Trump’s victory is about more than politics. It’s a call to look inward.

As I watched the numbers roll in, marking yet another populist victory in the West, a strange sense of déjà vu took over me. This isn’t just a victory for Donald Trump, nor a defeat for Kamala Harris; it’s a reflection of something deeply unsettling within us. It’s a reminder that we—whether in America, my home country of Australia, or places like Brazil and across Europe—are collectively searching, reacting, and, in some ways, retreating into the arms of leaders who promise to shield us from our fears. This victory, more than any recent election, isn’t simply political. It’s about the ways we’re choosing to see ourselves and respond to a world we feel increasingly disconnected from.

In the days since the election, I’ve felt disturbed and introspective, questioning why so many of us, across cultures and continents, are seeking refuge in figures who echo our frustrations, speak to our fears, and promise us security at a time when the world feels chaotic. There’s something primal in this yearning for a strong figure—someone who appears unshaken, who tells us, in so many words, “I’m here to protect you from the chaos.” But that same pull is unsettling because it speaks to the part of us that surrenders responsibility, handing over our agency, our power, and even our conscience to someone we hope will make things right.

In Trump, we see the triumph of a type of leader who appeals not to our intellect, but to our base instincts. Noam Chomsky, one of the greatest critics of modern media and politics, has spoken at length about the way the media shapes our consciousness, and this election cycle shows just how effective that shaping has become. Trump, with his brash style and unapologetic disdain for the status quo, fits perfectly into a media landscape that thrives on spectacle, scandal, and division. We are drawn to his boldness because it offers a release from the sense of helplessness that can feel overwhelming in today’s world. His words tap into that primal part of us, inviting us to join him in casting blame on the “elite,” the “outsiders,” the “corrupt establishment.”

This time around, however, Trump’s narrative has been supercharged by an unlikely ally: Elon Musk. Musk’s backing brought the weight of tech and wealth into Trump’s campaign, an influence that underscores the power of media and technology to manipulate narratives. Musk’s role was more than financial. It was ideological. Through platforms like X (formerly Twitter), Musk amplified Trump’s reach, helping to cultivate an image of Trump not just as a leader, but as a cultural phenomenon. In a sense, Musk became a meta-political figure, leveraging his tech influence to fuel the kind of anti-establishment rhetoric that appeals to millions. It’s fascinating—and disturbing—to see someone so powerful support Trump, not from a political stance, but as part of a broader vision of disruption and rebellion against the establishment.

Musk’s involvement magnifies Trump’s brand of populism, blending it with the allure of tech-driven revolution. It makes the pull of Trump’s promises even more potent, appealing to our modern fascination with tech saviors and disruption. And yet, Musk’s role highlights something Chomsky warns about: the power of elite forces to shape and manipulate public opinion under the guise of populism. When someone like Musk backs a figure like Trump, it reinforces that, in our world, populism is no longer about the people but about powerful figures shaping narratives that serve their own interests.

In this sense, Trump’s victory is also about what he represents. He’s a mirror reflecting our collective desire for simplicity and certainty in a complex world. We see this same reflection in the rise of figures like Bolsonaro in Brazil, Marine Le Pen in France, and Nigel Farage in the UK—leaders who tap into discontent and direct it outward, painting the world in binaries. They show us how easy it is to respond to fear with anger, and how tempting it is to identify an “enemy” we can blame for our troubles. The media plays right into this narrative, crafting stories that divide us further, amplifying our tribal instincts, and, as Chomsky would say, “manufacturing consent” for a worldview where the “other” is always the problem.

But as seductive as this narrative is, I find it profoundly disturbing. This isn’t just about choosing Trump over Kamala Harris or aligning with one side of the aisle over the other. This election represents a stark choice about the kind of society we want to be and the kind of people we want to become. It’s about whether we choose to feed the parts of ourselves that crave a strong leader to solve our problems or whether we turn inward to find that strength within ourselves.

Across the globe, from Australia to Europe to the Americas, people are disillusioned with politicians. There’s a disconnect between those in power and the rest of us, and it’s a disconnect that’s been decades in the making. The elites, insulated from the struggles of everyday life, seem out of touch, self-serving, even corrupt. And that frustration is real. We’re not imagining it; we’re living it. But here’s the critical point: while the elitism and disconnection are problems that need to be addressed, the response we’re seeing—turning to demagogues who promise to “take our country back”—is equally troubling.

What worries me most is that in seeking external solutions, we’re missing the power within ourselves. Yuval Noah Harari, in Nexus, explores how populism exploits our need for simplicity in a complex world, reducing nuanced issues into a struggle between “us” and “them.” But real transformation, as he suggests, doesn’t come from external saviors. It comes from within. We need to cultivate inner power, to recognize that each of us holds the ability to create change, not by waiting for a leader to deliver us, but by embodying that change ourselves.

This means that if we want a better world, we need to start by being better ourselves. We need to resist the temptation to place our trust in figures who thrive on division and fear. Instead, we need to turn inward, to find our own strength, to become the source of our own authority. We need to trust ourselves and each other, to rebuild the fractured fabric of our communities, and to find common ground with those the media and political leaders would have us see as enemies.

The path forward isn’t easy, and it’s certainly not as simple as a political slogan or a tweet. It requires us to confront our own insecurities, to hold ourselves accountable, and to take responsibility for the change we want to see. This, to me, is the deeper lesson of this election. It’s not about celebrating or mourning Trump’s victory; it’s about recognizing the dangerous allure of turning to a single figure to solve our problems. It’s about realizing that, in the end, true power isn’t something we hand over to a leader—it’s something we cultivate within ourselves and share with each other.

In a world that feels increasingly polarized, I believe the most radical act we can commit to is reclaiming our inner strength and extending that strength outward in compassion and solidarity. Let’s resist the urge to retreat into tribalism or surrender to the charisma of divisive leaders. Instead, let’s look inward, build our resilience, and forge connections with those around us. Only then will we create a society that isn’t built on fear and division but on shared purpose and collective strength.

This, I believe, is the real response to populism, to leaders like Trump, and even to influential figures like Musk who bolster their causes. Not to fight fire with fire, but to refuse to play by the same rules. To trust in the quiet, unglamorous power of individual integrity and community resilience. To create the kind of world we all deserve, not by following demagogues but by becoming our own leaders.