Graham feels he has been here before.
A charismatic, thin-skinned, hot-tempered, buffoonish leader. A coterie of wild-eyed zealots and pulchritudinous women, devoted and available to the leader, and with some crossover between the categories. A public persona at once relentlessly positive and self-praising, and defensive. A wider group of disillusioned idealists, eager for the social effect and meaning that have so far eluded them. And a socio-economic vehicle with a promise to upturn existing social models. If this sounds familiar — it shouldn’t. It’s a description of a cult with which Graham was involved in the early 80s.
OK, not this precise one, but …
And now we have the Trump WH, with its spooky resemblance to a classic cult, from dress code —
— to the insistence that this leader, and this leader alone, has access to The Truth.
This Chap knows people who spent years trying to come to terms with breaking from The Cult, trying to reconcile themselves with pinning their standards to the wrong horse. And can only moan, despairingly, “Nooooo — not again…”