Yesterday, when feeding the ducks, whom did I come across sitting on a park bench engaged in a most peculiar conversation? Donald Trump, with his signature coiffure catching the late afternoon sun, sitting next to Donald Duck, wearing his slightly worn sailor suit. Who wouldn’t want to eavesdrop on a conversation between two Donalds like that?
“Executive orders are tremendous, really tremendous,” Trump boasted, his small to medium sized hands gesticulating wildly. “I can do anything, change everything. It’s like magic!”
Duck, his brow furrowed in confusion (quite a feat for a cartoon character), asked, “But how’s that different from a dictator? Aren’t there supposed to be checks and balances?”
Trump’s dismissive wave reminded me of tech bros explaining why their latest app will revolutionize the world instead of killing it. “The House, the Senate—they’re just there for show. I’ve got the power!”
Duck’s feathers ruffled visibly as he straightened up with a sudden burst of civic knowledge. “Now wait just a darn minute! That’s not how it works at all!” he quacked. “The president can’t just do whatever he wants. There’s a whole system in place to prevent that!” Trump raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting a cartoon duck to challenge his understanding of government.
Duck continued: “Look here. We’ve got two houses of Congress—the House of Representatives and the Senate. They’re supposed to make the laws, not you! The House folks are elected every two years to keep ’em as close as possible to what the people want. The Senate gets six-year terms to think about the big picture.”
Duck started counting on his feathered fingers. “These folks in Congress, they can override your vetoes if they disagree with you strongly enough. And they control the purse strings too! You can’t spend a dime without their say-so.”
Trump opened his mouth to interrupt, but Duck was on a roll. “And don’t forget the Supreme Court! Those judges you can’t fire—they’re there to make sure your orders and the laws Congress passes don’t go against the Constitution. So, you see, your executive orders aren’t some magic wand. They’re just a way to tell government agencies how to carry out the laws Congress already passed. You can’t make new laws or go against existing ones just ’cause you feel like it!”
Trump chuckled, a smirk spreading across his face. “Oh, you naive little duck. Let me tell you about a little thing called the International Emergency Economic Powers Act. It’s like a golden ticket for presidents. I can slap tariffs on anyone, anytime, just by saying there’s an emergency. Canada? Mexico? China? Bam! Tariffs!”
Duck’s bill dropped open in shock. “But… but that’s not what tariffs are for! And how is everything an emergency?”
Trump shrugged, looking pleased with himself. “When you’re the president, everything can be an emergency if you say it is. It’s beautiful, really. I’ve got the Supreme Court in my corner too. They’re good people, the best people.”
Duck’s head was spinning. “But even if they like you, surely they wouldn’t just let you do whatever you want?”
“Well, they haven’t stopped me yet,” Trump said with a wink.
As their conversation continued, I was struck by the thought that the fundamentals of democracy, when stripped down to their essence, should be understandable to everyone—even a cartoon duck. Yet, the reality seems far more convoluted and concerning.
Duck fell silent, obviously subdued as he processed the implications of Trump’s words. His gaze drifted from the president to the park around them, taking in ordinary people going about their day. A lightbulb appeared above Duck’s head. He turned back to Trump. “Wait a cotton-pickin’ minute,” he said, “you’re telling me you can just… do all this stuff? Slap tariffs willy-nilly, call everything an emergency, and folks are fine with it?”
Duck scratched his head with a wingtip. “I mean, I get that you’re the president and all, but… did people vote for you knowing you’d do this kind of thing? Or did they not know? Or…” he trailed off, clearly struggling to make sense of it all.
Trump puffed up his chest, ready to launch into a self-aggrandizing speech, but Duck pressed on: “I mean, no offense, but you’re not exactly Mr. Nice Guy. I’ve heard things—cavorting with some real nasty characters, saying awful stuff about good people, doing horrible things to women. It’s like you took all the meanest parts of folks and rolled ’em into one big, loud, orange package.”
Trump’s face went a couple of shades redder than orange, but Duck continued: “And yet, somehow, you got millions of people to vote for you. Rich folks in their fancy towers, working stiffs in factories, even people who should know better. It’s like you tapped into something… something not so nice that was hiding in plain sight all along, as if you found a way to make being, well, ugly—and I don’t mean looks—seem okay. Like you gave people permission to be their worst selves”
Duck trailed off, unable to continue.
Trump leaned back, his voice booming with confidence: “Listen, Duckie, people love me because I say what everyone’s thinking. I’m not ugly, I’m honest. The wokeness, the political correctness—people are sick of it! I just tell it like it is, and folks appreciate that. It’s called being authentic, something you cartoon characters wouldn’t understand. When I speak, it’s what real Americans want to hear. They’re not being their worst selves; they’re finally being their true selves. And let me tell you, it’s beautiful, really beautiful. The silent majority isn’t so silent anymore, and it’s all thanks to me. That’s why I won, and that’s why I’ll keep winning. Believe me.”
As the sun set, casting long shadows across the park, Donald Duck slumped on the bench. “Aw, phooey,” Duck finally muttered. “Four more years of this, huh? And it’s not just the big shots who wanted it—seems like folks from every corner of the country…”
He looked at Trump, then at the darkening sky, a perfect metaphor for the uncertain future ahead. “Democracy’s wobbling, and it feels like the whole world’s holding its breath, waiting for the next shoe to drop.” He sighed, “You know, I’ve been in some pretty sticky situations before, but this… this feels different. Like we’re all stuck in quicksand, and the more we struggle, the deeper we sink.”
He hopped off the bench, his movements lacking their usual spring. “I can’t pretend I see a way out of this mess. Heck, I’m just a cartoon duck—what do I know about fixing a world of wrong?”
As Duck started to waddle away, he turned back one last time. “I guess all we can do is keep our eyes open. Decent folks can call out the baloney when we see it, stand together and hope that somehow, someday, things’ll change. But right now? It looks like we’re in for a rough ride, and there ain’t no magic fix coming to save us. We just gotta brace ourselves for whatever comes next – the good, bad, or utterly absurd.”
With that, Donald Duck disappeared into the twilight.
I found myself left with a profound sense of unease. Duck’s questions have laid bare the stark realities of our political landscape, not just in America, but across the globe. It’s a world where the outrageous has become commonplace, where leaders exploit the darkest corners of human nature, and where the machinery of democracy seems to be turning against itself.
How did we arrive at a point where Donald Duck makes more sense than our political reality? As nations worldwide seem to sleepwalk towards authoritarianism, with voters willingly handing power to those who would undermine the very systems that enabled their rise, the path forward appears murky at best.
Maybe there’s a glimmer of hope in the very absurdity of this scenario. If a fictional duck can see through the charade, can’t we? The challenge lies not in finding easy answers or comforting platitudes, but in maintaining our capacity for critical thought, for genuine dialogue, for seeing the world as it is rather than as we wish it to be. In a world seemingly gone mad, maybe sanity itself becomes an act of rebellion.