Marcus Aurelius he isn’t

Tom Nichols in the Atlantic asks a question many of us have asked and asked and asked – why do working class men love Trump when he’s so “unmanly”?

Why do working-class white men—the most reliable component of Donald Trump’s base—support someone who is, by their own standards, the least masculine man ever to hold the modern presidency? The question is not whether Trump fails to meet some archaic or idealized version of masculinity. The president’s inability to measure up to Marcus Aurelius or Omar Bradley is not the issue. Rather, the question is why so many of Trump’s working-class white male voters refuse to hold Trump to their own standards of masculinity—why they support a man who behaves more like a little boy.

And not just any little boy, but a rich little boy, a bratty spoiled demanding tantrum-prone greedy little boy?

I am a son of the working class, and I know these cultural standards. The men I grew up with think of themselves as pretty tough guys, and most of them are. They are not the products of elite universities and cosmopolitan living. These are men whose fathers and grandfathers came from a culture that looks down upon lying, cheating, and bragging, especially about sex or courage…

They are, as an American Psychological Association feature describes them, men who adhere to norms such as “toughness, dominance, self-reliance, heterosexual behaviors, restriction of emotional expression and the avoidance of traditionally feminine attitudes and behaviors.”

…I do not present these beliefs and attitudes as uniformly virtuous in themselves. Some of these traditional masculine virtues have a dark side: Toughness and dominance become bullying and abuse; self-reliance becomes isolation; silence becomes internalized rage.

I would say that dominance is just plain bad in itself, as opposed to having a dark side. People have to be in a boss role at times, but that doesn’t have to be a matter of dominance. But that’s a quibble.

Rather, I am noting that courage, honesty, respect, an economy of words, a bit of modesty, and a willingness to take responsibility are all virtues prized by the self-identified class of hard-working men, the stand-up guys, among whom I was raised.

And yet, many of these same men expect none of those characteristics from Trump, who is a vain, cowardly, lying, vulgar, jabbering blowhard.

And he’s weak, and puffy, and lazy, and cruel, and a bully, and envious, and spiteful. He’s the Captain to Henry Fonda’s Mister Roberts.

As the writer Windsor Mann has noted, Trump behaves in ways that many working-class men would ridicule: “He wears bronzer, loves gold and gossip, is obsessed with his physical appearance, whines constantly, can’t control his emotions, watches daytime television, enjoys parades and interior decorating, and used to sell perfume.”

He goes through the particulars one by one, including Trump’s terror of strong women and his blustering attempts to make them stop questioning him.

His anxiety at such moments—for example, when he calls on female reporters in the White House press room—is palpable. He begins his usual flurry of defensive hand gestures, from the playing of an imaginary accordion to a hand held up with a curled pinky finger like some parody of a Queens mobster, while he stammers out verbal chaff bursts of “excuse me” and “are you ready?”

I think it’s not just anxiety, I think it’s also contempt, disgust, loathing – in short a deeply entrenched misogyny. What is some fucking bitch doing questioning him? Excuse me, excuse me.

Does Trump accept responsibility and look out for his team? Not in the least. In this category, he exhibits one of the most unmanly of behaviors: He’s a blamer. Nothing is ever his fault. In the midst of disaster, he praises himself while turning on even his most loyal supporters without a moment’s hesitation. Men across America who were socialized by team sports, whose lives are predicated on the principle of showing up and doing the job, continually excuse a man who continually excuses himself. This presidency is defined not by Ed Harris’s grim intonation in Apollo 13 that “failure is not an option,” but by one of the most shameful utterances of a chief executive in modern American history: “I take no responsibility at all.”

That’s a good one; I hadn’t thought of it quite that way before. The refusal ever to take responsibility, yes, but not the team sports part or the Gene Kranz part.

In the end there is no explanation. Nichols attempts one by saying people see Trump as a boy rather than a man, but that just moves the question back a step. Why do they do that, and who wants a boy in this job anyway? I’ll never understand it, myself.

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