Article (Archive)
“Time is a flat circle, and I hate it.”
That’s become my go-to refrain over the last few months as America slides ever further into a fascist hellscape (and everyone else in the world has to either live with that or gnaw their hand off to escape our implosion). It is both unnerving and oddly therapeutic to know we’re living through the same splendors and perils of other eras, and that human behavior is so predictable it basically repeats like a Spider-Man reboot every 80-ish years. That as progressive as we might feel right now, we are still slaves to our own worst collective deficits/shortcomings, and we must contend collectively with these emotions and ideas. The more things change blah blah blah.
But something has changed, and it’s comic books.
That’s not to say the industry isn’t currently locked in a deep existential battle. No, I’m referring to a trend I’ve noticed in how creators are reacting and responding to modern life’s seemingly endless add-ons to the list called “Here’s why self-lobotomies are 2025’s best wellbeing secret.” And these writers and artists are clearly processing socio-political turmoil that, while may look and feel different, is more of the shitty, regressive conservatism that we’ve been dealing with for decades. But their response isn’t just more of the same, and those specific concepts and depictions really, really matter.
‘Favorite Son’
I’m old enough to have been young enough during George W. Bush’s tenure as commander-in-chief. As such, I relied heavily on pop culture to understand and perpetuate my disdain for the idiot prince. And what I remember — from episodes of Family Guy to the various volumes of Rock Against Bush — is just how essential Dubya’s face and/or general presence was to this collective lampooning. Admittedly, the guy’s got a mug that’s made for robust satire (and punching!), but that hound dog visage became a centerpiece to many of the counter or revolutionary movements facilitated by modern art/culture. His dumb smile (like he perpetually had a fart joke to share) became the thing that stood out in these shows and songs, and while it felt cathartic in the moment, it was a touch shortsighted.
Because looking back at all of that, it seemed like we were making fun of the man and not the ideas he represented (toxic nepotism, early-stage authoritarianism, America’s sustained war-ification, etc.) That because Dubya was front and center in album covers and even protest posters, he could somehow absorb the bulk of these blows. And so it became almost a movement against Bush, and while few American “dynasties” deserve a more thorough thrashing, the way I feel about that media from back then is that it’s very much of a very specific moment. When, in reality, I wish more of that stuff resonated with dissections and declarations that contextualized these feelings in the grander scheme of things. And that from there, we’d make real progress toward better, more robust systems of government/representation and not simply lash out at a big dumb man-child.
Comics Against Trump: How modern stories explore/satirize The Donald
Orange You Glad We’re Better Than This?
Now, don’t get me wrong: We’ve not evolved all that much in the last 20-ish years. Donald Trump’s mug is even more ripe for satire, and countless pieces of media have lampooned The Donald to varying degrees of success/insightfulness/etc. And, based on the myriad of movies, books, TV shows, etc. featuring Trump takedowns, people are reveling in our ability to ground this fear and uncertainty by poking fun at Donny’s already exaggerated stature. Despite my continued misgivings about this kind of obvious satire — it’s basically the bread and butter of every hacky political comic ever — it’s hard not to respond to someone like Trump and everything he represents with these jokes and caricatures.
It’s often the only power us peasants actually have, and this kind of artistic exploration may be shallow to an extent, but it’s also deeply satisfying. There’s no way to play in the dirt alongside Trump lest you lose your basic humanity, and so a little satirization goes a long way to giving folks a a proper outlet. The Bush-era stuff was exactly the same — we need to contextualize these figures in a way that their evils aren’t so crushing and that we can view them as jokes when it comes time for more meaningful actions (protests, political action, etc.) The issue is, often the jokes can dominate any meaningful action, and some people can only seem to crack (half-) wise as opposed to connecting the art with social movements toward change/social justice/etc.
Despite the myriad of satire elsewhere, it doesn’t feel like comics are focusing on Trump as much. Which isn’t to say the medium’s ignoring Trumpism whatsoever — rather, instead of making Trump another Bush-ian joke that will inevitably soften his crimes, creators are focusing on the much bigger picture. More specifically, they’re interested in the larger emotional, mental, and spiritual effects of the last decade or so, and how to pick up on the mix of terror, passion, awareness, and chaos that’s defined life in the “Trump Years.” (COVID is inevitably part of this “formula,” and while that is clearly its own quagmire in and of itself, Trump-ism did facilitate so much of our association with the pandemic’s mishandling and general impact on the American public.)
