Populism’s resurgence: Why Trump’s victory reveals a flaw in us all

I’ve already spent a lot of time reflecting on the meaning behind Trump’s recent victory—a second win that goes beyond mere political points or party loyalty. His win represents something deeper, an undeniable swell of populism that feels like the beginning of a descent. What happens in America doesn’t stay in America; it influences the rest of the world, shaping the mood and tone of our global society. When nearly 51% of Americans put him back in office, it’s not just a reflection of the U.S. but a troubling sign for all of us, everywhere.

The thing about populism is that it doesn’t happen in a vacuum. It’s a global phenomenon—Trump is just one of many recent faces in a line of leaders who’ve harnessed discontent, anger, and division to bring people to their side. In Brazil, Jair Bolsonaro rose with promises of nationalism and conservatism; in Hungary, Viktor Orbán promises to protect Hungarian values, even at the cost of democratic principles. And then there’s Marine Le Pen in France, Nigel Farage in the UK. It’s no accident; it’s a worldwide pattern.

So what causes it? Noam Chomsky would point to a system that’s left too many people out in the cold. It’s not just the result of some political miscalculation; it’s a symptom of deep-rooted inequality, disillusionment with elite politics, and the sense that the system is rigged. The media plays its part, too—shaping public opinion, creating narratives of “us vs. them,” and fueling the flames that divide us. Chomsky would call it “manufacturing consent,” a way of molding public perception to make people cling to these strong, sometimes extreme, leaders who promise safety and certainty in a world that feels increasingly chaotic.

For me, the rise of populism feels like discovering a flaw in the human condition, a collective vulnerability in our body politic. There’s this void in us—a vacuum that begs to be filled by leaders we think can protect us from everything we’re afraid of. We put people like Trump on a pedestal, hoping they’ll have answers that, deep down, we know don’t exist. It’s almost as if we can’t help ourselves; we need someone to tell us that they’ve got things under control, that they’ll “drain the swamp,” fix the economy, and protect us from enemies both real and imagined. It’s not just about what they say; it’s about the fact that we want to believe them.

But then we look closer at the leadership we’re embracing. Trump isn’t just a politician with strong opinions—he’s a man who embodies traits we’d be horrified to find in ourselves or in people we care about. He’s a bully, a narcissist, someone who’s been accused of everything from tax evasion to sexual misconduct. Here’s a man who mocked a disabled reporter on live television, who cozied up to dictators and suggested that we “take the oil” from countries we invade. Trump’s legacy includes stoking racial division, degrading women publicly, and, let’s be honest, creating a culture that rewards people who shout louder and fight dirtier. This isn’t strength. It’s abuse of power masquerading as leadership.

Why do we gravitate toward leaders like this? Psychologically, it’s like we’re looking for someone who can make us feel safe and certain in a world that offers anything but. When we’re afraid, we want the loudest, boldest voice in the room, someone who promises to stand up to threats, whether real or imagined. We want security. We want to feel like we’re part of something powerful and protected, so we put our faith in figures who promise that they’ll “make us great again,” even if that means tearing down others.

It’s tempting to blame Trump and leaders like him, to say they’re manipulating us or exploiting our weaknesses. But when I think about it, I can’t help but see it as a flaw within ourselves. Why do we need someone like Trump at all? Our societies are more advanced than they’ve ever been, our economies are more capable of providing for us, and, truthfully, we’re more interconnected and informed than any generation before. We can look after ourselves better than we realize. So why do we keep looking to these “strong” leaders, these figures who remind us of the very worst of our nature, to give us a sense of direction and security?

Maybe it’s because the void isn’t just political, it’s existential. We’re collectively uneasy, uncomfortable with the unknown, uncertain of what the future holds. We’re grasping at leaders like Trump not because they’re the best we can do, but because they’re what feels familiar in a time of crisis. But the truth is, these leaders aren’t a solution—they’re a symptom. They’re what happens when we give up the hard work of self-reflection, of finding inner strength, and place that responsibility on someone else’s shoulders.

What’s more troubling is that this isn’t just an American issue. We’re seeing it everywhere. People are sick and tired of politicians, yes, but they’re also tired of looking within, tired of figuring out how to create real change on a personal or community level. It’s easier to vote for someone who promises to “fix it all” than to take ownership of the fact that, as a collective, we’re part of the problem too. As long as we continue looking for saviors outside ourselves, we’ll continue to see the rise of populists who reflect our fears more than our hopes, who offer us comfort in exchange for control.

So, where does this leave us? I believe the answer isn’t in rejecting leaders outright, but in rethinking why we need them so badly. We can’t keep filling the void with people who take our trust and turn it into a tool for division. Instead, we need to start trusting ourselves, trusting each other. We need to remember that true strength, the kind of power that changes things, doesn’t come from above—it comes from within and between us. We have to stop seeing leadership as something that exists outside of ourselves and start seeing it as a shared responsibility, a collaboration that grows from the ground up.

What’s the alternative? Maybe it’s building communities that don’t rely on a single figurehead, or working together on local solutions that don’t need grandstanding or applause. Maybe it’s about learning to lead ourselves, to be accountable to each other, and to reject the idea that any one person can or should hold all the answers. It’s about creating a world where strength is measured by compassion, resilience, and the willingness to listen, not by bravado or bullying.

In the end, the victory of populism isn’t a win for the people; it’s a warning. It’s a call to look within, to face our own insecurities, and to ask why we’re so willing to hand over our power in exchange for promises. If we don’t, if we continue down this path, we’ll keep inviting leaders who exploit that need, who take us further from the world we want and closer to a place where division and fear rule. So, let’s choose differently. Let’s turn within, find the strength we already have, and build a future that doesn’t need saviors—only each other.