He wished Merry Christmas and meant war

Donald Trump did not sit by the fireplace on Christmas Eve, but at his preferred altar: Truth Social. While others lit candles, he lit words. A Christmas greeting, 101 words long, filled with resentment, self-pity, and the firm belief that the Christ Child votes along party lines. “Merry Christmas,” he wrote, and one knew immediately: this was going to get uncomfortable. The message was not addressed to family, friends, or even the American people, but to “radical left scum” who were allegedly constantly trying to destroy the country, so far with only limited success, as Trump generously conceded. Christmas as a situation report. The Star of Bethlehem as a red alert button.

The growth rate of 4.3 percent is real, but it does not signal all-clear. Inflation is again higher than in the past two years, the key interest rate was just cut because the central bank expects cooling, not because everything is running smoothly. Tariffs do not function as strength here, but as a burden: they push up prices, unsettle supply chains, and have already caused losses in the tens of billions for agriculture, losses that were only minimally cushioned by government compensation payments. At the same time, pressure on the labor market is increasing, with further job cuts in multiple sectors. Anyone who reads this as proof of the superiority of right-wing economic policy is confusing short-term indicators with structural development.

It is this peculiar ability to turn even a holiday of reconciliation into a personal reckoning. While children believe in Santa, Trump believes in himself. While others wish for peace, he plans war against anyone and everyone who is not on board from the first second. Against Biden, against Obama, against all who ever decided anything without asking him. The setting fits. Mar-a-Lago, palm trees instead of firs, gold instead of taste. Trump takes phone calls with children about Santa while simultaneously writing texts that would make even the Grinch blush. NORAD, a highly advanced military early-warning command, tracks Santa. Trump tracks enemies.

This is not a bad day. It is the ritual. Christmas arrives, Trump arrives with it. And instead of gifts, he brings old scores. The message is clear: even the birth of Christ barely survives between capital letters and archived grievance in end-of-storage quality.

Merry Christmas. And if not: it is always someone else’s fault.