Make America a Brand Again

Photo via Reuters

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When United States President Donald J. Trump entered the political arena in 2015, he did not invent American social divisions. However, he transformed long-simmering tensions—rooted in decades of economic inequality, racial resentment, and cultural polarization—into an explicit politics of hatred, subsequently redefining how Americans perceive and treat their political “others.” In doing so, Trump normalized antagonism as a political strategy, reshaping the tone and ethics of American democracy itself. Trump’s presidency did not create division; it perfected a politics of cruelty—one that treats governance as performance and rivals as enemies to be defeated rather than persuaded.

Hatred—of ideological, racial, or religious “others”—is hardly a new concept. Throughout history, political movements have often relied on demonizing opponents, casting them as existential threats to one’s own identity. But in the post-World War II United States, norms of bipartisanship, personal civility in public life, and mutual restraint —however imperfect—constrained how far political animosity could publicly go. That consensus began to erode in the late 20th century as the two parties became more ideologically homogenous and geographically sorted. “Negative partisanship”—the act of voting primarily to oppose the other side—began to outpace “positive partisanship,” or loyalty to one’s own party’s vision. In other words, Americans have increasingly defined their politics by who they hated rather than by what they believed in.

Even so, Trump’s branding of himself and the Republican party intensified a shift. He popularized a rhetorical model of “us versus them,” in which political opponents are seen as morally corrupt and beyond redemption. Before Trump, partisan disagreements—though sharp—still functioned within a framework of shared legitimacy and respect for institutions. After his rise, political discourse transformed from debate over policy to moral warfare over identity. By recasting politics as moral warfare, Trump made a contempt measure of loyalty and transformed disagreement into dehumanization. In Trump-era discourse, the opposing party became an enemy to be conquered rather than simply a rival. This is not a mere stylistic matter: such rhetoric lowers social barriers to aggression, delegitimizes disagreement, and can prime real-world violence.

We see that escalation in recent political behavior, for example, the October 2025 government shutdown. White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt has recently blamed the Democratic party for causing the crisis, insisting that “the Democrats continue to recklessly hold the American people hostage” and urging “five Democrat senators to […] stop this shutdown.” Across federal agencies, partisan messaging has crept into what were once neutral communications: email auto-replies, red banner alerts, and agency websites now accuse “radical left Democrats” of shutting down government—charged, moralistic language entirely absent from prior shutdown practices. Such tactics exacerbate polarization by turning neutral institutions into weaponized propaganda platforms. 

This rhetorical escalation at the executive level has cascaded throughout the broader administration, shaping how other officials communicate and frame responsibility during crises. Vice President J.D Vance has pinned the shutdown blame entirely on Democrats, claiming their alleged demands for expanded healthcare access for undocumented immigrants are at the root of the impasse. Similarly, State Department officials have disseminated politicized internal messages to staff, blaming Democrats for contending policy demands, blurring the line between partisan communication and institutional neutrality. These instances showcase how political divisiveness has now permeated the official language of governance.

This asymmetry has become increasingly visible in recent history. Since at least 1975, right-wing extremist violence in the U.S. has outpaced left-wing violence in both incidence and lethality. The Trump era arguably facilitated that trend: his pardon of January 6th insurrectionists, his incendiary language about civil unrest, and his rhetorical tolerance for fringe groups lowered the perceived cost of political aggression.

Under this administration, even ICE recruitment veered into meme territory: one DHS poster used retro imagery with text like “Want to deport illegals with your absolute boys?” turning cruelty and inhumanity into casual inside jokes. Trump has continuously used his platform in a cartoonishly immature way to stretch reality, normalizing and making light of government cruelty.

The consequences of this performative cruelty are embodied in the rise of the Make America Great Again (MAGA) movement, which transformed personal devotion to Trump into a quasi-religious political identity. MAGA extremism differs from traditional conservatism in its willingness to justify violence and reject democratic outcomes when unfavorable. The January 6th riot was not an anomaly, but rather an expression of that ethos—one where political defeat is seen as fraud and opposition voters as enemies of the state. 

In contrast, the average Kamala Harris endorser, while ideologically firm, largely operates within democratic norms: accepting electoral outcomes, condemning violence, and engaging within institutions rather than against them. This contrast reveals how the MAGA movement has shifted from politics as debate to politics as warfare, a shift that endangers the very premise of pluralistic democracy. Institutionally, the movement has also reshaped the Republican Party itself: loyalty to Trump now serves as a litmus test for advancement, purging moderates and pushing out officials who recognize Biden’s legitimacy, thereby hollowing out the GOP’s traditional coalition.

In order to restore the amicability that was once present between the parties, cultural and institutional resets are necessary. Public officials who break rank to condemn demonizing rhetoric matter because they validate restraint. Regulatory reform that limits partisan messaging in public agencies could restore trust in government neutrality and institutional legitimacy. Educational campaigns on media literacy and the dangers of political de-othering might inoculate citizens. But these must operate in a climate that rewards courage over conformity, which is difficult when a media ecosystem amplifies outrage and tribal narratives.

Donald Trump’s role in this is that of an accelerant. He exploited trends dormant for years, made them louder, more public, more normalized. He reshaped the permissibility curve for political language. Meanwhile, the growing distance between parties—ideological, emotional, and institutional—means fewer mechanisms remain to check extremism.

Donald Trump did not create American polarization, but he has mastered the ability to magnify it. By transforming politics into a spectacle of moral outrage, he has blurred the line between disagreement and dehumanization. Under his influence, the language of governance has become a language of enemies, one that rewards cruelty, mocks empathy, and treats power as performance. The results are visible in every corner of public life: institutions once bound by neutrality now echo partisan talking points, and citizens increasingly see their neighbors as threats rather than participants in a shared democracy. 

By the end of his presidency, Trump’s greatest legacy may not be policies or laws enacted, but tone—a transformation of civil discourse itself, where cruelty is valorized and empathy dismissed as weakness.

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This article was edited by Brett Poggi and Amethyst Kirwin.