Et tu, Brute? – Et tu, Trumpie?

By Zamikhaya Maseti

Et tu, Brute?"—those two immortal words from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar reverberate across centuries, encapsulating the shock of betrayal that accompanies the fall of a trusted leader. This sentiment, carved into the very fabric of historical tragedy, finds a striking parallel in the contemporary political landscape of the United States.

As a scholar of International Political Economy and Reader of the English (101) Literature, I cannot help but recognise echoes of Shakespearean Rome in modern-day America. The fallibility of power, the illusion of loyalty, and the inevitable reckoning that follows hubris—all these motifs, masterfully dramatised in Julius Caesar, manifest once more in the saga of Donald Trump.

My intellectual journey into Shakespeare was profoundly shaped by two towering figures: my high school English teacher, Xola Anthony at Cowan High School in Port Elizabeth and Chris Hani, the late General Secretary of the South African Communist Party (SACP), Awu-uTshonyane Madoda—as he was affectionately known—imbued in me an appreciation for literature’s profound capacity to mirror and shape reality. Chris Hani, a humble revolutionary and an ardent Shakespearean, reinforced my belief in literature as a tool for political enlightenment. Their influence lingers as I draw from Shakespeare’s reservoir to analyse the paradoxes of modern power in America.

Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar unravels themes of conspiracy, political ambition, and ultimate downfall. The Roman dictator’s ascent, his appointment as ruler for life, and the ensuing betrayal that leads to his assassination—these elements are not relics of antiquity but rather recurring motifs in the annals of political history.

Donald Trump’s rise and the subsequent fracture he has sown across America present a contemporary enactment of this classic tragedy. His Doctrine, a concoction of Conservative Republicanism, Economic Nationalism, and the America First Ideology, mirrors the ideological turmoil of Shakespeare’s Rome. Yet, for all its populist bravado, this doctrine rests on a precarious foundation—a foundation that, as history warns, is bound to crumble under the weight of its contradictions.

Ironically, even amid its conceptual fragility, the Trump Doctrine has performed an unintended service: it has jolted intellectuals from their slumber. It has forced those of us in the Global South, particularly in Africa, to confront the stark realities of a world where American unilateralism dictates economic tides. But if the intellectual class has reawakened, have they truly risen?

Trump’s re-election bid was fuelled by nostalgia—an economic illusion packaged as a promise of renewal. His first term, particularly the period between 2017 and 2019, saw a modest real GDP growth rate of 2.5%, driven largely by tax cuts and deregulation. Yet, this was no Economic Renaissance; it was merely a continuation of the post-2008 recovery, an inertia rather than an innovation.

Then came 2020. The pandemic-induced recession exposed the structural weaknesses of Trump’s economic model, culminating in a 3.4% contraction—the worst annual decline since World War II. And yet, despite this, American voters gambled on Trump once more. Their wager was not on past economic performance but on a blind hope that he could reignite prosperity.

But nostalgia is not economic policy. And hope is not a strategy.

To the disillusioned masses who cast their votes in expectation of economic salvation, the aftermath of Trump’s policies is a rude awakening. His decision to cut USAID funding, for instance, did not merely sever lifelines for Africa—it also led to mass layoffs among its American employees. The very bureaucrats stationed in Washington now find themselves casualties of the policies they once implemented.

Similarly, American farmers who once thrived on agricultural exports to Mexico and Canada are now facing economic ruin, their produce stranded at various American Ports. They are the victims of an isolationist trade agenda. The domino effect is swift and merciless: farmworkers lose their jobs, supply chains collapse, and rural economies—once the backbone of Trump’s electoral base—are left in disarray.

Thus, the very constituency that once saw Trump as their champion now whispers, in hushed tones of betrayal, "Et tu, Trumpie?"—a modern-day lament that echoes the Roman Senate’s disillusionment with Caesar.

What Trump and his adherents fail to grasp is that the world has moved beyond their archaic economic nationalism. The Chinese, unshaken by his bombast, continue their inexorable rise. America’s adversaries, undeterred by his rhetoric, adapt and thrive. In wielding a double-edged sword of protectionism and isolationism, Trump has inadvertently positioned himself at the receiving end of its blade.

To underscore the reality that Trump finds himself at the razor’s edge of a double-edged sword, the extension of tariff hikes on Mexico and Canada is neither an act of goodwill nor a voluntary, considerate decision. He is cornered, with no room to maneuver. Adding to his woes is the war in Ukraine, a second major headache that leaves him with few viable options. He is banging his head against the wall, unable to strong-arm Vladimir Putin or impose punitive tariffs on Russia. Most certainly, izinto azi mntaka Ngqika ku mfo ka Trump—things are just falling apart for him, so goes isiXhosa idiom.

If history is any guide, he need only consult his counterparts—they have tried sanctions before, and they failed. Putin threatened to shut down the undersea gas pipeline between Russia and Germany, shook the hell out of Germany.

The internal fragmentation of the Republican Party further underscores this unravelling. The closure of USAID has not only widened the ideological rift between Republicans and Democrats but has also ignited an intraparty schism.

While some Republicans champion economic isolationism, others seek refuge in alternative financial instruments—like Elon Musk’s DOGE—as a symbol of economic resilience. The ideological battlefield is no longer confined to partisan lines; it now runs deep within the Republican psyche itself.

If political history has taught us anything, it is that leadership built on division is unsustainable. The fierce clashes between Trump’s supporters and opponents—intensifying within just 50 days of his tenure—paint a grim picture of a fractured America. The stark contrast between this discord and the unity that marked Barack Obama’s Yes, We Can Do It era, is undeniable.

Obama’s Presidency, inaugurated with a clarion call for collective renewal, embodied the spirit of hope and cooperation. "Yes, We Can Do It!" was not just a slogan; it was a philosophy of governance. Yet, under Trump’s rule, this optimism has withered. The rallying cry of unity has been replaced with political strife. The social fabric of America, once a mosaic of cooperation, is now frayed by antagonism.

And so, as the disillusioned gaze upon their leader, their once unwavering faith now tainted by regret, their voices coalesce into a singular refrain: "Et tu, Trumpie?"

**Zamikhaya Maseti is a Political Economy Analyst and holds a Magister Philosophiae (M.Phil.) in South African Politics and Political Economy from the erstwhile University of Port Elizabeth (UPE) now Nelson Mandela University.

***The views expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of IOL or Independent Media.