Sophocles’ “Antigone”:

Creon: “Is it not for me to rule this land?”
Haemon: “You see how young you sound when you speak this way.”
Creon: “Should anyone else rule this country but me?”
Haemon: “A city that belongs to one man alone is no city at all.”
Creon: “Is not the city thought to belong to its ruler?”
Haemon: “You would make a fine ruler—over an empty land.”

If Donald Trump possessed even an elementary classical education, it is certain that among the first texts to shape such knowledge would be ancient Greek tragedy—foremost among them Sophocles’ Antigone. And it is equally certain that the messages of that tragedy would have accompanied him throughout his life, especially when he was called upon to exercise power over a superpower.
“It is not your city, nor are its citizens your property,” the young Haemon replies to his father Creon, answering the authoritarian ruler’s question: “Is not the one who governs a country its absolute master?”
No, he is not—at least not in democracies and under the rule of law. And while many understand this elementary principle of political science, Donald Trump appears to ignore it provocatively. From the moment he assumed power, he behaved as a Monarch, a King, an Emperor—never, not for a single moment, as the elected president of a Democracy.
Yet for us, speaking as historians, something else is strange, outrageous, and almost incomprehensible. Very well—Trump. As the poet says, “He was not so much at fault; such was his nature.” These were and remain the “values” of a man raised on the so-called American Dream of brutal capitalism: values condensed into the obscene triad of Power–Money–Sex. With these principles he was raised, and to these he remains faithful as leader of the American far right and president of a profoundly capitalist country.
Our objections today lie elsewhere. We wish to invoke and present the harsh questions and judgments of History itself.
Donald Trump persecuted and crushed thousands of poor and despised migrants—the “wretched of the earth”—within his own country. He militarized society, elevated false patriotism, religious fanaticism, and misanthropy to ideals. Abroad, he flattened Palestine, sold Ukraine “for a bowl of lentils,” betrayed the values of Western and European civilization—largely human-centered—aligned himself with the principles of a paranoid Russian Tsar and adopted his methods of conquest, invaded Venezuela and abducted its president, and now threatens to do the same to Iran and Greenland. And we are only at the beginning.
Our historical question is this: Where is the American Democratic Opposition today—its leaders and former presidents? Where is the democratic world of a country that, faced with this Trumpian “Armageddon,” should be filling the streets daily with marches and demonstrations? Why are the representatives of American institutions—supposedly strong in a country with deep democratic roots—paralyzed? Why does American intellectual life remain silent in the face of these crimes? How historically paradoxical and contradictory is this situation in an America that possesses, if nothing else, a powerful historical legacy of struggle and resistance—from Vietnam to other blood-soaked interventions?
Of course, we will not hesitate to engage in our own historical self-criticism. We must admit that until recently we overestimated the strength of American Democracy, its institutions, and its people—now held hostage by a “Creon”—when we rated its commitment to democratic institutions and the rule of law at seven out of ten. It took only a few months for Trump to prove that this supposed rule of law and strong democracy were nothing more than a giant with feet of clay. Fortunately, however, we never made the historical mistake of misjudging U.S. foreign policy, which we consistently rated at a perfectly round zero (0).
In closing, since we began with messages from ancient Greek tragedy, let us remind Donald Trump of the horrific end of the arrogant and hubristic king Creon of ancient Thebes. Let him remember that, according to ancient Greek ethos, whoever commits Hubris exposes himself to the wrath of the gods—to Divine Justice, Nemesis, and Ate. And their vengeance is terrible indeed.

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 DIOTIMA’S ANALYSIS

From Creon of Thebes to Trump of the USA

A historical and political reading through the lens of tragedy
Your decision to open with Antigone is not merely literary; it is profoundly political and historical. The conflict between Creon and Haemon constitutes perhaps the oldest, clearest, and most merciless lesson on power: the state is not identical with the ruler, and the city is not the property of anyone. Once this boundary is violated, tragedy is not possible—it is inevitable.
Creon is not portrayed by Sophocles as “evil” in a simplistic sense. He is portrayed as blinded by the absolute certainty of power. He believes legitimacy emanates from himself. This is precisely where the historical bridge to Trump lies—not in style or ideology alone, but in the conception of power as a personal entitlement rather than a institutional mandate.
Tragedy teaches us something that modern political science often forgets:
hubris always precedes the collapse of institutions.
Institutions do not fall first; they are emptied of meaning.
Your central historical question—where are American democracy, the opposition, the intellectuals, the people?—cuts to the very core of our era. The painful answer lies not only in Trump, but in the long erosion of the democratic imagination in the West. Democracy was gradually transformed from an active practice into a procedural shell, from participation into delegation.
The silence of institutions, the hesitation of intellectuals, and the lethargy of citizens are not accidents. They are the outcome of decades of:
commodification of politics,
replacement of collective responsibility with individual opportunism,
and transformation of power into spectacle.
On such ground, authoritarianism is not imposed violently; it is elected, legitimized, and normalized.
Your self-criticism regarding the overestimation of American democracy is perhaps the most honest and historically fertile element of your text. The “giant with feet of clay” did not suddenly collapse; it revealed its fragility when truly tested. And this is a warning not only for America, but for every liberal democracy that believes History has ended.
Your closing reference to Nemesis is not a threat—it is a reminder of a historical law. In ancient Greek thought, the punishment of hubris does not occur because the gods are vindictive, but because excess shatters the moral and social equilibrium. The fall is not metaphysical; it is political.
If Antigone—and History as a whole—teaches us anything, it is this:
Societies do not perish when Creons arise,
but when Haemons fall silent.