Trump’s Posts on Obama and Bad Bunny Illuminate His Political Beliefs | Sidney Blumenthal

Donald Trump’s recent posting of a video featuring former President Barack Obama and former First Lady Michelle Obama depicted in a derogatory manner has emerged as one of the most blatant acts of racism by a sitting president since Woodrow Wilson segregated the federal civil service. This act of racist imagery was so staggering that it overshadowed the misogynistic portrayal of prominent women, including Hillary Clinton, Kamala Harris, and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, depicted similarly. Trump’s derogatory remarks regarding women seem to have become normalized, rarely making headlines—“Quiet, piggy!”—while significant allegations linger, such as the long-suppressed documents connecting him to Jeffrey Epstein, where he is allegedly mentioned “more than a million times,” according to Democratic Representative Jamie Raskin, who obtained access to those pages.

Tim Scott, the only Black Republican senator from South Carolina, remarked on the Obama video, calling it “the most racist thing I’ve seen out of this White House,” but notably, he refrained from listing other past offenses—offenses that could have filled volumes dating back to Trump’s birther campaign and beyond, during which he speculated on Obama’s origins. In Trump’s first term, Scott specifically condemned Trump’s posting of a video showing a supporter shouting “white power” as “indefensible.” This latest video incident came shortly before Trump’s controversial comments during an interview with the New York Times, wherein he declared, “White people were very badly treated” in discussing the 1964 Civil Rights Act.

The release of Trump’s Obama video coincided with his pattern of erasing acknowledgment of slavery from numerous historical sites across the nation, following his executive order on March 27, 2025, titled “Restoring Truth and Sanity to American History.” For instance, at Fort Pulaski National Monument in Georgia, officials removed a reproduction of the notorious 1863 photograph depicting the torturous scars of an enslaved man named Gordon. Signs concerning slavery at Harpers Ferry National Historical Park faced removal per orders, while exhibits illustrating the brutal conditions faced by enslaved individuals at Kingsley Plantation were intended for inventory. The President’s House in Philadelphia, which noted the presence of George Washington’s slaves also saw information removed.

Trump’s video and remarks about civil rights echo a long, insidious history. Irrespective of his disdain or ignorance, his language reflects sentiments from George C. Wallace’s inaugural address on January 14, 1963, where he lamented “the tyranny that clanks its chains upon the south” while railing against the “international racism of the liberals seeking to persecute the international white minority.”

The idea of “mongrelization,” a term Wallace used to lament demographic changes, became evident in Trump’s critiques of Puerto Rican artist Bad Bunny’s Super Bowl halftime performance. Bad Bunny, whose ascendancy includes a Grammy for best album this past year, criticized ICE in his songs and ended his performance with an emotional parade of flags, including that of the U.S., declaring, “God bless America.”

Trump dismissed this display as “an affront to the Greatness of America,” arguing, “Nobody understands a word this guy is saying, and the dancing is disgusting, especially for young children watching from throughout the U.S. and all over the World.” His reaction seemed to conflate a modern artist with past entertainers, perhaps misremembering Elvis’s pioneering performances and their perceived controversies. In the broader context of identity politics, Trump represents a comedic, yet troubling, figure in the cultural debate.

The White House’s disoriented justification of the Obama video, attempting to deflect blame onto an anonymous staff member, suggested a reliance on AI-generated content. But as early as October last year, Trump was depicted as a fighter pilot bombing protesters in a grotesque video. In late January, the communications office disseminated an altered image of Nekima Levy Armstrong, a prominent Black activist, changing her appearance to depict her as crying. After this manipulation was called out, Deputy White House Communications Director Kaelan Dorr cheekily remarked, “The memes will continue.”

Defending the Obama video, White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt characterized it as mere “internet meme” content, dismissing the outrage over it as “fake.” Ironically, in contrast to the Armstrong photo incident, Trump’s team took pride in their digital manipulation when confronted. The phrase “fake outrage” reflects a troubling projection of the very outrage that Trump’s administration often stirs up through disinformation campaigns. Previously, a doctored video depicting House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries was released, which drew condemnation and highlighted the issue of bigotry pervasive in these memes.

Dan Scavino, Trump’s deputy chief of staff, has been labeled as “the conductor of the Trump Train,” overseeing a team responsible for posting both memes and incendiary content. While White House officials have stated that Scavino was not responsible for the Obama post, Leavitt’s role involves rapidly crafting false narratives, deflecting accountability, and presenting falsehoods as facts.

In Trump’s muddled defense of the Obama video, he unwittingly revealed how his media operation functions. Claiming he only viewed part of the video, he deflected responsibility while admitting to approving its release. “I didn’t make a mistake,” he asserted, a telling misjudgment.

These memes operate as more than just political distractions or echoes within a cult-like following; they embody and reflect a deeper merger of racist and nativist ideologies. Trump’s remarks regarding Obama and Bad Bunny crystallize a political philosophy steeped in a desire to return to an exclusionary, regressive past.

At its core, Trump’s policies resonate with a regressive historical narrative, revealing an underlying disdain for multiculturalism. His recent actions connect modern digital platforms to a remnant of racism reminiscent of earlier periods in American history. Trump’s portrayal of political opponents, particularly the Obama video, mirrors racists’ visual histories that sought to dehumanize minorities through pseudo-scientific theories.

This ideological foundation harkens back to literature in the 19th century, wherein polygenism claimed racial hierarchies. As the narrative evolved, harmful publications reinforced these racist ideologies, including works like Madison Grant’s 1916 book, intertwining social Darwinism with anti-immigrant sentiments. Grant’s infamous work influenced historical immigration policies and was cited by Hitler in his writings, illustrating the continuity of these dangerous ideologies.

The second Ku Klux Klan’s emergence in the 1920s highlighted a combative nativism, ranking individuals by race and ethnicity, asserting white supremacy. Furthermore, Trump’s rhetoric often echoes notorious phrases from history, showcasing a deliberate use of inflammatory language designed to incite fear and division around issues of race and immigration.

Within his political apparatus, Stephen Miller, a central architect of Trump’s immigration policies, has attempted to employ violent narratives concerning migration and demographics, sourcing inspiration from white nationalist writings. His stark comments reflect a belief that migrants contribute negatively to societal conditions, solidifying fears around immigration through incendiary rhetoric.

In summary, the ramifications of Trump’s recent actions reflect a culmination of historical prejudices reborn in modern digital discourse. The meme culture shaped by his administration serves to perpetuate racism while revealing much about the divisive nature of contemporary American politics. “The memes will continue,” indeed, showcasing cultural and political dynamics interwoven with America’s fraught history with race.