Noon had just struck in Washington on Monday, January 20, and cannon fire marked the swearing-in of Donald Trump as president. The country was tipping over into a new era, led by a familiar figure. A 78-year-old man, vengeful and full of his newfound power, simultaneously unpredictable and perfectly self-consistent. The 45th president of the United States became the 47th, pledging to "preserve, protect and defend the Constitution," beneath the gilded marble of the rotunda, in the heart of the Capitol. "The golden age of America begins right now," he asserted.
The ceremony had been scaled down and brought indoors, due to freezing temperatures. The symbolism of the moment was all the more powerful. Omitting to place his hand on the two Bibles held by his wife, Melania – despite having marketed his own version of the book, printed in China – Joe Biden's successor delivered his inaugural speech without much enthusiasm. It still resonated powerfully in this sacred site of democracy, which his supporters had trampled and desecrated during the assault on January 6, 2021. On Monday, these same rioters were granted a presidential pardon, which was made out to be the correction of a supposed injustice and the conclusion of a process of history rewriting.
An inauguration day is traditionally characterized by the joy of those taking office and the sadness of those leaving it. These feelings seemed to be exacerbated on Monday, in both directions. On television – apart from on ecstatic conservative channels – there was a strange mixture of restrained, satisfaction and fear. Commentators constantly praised the precious, even indispensable pomp of this peaceful transition, which had been carefully choreographed. Yet behind the democratic front, the toasts and the smiles, shock prevailed, as well as the fear of standing before a precipice.
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