Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Donald John Trump has made one thing absolutely clear—he never intended to be the President of the United States. No, no—he wanted to be the President of Donald John Trump, a sovereign nation of one, surrounded by a loyal handful of subjects whose primary job is to clap, nod, and tell him he’s the greatest ruler the world has ever seen. The “United States” part is just a technicality, something written on the letterhead of his golf club stationery.

You can almost picture him staring at a portrait of Abraham Lincoln, wondering why “that tall guy with the sad eyes” keeps getting so much credit. Lincoln—the man who agonized over a divided nation, who wrestled with moral questions that shaped the very soul of America—had the nerve to listen to Frederick Douglass. Imagine that: a president who actually listened to someone smarter than him. Trump would never. Trump doesn’t listen; he broadcasts.

Even Lincoln had to be reminded by Douglass that he was president of all Americans, not just the white ones, the wealthy ones, or the ones who could vote. Douglass told Lincoln, in essence, “Sir, you’re the President of the whole country.” Trump, if he ever heard that, would say, “Wrong. Fake news. I’m the President of the real Americans—the ones who own MAGA hats and eat well-done steaks with ketchup.”

And then, of course, there was that unforgettable Trump moment: “Frederick Douglass is an example of somebody who’s done an amazing job and is being recognized more and more.” As if Douglass had just launched a new line of haircare products or dropped a fire new single on Spotify. The man’s been dead for over a century, but Trump made it sound like he was about to appear on The Apprentice: Abolitionist Edition.

If Lincoln was the president who struggled with the nation’s moral compass, Trump is the president who melted it down and sold it as limited-edition “Truth Social” merch. Lincoln spent sleepless nights contemplating the future of democracy. Trump spent sleepless nights doom-scrolling his own name and rage-tweeting about toilet water pressure.

Lincoln had Douglass. Trump has Rudy Giuliani. One advised on the moral conscience of a nation; the other sweats hair dye on live television and argues with landscaping companies about their parking lot bookings.

To Trump, being president was never about governance—it was about branding. The Oval Office wasn’t a place of history; it was a stage set. He wasn’t leading a country; he was starring in a reality show called The Apprentice: American Edition. The contestants? Every American citizen. The prize? His approval, which, like most Trump properties, is grossly overpriced and structurally unsound.

Lincoln’s legacy is the Emancipation Proclamation. Trump’s is the Self-Adoration Manifesto. Lincoln sought to unite a fractured nation; Trump seeks to fracture a united one, just to see his name trending again. Lincoln gave us “a government of the people, by the people, for the people.” Trump gave us “a government of the ego, by the ego, for the ego.”

So yes, Donald John Trump has no intention of being president for everyone. He never did. He wants to be president for those who worship him, defend him, and would gladly donate their last $20 to his legal defense fund. Everyone else? In his mind, they’re fake Americans—just like Frederick Douglass, who’s “doing an amazing job” somewhere in the great beyond.