Comics Against Trump: How modern stories explore/satirize The Donald
Because while a clownish depiction of Trump would be a hit, there’s context and history far beyond the baby-handed bandit. It’s by focusing on the long-term effects (both those that have been brewing for years and those still percolating), comics are able to treat Trump’s legacy as it truly is and not just another joke that will soon pass.
Donald ‘M.O.D.A.A.K.’ Trump
Now, that’s not to say that comics haven’t done what I’d call more “traditional” satire. There’s the great The Unquotable Trump from Drawn & Quarterly, which feels pretty next level because it grounds the act in something more intellectual (which feels closer to a worthwhile pursuit). There’s some unfortunate Trump-celebrating comics titles, which I don’t think count considering they’re barely art. There was a Deadpool “The Apprentice Variant” from 2016, which is so on brand for that character that I can excuse it as just a generally good dumb joke. The same goes for, um, Trump’s turn as a bargain bin M.O.D.O.K. And, of course, Trump’s many cameos over the years — given the span of those, however, it feels more like poking fun at what Trump represented before (the fecklessness of celebrity) and not what he represents now (the fecklessness of modern U.S. politics).
But the books I’m really interested in go decidedly deeper, and they have each side-stepped a lot of the inherent downsides/shortcomings of proper satire to feel more meaningful and valuable. Perhaps it’s best not to even use the word “satire” — although that remains a handy enough device to foster a baseline and grasp what’s being done across these modern stories. But if you’re bucking against that usage at any point in this essay, maybe that’s a good sign that we’re onto something novel. And, if nothing else, we can touch on why this is specifically satire in just a little bit.
‘And Land It Did…’
So, then, back to the actual stories. Despite key differences, these are books that, as we live through ever-more unprecedented times with each new passing day, have served as a beacon of hope, intelligence, heart, and humor that we all need now more than ever before. There’s lots of ’em, but here’s some of the ones that have spoken to me the most intently:
The Pedestrian: Yes, there’s a guy in a jumpsuit whose power seems to be that he can’t speak and also walks super fast. But people counter the threat of masked foes (complete with a red palm as their sigil) via friendship and community action.
Golgotha Motor Mountain: The secret history of America is an unyielding deluge of hatred and violence meant to consume us all. But you can evolve and find a new way (even if it’s just a dream apartment in Cincinnati).
Green Arrow (2024): I’ve long thought that Oliver Queen is basically, “What if Donald Trump but actually handsome and charming?” And with the saga of the Fresh Water Killer, Oliver got to see the true consequences of his formerly tenuous work as a business mogul.
Into The Unbeing: It’s no secret we made our own bed when it comes to catastrophic climate change. But this series expertly and unwaveringly shows that long, drawn-out process and brings home our implicitness and near-biological urge to doom ourselves through greedy mismanagement of key resources (even knowledge).
Kill All Immortals: No matter how long you live, or the heights you achieve, your chickens will always come home to roost. That, and few books have discussed media transparency and general savviness in a way that feels so profoundly relevant to right now.
The Toxic Avenger (2024): For one, this book connects to the OG movies/story in a way that draws out key parallels (and supports the “time is a flat circle” concept). At the same time, the story picks up on a detachment and post-irony that’s 1) essential in 2025 and 2) needs countering via big heroes and more community action.
Ain’t No Grave: Here, a woman tries to escape her timely demise by trying to bargain with Death itself. It’s a stark and vivid reminder that not only do you ultimately doom yourself to whatever fate rests down the road, but we’ve all had so many chances not to be supreme jerkweeds to ourselves and others.
Precious Metal: A big, complex story, the thing that resonates with me is the idea of shared memory — we are all part of a world trying to remember what we must and forget whatever we can. It’s in that struggle that we can lose or find ourselves, and this process is the source of both great tension and transcendence.
The Holy Roller: This may be the most “direct” entry — a Jewish hero throws around bowling bowls to battle the rising tide of neo-Nazis. Sure, that’s a touch on the nose, but the satire’s just subtle enough to tell on the idiots/Trumpies who just don’t get it.
Feral: How many of our own mistakes/messes are our doing and/or a problem of perception and misunderstanding the basic world? Think about those ideas, and really mull over our shared ability to undersell catastrophes, while enjoying those super adorable cats.
