he raises the possibility of using the military against American citizens.

“I think President Trump has learned, the key is getting people around you who will do your bidding, who will not push back, who will implement what you want to do,” Esper said.

“And I think he’s talked about that, his acolytes have talked about that, and I think loyalty will be the first litmus test,” Esper added. He also said, following Kelly’s remarks, that Trump “has those inclinations,” meaning toward fascism.

Mark Milley. John Kelly. Mark Esper. Two generals. Three high-ranking officials in the Trump administration. Men with intimate knowledge of Trump’s impulses and private behavior. And here they are, in the crucial weeks before the election, telling the American public — explicitly and without euphemism — that their former boss is a would-be autocrat who will, if given the chance, plunge this country into the darkness of authoritarianism.

This, as I wrote last week, is unprecedented. It’s one of the most extraordinary developments in American political history. To my mind, it is now the only story worth telling about the 2024 presidential election. It should be the only thing Americans talk about between now and Nov. 5. And every one of Trump’s allies and surrogates should have to answer the question of whether or not they agree that their boss is a “fascist to the core,” as Milley put it.

What is there to say about these revelations beyond the obvious point that Trump cannot be allowed to sit in the Oval Office a second time?

I have two thoughts — almost more like observations.

The first is for skeptics: Trump’s own actions in this campaign are confirmation that Milley, Kelly and Esper are right. One thing you’ll notice as we charge toward Election Day is the spate of stories about Trump’s post-election plans. Not transition plans, for how to staff the government if he wins, but plans to challenge and overturn the results, if he loses. Plans to prevent certification of electoral votes, plans to throw out votes in states he lost — plans to do everything he can to take the final decision away from the people of the United States and put it in the hands of judges and election officials who support him more than they value their sworn oath to the Constitution. Backing Trump here is a group of billionaire donors who have spent more than $140 million on this second attempt to “stop the steal,” should he lose once more at the ballot box.

The mere fact that this is a thing — the mere fact that this is an effort — is evidence alone of Trump’s authoritarian intent.

Put differently, Donald Trump does not respect your right to reject his advances. If the American public declines to give him a second term in office, his plan is to force himself on that public on the theory that the country and its political system are too far gone to stop him.

This brings me to my second observation.

We don’t, in 2024, hear much talk of guardrails anymore. And for good reason. The guardrails failed. Every single one of them. The Republican Party failed to police its own boundaries, welcoming Trump when it should have done everything it could to expel him. The impeachment process, designed to remove a rogue president, was short-circuited, unable to work in a world of rigid partisan loyalty. The criminal legal system tried to hold Trump accountable, but this was slow-walked and sabotaged by sympathetic judges (and justices) appointed by Trump or committed to the Republican Party.

When the states tried to take matters into their own hands, citing the clear text of section three of the 14th Amendment, a Republican-appointed majority on the Supreme Court stepped in to rewrite the amendment, turning a self-executing prohibition on insurrectionists in office into a mechanism that required a congressional vote those justices knew would never come.

Led by Chief Justice John Roberts, that same majority effectively delayed the federal trial for Trump’s role in the plot to overturn the 2020 presidential election. It also tried to nullify the case itself with a ruling that gave Trump, and any future president, immunity to criminal prosecution for a broad suite of “official acts.”

To do this, Roberts twisted the Constitution into a fun house mirror of itself, reading into the document an almost unlimited presidential impunity that cuts against the text, history and traditions of constitutional government in the United States. The court’s ruling in Trump v. United States is a vision of presidential power that, as Matt Ford observes in The New Republic, exists in a world “without John Locke, without Montesquieu, without Thomas Jefferson or James Madison or Alexander Hamilton.”

It is a ruling that ignores the classical republican ideas that underpin the American constitutional order. It is the imposition of pure ideology and a declaration from Roberts that his court doesn’t just interpret the Constitution, it is the Constitution.

The truth, at this point, is that the only real guardrails in the American system are the voters — the people, acting in their own defense.

For too long, too many of us have acted as if democracy can run on autopilot — as if self-government will, well, take care of itself. But it won’t. The reality is that the future of the American republic is up to us.

We will decide if we live in a country where we govern ourselves. We will decide whether we hand this nation over to a man, and a movement, that rejects the notion of an inclusive American freedom and a broad, egalitarian American liberty. We will decide whether we will continue to seek — and expand upon — the promise of American democracy, as flawed and fraught as the reality has been.

It is, in fact, the great irony of self-government that we can decide to end it. “If destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author and finisher,” observed a young Abraham Lincoln in 1838. “As a nation of freemen, we must live through all time, or die by suicide.” If we wish, we can vote to hand away the closest thing we have, as a people, to a birthright.

My hope is that we don’t. My hope is that enough of us recognize the plain fact that Trump has been nothing more than a force for corruption, greed, cruelty and cynicism in American life. That he has empowered the worst among us and encouraged the worst in many of us. And that his great accomplishment as a national political leader is to spread the dangerous lie that our problems can be blamed on the weakest and most vulnerable in our midst.

My hope, in short, is that enough Americans understand that there is no amount of harm you can inflict on others that will save you, give you strength, make you whole or keep you safe.