Nidra Poller. O sinner man, where ye gonna run to: DJT on the rampage

O sinner man, where ye gonna run to: DJT on the rampage
And here we are! The final destination is in sight. The disastrous consequences of the misguided journey are exploding in our faces, weighing on my heart. It all began with: don’t pay attention to any signs that normally indicate the nature of the beast. Just believe me and follow him. Stifle your perceptions, explain away the danger signals, swallow the myth one kernel at a time and let it germinate and spread over the whole field of your depths. For ten years now I’ve been writing the reality you said I must ignore. You pushed me aside and jumped on the train. Called me names. Accused me of intelligence with the enemy.

Next stop: Doublecross. Terminus.

Your ticket was stamped with a smiley. Yes, he’s unsavory, clumsy, heavy-handed and boorish, but he’s shaking things up and our marbles will come out on the top. Yes, he’s stomping on allies and snuggling up to StrongMen, but who else will deal the knockout blow? Yes, it looks like he’s messing up domestically and internationally, his peace through strength is made of tissue paper, and his Incompetence Administration resonates, backfires, spits out choking fumes, but he’s our Main Man and, shhhh, the secret is going to be beautiful. Beautiful.
Out of the fog of ludicrous negotiations, the bugle will resound. The Yankees are coming. Cutey-pie Steve will step aside and the DJT Boys will bomb the hell out of Iran!!!

Or not.

Bibi was summoned to the White House for an emergency meeting. You reveled in this sign of the special relationship with the Man. And predicted, incidentally, tariff relief. However, the tone was set on the doorstep. After the handshake and a brief smile for the photographers, DJT abruptly turned and walked inside. An empty pause. The Israeli PM realized he was standing there alone like a broomstick. He ducked through the door and, in the next frame , we found them flanking the blind fireplace in the Oval Office.

It’s a soft version of the Zelensky humiliation, including the Jews-&-money stroke. The self-satisfied President squelches all hopes of tariff relief, adding, with a sneer, “We already give you a lot, 4 billion à year,” concluding, with a smile, “you’re pretty good at that [at getting money from us].”

That’s the jibe. Then comes the gut punch: “We’re in direct talks with Iran.” Bibi, knocked off his feet, tries to get back into the ring. Yes, a deal would be fine. As long as the nuclear development facilities are dismantled and carted off. Hardly gets the words out of his mouth when Iran says “No way.” And we learn that the ubiquitous Witkoff is in charge of the negotiations. The first round is scheduled for Saturday (a few hours before the seder) in Oman.

Why are these important talks held in Arab-Muslim countries?
All hell would break loose if the Gaza hostages weren’t released. All hell was then and still is breaking loose—toda rabah, Tsahal– and 59 hostages dead or alive are rotting in Hamas hell. The Ukraine/Russia conflict would be solved in 24 hours. A bit longer. Several months. Whenever whatever. And Russia is mercilessly pounding civilian targets. So, if Iran doesn’t sign a nuclear deal, bad things will happen.
Or not.

Who said, “I think Iran will sign a deal. Because, you see, if they’re in a deal, Israel won’t bomb them.”

Where have you seen the gorgeous results of DJT’s art of the deal? He didn’t even write the book; the real author says DJT’s a phony, a con man. Anyway, he’s not negotiating anything. He sends witless Witkoff. It’s not the art of the deal, it’s the game of the double cross. That’s what’s happening now, before our eyes.
Witkoff, who’s no yiddishe kopf, put his hand over his heart before shaking hands with Putin. Probably picked up the gesture at the confab in Saudi Arabia and thought he was learning the language of diplomacy. The meeting went well, says Witkoff. Putin commissioned a portrait of President Trump by “the best artist” in the land, for me to bring to him!

The finest diplomats in the free world, the most astute political leaders, the sharpest thinkers and the most brilliant specialists have not been able to solve these problems: the Iranian orchestration of genocidal Islamic Jew hatred in a coordinated operation for the destruction of the State of Israel and the extermination of Jews worldwide; Russian military imperialism aimed at the reconquest of the Soviet empire and the destruction of the West; China, for better and for worse; unbridled immigration into the free world by the economically distressed and politically oppressed.

DJT will solve all that quicker than a shyster plumber. Leaky faucet in Gaza? Rusty waterpipes in Ukraine? Overheated circuits in Iran? Send Witkoff. For the rest, an executive order here, a slew of tariffs there, lawfare against the lawyers, contempt of the courts, one-way tickets to El Salvador prisons, and tinfoil ultimatums delivered to hostile forces.

Not to forget the Boehler episode. Another smart aleck—why does he have to be Jewish—who speaks en tête à tête to the humane fiber of Hamasniks. And then we learn that his sidekick—or minder—is the billionaire Bashar al-Masri. One more real estate developer in the salad, but this one is being sued by 200 direct and indirect victims of the October 7 massacre, accused of doing dual-purpose construction in Gaza, adapted to the Hamas military program.

