Two men met in Alaska last week. They were supposed to have a formal talk feast rounded off with a ceasefire dessert, but it all ended as a piecemeal summit where only starters-symbolism and PR-were served. One terrifies the world with his icy stare and iron fist; the other makes it shake its head in disbelief, sometimes even in hopeless laughter. One threatens with tanks, the other with tweets. Both rule with trademark authority, but are poles apart in how they nurture their realities and project themselves to the world. And yet, only one of them has begun to capture my admiration — slowly, grudgingly, and, most of all, ironically.
I never thought I’d say this, not in ten lifetimes, but here I am, finding a peculiar kind of love for the man who represents everything wacky and preposterous in the world today. This newfound affection did not develop in spite of his unapologetic bluster and bombast, but because of them. Who doesn’t love a showman, after all? Truth be told, I have never seen anyone turn mass ridicule to personal advantage the way he does. Every gaffe, every outrageous claim, every mangled sentence that should have sunk another politician only seems to buoy him up further and make his brand of politics and posturing a reality no one can ignore. He has mastered the rare art of converting mockery into momentum, of transforming jeers into headlines, and headlines into power. And now, every time he is due to appear on the screen, I stay glued not just to listen to his grand gibberish but to see how this would be translated around the world as veritable geopolitical pronouncements.
It tickles me to see nations and their governing machineries huddle into solemn discussions the moment there is a dubious murmur coming out of the showman’s mouth. It makes me wonder if he prepares a list of outrageous decisions and declarations to shock the world day after day, or if he is just a natural impressionist with endless flair for the absurd. If it is the latter, then my love for him will only organically grow, for no one in this world can command attention, spark panic, and dominate news with such effortless chaos. He does it with a wink, a tweet, or a pinched finger, and yet, the world bends to listen. No one has the audacity to pick up the phone and say, “Stop the war,” or the cheek to run phoney peace campaigns in the hope of grabbing the Nobel Prize or making “you are fired” a catchphrase as him. He has a rare acumen that arches over the business, the political, and the theatrical. He can leave you befuddled with his shifting stances and yet be confident in his manner.
There is something almost liberating in that carelessness, a reckless authenticity that bends rules, mocks expectations, and somehow commands respect from a majority of his countrymen. In a world so obsessed with perfection and image, he reminds me that sometimes, power rests not in control but in the fearless freedom to be unapologetically, irrepressibly oneself. We admire people who have the courage to be utterly themselves, even if it makes the rest of us squirm.
And here I am, admitting, with a mixture of disbelief and a strange sort of delight for being an oddball, that I admire a man who could never fit into any mould I know, yet somehow commands my attention, my bemusement, and, yes, my reluctant liking. I may not vote him to power, not even to be the president of a residential society, but I will remember him fondly as one of the most curiously compelling disruptors I have ever known.
The author is a Dubai-based columnist, independent journalist, and children’s writing coach
