When Donald Trump was first elected in 2016, my spouse stared at the TV in disbelief and asked, “How on earth did America elect this president?” Wanting to give a thoughtful answer, I tried to explain the political logic as I understood it.

“It’s the Republican base,” I said — especially many white working- and middle-class voters in the Rust Belt in states like Michigan and Pennsylvania — who probably felt deeply frustrated with the political establishment. After decades of globalization (remember the “level playing field” in Thomas Friedman’s "The World Is Flat"?), many manufacturing jobs disappeared, wages stagnated and some communities were hit hard by opioid addiction. For these voters, figures like Hillary Clinton came to represent a kind of coastal liberalism that seemed distant from their daily struggles. Trump’s blunt language on trade, immigration and “Make America Great Again,” often cast as a rejection of what he derided as being politically correct, sounded to supporters like a direct challenge to Washington insiders.

Fast-forward nearly a decade to last week, and the script has flipped in heartbreaking ways. In Minnesota, Alex Pretti, a 37-year-old white man and American citizen with no criminal record, was shot to death by ICE agents in Minneapolis. Federal officials said he was armed, but details remain contested. Videos (now viral across social media) do not appear to show him firing; what remains is something surreal — hollow gunshot sounds and a stunned sense of disbelief: not again.

This tragedy feels like a replay of the earlier killing of Minneapolis resident Renee Good, 37, a US citizen, who too was gunned down by an ICE agent who appeared to have made a wrong decision in a split second. Good’s death sparked initial outrage but was pushed aside in the media — ironically, thanks to other mishaps Trump has created. Pretti’s death, however, reinforces a darker suspicion for many Americans: that the administration is normalizing a more ominous pattern of power abuse and disregard for basic rights.

For many conservative-leaning voters who see law and order as the foundation of civic life and default to trusting institutions, this chain of events is especially unsettling. These are the voters who supported Trump’s tough border rhetoric, believing it would restore order after what they saw as “loose” enforcement under Biden. But when enforcement appears reckless, ordinary citizens can feel exposed rather than protected. Some polling has suggested growing unease with expanding enforcement powers, particularly in suburban communities. The longstanding belief that America’s institutions will always self-correct — regardless of one or two corrupt officials and leaders on top — begins to fall apart.

This feels like a serious inflection point. For many outside the US, Trump once seemed like an exception, separate from “real” America and the familiar image of the land of the free, a hub of innovation and a democracy. Now he is increasingly seen not as an exception but as a reflection of America, and that shift has consequences. In global perception, the gap between Trump and “America” gets filled in fast. Longstanding pillars such as faith in US leadership, the country’s soft power and assumptions about institutional stability seem less secure than they did decades ago.

In a crisis of this magnitude, it’s tempting for me, as an education scholar, to retreat into punditry — geopolitics, or the claim that Trump has sorted it out and has a plan. After all, he is the president of the United States. But for many of us, he is what he is: a narcissistic bully, dismissive of expertise, driven by vanity and greed. Critics point to episodes from his first term — especially his trade policy, Jan. 6, and family separations at the border — as examples of governance that intensified division and undermined trust. Looking ahead to a second term, critics also warn that aggressive immigration actions, disruptive staffing changes, nepotism and renewed tariff threats could deepen institutional strain and economic uncertainty — concerns they say surfaced again in Trump’s recent, antagonistic speech at Davos.

With three years left in Trump’s term — until January 2029 — the world is watching how Americans respond and whether democratic guardrails can hold. Many expect familiar patterns: the midterm elections as a corrective mechanism, legal challenges moving through the courts, civil servants and independent agencies pushing back against improper pressure and public protest serving as a signal that presidential power still has limits. American institutions have weathered severe tests before. The open question is whether they can do so again, and at what cost.

Having already witnessed two Korean presidents impeached and jailed, I never imagined I would live to see the erosion of core American values. It’s premature to declare those values lost — but this moment demands more than finger-pointing at Trump. He won’t change; believing otherwise is an illusion. The imperative rests with Americans themselves: to protect the democratic legacy they claim to cherish for future generations or allow it to be plundered by Trump and his sycophants. The ballot box, the streets, the courts — America’s genius has never been invincibility, but renewal. Will they summon it now?

Lim Woong

Lim Woong is a professor at the Graduate School of Education at Yonsei University in Seoul. The views expressed here are the writer’s own. — Ed.


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