An Inauguration Carol: “DEPORT GHOSTS”
After being visited by four ghosts, Trump promises to "build a wall around time itself."
Feel free to skip the letter below and go straight to the essay!
Dear History Cranks and Fiends,
Happy 2025! In the grand tapestry of American history, we're all just threads—some more tangled than other. As the nation soul-searches, so do I. Thank you for continuing to read, share, and support my work.
As 2024 drew to a close, I decided against sending out the seemingly required annual professional recap. Instead, I embraced a long-forgotten luxury: a genuine holiday respite—with one exception. I was in my beloved homestate of California when Jimmy Carter passed, prompting a few public appearances. His life offered lessons in character and action, crucial as we face our most contentious Trump presidency since, well, the last one.
While we’re here, my 2024 highlights: I went on a 13-stop discussion tour, “How Should a President Be,” for my fellowship at New America; the think tank has since promoted me to senior fellow. I dissected Biden's legacy in Rolling Stone, offered context on television and radio, and reviewed books for a variety of outlets, including Erik Larson’s latest for the New York Times.
And now we’re firmly in 2025. If history has taught us anything, it's that even in the darkest times, there's room for surprise.
x Alexis
An Inauguration Carol: Drain the Celestial Swamp
DISCLAIMER: Any resemblance to real presidents, past or present, may be entirely intentional if not arguably inevitable. The author accepts no responsibility. The author cannot, however, deny double-dipping over the holidays: I reread Charles Dickens' “A Christmas Carol” and saw a local production of the play.
Donald Trump was elected, to begin with. There was no doubt whatever about that. You will therefore permit me to say, emphatically, that Old Democracy was as dead as a doornail. Mind! I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a twice-impeached presidency as the deadest piece of political hardware in the trade.
Trump had made it so, and Trump's name was good upon anything he chose to put his tiny hands to, with a Sharpie, of course.
In Washington, inauguration festivities were revving up. Trump’s driver followed the same old routine, returning to the Trump hotel through the protester-blanketed street. A sea of red hats dotted the National Mall. As Trump entered his hotel, a frail man called out, offering warm greetings. "Happy Inauguration,” exclaimed Joe Biden, his jovial predecessor.
Trump, a shrewd, mean-spirited old man, was too busy furiously tapped his gold-plated phone to respond to the 46th President of the United States. "HUNTER BIDEN BELONGS IN A WORKHOUSE” he tweeted instead.1
“The United States Capitol is full of ghosts.”
—The Dickenson Press, 1896
Trump continued to ride his imaginary revenge train to the oval office when suddenly, the screen flickered. A ghostly image materialized, giving the orange man a jolt: It was the stern face of George Washington. Trump blinked and it was gone, replaced by his somehow more ghastly reflection.
Relieved, he looked up. The room was dark and he was alone—with the exception of Ghost George Washington, who was sitting beside him with his beloved hound Sweetlips.2
"Hark ye, sir, for matters weightier than thy usual prattle,” the first president said as he raised his middle finger, and then three more. “Four spirits shall haunt you before dawn. Secure thy mane," he added, running a hand through his own natural hair.
Trump, undaunted, furiously tweeted "FAKE GHOSTS!" Seconds later, "NO COLLUSION WITH GHOSTS!"
The Founding Father vanishes—only to be replaced by three more spectral figures, their faces obscured but their intent clear. Trump gulps, realizing that in this haunting, he can't simply declare bankruptcy—moral or otherwise—and walk away.
First came the Ghost of Martin Luther King Jr., his presence a stark reminder of the day's dual significance. MLK's spirit echoed with calls for justice, equality, and the unfulfilled promise of America. Trump, overwhelmed, could do not more than tweet “DEPORT GHOSTS.”
Next came the Ghosts of American Presidents Past. Their voices, from Washington to Jimmy Carter, remind Trump of the office's sacred trust. Faced with the collective wisdom of his predecessors, Trump dismisses them as the deep state of the afterlife, tweeting “DRAIN THE CELESTIAL SWAMP.”
The Ghost of Jimmy Carter lingered, his ethereal form casting no shadow on the half-mast flags. His apparition radiated an aura of humility and service. It seemed as if the weight of his recent passing would simply hang in the air, a silent rebuke more cutting than any verbal jab.
After three seconds, Trump could endure no more. "MY FUNERAL WILL BE SO MUCH BIGGER THAN YOURS!" he blurted, then added, "AND MY FLAGS WILL BE AT FULL MAST PLUS!"
Finally, the Ghost of America Yet to Come, the country’s 250th just a year away, materialized at the Trump hotel. The specter showed a future where democratic institutions prevailed and a nation worked to heal its deep divisions. "What a dump,” he sneered with a defiant tilt of his chin. He almost tweeted “AMERICA’S FUTURE IS GARBAGE” when he realized the ghost was nowhere to be found.
It was dawn. He was alone again, caught between the weight of a history he refused to learn and the promise of a future he could not comprehend. At this, Trump was apoplectic. “WE’LL BUILD A WALL AROUND TIME ITSELF,” he bellowed.
See you soonish! In the meantime, you can find me on Bluesky, Twitter, and Instagram. My books on Bookshop, Amazon, and your local bookstore or library. If you’d like me to sign or personalize my books, purchase copies from Oblong Books.
He wanted to like his own tweet first but Elon beat him to it.