Since Donald Trump’s first criminal trial began, I’ve found myself experiencing an emotion I never would have imagined in this strange moment: sadness.
Let me be clear — I have no sympathy for Trump. Nor do I feel empathy when he lumbers toward the Manhattan courtroom where he’s facing 34 felony charges for allegedly falsifying business records to conceal payments made to Stormy Daniels, an adult film actress, to buy her silence about an affair Trump reportedly had with her.
Buzzy headlines and sound bites notwithstanding, this is not a “hush money” trial. According to a court filing, Judge Juan Merchan will explain to jurors that the “allegations are in substance, that Donald Trump falsified business records to conceal an agreement with others to unlawfully influence the 2016 presidential election.”
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This is only one of three trials Trump is expected to face for interfering in a presidential election. Prosecutors in Georgia and Washington, D.C., are still waiting for their turn regarding his alleged criminal actions after the 2020 election.
So after months of delays due to Trump’s run-out-the-clock legal strategy, having the former president on trial is both overdue and welcome.
But it’s the latest disorienting moment exacted on this country since Trump’s literal descent into politics in 2015 with his first first presidential run. We have endured two impeachments; a deadly insurrection; his fanboying of murderous dictators; unveiled threats of retribution against his perceived enemies; and a profane disregard for the pillars of American democracy.
Now there’s the twisted possibility of a presumptive Republican presidential nominee also being a convicted felon. And despite this, tens of millions of people, mostly his fellow Republicans, including those like Governor Chris Sununu of New Hampshire, who once pretended he could never support Trump, will vote to return to the White House the man who once called it “a real dump.”
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It’s a disturbingly sad state of affairs.
During the Democrat-led House hearings for Trump’s first impeachment trial in 2019, I often thought of my grandfather, who spent months watching the Watergate hearings in 1973. He despised Richard Nixon. But my grandfather also seemed wracked with sadness over what might happen if, after so much evidence and testimony, nothing happened. Sitting in his favorite living room chair, his face knotted with concern, he worried about this country’s future if its president was allowed to operate with impunity.
In 1974, when impeachment seemed inevitable, Nixon became the first American president to resign. That briefly buoyed my grandfather’s faith — until Gerald Ford, Nixon’s successor, granted “a full and unconditional pardon” to the man he served as vice president “for any crimes that he might have committed against the United States as president.”
That’s probably all that kept Nixon out of a courtroom like the one where Trump will be spending weeks as a criminal defendant. True to form, the former president is treating the proceedings with disdain, a cross between a reality show and a campaign fundraising rally to keep fleecing his compliant followers. With mendacious posts about the judge and jury selection on his Truth Social site, Trump is ignoring — so far without any punishment — a gag order issued by Merchan.
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Maybe Trump wouldn’t be nodding off in court if he weren’t up at all hours spewing lies and overworking his caps lock key.
Merchan has also admonished Trump for gesturing at and audibly speaking within earshot of a potential juror, which the judge compared to intimidation. Trump is turning what should be a solemn proceeding into a circus. It’s a pathetic display that will continue so long as Trump is allowed to indulge in his antics without consequences.
But it’s not a show. It’s a painful event in an already fractured nation that keeps finding new ways to splinter even further. What’s happening in a New York courthouse is the kind of thing that American arrogance once led many to believe only occurred in countries rife with unchecked corruption and lawlessness. Then Trump became president.
I’d always said that Trump’s presidency would leave permanent scars. I was wrong. Those wounds he inflicted have remained open and weeping. But I’m not only sad about the ugly spectacle of this malevolent man on trial; I’m also disheartened that I don’t trust that Trump will be held accountable — in a criminal court of law or on Election Day.
Renée Graham is a Globe columnist. She can be reached at renee.graham@globe.com. Follow her @reneeygraham.
