Four years ago, writing in advance of the Republican National Convention, I advised Mitt Romney to forego the temptation to waste the week trying to make him “likable” to the general electorate. He ignored my advice, and despite his temporary poll bump I think I was proven right in the long run.
I’m offering the same suggestion to Donald Trump, whose nominating convention hits prime time this week—for much the same reasons, and with the same expectation of being ignored.
Trump and his team, like Romney and his, mull with chagrin the public’s negative view of the candidate. Voters, to their dismay, see a cold-hearted, out-of-touch, and, frankly, weird business executive, rather than the kind, warm, funny, wise, caring family man they believe him to really be—or, at least, think voters should believe him to be, in order to trust their votes to him.
So, Trump—like Romney did in 2012—will use precious prime time slots to present family, friends, and business associates, along with packaged video presentations, to introduce a more likable, human, relatable person.
That will begin in earnest tonight, with a speech by potential first lady Melania Trump, probably accompanied by a touching video documentary of the couple. (There are reports that Trump himself will briefly join her onstage tonight.)
It’s unlikely to do much good. Sure, it might briefly boost Trump’s public image. But ultimately Trump, like Romney, is fundamentally incapable of escaping his negative political branding. His opponents are too good at applying that branding, and he is too susceptible to reinforcing it himself.
Trying to use the convention to relaunch a nicer, friendlier Trump product is doomed to fail. And, it will necessarily detract, in time and message, from Trump’s other goal this week: to scare the bejeezus out of the American people.
Trump’s perceived path to success, he has made very clear of late, is to warn Americans that they are under assault from all sides: black rioters in the streets, criminal immigrants raping and pillaging without consequence, and Islamic terrorists unleashing hell in your town next.
In a summer when flags seem perpetually at half-mast, that message is not without potency.
Nor is Trump’s solution, which boils down to: You want a strong, decisive man to protect you; not some tiptoeing, sensitive liberal who probably wants to counter crazed killers by chanting Kumbaya.
That was the not-subtle message hammered incessantly at the 2004 RNC, brilliantly sited in New York City, and featuring a parade of strong men (including Rudy Giuliani, John McCain, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Zell Miller, Dick Cheney, and of course Romney) attesting to George W. Bush’s strength in the war on terrorism, and to John Kerry’s effeminate weakness.
Tonight—worked around the interruption of Melania—you’ll see much the same approach. A succession of brutish he-men will include Giuliani, Gen. Michael T. Flynn, former Navy SEAL Rep. Ryan Zinke, Sens. Tom Cotton and Jeff Sessions, Sheriff David Clarke Jr., former Texas Gov. Rick Perry, and Duck Dynasty pere Willie Robertson.
They will be interspersed with women, pining for their fallen menfolk. In fact, of the seven women scheduled to speak Monday evening (including Melania Trump), six are defined in the official schedule primarily by their relation to a son, brother, or husband. The message, in regard to electing the country’s first female commander-in-chief, will be unspoken but unsubtle.
The problem, for Trump, is that even with his proven draw as a television ratings machine, the convention will only get an hour a night on national broadcast stations. The viewers most likely to search out the other prime-time hours of programming are typically the ones most set in their voting decisions already.
In short: Trump’s got a very short window to scare voters about President Hillary Clinton, and he’s going to spend big chunks of it talking about what a nice guy he is.
That suggests a repeat of the 2008 and 2012 Republican conventions. With the economy replacing terrorism as the imminent threat, Republicans flailed to take advantage. That was understandable in the case of McCain, who was disinterested in the subject and, in any event, represented the party of blame. Still, at his odd, out-of-touch convention, McCain heavily emphasized his personal character, while utterly ignoring the recession, as if in hopes that voters wouldn’t know it was happening. (In fact, a New York Times poll of RNC delegates that summer showed that they thought the economy was doing fine.)
In 2012, Romney tried hard to use the convention to play up his ability to fix the economy—in contrast with Barack Obama and the Democrats, who foolishly followed socialism and failed to comprehend the way business really works.
But, that message had to share precious time—in a convention shortened by Tropical Storm Isaac—with the desperate, and futile, attempts to humanize Romney, as well as the introduction of Paul Ryan, and a carefully curated mix of women and minority speakers meant to soften and broaden the GOP’s image.
I thought that it would be better for Romney and his campaign to simply accept, and embrace, the reality that voters saw Romney as the unfeeling, Richie Rich businessman—and to tell those voters that they want exactly that type of person to do what was needed to get the economy working.
Likewise, I think Trump and his campaign should give up on making people like him—and instead appeal to that part of them that wants to be protected by a mean, brutish thug.
Politicians always want to be liked. Good business leaders often don’t. And for the second time in a row, the Republican nominee is a business leader making the mistake of wanting to be liked as a politician.
