Liberal democratic rule is under its greatest pressure since the end of the Cold War. Let us consider the Republican presumptive presidential nominee Donald Trump, who joyfully makes a bonfire of the decencies in order to ride high in the media. "Trump plans to insult his way to victory over Clinton," the Financial Times recently described it. To back up its argument, the newspaper cited Trump's nicknames for the leading Democratic candidate ("Crooked Hillary") and for widely admired Massachusetts Senator Elizabeth Warren ("Pocahontas"). Pocahontas was the daughter of a Native-American chief who married an English settler in the early17th century; Trump chose the name because Warren foolishly claimed Native-American heritage on the grounds that family legend pointed to her having "one 32nd" Cherokee ancestry. More seriously, Clinton has admitted that it was a mistake that she used her private server to conduct State Department business when she was secretary of state during President Barack Obama's first term. It's likely that "Crooked Hilary and "Pocahontas" are just a taste of what's to come. Let's hope not. Decencies matter: they are essential for societies "civil" in both senses of the world. But Trump is not alone in disdaining them. Beyond the confines of the two nations bounded by a shining sea, this heralds a deepening descent into a season of political hell, which has many national variants but one large and malign feature in common: Political rhetoric is increasingly un-anchored — not just from courtesy but from rational debate. In a tweet last week Martin Selmayr, chief of staff of the European Commission President Jean Claude Juncker wrote: "#G7 2017 with Trump, Le Pen, Boris Johnson, Beppe Grillo? A horror scenario that shows well why it is worth fighting populism." Apart from Trump, the official was imagining a France led by the far-right Marine Le Pen, head of the Front National, who consistently tops popularity polls; a Britain led by the Conservative member of Parliament and former mayor of London, Boris Johnson, the most popular choice by his fellow parliamentarians to replace Prime Minister David Cameron if Britain votes for Brexit in on June 23; and the mercurial Italian showman Beppe Grillo, founder and leader of the Movimento Cinque Stelle. Grillo is now neck and neck in the polls with the governing Partito Democratico. In one May poll, he was even ahead. All these European figures have used either hate speech, or grossly exaggerated warnings of fascism, to bolster their positions and gain attention. Le Pen has compared Muslims praying in the street to the Nazi wartime occupation of France. Not to be outdone in the use of Nazism, Johnson has said that the European Union is, like Hitler, trying to put all of Europe under one "authority." Grillo has insulted most public figures, including Matteo Renzi, whom he calls "the moronic prime minister", as well as s well as London's newly-elected Muslim mayor, Sadiq Khan, by joking that he might blow up the British Parliament. These politicians may not come to power. While Le Pen almost certainly will reach the deciding second round of the French presidential election next spring, she will probably struggle to win outright against the votes of the left and the center-right. Grillo's party, already embroiled in local scandals, is still distrusted by many Italians as lacking experience. Still, if France suffers further militant attacks or Italy's Renzi can't achieve real growth, both Le Pen and Grillo's party just might succeed. Johnson, for his part, is likely to replace Cameron as Britain's next prime minister if the public votes to leave the EU. What do these politicians do if they take power? How do they govern diverse, largely free societies, and interact with those who do not share their views — and whom they have grossly insulted? How do they call convincingly for civic peace when they have spent years encouraging their followers to revolt against elected authority (a problem which will face the far-left leader of the British Labour Party, Jeremy Corbyn, if he ever wins an election.) One tactic is to turn on a dime. Cameron, who supported a grubby campaign when Khan was running for the London mayoralty against a weak Conservative candidate, appeared on a platform with Khan earlier this week arguing for Britain to remain in the European Union. Cameron called the new mayor a "proud Muslim and proud Brit" and said that "we (he and Khan) love our country, we want our country to be the best we possibly can, to be the strongest, to be the greatest" — weeks after linking him to Islamic extremism. A small, even insignificant instance. Yet what does Cameron believe — that Khan is a national danger (early May) — or a national asset (late May)? At the base of this must be a calculation that the public either does not know, or does not remember, the earlier insults. Or if they do remember, they don't care. Such uncaring is an acid at the base of democratic belief. Trump remains the master of exploiting this. His categorical pledge last December to ban Muslims from entering the United States was changed in May this year to "just an idea." If substantial, even majority, groups in democracies now find these turns not just bearable but admirable, we're in dangerous territory. We've entered a space where social media, public relations and the massive TV coverage given to dramatic bluster sweep all before them. Honest politics and politicians suffer. So do all those who seek decency in governance. Reuters
