An Infallible Leader, In Real Time
By: Sam Massey
In the closing hours of a late-night social media blitz, President Donald J. Trump’s Truth Social account shared a short video that rapidly became a flashpoint in a national debate. The clip depicted Democrats as animals and image-superimposed the faces of former President Barack Obama and former First Lady Michelle Obama onto dancing apes, and critics widely condemned it as racially offensive. Within about a dozen hours, Truth Social removed the post amid an outpouring of bipartisan criticism.
What followed unfolded as an unusually public exercise in deflection. Faced with mounting outrage from both Democrats and members of his own party, including Republican Senators Tim Scott and Roger Wicker, the White House minimized the episode as an “internet meme” and then pinned responsibility on a staffer who had “erroneously” published the material. The president himself, speaking aboard Air Force One, insisted emphatically that he had not seen the offending segment of the video and refused to apologize, asserting, “No, I didn’t make a mistake.”
This pattern has existed with Trump for the past decade, but it has accelerated in this Second Administration. He and his allies reframe a leader’s misstep as someone else’s error, despite Trump’s well-documented activity on Truth Social and the pride he takes in controlling his own personal social media. I believe this reflects a broader phenomenon in contemporary political communication. Instead of acknowledging the implications of amplifying imagery with deeply racist associations, especially during Black History Month, Trump and his aides shifted the focus outward, toward social-media dynamics or the actions of aides. Even as Republican lawmakers called the imagery “inexcusable” and demanded its removal, the White House response underscored a reluctance to accept direct accountability.
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The resistance to an explicit apology resonates with an infallibility narrative that has defined the Trump era. His errors (even those that ignite widespread condemnation, “eating the dogs and cats” for example) invite explanation, obfuscation, or strategic confusion, but never ownership or acknowledgment. By attributing the offensive post to an unnamed staffer or to partial viewing, the administration preserved the fragile façade of leadership unblemished by misjudgment. In doing so, it illuminated the limits of internal checks in an environment where political messaging moves rapidly, reacts instantly, and remains tightly controlled from the top. This is what authoritarianism looks like in action, folks. One lie at a time.
The episode also revealed fractures within the president’s own political coalition. Figures like Senator Scott, long aligned with Trump, openly called the video “the most racist thing I’ve seen out of this White House,” signaling that even staunch allies can balk when a leader’s actions cross a widely recognized line. Yet the broader defense from many within the Republican hierarchy again showcased the tension between political loyalty and confronting uncomfortable truths. The result played out as a public scene that underscored not just the fragility of political alliances but the challenges of leadership that resists accountability in real time.
This article was written by Sam Massey.