Again, that’s not a full list whatsoever. And even with some of those entries, it’s less about the story and more my own feelings/perceptions influencing how I’d digested the story. Still, isn’t that the power of a great story — to address a thing without naming it or even being so dang obvious about it? These stories earnestly and thoughtfully engage with Trump’s larger presence, even if that’s just by connecting with a shared sense of existential upheaval, social/political revolution, and a desire to banish ignorance from our society in the name of positivity/collaboration.
Comics Against Trump: How modern stories explore/satirize The Donald
Courtesy of AHOY Comics.
‘It’s My Life!’
Because this specific satirical framework/approach is what I believe really works for 2025 and its unique challenges and opportunities. We’ve moved beyond a place where satire is evidently outside the purview of some folks’ general mental capacities. (See the Slam Frank Musical that fooled heaps of TikTok users for waaaay too long.) That’s not to say satire is dead; rather, there’s lots of truly smart people doing it right now and facilitating an important outlet for our dread and apprehension of those in power. It’s just not exactly high up in the hierarchy of people’s media consumption, and it’s clear there needs to be something novel to truly reach people.
What these creators are doing, then, is very much satire of a rather certain sheen. We’re filtering big, complex ideas like environmental decay and social devolution through the filter of what is, with all due respect to creators and the medium, cartoons that rely on varying degrees of humor and exaggeration. Secondly, there’s a clear focus on contemporary politics and issues, and that relevance focuses on the razor-thin line between hope and despair that’s defined much of the last five to 10 years. And, lastly, it’s a balance between Juvenalian (more about condemning people/institutions) and Horatian (generally fun/good-natured ribbing) satire in that the joy of great art and exaggerated hijinks undercuts (or maybe augments?) these huge ideas about the true state of our world. Let’s call it satire for a very special world, and whether or not that’s better, it feels like the tone and speed we need to make a difference.
There is something of a precedent for comics like these. I’m thinking of books like the Grant Morrison-penned Animal Man and the Alan Moore-led Swamp Thing. Both stories had their “political bent” — the former was all about animal rights and consumerism, while the latter focused on environmentalism and our relationship to the natural world. Despite these specific focuses (and that both came out in the mid-to- late ’80s amid robust political activity/upheaval), they never felt like overt satire. They instead seemed focused on telling great stories that also happened to be socially progressive. That distinction really matters: It’s not about placating people but finding ways to speak to an audience and how they”ll engage/connect with messages.
The Comics Baba Yaga
And through this sort of method, comics creators are able to deal with some of the satirical concerns I’d mentioned earlier and really get to the true heart of Trump. These books/stories each frame Trump and the general black hole of regressive politics that’s formed around him in a way that absolutely neuters the bulk of his physicality and general absurdity. He’s instead rendered to represent a perversion of our general way of life, and a deviation from norms that feels dangerous (but perhaps isn’t wholly unexpected…) He’s not a caricature in any way that’s goofy or silly, but instead a personification of all the ignorant, asinine tendencies that we wish we’d overcome but clearly haven’t (yet?) Trump isn’t the monster in the dark, but rather the rot we fear has a hold of all of us.
Comics Against Trump: How modern stories explore/satirize The Donald
Courtesy of Magma Comix.
In that way, it’s as if these books spoof or satire less of a person and more of what this person represents to us —a sharp counter to the lame-oid days of Bush. Here, Trump becomes a Boogeyman that we can grasp and manage through the power of art. A Boogeyman, I’d add, whose very presence is innately linked to our own, and none of these books let us forget how involved we are in the process of our own damnation. Trump never once shows up, but he doesn’t have to — we know he’s there because he’s us (to an extent) and we have to reconcile with that in what’s a rather painful but wildly important process. It’s an approach and positioning that feels like it’s very much of this unique time, and yet connects back to a tradition in a way that elevates how comics sees itself in the grander scheme of the world and certainly media.
That last point seems extra important. Because it seemed like, for a long enough time, that comics either ignored or lost some of its ability to poke at our leaders in a way that offered up novel insight. Sure, there’s clearly outliers as I’d already mentioned (i.e., those cameos), but generally comics doesn’t seem to know how to fully engage with these powerful figures a la the U.S. president. Think about how Barack Obama and Dubya have both been treated/depicted across comics (mostly the Big Two) — there’s sometimes a bit of much-needed snark involved, but mostly it focuses on their place as powerful men and emphasizes a certain reverence for the office.
