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The senators had had enough of Julius Caesar. They regarded the military genius who was rapidly consolidating political power as a tyrant-in-the-making and potential usurper of their own prerogatives. They resolved to get rid of him and formed a relatively tight conspiracy, which included a number of his own “party,” for that purpose.

Exactly what transpired on the Ides of March, 44 BC, remains shrouded in some mystery — accounts vary, from Nicolaus of Damascus to Suetonius to Plutarch to Shakespeare — but there’s no dispute that Caesar’s life ended violently in the Senate on that day, changing the course of history.

I’ve seen and read Shakespeare’s play enough times to know the assassination scene (Act III, Scene 1) pretty much by heart. What stands out to me is that the proximal cause — or pretext — for Caesar’s murder is his refusal to bend to the fawning supplication of his senatorial suitors, who are pleading for his pardon from banishment of the brother of one of their number.

Thus:

METELLUS [a conspirator], kneeling:

Most high, most mighty, and most puissant Caesar,
Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat
An humble heart.

CAESAR:  

I must prevent thee, Cimber.
These couchings and these lowly courtesies
Might fire the blood of ordinary men
And turn preordinance and first decree
Into the law of children. Be not fond
To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood
That will be thawed from the true quality
With that which melteth fools — I mean sweet words,
Low-crookèd curtsies, and base spaniel fawning.
Thy brother by decree is banishèd.
If thou dost bend and pray and fawn for him,
I spurn thee like a cur out of my way.
Know: Caesar doth not wrong, nor without cause
Will he be satisfied.

And it continues in that vein, with others kneeling and flattering and a steadfast Caesar taking pride in his resistance to their flattery. Granted, these are fictional words composed by a monarchist playwright. The historical Caesar, who gave his name to this month of our calendar, was, by composite account, a highly complex figure, responsible for numerous positive and popular reforms, but backed by the Roman military and often dealing harshly with political enemies and dissenters.

Their faux patience exhausted, their true purpose about to be revealed, the conspirators finally get down to business: 

“Speak, hands, for me!” Casca exclaims, his knife drawn, and the stabbing begins. 

Caesar dies and havoc soon ensues, resulting in a civil war that ends the Roman Republic and ushers in the Roman Empire, beginning with the long reign of Caesar’s adopted heir, Octavian (later titled Augustus) — with dreadful, all-powerful successors such as Nero, Domitian, and Caligula waiting in the historical wings.

A Controversial Depiction

In June of 2017, six months into Donald Trump’s first term, The Public Theater put on Julius Caesar in Central Park. The production, in which Caesar was unmistakably portrayed as Trump, was highly controversial: Long-time Shakespeare in the Park sponsors Bank of America and Delta Airlines withdrew their funding, and viewers and critics were polarized on political lines, much as the whole country has been throughout the Trumpocene.

Looking back, I think more was obscured than revealed by the predictably partisan reactions to the production. 

First, far from glorifying the assassination, and political violence in general, it was — or should have been — clear that the production served, as its creators said they intended, as a warning against the effects of such violence, focusing on the chaotic maelstrom to which the murder gave rise.

Second, to the extent that history knows Julius Caesar, it is evident that, whatever faults he may have had, he was no Donald Trump.

Shakespeare’s flattery-resistant Caesar, as buried and praised by Marc Antony (Act III, Scene 2), is seen to have done far more good than harm. The historical Caesar is credited with numerous public-spirited achievements — and few, if any, displays of the kind of destructive depravity and outright villainy that have become Trump’s stock and trade.

Brutus, in his speech justifying the assassination, calls Caesar “ambitious”:

BRUTUS:

…As Caesar loved me, I weep for him. As he
was fortunate, I rejoice at it. As he was valiant, I
honor him. But, as he was ambitious, I slew him.
There is tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honor
for his valor, and death for his ambition…

Ambition, according to Brutus, was Caesar’s only real fault — and we might well ask whether anyone lacking in ambition seeks high office, whether in ancient Rome or in the America of our time. 

To that faintly damning adjective, add cruel, vindictive, greedy, corrupt, mendacious, unstable, power-mad, dictatorial, and profoundly dangerous and you just begin to sketch the contours of Donald Trump. 

Warfare aside, few wound up immiserated, terrified, or dead as a result of Caesar’s policies and edicts — the same cannot be said for Trump’s. 

The world is vastly more complicated today than it was two millenniums ago but, I’d submit, the fundamental things apply. And the damage being done by a diseased, deranged, and profoundly evil arch-villain is beating a fierce tattoo on the geiger counter of history and sanity. 

He Must Be Stopped, but How?

Over and over again I read — not just from shrill alarmists but from ordinarily sober observers — that Trump must be stopped, that our nation, our world, and all we hold dear face ruin if Trump is not stopped.

What was once rare and sporadic is all but ubiquitous now — the stunned recognition that Trump poses a mortal, possibly unstoppable, danger. Not merely to immigrants, the poor, or children dependent on a functioning public health system here at home or on USAID abroad — but, ultimately, to us. All of us.

Which brings us back to Casca, whose hands “spoke” for him and stopped Caesar. 

We live in a different time, in which there paradoxically abides the power — in silos, subs, and labs — to kill just about everybody, but where we don’t do what Casca and his fellow Roman bluebloods took it upon themselves to do. At least, we don’t — virtually all the political violence, and threats of political violence, in the Trumpocene have come from the far right, and the MAGA arsenal of guns and ammo just keeps growing.

Let’s not kid ourselves: Donald Trump is the casus belli and the peg in the ground of the political total war that has engulfed our country. It is a war so divisive that, were we to find out tomorrow that Trump had, from natural causes, breathed his last — while the MAGAs wailed and keened, and no doubt suspected foul play — an enormous sigh of relief and hymn of thanksgiving would go up from the hundred-plus millions of Americans not in that cult. 

If that sounds unseemly, that does not make it any less true. It is a vast submerged tectonic plate of 2025 America, a natural consequence of our ghastly reality.

Can the Pen Be Mightier?

But, whatever our thoughts, we have not spoken with hands but with words. They are all we have, legally, as weapons. Words, words, words, as perhaps the greatest Shakespearian creation — Hamlet, Prince of Denmark — put it.

Perhaps we’ll find somewhere the collective will to speak with our wallets — to organize massive boycotts, general strikes, tax revolts.

Perhaps. Thus far, I’ve seen no real sign of it.

Perhaps, next November, we will get to speak with our votes. To do so, we’ll have a lot to overcome: maximalist gerrymandering, à la Trump’s demand of Texas and other red states; enhanced voter suppression schemes, guided by Trump’s executive order and the proposed, hyper-cynical SAVE Act; ICE-powered targeted intimidation of voters and election officials; potential vote-count manipulation. 

Perhaps these red thumbs on the electoral scales won’t be heavy enough to thwart the public will. 

Perhaps the electoral bill will come due for Trump’s personal behavior and the damage he is inflicting on ordinary Americans.

Perhaps. Although it is hard to imagine that a would-be dictator and his entourage, having demonstrated so blatant a contempt for democracy, would allow a little thing like a free and fair election to stand in their way, to undermine all they have destroyed so much to accomplish.

Meanwhile, we have words. Let the warnings continue; and the insistence that Trump and his fascists must be stopped; and the flood of truth to counter their ceaseless spew of lies. But let us not delude ourselves about the power Trump has amassed and how perilous our position is. Let us not grow weary of the words, nor tune them out. Let us hear and heed and share and amplify. 

Let us bring our words by the billions to this gunfight. We’re not Casca, nor Cassius, nor Brutus. We don’t have knives. All we can say is: “Speak, words, for me.”