DJT is heartless, cynical, dishonest, sloppy, lazy, a spoiled brat. Cruel. President Zelensky, swallowing his pride, begs for Patriot systems to defend his battered population. He’s not asking for favors. He offers to buy them. DJT snarls and mumbles, putting on his ugliest face. “He’s asking for missiles. You don’t start a war if you can’t win it. You don’t start a war with someone that’s 20 times bigger than you, and then ask for missiles.”

The airstrike on Soumy is still before our eyes.

Or not.

If you can’t keep voters from electing an incompetent president, don’t be surprised if he selects incompetent cabinet ministers that choose incompetent collaborators that fumble on the job.

You keep grabbing excuses out of your keep-calm bag. He’s doing what he promised, he was abundantly elected, he has a mandate. No. There’s no mandate for Revolution and proto-dictatorship in American democracy. A man could have 80% of the vote, he still has to respect the Constitution. Even if he promised trillions in government savings and deported immigrants; magical solutions to the Russia/Ukraine spat, the Hamas pickle, the Iranian gimmick; reversal of the trade balance and elimination of transgenderism.

Can’t you see that the tariff rampage is preposterous? Didn’t you notice that an administration that operates on a 3-minute attention span suddenly latched onto ancient history? As the modest revenue of ordinary people goes down the drain, we’re fed the tariffing wisdom of Alexander Hamilton, and a lecture from the president: America was prosperous between 1870 and 1913, when someone got the “bright idea” of free trade. High falutin’ gibberish to drown out the sound of markets crashing, enterprises careening down slippery slopes, bubbles of nonexistent factories bursting in air. You can’t repatriate, in three months, industries that slipped through clumsy fingers for half a century. No one can negotiate trade deals with a hundred partners one by one in a few weeks. Nothing real about this operation but the slash & burn.

And, speaking of ancient history, do you remember that Europe was told to get its act together and pay for its own defenses? Merci, chef, but how does that go with your blitzkrieg on our economies?

The wallpaper has started peeling. You’re looking for a quick fix. Some accuse “anti-Israel” members of the administration of sabotaging the president’s efforts to disarm Iran. (Who said “I won’t start wars, I’ll end wars.”?)

Some are promising wonders behind the apparent fiasco of that Oval Office meeting with Netanyahu. You have to understand that the PM and DJT are building a new edifice for Israel and the free world. If you dig what’s really happening, you’ll be filled with unprecedented hope and power.

Another, more imaginative, dangles a scenario where Witkoff deftly extracts information and gracefully softens up the bargaining partners, only seeming to be on their side and giving in to their maximum demands. The wizard deal-maker will suddenly step in, turn the screws, and win the lottery.

But no one can pep you up like Tucker Carlson chatting with the president’s international relations envoy, the greatest negotiator Tucker’s seen in his lifetime who, in turn, praises his Boss, a strong man, the strongest man he’s ever known. They go on and on, impervious to reality, spinning out fairy tales for each other, like two battery-raised vacuum-packed mushy American chickens. Tucker cackles and Steve coos. Those Qatar fellows are really great. They’re not involved in the conflict, they’re internationally recognized negotiators. Like the Swiss and the Norwegians.
Jimmy Baldwin used to say “The Man tosses us a pork chop. Well, I’m not biting, baby.” Suave evenings in the garden at St. Paul de Vence, smoking and talking and running all that jive through the wringer. Pork’s treif, but DJT can toss us a corned beef sandwich. Like the neighborhood crank that murders pets, he puts his poison in a tasty snack. And tosses it to the gullible. That’s how he got the mandate that he’s using to stomp on everything that is not himself and his immediate personal interest. The transatlantic alliance, American military presence abroad (send them all to the border), free trade, rules-based relations, and common decency …

The Arab American voters that paved the way for him in Michigan and beyond took a head-butt with the Gaza-lago stunt. They’d never suspected that clearing the Strip of the rubble and the population was his idea of satisfying the legitimate aspirations of their homeboys. Other contingents, too, will wake up to the shell game. Young men, Blacks, Latinos, Asian- Americans, women…

And you? My cherished friends. When will you open your deep, sensitive eyes?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Nidra Poller is an American-born writer who has lived in Paris since 1972. She is author of works of fiction in English and in French, and has published in many venues, including the Wall Street Journal Europe, Family Security Matters, New English Review, Times of Israel (French), Commentary, Midah, Tribune Juive. She is the author of literary-political books testifying to the Troubled Dawn of the 21st Century and novels: madonna madonna (français) and So Courage & Gypsy Motion.