Now, that’s not necessarily because we seem to adore these presidents, but that given the confines of comics, it can be hard to fully tackle any meaningful spoofing and still sell books (or even get books out of the publishing house in the first place). It’s hard to blame the industry (well, not too hard) considering the history of lampooning world leaders often felt like it had to align with comics’ status as something solely for children and/or adult burnouts. I mean, the biggest claim to fame was Captain America punching Hitler, and as satisfying as that imagery will always be, it’s not exactly the most advanced kind of social criticism.
It’s Smashing Time
So, then, what’s changed? How has comics been able to change how it does this important work of poking the powerful and leveling the playing field? It’s an especially interesting prospect considering the climate of 2025. There’s a segment of the comics buying public that, rather unfortunately, either support Trump or are big fans of his “Steven Seagal School of Geopolitics.” (Even more unfortunate? We have to somehow abide these people in our daily lives.) It’s a tendency perpetuated elsewhere — despite standing up to his bogus policies, even an institution like Columbia University had to fall in line. It’s my theory that comics saw this development coming down the pipeline, and so the political dissections had to be much more subversive.
That’s not to say they’re totally secret. I’ve spoken to a handful of writers and artists in recent months, and each one has felt the whirlpool of complicated feelings while trying to do their best to work through it all as both individuals and as artists with a certain platform. These same creators are aware of the confines of the industry, the unique demands of advocacy and activism, and are responding in ways that engage with these ideas in the name of artistry and inventiveness. That if you’re going to change people’s hearts and/or minds, you have to tell stories that speak beyond a moment or one idea and instead reach toward something deeper. That could be fear of the future, the loss of personal agency, and/or how democracies die not in some battlefield but in darkness of night.
Add in an increasing turn toward creator-owned titles as a refuge for more robust social commentary, and it’s all facilitated this perfect storm where comics can reach a more satisfying level of satire as a counter to Trumpism’s clawed grasp on a segment of the population and his questionable use of bullying as a means of governance. It’s this approach and overall tone that I think works best — it lets stories be stories, but also allows people to connect to them their own fears and obsessions, and that’s the true power of a great story with any real staying power. Sure, some of these stories don’t have the same obvious oomph as the Hitler-smashing Cap, but that’s not really what we need right now.
Dam, Meet Ground
What we do need, however, is a way to reconfigure this moment in our collective brain pans. We need narratives that remind us that nothing is new — just the names and faces attached to the latest villainous assault. We require stories that contextualize all of this greed, ignorance, and desperation as elements of the human existence (like carbon or neon). We want important properties that make it abundantly clear that we’ve always done this to ourselves, are currently doing this to ourselves, and will likely continue to do it to ourselves (until we’re stopped — likely by our own hands somehow).
Comics Against Trump: How modern stories explore/satirize The Donald
Each of those stories I touched on connects with and reflects these ideas and sentiments — they show us the larger, sometimes painful scope of history and try to point out that this moment is less of a fluke and more the long-term consequences of minuscule educational funding, a celebration of idiocy and ignorance as social badges, and what happens when systems get too big to properly function. They’re of a moment in the sense that they came out right when all of this was popping off, and we’re in the midst of this seismic shift in terms of our understanding of and engagement with the long, sordid history of America. They’re not about Trump, per se, but they likely couldn’t have come out in any other moment.
And that’s why these titles (and so many others of the last few years) are so dang valuable: not just as a warning or a bit of guidance, but how unique comics is in the grand scheme of culture. That for a number of reasons (the inherent “rules” of the medium, the logistics and scheduling of releases, the unique history of being art’s forgotten step-child, etc.), comics are positioned like few other industries/mediums to connect past, present, and future in such a vital way. That true satire shouldn’t just be about poking fun at some tiny, ineffective man — it should be about exposing the roles we’ve all played in damning ourselves toward a future we can somehow hardly believe has come to pass.
‘Accept It That Soon You’ll Be Drenched To The Bone’
Can we fix it all? Are we inevitably doomed? Is this truly the beginning of the end? IDK, yo. What I do know, however, is that I feel better having read these stories. It’s life-affirming that people care enough (about art and politics and everything in between) to do what they can — even if what they can is tell a little story about man’s promise but also our sustained enthusiasm for ineffectiveness. That they choose to depict heroes and villains (of varying levels of conceptualness) battling it out if only to show us that the stakes are bigger than we ever imagined.
It’s not the creators’ jobs to fix a damn thing, but for us to finally have the courage to grasp what we’ve done and to then see if there’s hope for anything better. And if there is, these stories will be there to show us the path to a better world. And if nothing can be fixed, and we’re truly doomed, then hopefully comics will still be here singing of life in the darkest of shadows.
