Thirty-one per cent: What on earth are they thinking?

Thirty-one per cent.

That’s the reported approval rating for Donald Trump in the latest Reuters/Ipsos poll. From the other side of the world, I find that figure rather extraordinary. (Extraordinarily high, to be honest.)

I realise that we Australians don’t always understand American politics. We have our own peculiarities, our own political embarrassments and, occasionally, our own politicians who seem to have mistaken public office for a personal entitlement scheme.

But America is supposed to be the world’s great democracy. It has a constitution that has survived more than two centuries, and a population capable of putting a man in the White House and, eventually, showing him the door.

Yet here we are. It matters not to the thirty-one per cent that the cost of living is a concern for American households. That the administration’s trade tariffs have created additional costs and uncertainty for businesses and consumers. That their country is at war with Iran, with all the financial and human consequences that entails. That relations with traditional allies have been strained, and that the president’s dealings with Vladimir Putin continue to invite (but avoid) scrutiny.

Then there are the questions about the president’s business interests, the use of presidential power, the treatment of immigrants and the conduct of federal enforcement agencies.

One might reasonably expect a few more people to be asking whether they are getting what they signed up for.

Apparently, however, political loyalty has a remarkable capacity to survive disappointment. Perhaps that’s the real story.

When loyalty becomes more important than results

It would be convenient to dismiss Trump’s remaining supporters as people who simply don’t know what’s happening. But that would be lazy of me, and it would tell us more about our own prejudices than about theirs.

Some Americans support his immigration policies. Others believe he represents cultural values they feel have been ignored by political elites. Some distrust the Democrats so profoundly that they regard supporting Trump as preferable to allowing the opposition anywhere near power.

Others may believe the economic pain is temporary (or believe Trump’s absurd but often repeated claim that he has created the greatest economy in world history), that the tariffs will eventually deliver results, or that the president’s more controversial behaviour is a price worth paying for policies they favour.

We don’t have to agree with those conclusions to understand that people arrive at political loyalties for different reasons.

But there is a question worth asking.

At what point does loyalty to a political leader become an excuse for refusing to judge that leader’s performance?

If a president promises to make life more affordable, voters are entitled to ask whether life has actually become more affordable. If he promises to protect American interests, they are entitled to ask whether his decisions have strengthened the country’s position in the world. If he claims to defend law and order, they are entitled to expect the law to apply to his administration as well. (It would good too, if the press pool would ask the same questions.)

These are not unreasonable demands. They are the minimum expectations of democratic government.

The problem with the other side

There is another factor that shouldn’t be overlooked.

A president doesn’t necessarily retain supporters because they approve of everything he does. Sometimes they retain them because their opponents have failed to persuade them that the alternative would be better.

That distinction matters.

A voter can be unhappy with inflation, uncomfortable with a war and concerned about presidential conflicts of interest, yet still vote Republican because of immigration, abortion, taxation or distrust of the Democrats.

Politics is rarely a neat calculation in which voters add up a government’s achievements, subtract its failures and arrive at a sensible answer.

If it were, political parties would need fewer advertising agencies and considerably more accountants.

And politicians would have to explain their policies rather than simply explain why the other side is worse.

What a dreadful prospect!

How much is too much?

The more important question is not whether every Trump supporter approves of every decision. Few voters, in any country, agree with everything their preferred political party does.

The question is whether there are limits.

Is there a point at which economic hardship outweighs cultural allegiance? A point at which an unpopular war becomes more important than party loyalty? A point at which the conduct of a president matters more than the promises he made to get elected?

And what happens when those limits are never reached?

A democracy depends on citizens being willing to hold their representatives accountable. Elections are not supposed to be loyalty tests. Nor is a presidential victory a blank cheque granting permission to do whatever the occupant of the White House wishes.

The same principle applies in Australia. We should never assume that a government deserves our support simply because we dislike the alternative. Nor should we excuse the conduct of politicians whose policies we happen to favour.

That standard ought to apply regardless of party, ideology or personality.

An outsider’s question

Perhaps 31 per cent is not as mysterious as it first appears. Perhaps it reflects a combination of genuine policy preferences, partisan loyalty, cultural identity and a deep distrust of political alternatives. Or maybe they are just idiots. (How many of you are nodding your head in agreement with that one?)

But I still find myself wondering how much disappointment a political movement can absorb before its supporters begin to reconsider.

How much higher must household bills rise? How much uncertainty can businesses tolerate? How many international relationships can be damaged? How many controversies can a president survive before supporters begin asking whether the promises were worth the price?

I don’t pretend to have the answers. And I certainly wouldn’t presume to tell Americans how they should vote.

But from here in Australia, I can ask a question that seems fundamental to any democracy.

If a politician’s supporters are prepared to excuse almost anything, what exactly would that politician have to do to lose their support?

Because if the answer is nothing, then the problem extends well beyond the current president.

It becomes a question about democracy itself.