I Alone Can Fix It

The year 2020 stands as one of the most consequential in American political history, when a global pandemic, racial upheaval, and an unprecedented assault on democratic norms converged to test the very foundations of the republic. Behind the scenes of this tumultuous period, a president driven by self-preservation and political calculation made decisions that would reshape how Americans understood their democracy's fragility.

This extraordinary year reveals how personal character and institutional guardrails interact during moments of national crisis. Through the corridors of power, we witness how advisers struggled between loyalty and conscience, how career officials fought to maintain scientific integrity against political pressure, and how the machinery of government strained under the weight of a leader who viewed every crisis through the lens of his own political survival. The story illuminates not just what happened, but why democratic institutions bend without breaking, and what that resilience costs the people who defend them.

The first whispers of catastrophe arrived in the form of an email on New Year's Eve 2019, when CDC scientists in Beijing reported mysterious pneumonia cases in Wuhan. While Trump celebrated at Mar-a-Lago, predicting a "fantastic year," Dr. Robert Redfield was already disturbed by the phrase "unexplained pneumonia" and began pressing Chinese officials for information. This early disconnect between presidential optimism and scientific alarm would define the administration's entire pandemic response.

Throughout January and February, a pattern emerged that would prove fatal to effective crisis management. Trump's focus remained fixed on his impeachment trial and trade deals with China, viewing any acknowledgment of the virus's severity as a threat to his political standing. When Health Secretary Alex Azar finally reached Trump on January 18 to warn about the coronavirus, the president's primary concern was not public health but his upcoming campaign fundraiser. His question "What's a coronavirus?" revealed the depth of his disengagement from what his own CDC director feared could become the deadliest pandemic in a century.

The administration's early decisions reflected Trump's consistent prioritization of optics over substance. His January 31 travel restrictions from China, while medically sound, were implemented chaotically and accompanied by false reassurances that the virus was "totally under control." Meanwhile, critical weeks were lost as the CDC struggled with faulty test kits and bureaucratic delays, while Trump's advisers engaged in turf battles that paralyzed decision-making. The president's praise of China's "transparency" even as Beijing stonewalled American investigators demonstrated how his desire for a trade deal triumph overshadowed public health imperatives.

By March, as the virus spread silently through American communities, Trump's management style had created a crisis of competence within his own administration. Career health officials found themselves muzzled or contradicted, while political appointees focused more on controlling the narrative than controlling the disease. The president's March 11 Oval Office address, riddled with errors and delivered without empathy, crystallized the administration's fundamental failure to grasp the magnitude of the crisis or provide the steady leadership Americans desperately needed.

The hydroxychloroquine saga epitomized this dangerous dynamic. Despite lacking scientific evidence and carrying serious cardiac risks, Trump promoted the antimalarial drug as a "game changer" based on anecdotal reports from Fox News personalities and friends. When FDA officials insisted on proper clinical trials, they faced relentless pressure from Chief of Staff Mark Meadows and trade adviser Peter Navarro, who accused them of having "blood on their hands" for not immediately approving unproven treatments. This pattern of political interference in scientific processes would reach its most dangerous form in Trump's suggestion that Americans inject bleach to cure COVID-19.

The killing of George Floyd on May 25 presented Trump with an opportunity to unite a grieving nation, but his instincts led him toward division and confrontation instead. While initially expressing genuine disgust at Floyd's death in private conversations with Attorney General Bill Barr, Trump's public response quickly devolved into inflammatory rhetoric about "thugs" and threats that "when the looting starts, the shooting starts." His suggestion of using "vicious dogs" against Black Lives Matter protesters evoked the darkest chapters of American civil rights history.

The events of June 1 at Lafayette Square would become a defining moment of Trump's presidency, revealing how his obsession with projecting strength could override constitutional principles and military traditions. After being taken to the White House bunker during protests, Trump was consumed by rage over media reports that made him appear weak. His demand for military intervention led to heated confrontations with Defense Secretary Mark Esper and Joint Chiefs Chairman Mark Milley, who repeatedly explained that protesters exercising First Amendment rights did not constitute an insurrection requiring federal troops.

The clearing of Lafayette Square for Trump's Bible photo opportunity represented the convergence of his worst impulses: the use of force against peaceful protesters, the militarization of civilian law enforcement, and the cynical manipulation of religious symbols for political gain. As federal officers fired tear gas and rubber bullets at demonstrators and clergy members, Trump declared himself "your president of law and order" in the Rose Garden. The image of him holding up a Bible he couldn't identify as his own, flanked by uncomfortable military leaders, became an enduring symbol of his willingness to divide rather than heal.

For the military leadership, Lafayette Square was a watershed moment that shattered their relationship with Trump. Milley's furious declaration that he had been "burned" by the president marked the beginning of a more adversarial stance by Pentagon leaders who realized they could no longer trust Trump's intentions. Esper's subsequent public rejection of using active-duty troops for law enforcement, despite knowing it would enrage Trump, demonstrated how the crisis had forced even loyal appointees to choose between their oaths to the Constitution and their allegiance to the president.

The administration's mask resistance became perhaps the most visible symbol of its anti-science stance. Even as CDC guidance recommended face coverings, Trump refused to wear one, declaring it wouldn't look presidential behind the "beautiful Resolute Desk." Vice President Pence's maskless visit to the Mayo Clinic, violating the hospital's own policies, demonstrated how political loyalty superseded basic health precautions. The consequences of this political interference extended far beyond Washington, as public trust in health institutions eroded precisely when it was needed most.

