Barack begat Donald

Barack Obama was in a bad mood.

It was early April 2008 when I took my 7-year-old daughter to see presidential candidate, and then-Sen. Obama (D-Ill.), in downtown San Antonio. The election was months away, but there was a palpable sense of inevitability in the air and I wanted my daughter to soak in the evening’s historical significance perched atop my shoulders while we listened to Obama speak.

Perhaps it was his loss to Hillary Clinton in the state primaries contested on that warm April evening, but there was very little inspiration in his words. Instead I felt a baritone anger booming from the giant speakers. In that moment, the “change” so often promised morphed from hope into something darker for me; something more ominous.

{mosads}Snipers were perched atop the courthouse in the distance while upbeat music from Stevie Wonder and Curtis Mayfield wailed. It all served as a fitting sensory contradiction and the diversity in the crowd was a sight to behold: young, old, brown, black and white, all together, all surging toward the stage. The surreality of the evening were prelude to his delivery, which was more Willie Stark than John Kennedy. I noticed the contrast of his slow-burning, elegantly coiffed power, pitted against the crowd’s unadulterated joy for him.

It has been seven years and many miles, but as I consider Obama’s presidency, I think about that night. My optimism dissipated while listening to raucous chants of “Yes We Can!” and I left with the inescapable sense that Obama, soon to be the most powerful man in the world, wasn’t speaking to me. In fact, he had no interest whatsoever in winning me over. He knew already that he could succeed without me.

Through it all, Obama’s accomplishments were perplexing; he seemed to win few battles but always somehow won the war. Perhaps nestled in a small corner of his presidential library will be an exhibit dedicated to his most puzzling legacy: the man twice elected championed programs that often failed to win even a plurality of the public’s support. Obama the man made supporters swoon; Obama’s programs did not.

And now, here we are, hurtling along with our hair on fire in the summer of Donald Trump. I’m captivated by his speeches — not for his eloquence or oratory, but more for his inability to explain anything beyond how rich and smart he believes himself to be.

Many are amazed by Trump’s poll numbers, or as he explained to TIME magazine while uniquely discussing his appeal: “It’s men, it’s women, it’s a lot of Democrats. In fact … said you were better with the Democrats. … The states where they know me best there’s a huge positive. In fact I had the biggest swing of anybody that they’ve seen. You know what I mean, right?”

On the surface, attempting to compare the two is a fool’s errand. Trump is the chainsaw to Obama’s scalpel, but dig deeper and the similarities are there: both rhetorical methods serve their purpose, both get the job done. The vacuousness of Obama’s — “this was the moment when the rise of the oceans began to slow and our planet began to heal” — has been trumped by Trump’s clumsy “whatever it is, I know how to do things. I just want to make this country so great, and that’s what’s going to happen.”

And, ironically, most of those who chose to sit out the last two presidential elections — thereby accelerating Obama’s ascension — are responsible now for the rise of Trump. In this tragic comedy, Obama’s narcissism, his polite classlessness, his ruthless pursuit of largely unpopular ends that so fueled his supporters for the better of the last decade, have all comically transformed into the vehicle driving Trump’s summer success. All things considered and rhetorical prowess aside, there is little separating the abiding philosophies of Obama and Trump. Strangely, Trump unequivocally owes his early campaign success to Obama.

As a conservative, I can reconcile my disconnect with Obama and those that support him. And while not pleasant, knowing that the current president never attempted to persuade me is understandable. But the argument for Trump, and those voices that seem to be trying to convince me of his legitimacy — from Rush Limbaugh to Bill O’Reilly — is troubling. Neither Obama nor Trump have any interest in ever attempting to win me over. I sensed the anger in Obama early on and can hear the same Machiavellian tones from Trump now. Both seem to be content in dividing the country into picayune slivers to cobble together a winning coalition. Both never have to speak to me in order to win.

Hale is a freelance writer who lives in San Antonio with his wife and three children.