What if he had died? Anna Moneymaker/Getty Images

In roisterous social discourse, I’ve repeatedly expressed my amazement that no one has ever taken a shot at Trump. I’ve even tossed off callously, “Where’s American gun nuttery when you need it?” (Sorry.) But until Saturday evening, the former president having neglected to provide target practice for his rabid detractors is doubtless more due to the diligence of his security detail than to the restraint of his foes. As for his perhaps unjustly maligned security service in Butler, Pennsylvania, you know what they say: nobody’s perfect.
I’ve written two novels that employ a parallel-universe structure, so my mind compulsively reels with alternative worlds. Now that Trump’s right ear has been bloodied like Vincent van Gogh’s, we are literally one inch from a very different present — in which the 20-year-old Thomas Matthew Crooks pulled off a clean head shot.
On the Right, all hell breaks loose. Mass demonstrations, possibly riots. Trump becomes an instant martyr. Photos and murals of Trump’s mug shot spring up on the sides of buildings, in front yards, on cars and T-shirts. Marches consume main streets, their pavements painted in tribute. Trump Tower in New York is smothered in flowers and baptised in tears by weeping women. Trump’s memorial service is a vast international hullaballoo, his casket gold. This explosion of anger and bereavement is easy to imagine, because that’s exactly what happened after the death of a mere petty criminal in 2020.
If it’s not delayed, this week’s Republican convention is mobbed. In the chaos, J. D. Vance, Marco Rubio, and Doug Burgum bicker among themselves over whom Trump intended to anoint as his vice-presidential running mate, the closely held choice now forever unknown and following Trump to the grave. In the Trump era, Republicans have so narrowed their bench to sycophantic Trump loyalists and so winnowed their brand to one man that a substitute candidate for November is anything but obvious — a political lesson that both parties might take to heart (always have a backup).
In my fantasy world, boring-but-sane Florida governor Ron DeSantis steps up to unite his shaken party, or my distant second choice Nikki Haley takes Trump’s place on the ticket. But sanity wouldn’t necessarily prevail in an aggrieved, febrile atmosphere that fosters extremes and strengthens the radical Right. So maybe instead the conspiratorial firebrand Steve Bannon seizes the nomination and runs from prison — just as it was once supposed that Trump might!
Whoever it is, the last-minute replacement makes the campaign all about Trump, demanding a Republican victory as the only just result, which will show the world that Americans will not be intimidated, and killers won’t be rewarded. The ticket’s slogan “Vote for The Donald!” is so effective that some idiot mourners take the imperative literally and write in the late president’s name in November. In any case, Republicans sweep the election up and down the ballot, taking not only the White House but both houses of Congress. As usual, however, the pressure building on the GOP over the summer to finally support stricter nationwide gun control measures inevitably dissipates, and lots of budding Thomas Matthew Crookses can grow up to take potshots at the political leaders of their choosing.
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