Imagine this: a government where leaders don’t just pocket a bit here or there but make a full-time career of it. Picture an assembly of well-dressed thieves who tell you they’re doing everything for your benefit while they’re stuffing gold bars into their suit pockets. That, my friend, is kleptocracy. It’s the kind of system where politics stops being a mission and starts being a buffet—and everyone’s invited, as long as they know the secret handshake and can quote their Swiss bank account number by heart.
Now, cue Donald Trump. If ever a character stepped into American politics with the flashiness of a Vegas magician and the nonchalance of a man who's never read a rulebook, it was Donald Trump. Here’s a fellow who, after making a career out of putting his name on everything short of the moon, found himself in the highest office in the land. A golden opportunity, if you ask a kleptocrat—except in this case, he didn’t have to sneak into the treasure room; he had the keys.
As the president, Trump rode in on promises to “drain the swamp,” a phrase as mythical as the Loch Ness Monster and just as elusive. Instead, critics argued, he turned it into a luxury hot tub with all the best people invited. His businesses became stops for foreign dignitaries and government officials. They’d sip champagne and book rooms in his hotels, and Trump’s family business coffers would see a little uptick. Coincidence? Maybe, like the way it’s a “coincidence” when your friend just happens to “forget” to pay you back for that cab.
Of course, Trump wasn’t alone. His cabinet was a veritable circus of colourful characters, some accused of dubious behaviour with a flair usually reserved for capers in heist movies. One had a penchant for private jets, another for designer office furniture, and a third one seemed to think his entire job description was "self-promotion." It was a real kleptocratic reality show, a showcase of how public service could be twisted into a showbiz act, complete with all the trimmings of wealth and whispers.
The trouble with kleptocracy is that it’s not as obvious as an old-fashioned bank heist. It’s less “smash and grab” and more “wink and nod.” Trump’s time in office blurred the lines between public duty and private gain. He’d fire up Twitter like a DJ on a late-night radio show, keeping fans guessing and spinning tales. Public institutions became props in a drama starring himself, while opponents whispered about kleptocratic vibes that’d make even the richest CEO blush.
Supporters, however, cheered him on. They saw a businessman finally doing what he did best—playing the system for “the people.” They claimed he was bucking the establishment, though sometimes the “bucking” involved government money landing back in his enterprises. Critics and fans were left wondering: was this reality television-level entertainment or an artful dodge?
Trump’s kleptocratic leanings—or allegations thereof—highlight an odd twist in American governance. A president who lived in a gold-plated penthouse, rode around in jets, and talked like he was king of his own galaxy reminded us all: that politics can be a serious business, but it can also be an absurd comedic identity drama. And in this strange tragic comedy of American kleptocracy, we may never know the punchline. After all, we don’t know the secret handshake or have Swiss bank accounts.
~ Douglas Zhivago
