Donald Trump has just dropped the Mother of All Bombs on Afghanistan. And a naval task force -- aircraft carrier, destroyers and missiles -- will soon drop anchor off the coast of North Korea. Michael Harris writes:
If Kim Jong Un decides to conduct a sixth nuclear test to celebrate Korea’s birthday, Donald Trump’s bluff will be called. It will then come down to a single question: What will the guy driving the Big Winnebago without a roadmap do?
Trump could, of course, flatten North Korea like a cardboard treehouse. But the teeming killing grounds of Seoul and Tokyo are within the reach of Kim’s own missiles; he already has said he would launch a nuclear strike of his own if attacked. Even North Korea’s conventional weapons are more than enough to flatten Seoul, population 10 million. Would the president take that chance in order to win a swinging dick contest between two egos that could only fit into the Rogers Centre one at a time?
It's impossible to conclude what Trump would say. But, then, words don't mean anything to Trump:
Trump is proving with each passing hour of his First Hundred Days that nothing could possibly mean less to him than words.But it's even more impossible to predict what Trump will do:
Take his tweet on International Women’s Day, which begins with this phrase: “I have tremendous respect for women …” The words are clear, concise — and disingenuous enough to make a dog weep.
While running for the Republican nomination, Trump ridiculed fellow candidate Carly Fiorina’s looks. He fat-shamed a former Miss Universe (particularly galling, given how the man himself needs a sturdy girdle, better hair implants and corrective surgery for a bad case of Mussolini mouth). And then there was the whole “grab ’em by the pussy” thing, airily dismissed by his handlers as “locker room talk.” Just words, in other words.
Any notion of a Trump Doctrine is oxymoronic. There is no policy. There are no campaign promises that matter. There is no strategy. There are no congressional checks and balances.
And there is no Rasputin in the Oval Office, no guiding genius, good or evil — just angleworms in a jar trying to saw each other in two, and a fashion maven advising on missile strikes. Mostly, there’s just Donald Trump, bouncing off the walls of the White House like a kid on a sugar high.
Happy Easter -- maybe.
Image: We Are Change