George Orwell, Donald Trump, and Benjamin the Donkey
There is little question that Animal Farm is one of the great books of the twentieth century, or perhaps any century. Disguising lacerating satire under deceptively simple prose, George Orwell exposes brutal and uncomfortable truths not simply about the specific incidents that spurred him to write the book, but also about human behavior in general.
For those who may have forgotten the story or have been unfortunate enough never to have read it, Animal Farm is an allegory about the rise of Joseph Stalin, told using a cast of farm animals. At Manor Farm, propelled by the words of Old Major (Karl Marx with a soupçon of Lenin), the animals rise up, kick out Farmer Jones, and commit to replace his autocratic rule with a free and fair system in which all the animals will have a say in how the farm is run. The rebellion is led by two pigs, one of the two breeds that can read. There is the brave, idealistic Snowball (Trotsky) who leads the other animals (the Red Army) to victory in the Great Battle of the Cowshed, and scheming, duplicitous Napoleon (Stalin) who sees in the revolution the opportunity to seize power and run the newly named Animal Farm every bit as dictatorially as had Farmer Jones. A third pig, Squealer, the propagandist, is all too willing to spout false platitudes to the other animals to gain favor with Napoleon and be granted petty privileges.
Early in the book, Napoleon uses Snowball’s honesty and naivete to outwit him and take over. Snowball flees and goes into exile (Mexico). Earlier, Snowball had drafted a series of commandments, the most important of which is “All animals are equal,” a mantra that is regularly broadcast to the other animals, who, of course, cannot read the words themselves.
These other animals represent the various subgroups in pre- and post-revolutionary Russia. There are the workers, epitomized by the noble Boxer, who will work himself to near death in service of the revolution that promised him a better life; Moses the raven, representing black-clad priests who promise all the animals paradise—after they are dead; the sheep who behave like…sheep; and a pack of vicious dogs (the secret police) that Napoleon clandestinely raises from puppyhood and who, as adults, terrorize the other animals and force them to accede to Napoleon’s every demand.
Finally, there is the key character in the book, the one for whom Orwell reserves his greatest scorn—Benjamin the donkey, the intellectual, the only non-pig who can read. Benjamin, feeling superior to everyone, largely keeps to himself but, in an odd match, he and Boxer are close friends.
As Napoleon consolidates his power, enforced by the dogs, he also makes changes to justify his dictatorial rule, including altering the key commandment to “All animals are equal…but some are more equal than others.”
But the dogs are not omnipotent. In one key scene, when they are poised to attack one of the animals for a transgression, the huge and powerful Boxer steps forward and places his hoof on the lead dog, who then shrieks in pain and retreats, taking the other dogs with him. Boxer, the true believer, does not follow that up that victory and returns to his backbreaking toil in service of the revolution.
During all this, Benjamin, every bit as smart as Napoleon but without ambition, remains aloof. Although he is fully aware of every trick, every deceit, every betrayal Napoleon has perpetrated, none of this makes a bit of difference to him, because, as he often says, “Donkeys live a long time.”
Then, one day, when Boxer has worked so hard and so long that he can toil no longer, a truck shows up. Squealer tells the other animals that Boxer is being sent to blissful retirement, but Benjamin can read what is written on the truck. He screams in a panic that Boxer is being taken to the glue factory! Stop them! Stop them!
But it is too late.
For many who have read this book, the enormous significance of this scene is missed. They feel it was inevitable that Boxer would experience the ultimate betrayal and that Benjamin was helpless because if he had protested at any point, the dogs would have ripped him to shreds.
But no. Boxer would have followed Benjamin and the workers, shocked out of their trust in a false prophet, could have defeated the dogs. If Benjamin had been the leader he should have been, the revolution could have been saved.
Orwell, then, is asking the question of who commits the greater evil, those who perpetrate it or those who have the power to effectively resist but stand idly by while evil is perpetrated?
And that, of course, leads us right to Donald Trump.
That Trump is evil, there can be little doubt. He brags about it.
As with Napoleon, many of those who follow this pied piper of hatred do so out of gullibility and the mistaken belief that he is making the world a better place for them. These blind followers include, sadly, millions of evangelical Christians, who insist, incredibly, that Trump is a gift from Jesus. They, like the sheep they choose to be, will never be swayed from that conviction. Millions more are faux patriots who constantly screech out their belief in “freedom,” by which they mean the freedom to as they please at the expense of everyone else.
Then there are Benjamins, men like Carl Icahn, J. D. Vance, and a slew of others; highly educated, highly successful men and (some) women who cannot help but to see Trump for what he is, but choose to either keep silent or make excuses for him because it benefits them personally.
Vance is the perfect example. Here is a man who denounced Trump as either a charlatan or an amoral narcissist, only to grovel when Trump’s approval could serve his own ambition. There are many examples, all of whom are happy to stand silent in the face of Trump’s willingness to mock, to vilify, to cheat, and to destroy those weaker than he, because they are convinced they or those they care about will never suffer that same fate.
Just like Benjamin.