The DEI Trump

So here we are. April. Three months into Trump’s second coming, and already the novelty’s worn off like a badly applied spray tan. The man’s barely finished his inaugural golf round and the world’s edging nervously towards the bunker.

But let’s not pretend we didn’t see it coming. The warning signs were everywhere – daubed across placards, screamed from truck beds, whispered by hedge fund managers with dead eyes and offshore accounts. The MAGA cult marched to the polls waving their pitchforks against “woke” ideology – and managed to elect the most gloriously DEI candidate in American history.

Diversity. Equity. Inclusion. They claimed to hate it. They mocked it. They blamed it for everything from falling test scores to collapsing bridges. But in the end, they voted for it. Not the version you get on BBC training days, mind – no, no – the bootleg version. The one that comes with gold toilets, delusions of grandeur, and a YouTube algorithm full of rants about chemtrails and microwave mind control.

Diversity? You’ll not find a more eclectic personality than Trump. He contains multitudes – mostly narcissists, but multitudes nonetheless. One minute he’s a misunderstood genius, the next a righteous victim, then a 1950s strongman in a red tie babbling about windmills. He’s a psychological pick ’n mix. If diversity means showing the world all the different ways a man can unravel, Trump’s your man.

Equity? Under Trump, everyone’s treated equally – by which I mean everyone is either exploited, insulted, or indicted, depending on the day. Loyalists get thrown under the bus just as fast as enemies. If you’re a billionaire who’ll lend him a jet, or a lunatic who’ll chant his name in a Walmart car park, you might get a Cabinet position. Everyone else can sod off. It’s feudalism in a baseball cap.

Inclusion? Absolutely. His tent is wide open – assuming you’re angry enough. Evangelicals, anti-vaxxers, internet trolls, failed steak salesmen – all are welcome. You don’t need principles, just a YouTube login and a vague feeling that someone, somewhere, once laughed at you. Trump doesn’t build coalitions – he herds resentments.

And now he’s back in the White House – with even fewer guardrails, a vendetta list longer than a Tolstoy novel, and the attention span of a fruit fly on cocaine. The adults have all left the room. What’s left is the sound of Fox News, the smell of cheeseburgers, and a man in a suit shouting at Alexa.

Meanwhile, the very people who voted for him are still screaming about “woke culture,” seemingly unaware that they’ve elected a president who is woke – just with a persecution complex and a poorly concealed taste for autocracy.

They wanted to tear down safe spaces and ended up creating the biggest one of all – an entire administration built to protect one man’s fragile ego. They mocked identity politics, but now spend their days defending their cult leader’s every tantrum as if he’s their only surviving relative. They warned us about virtue signalling – and now post hourly memes about how much they "love free speech" while trying to ban books.

They didn’t kill DEI. They elected it – orange, bloated, and dripping with grievance.

And while the rest of America looks on, clutching their passports and checking the wind direction, one can’t help but marvel at the irony: America didn’t just lose the plot – it tied it in a bow and handed it to a game show host with delusions of Caesar.