There is a difference—and sometimes an unnerving chasm—between the president and the presidency.
It's more than just the spelling of two discrete words; it's the philosophy that has guided this nation since its founding and the principle that separates us from monarchies and autocracies. The distinction is not one to which we give a great deal of thought in most presidencies, but we must do so now—and not for the first time or even the second.
We have encountered this disparity before—the tradition of honoring the office if not the man—and history books are replete with the sins of John Adams, Andrew Johnson, Wilson, and others. But the result was never as catastrophic as it was during—and after—the presidency of James Buchanan.
Right now, some readers are off to check their emails because this is beginning to sound a little too much like history, and some are quoting Henry Ford, who famously stated that history is all bunk. Bear with me: even Ford eventually changed his mind. This practice of ignoring the past has gotten us into the dilemmas we confront today.
So again, James Buchanan. He was elected in 1856 after serving terms in the Senate and holding several ambassadorships. He was, by geography, a Northerner, but by temperament, a pro-slavery Southerner who believed that the Dred Scott decision, which officially denied Black Americans citizenship and prohibited Congress from banning slavery in federal territories (including the Northern "free" states), would end the debate over slavery.
It didn't.
The court decision was "leaked" to Buchanan before his inauguration on March 1857, and so he was able to announce that the problem of slavery was over.
It wasn't.
Instead, "Dred Scott" launched the greatest crisis in this country's history, one that ended only after 900,000 Americans had lost their lives. Two Constitutional amendments were required to overturn the Supreme Court's decision on Scott. They were a small consolation for the millions of bereaved and shattered families.
As for Buchanan as president, his failures multiplied. His cabinet selection is mainly considered a disaster. He chose only men who had publically agreed with his views. Many of these sycophants were large-scale slaveholders, including four who later swore their allegiance to the Confederate States of America. His one Supreme Court nominee was a pro-slavery Northerner. Buchanan's jealousy and pettiness disqualified many able candidates.
Finally, (though there is much more), Buchanan advocated popular sovereignty—the principle by which the decisions of individual states regarding slavery superseded those of the federal government. The philosophy echoes the current Trump position on abortion and may be just as pernicious in our current Red State-Blue State nation.
Like Donald Trump, James Buchanan belongs to a select group of Americans elected to the highest office the country allows. That position merits respect, but when a president defiles that position with petty vengeance and cronyism, the man himself deserves none.
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