Synecdoche, America

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When school kids and wide-eyed undergraduates are taught the concept of ‘synecdoche’ one of the most common examples used is the British monarchy. The word, in its purest form, means the use of a part to express the whole (or the reverse), and there are few examples deployed more frequently than ‘the crown’. When we, in Britain and the world, talk about ‘the crown’, we do not literally mean the golden headdress nor, even, its current wearer. We mean the the whole Royal establishment. The part has come to represent the whole.

There was a moment in President Volodymyr Zelenskyy’s visit to the White House on Friday when I thought of synecdoche. It was when JD Vance, the Vice-President, leaned over to the Ukrainian premier, and, like a puffed-up school prefect, asked Zelenskyy a simple question. “Have you said thank you once?” Vance, a man who has been in office for about six weeks, asked Europe’s most resilient wartime leader.

Of course, the absurdity of the question is an echo of the absurdity of the scene. Zelenskyy is, after all, just a man; Vance and Trump, likewise, just men. Does the part represent the whole? Would a simple “thank you” from Zelenskyy demonstrate the gratitude of Ukraine — a country of almost 38m people — to American taxpayers, represented here by president Trump, who was swept into office by the votes of c.22% of America’s current population? Why should Mr Trump be thanked for the contributions of US taxpayers — contributions made largely during his predecessor’s tenure? Why should the words of a tense, weary Zelenskyy be anything more than mere noise, amidst the cacophony of shellfire?

The whole thing was a farcical, synecodochal puppet show, played out of the highest stage (and for the highest stakes). Vance accused Zelenskyy of “litigating” the situation in front of the American media, which is to say, ignoring the President’s role as the people’s representative, and attempting to speak directly to Joe and Jane American, watching along on CNN and Fox News. Does Zelenskyy not recognise the great American principle of synecdoche?

“He disrespected the United States of America in its cherished Oval Office,” Trump wrote on social media later that day. Perhaps Zelenskyy thought it was just an uncherished room, the sort of place one could conduct robust talks, rather than the pews of some consecrated holy place. The Oval Office is also, of course, often used as synecdoche for the Presidency (as is its parent building, the White House). These are symbols — like the crown — of the primacy of America’s highest office. But they are vapid symbols. When Winston Churchill told the House of Commons in 1940 that “we shall fight on the beaches”, he was using the personal pronoun as synecdoche for the British armed forces and the nation itself. It was a powerful “we”, an example of how Churchill turned into a symbol of British resilience. “Have you said thank you once?” Vance asked. “I said it a lot of times,” Zelenskyy retorted. Somehow the pronouns used didn’t have a particularly Churchillian ring.

I sat and watched on Friday and, along with everyone, I was shocked by what I was seeing. The spectacle was so unedifying, such a deeply unserious response to a serious situation — not to mention so brutally inhumane — that it was like being winded. Is this where the long struggle for democracy has ended up? With pitiful mud-slinging on plush high-backed chairs? How far could this presented scene be from the muddy horrors of Ukraine’s eastern front, or life in the bombed out husks of Kharkiv or Donetsk? If this was being “litigated” before the eyes of the media, then the impact was striking: everyone was saying the same thing, at the same time.

The media is a funny, fickle beast. Donald Trump’s actions since assuming office in January have pandered to the 22% of Americans who voted for him in 2024 (49.8% of voters in that election). It’s far from a majority, but it’s still a significant caucus. Media organisations and journalists represent a more ephemeral group: readers, viewers, listeners. Not only are they necessarily smaller, they are far from homogenous. To vote for Trump is to accept the implementation of his plans for immigration or international development or the economy (such as they are), but reading Nate Silver or Ben Shapiro or Bari Weiss doesn’t accept anything. You might read them because you love their analysis or the way that they write; you might read them because you hate their analysis or the way that they spaff it onto the page. You might read a piece because you agree with it (“TRUMP SHOWS DISRESPECT FOR UKRAINIAN COUNTERPART,” declares the headline, and you think: that’s how I feel). You might read a piece because it seems so preposterous (“ZELENSKY THE REAL ANTAGONIST IN WHITE HOUSE SHOWDOWN,” the headline announces, and you think: what the hell??). You might click something because it seems obviously correct or because it seems obviously wrong — and you might, also, click because it is saying something you’d never even thought about.

I’ve been puzzling, over the past few months, on the question of how a liberal media covers the second Trump presidency without descending into impotent navel-gazing. It is not enough, I think, to keep saying “this is bad”. We have to also make our own case for an alternative. The question is how you square this with the demands of a media industry that’s in widespread decline. There will always be readers for “TRUMP IS EVIL” but how do you snare eyeballs for a piece saying “THERE IS A POSITIVE ECONOMIC CASE TO BE MADE FOR USAID AS A COST EFFECTIVE USE OF A VERY SMALL PERCENTAGE OF U.S. GDP”? Unlike politicians with their voters, publishers don’t have the tacit endorsement of their readers. They have to positively attract them, not passively rely on them.

When we witness a scene like the Zelenskyy-Trump-Vance summit in the Oval Office, there is a temptation to find alternative spins on what happened. There’s only so many times you can say “that was shameful” or “that disrespected the terrible losses of the Ukrainian people” before readers start to tune out. And so journalists and publications try and find new ways of talking around the subject. Even here in Europe (where support for Ukraine polls much higher than in the US) we have started to see headlines tilting the camera into unexpected angles. “Trump — not Zelensky — is Ukraine’s only hope,” wrote the Spectator. “Donald Trump is a Dickensian rogue,” wrote UnHerd. “Trump fired Zelensky like he was a loser on The Apprentice,” wrote The Times (even though its readers in London have likely never seen Trump’s version of The Apprentice).

Trump is banking on this appetite for new angles. He has been lining them up. Zelenskyy is a “dictator” who is avoiding elections. Zelenskyy is an anti-American who is “not ready for peace” while America is involved. Zelenskyy is leaving a lucrative minerals deal on the table, which will disadvantage his people domestically. These are the stories that Donald Trump and JD Vance are “litigating” in front of the media.

For once, I don’t think there was much more to say than: that’s not how diplomacy should be done, and it shamed the United States as both a host and the presumptive broker of a peace in Europe. The reason why diplomacy is done behind the scenes, in long, detailed meetings with multiple participants and observers, is because synecdoche is fine for a figure of speech. It is fine to have the United States represented by a bald eagle or Ukraine by a trident. But the petty interpersonal squabbling of men who want gratitude — Words! Mere words! — is the deeply human factor that needs to be eliminated. That is not the part representing the whole; it is the part representing the part.

This is the challenge posed by the Trump circus. Remember, if you can, the 22% of Americans whose anxieties bore Trump to the White House. Remember, if you will, the 78% of Americans whose security and prosperity is now in the President’s executive grasp, whether they like it or not. And remember, most of all, that America is home to about 4.2% of all the humans who live on Earth. They are a great nation who have seen themselves — too often correctly — as the protagonists of the 20th and 21st century. They are now led by a man who considers himself a protagonist amongst protagonists.

Some stories don’t require spin or speculation, novel angles, devil’s advocacy or provocation. Reinforce important points or keep quiet. But when the news cycle starts afresh — with the question of America’s position in the world more fraught and precarious than ever — we must all relegate synecdoche back to a linguistic flourish. Just as the Ukrainian president is an envoy for his people, so too is Donald Trump just a fragile indicative part of the dwindling American project.

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