Aren’t You Embarrassed? America, Trump, and the Collapse of Presidential Dignity

By any reasonable measure of civic pride, it is a strange thing to admit: I am embarrassed by the President of the United States.

Not embarrassed in the partisan sense—politics has always involved disagreement, sharp elbows, and theatrical personalities—but embarrassed in a deeper, almost civic way. Embarrassed in the way one might feel watching a family member behave badly in public, unable to intervene, acutely aware that everyone else is watching too.

I am embarrassed by Donald Trump, and I struggle to understand how any American is not.

This is not about policy preferences or ideological divides. One can oppose high taxes, support deregulation, favor a strong border, or advocate for a more isolationist foreign policy without provoking shame. Those debates are as old as the republic itself. What is new—what is jarring—is the normalization of conduct that would be disqualifying in almost any other serious profession.

The public insults. The constant grievance. The compulsive need to dominate every conversation. The casual relationship with truth. The theatrical cruelty directed at critics, institutions, and even allies. None of this is a strategy error or an eccentric style choice. It is a reflection of temperament—and temperament matters when one holds the most powerful office in the world.

Presidents are not just policymakers; they are representatives. They are symbols, whether they like it or not. When the president speaks, the world does not hear a private citizen airing frustrations on social media—it hears America. And what, exactly, are we saying?

That dignity is weakness? That accountability is optional? That winning excuses anything?

I find myself asking friends, neighbors, and strangers the same question, silently or aloud: Doesn’t he embarrass you? Not anger you, not disappoint you—but embarrass you.

Embarrassment is different. It is not ideological. It is visceral. It is the feeling that something is out of alignment with shared norms—norms we once assumed were stable. A president who mocks war heroes, demeans judges, belittles public servants, and treats constitutional guardrails as personal inconveniences does not merely offend political opponents. He cheapens the office itself.

Supporters often respond that his behavior is a feature, not a bug—that it is refreshing, authentic, even brave. That he “says what everyone is thinking.” But leadership is not an exercise in venting. Serious power requires restraint, self-awareness, and respect for institutions that outlast any one individual. Authenticity without responsibility is not courage; it is indulgence.

Others argue that embarrassment is a luxury—that what matters are results. But results divorced from norms are fragile. Democracies do not collapse only when laws are broken; they erode when expectations are lowered, when citizens grow accustomed to behavior that once would have been unthinkable.

What troubles me most is not that many Americans voted for Donald Trump. In a polarized country with economic anxiety, cultural upheaval, and institutional distrust, that outcome was always possible. What troubles me is how many have stopped expecting more—of him, and of the office he occupies.

There was a time when Americans could argue fiercely about politics while still agreeing that the presidency demanded a baseline of seriousness and decency. That expectation now feels quaint, even naive. We have replaced it with tribal loyalty and grievance accounting, measuring leadership not by character or competence but by how effectively it humiliates the “other side.”

I do not ask that everyone share my political views. I ask something far simpler and far more fundamental: that we remember what it means to represent a nation of 330 million people, diverse in belief but united—at least in theory—by a commitment to democratic norms and mutual respect.

So yes, I am embarrassed. Embarrassed that the office once associated with steadiness and moral authority is now synonymous, for many around the world, with chaos and spectacle. Embarrassed that we have grown accustomed to it. And embarrassed that asking for dignity now sounds, to some, like an attack.

The question remains, hanging uncomfortably in the air:

Aren’t you embarrassed?

And if not—what, exactly, would it take?