Time’s a flat circle, yeah, but what the heck are you gonna do about it this time?
“Time is a flat circle, and I hate it.”
That’s become my go-to refrain over the last few months as America slides ever further into a fascist hellscape (and everyone else in the world has to either live with that or gnaw their hand off to escape our implosion). It is both unnerving and oddly therapeutic to know we’re living through the same splendors and perils of other eras, and that human behavior is so predictable it basically repeats like a Spider-Man reboot every 80-ish years. That as progressive as we might feel right now, we are still slaves to our own worst collective deficits/shortcomings, and we must contend collectively with these emotions and ideas. The more things change blah blah blah.
But something has changed, and it’s comic books.
That’s not to say the industry isn’t currently locked in a deep existential battle. No, I’m referring to a trend I’ve noticed in how creators are reacting and responding to modern life’s seemingly endless add-ons to the list called “Here’s why self-lobotomies are 2025’s best wellbeing secret.” And these writers and artists are clearly processing socio-political turmoil that, while may look and feel different, is more of the shitty, regressive conservatism that we’ve been dealing with for decades. But their response isn’t just more of the same, and those specific concepts and depictions really, really matter.
‘Favorite Son’
I’m old enough to have been young enough during George W. Bush’s tenure as commander-in-chief. As such, I relied heavily on pop culture to understand and perpetuate my disdain for the idiot prince. And what I remember — from episodes of Family Guy to the various volumes of Rock Against Bush — is just how essential Dubya’s face and/or general presence was to this collective lampooning. Admittedly, the guy’s got a mug that’s made for robust satire (and punching!), but that hound dog visage became a centerpiece to many of the counter or revolutionary movements facilitated by modern art/culture. His dumb smile (like he perpetually had a fart joke to share) became the thing that stood out in these shows and songs, and while it felt cathartic in the moment, it was a touch shortsighted.
Because looking back at all of that, it seemed like we were making fun of the man and not the ideas he represented (toxic nepotism, early-stage authoritarianism, America’s sustained war-ification, etc.) That because Dubya was front and center in album covers and even protest posters, he could somehow absorb the bulk of these blows. And so it became almost a movement against Bush, and while few American “dynasties” deserve a more thorough thrashing, the way I feel about that media from back then is that it’s very much of a very specific moment. When, in reality, I wish more of that stuff resonated with dissections and declarations that contextualized these feelings in the grander scheme of things. And that from there, we’d make real progress toward better, more robust systems of government/representation and not simply lash out at a big dumb man-child.
Comics Against Trump: How modern stories explore/satirize The Donald
Orange You Glad We’re Better Than This?
Now, don’t get me wrong: We’ve not evolved all that much in the last 20-ish years. Donald Trump’s mug is even more ripe for satire, and countless pieces of media have lampooned The Donald to varying degrees of success/insightfulness/etc. And, based on the myriad of movies, books, TV shows, etc. featuring Trump takedowns, people are reveling in our ability to ground this fear and uncertainty by poking fun at Donny’s already exaggerated stature. Despite my continued misgivings about this kind of obvious satire — it’s basically the bread and butter of every hacky political comic ever — it’s hard not to respond to someone like Trump and everything he represents with these jokes and caricatures.
It’s often the only power us peasants actually have, and this kind of artistic exploration may be shallow to an extent, but it’s also deeply satisfying. There’s no way to play in the dirt alongside Trump lest you lose your basic humanity, and so a little satirization goes a long way to giving folks a a proper outlet. The Bush-era stuff was exactly the same — we need to contextualize these figures in a way that their evils aren’t so crushing and that we can view them as jokes when it comes time for more meaningful actions (protests, political action, etc.) The issue is, often the jokes can dominate any meaningful action, and some people can only seem to crack (half-) wise as opposed to connecting the art with social movements toward change/social justice/etc.
Despite the myriad of satire elsewhere, it doesn’t feel like comics are focusing on Trump as much. Which isn’t to say the medium’s ignoring Trumpism whatsoever — rather, instead of making Trump another Bush-ian joke that will inevitably soften his crimes, creators are focusing on the much bigger picture. More specifically, they’re interested in the larger emotional, mental, and spiritual effects of the last decade or so, and how to pick up on the mix of terror, passion, awareness, and chaos that’s defined life in the “Trump Years.” (COVID is inevitably part of this “formula,” and while that is clearly its own quagmire in and of itself, Trump-ism did facilitate so much of our association with the pandemic’s mishandling and general impact on the American public.)