As Trump's poll numbers declined through the summer and fall, his desperation manifested in increasingly erratic behavior and dangerous rhetoric about election integrity. His insistence on holding indoor rallies despite the pandemic, beginning with the sparsely attended Tulsa event in June, revealed a president more concerned with crowd sizes than public health. When campaign manager Brad Parscale warned that people might not show up due to virus fears, Trump's response was telling: "They'll show up for me. They're not going to believe this virus stuff."

The president's relationship with reality became increasingly tenuous as Election Day approached. His bizarre theory that Democrats would replace Joe Biden with Andrew Cuomo and Michelle Obama demonstrated his inability to accept that voters might simply reject his leadership. When advisers like Karl Rove tried to convince him to focus on attacking Biden rather than chasing conspiracy theories, Trump's response revealed his fundamental misunderstanding of his political position. He believed his own mythology of invincibility, even as the pandemic, economic crisis, and racial unrest created a perfect storm against his reelection.

Trump's preemptive attacks on mail-in voting and his refusal to commit to accepting election results laid the groundwork for the post-election crisis that would follow. His constant claims of fraud before any votes were cast, his attempts to undermine confidence in election officials, and his pressure on state leaders to "find" votes all flowed from his inability to conceive of legitimate defeat. The president who had promised to "fix" America's problems alone could not accept that Americans might conclude he had instead broken much of what he had promised to repair.

The period between Election Day and January 6 represented the gravest threat to American democracy since the Civil War, as Trump's refusal to accept defeat metastasized into a direct assault on the constitutional order. His relentless promotion of the "Big Lie" that the election had been stolen, despite losing over sixty court cases and being contradicted by his own Justice Department, created an alternate reality for millions of Americans who trusted his word over democratic institutions. Attorney General Barr's resignation in December, after repeatedly telling Trump there was no evidence of fraud, removed one of the few remaining guardrails against the president's increasingly desperate schemes.

Trump's pressure campaign on state officials, most notably his demand that Georgia Secretary of State Brad Raffensperger "find 11,780 votes," revealed a president willing to corrupt the electoral process to maintain power. His attempts to weaponize the Justice Department, pressure Vice President Pence to reject electoral votes, and ultimately incite a mob to storm the Capitol represented an unprecedented abuse of presidential power that would test the very foundations of American democracy.

The January 6 insurrection itself was the logical culmination of Trump's four-year assault on democratic norms and institutions. His rally speech telling supporters to "fight like hell" and march to the Capitol, followed by his hours-long delay in calling off the violence, demonstrated his willingness to use force to overturn an election he had lost. The sight of Confederate flags in the Capitol rotunda, of lawmakers fleeing for their lives, and of the president's own vice president being threatened by a mob chanting "Hang Mike Pence" represented the darkest moment in modern American history.

As the violence unfolded, Trump's response revealed the depths of his abandonment of presidential duty. While his supporters battled police and hunted for lawmakers, the president sat in his dining room watching television, reportedly pleased by the spectacle. His eventual video message telling rioters to go home came only after hours of pressure from advisers and included the devastating phrase "We love you, you're very special" – words that revealed where his true sympathies lay. The president who had sworn to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution was instead cheering on those who sought to destroy it.

The heroism of individual officers like Eugene Goodman, who led rioters away from senators, and the quick thinking of Capitol Police who evacuated leaders to safety, prevented what could have been a massacre. The images of broken windows, looted offices, and injured police officers broadcast around the world represented not just an attack on a building, but an assault on the idea of America itself. The fact that some rioters came within minutes of encountering fleeing lawmakers underscores how close the country came to an even greater catastrophe.

Yet democracy survived, largely because of the courage of individuals who chose their constitutional duties over personal loyalty to Trump. Pence's refusal to flee the Capitol and his insistence on certifying the election results that same night, despite the trauma of the day's events, exemplified the kind of civic courage that ultimately preserved the republic. The fact that Trump became the first president to be impeached twice, and that he left office as scheduled on January 20, demonstrated that while American democracy had been severely tested, its fundamental structures had held.

The peaceful inauguration of Joe Biden, conducted under unprecedented security with over 20,000 National Guard troops protecting the ceremony, proved that the transfer of power would proceed despite Trump's efforts to prevent it. The contrast between Trump's bitter departure and Biden's inaugural address about unity and healing highlighted the choice Americans faced between division and democracy, between grievance and governance.

The central tragedy of Trump's final year was not simply policy failure or political miscalculation, but the systematic subordination of national interests to personal ambition during multiple existential crises. Whether facing a pandemic that would kill over 400,000 Americans on his watch, racial unrest that demanded moral leadership, or an election that required gracious acceptance of defeat, Trump consistently chose paths that served his immediate political needs while damaging the country's long-term health and stability. His presidency revealed how much American democracy had relied on informal norms and personal character rather than formal constraints, and how quickly those norms could erode under a leader who recognized no authority higher than his own will.

The year's events offer sobering lessons for preserving democratic governance in an era of polarization and institutional stress. The importance of maintaining professional competence and scientific integrity in government became clear as career officials from the CDC to the Justice Department repeatedly found themselves choosing between truth and political loyalty. The critical role of civic courage among elected officials was demonstrated by figures like Pence, Barr, and various state election officials who ultimately chose constitutional duty over personal advancement. Most fundamentally, the recognition that democracy's survival depends not just on laws and institutions, but on citizens' willingness to hold their leaders accountable and reject those who would exploit their trust for personal gain. The ultimate verdict on this period may be that it served as a stress test that revealed both democracy's vulnerabilities and its resilience, providing a roadmap for both those who would destroy it and those determined to preserve it.