It ends not because Donald Trump is a buffoonish ignoramus who neither knows nor cares how the government works or what policies consist of, not because of his naked animus toward Latinos or Muslims or African-Americans, not because he has no more impulse control than your average toddler, and not because he is running what is probably the most incompetent presidential campaign in history (even if all those things would have ultimately led to his loss anyway).
No, Donald Trump’s campaign ends when a parade of women allege that he not only sees all women as sexual objects, but also believes that his status — or if you prefer, his privilege — allows him to violate their bodies whenever it pleases him, to
grope them and kiss them and
walk in on them when they’re dressing, whether they want him to or not.
This is how, 240 years after America’s founding, we finally get our first woman president: with the fall of the most boorish, misogynistic bully our political system could produce.
And make no mistake, there will be a backlash.
There’s a certain kind of poetic justice at work, even if we acknowledge that the growing stack of allegations of assault and harassment are less directly relevant to Trump’s potential performance as president than some of this other many character flaws, like his impulsiveness, his need to attack anyone who criticizes him, or his insane belief that he’s smarter than everybody and knows more than everybody.
But Trump is running against Hillary Clinton, the target of more sexist vitriol than any single person in contemporary history.
