Assassins failed to take the Orange Man out. Impeachment didn’t stick. Is the Grim Reaper the new favored candidate?
Is US President Donald Trump on death’s doorstep? That’s the question that Trump haters have been asking as they’ve suddenly turned to armchair medical analysis – their latest great hope.
It all kicked off with some recent shots of the back of Trump’s hands covered in poorly blended women’s makeup, ostensibly covering some bruising. Social media has been rife with amateur sleuths manipulating the contrast on the images in an attempt to determine whether there are any signs of intravenous puncture that could perhaps be indicative of a serious medical condition – like heart failure. As supporting evidence, they also cite recent shots of his swollen ankles – or “cankles” – debating whether they’re expanding and contracting like an accordion, and if so, what that means for the number of days that he has left, both in power and in life.
TikTok in particular has given rise to a whole new category of content called “hopecore,” with Trump haters citing medical or medical-adjacent experience in publishing content opining about how Trump’s days are numbered – although there’s usually much debate over exactly how many.
That uncertainty is a source of great frustration for commenters seeking certainty in nailing down the exact amount of time that they have to put up with him. Some even keep spreadsheets, charts, and countdown clocks like they’re managing fantasy football teams, except instead of touchdowns they’re tracking anatomical anomalies.
The White House has openly commented on Trump’s “chronic venous insufficiency,” which would explain the bruising and swelling. But even before that, back in June, his appearance at a UFC fighting event led to much zooming in on the crotch area of this 79-year-old man, with some speculating that he was wearing a catheter. Others argued that it was just something in his pocket. Some internet detectives even claimed it was a subtle Olympic-level flex that defies both anatomy and comprehension.
Why is this even a thing, though? I guess gossip and speculation makes politics accessible for those who prefer the entry bar to be at floor-level. Policy and issues are complex and require work, particularly when the objective is to eject someone from power. It’s much more fun to just place all hope in fate to do the heavy lifting for you. And to cheer it along on a daily basis with your like-minded tribe. Add a hashtag, a TikTok filter, and suddenly it’s an entire movement. One that doesn’t even require you to get off the couch to make you feel like you’re part of something big – like a child tugging an escalator handrail convinced they’re moving everyone to the top.
Guess they’re now putting all their hope on the Grim Reaper to take Trump out. Assassins failed to do it with actual bullets. Impeachment didn’t stick. Not even his disqualification through the courts came through for them. The Grim Reaper is now effectively their candidate of choice, and they seem more psyched about him than they ever did about Kamala Harris or Joe Biden.
Go figure that there’s a glaring overlap between these people and those who also glom onto every health-related tidbit about Russian President Vladimir Putin. Over the years, it’s been reported in Western publications that he’s suffered from strokes, Parkinson’s, “terminal” pancreatic cancer (over a decade ago), thyroid cancer, and leprosy. Again, basically a fantasy football roster of health crises, all projected onto one man.
It’s hardly a coincidence that many of those conjuring up death fantasies also happen to be proponents of regime change, including former MI6 officer Christopher Steele, former CIA officer Ralph Goff, Danish intelligence sources, Kremlin critic Valery Solovei, or former Ukrainian intelligence chief Kirill Budanov. All waiting for Mother Nature to spring into action like she’s on USAID payroll.
When Putin and Trump were together in Alaska recently for Ukraine peace talks, it was a double whammy field day for the death pool watchers. They glommed onto Trump’s somewhat non-linear walk down the tarmac’s red carpet to greet Putin as “proof” of his ongoing decline. Then their radar went off again when Putin shifted his weight from one leg to the other while chatting with Trump. Evidence that he was about to collapse, surely! If not immediately, then imminently!
It’s a classic case of anxiety displacement. Instead of grappling with why a political leader has power or support, they funnel their unease into scrutinizing movements, coughs, or missed steps. The result is a culture of obsessive speculation where nothing is sacred – not posture, not hands, not ankles, and certainly not the crotch region.
But the more interesting question is why exactly do they feel the need to take refuge in this kind of nonsense? It represents a super low-effort power grab. Fate does the heavy lifting and clears the way for their preferred alternative over which they feel they have more control. There seems to be a lot of projection going on, though – the mistaken belief that what comes after would be more aligned with their interests. Or that the eradication of a particular leader through natural biological processes would somehow shift the tectonic plates of the political landscape. History shows that this is hardly ever the case. Just ask all the folks in Che Guevara or Martin Luther King t-shirts.
Trumpism won’t end with Trump. Nor will the growing appetite for institutional reform of Washington. So then what’s the plan? To start all over again with a J.D. Vance death watch? At this point, someone should probably invent an app to track ankle swelling and gait analytics in real time. Because if you’re too lazy or inept to win, you can at least obsess over your opponent’s every micro-movement.