Comics Against Trump: How modern stories explore/satirize The Donald
Because while a clownish depiction of Trump would be a hit, there’s context and history far beyond the baby-handed bandit. It’s by focusing on the long-term effects (both those that have been brewing for years and those still percolating), comics are able to treat Trump’s legacy as it truly is and not just another joke that will soon pass.
Donald ‘M.O.D.A.A.K.’ Trump
Now, that’s not to say that comics haven’t done what I’d call more “traditional” satire. There’s the great The Unquotable Trump from Drawn & Quarterly, which feels pretty next level because it grounds the act in something more intellectual (which feels closer to a worthwhile pursuit). There’s some unfortunate Trump-celebrating comics titles, which I don’t think count considering they’re barely art. There was a Deadpool “The Apprentice Variant” from 2016, which is so on brand for that character that I can excuse it as just a generally good dumb joke. The same goes for, um, Trump’s turn as a bargain bin M.O.D.O.K. And, of course, Trump’s many cameos over the years — given the span of those, however, it feels more like poking fun at what Trump represented before (the fecklessness of celebrity) and not what he represents now (the fecklessness of modern U.S. politics).
But the books I’m really interested in go decidedly deeper, and they have each side-stepped a lot of the inherent downsides/shortcomings of proper satire to feel more meaningful and valuable. Perhaps it’s best not to even use the word “satire” — although that remains a handy enough device to foster a baseline and grasp what’s being done across these modern stories. But if you’re bucking against that usage at any point in this essay, maybe that’s a good sign that we’re onto something novel. And, if nothing else, we can touch on why this is specifically satire in just a little bit.
‘And Land It Did…’
So, then, back to the actual stories. Despite key differences, these are books that, as we live through ever-more unprecedented times with each new passing day, have served as a beacon of hope, intelligence, heart, and humor that we all need now more than ever before. There’s lots of ’em, but here’s some of the ones that have spoken to me the most intently:
The Pedestrian: Yes, there’s a guy in a jumpsuit whose power seems to be that he can’t speak and also walks super fast. But people counter the threat of masked foes (complete with a red palm as their sigil) via friendship and community action.
Golgotha Motor Mountain: The secret history of America is an unyielding deluge of hatred and violence meant to consume us all. But you can evolve and find a new way (even if it’s just a dream apartment in Cincinnati).
Green Arrow (2024): I’ve long thought that Oliver Queen is basically, “What if Donald Trump but actually handsome and charming?” And with the saga of the Fresh Water Killer, Oliver got to see the true consequences of his formerly tenuous work as a business mogul.
Into The Unbeing: It’s no secret we made our own bed when it comes to catastrophic climate change. But this series expertly and unwaveringly shows that long, drawn-out process and brings home our implicitness and near-biological urge to doom ourselves through greedy mismanagement of key resources (even knowledge).
Kill All Immortals: No matter how long you live, or the heights you achieve, your chickens will always come home to roost. That, and few books have discussed media transparency and general savviness in a way that feels so profoundly relevant to right now.
The Toxic Avenger (2024): For one, this book connects to the OG movies/story in a way that draws out key parallels (and supports the “time is a flat circle” concept). At the same time, the story picks up on a detachment and post-irony that’s 1) essential in 2025 and 2) needs countering via big heroes and more community action.
Ain’t No Grave: Here, a woman tries to escape her timely demise by trying to bargain with Death itself. It’s a stark and vivid reminder that not only do you ultimately doom yourself to whatever fate rests down the road, but we’ve all had so many chances not to be supreme jerkweeds to ourselves and others.
Precious Metal: A big, complex story, the thing that resonates with me is the idea of shared memory — we are all part of a world trying to remember what we must and forget whatever we can. It’s in that struggle that we can lose or find ourselves, and this process is the source of both great tension and transcendence.
The Holy Roller: This may be the most “direct” entry — a Jewish hero throws around bowling bowls to battle the rising tide of neo-Nazis. Sure, that’s a touch on the nose, but the satire’s just subtle enough to tell on the idiots/Trumpies who just don’t get it.
Feral: How many of our own mistakes/messes are our doing and/or a problem of perception and misunderstanding the basic world? Think about those ideas, and really mull over our shared ability to undersell catastrophes, while enjoying those super adorable cats.
Again, that’s not a full list whatsoever. And even with some of those entries, it’s less about the story and more my own feelings/perceptions influencing how I’d digested the story. Still, isn’t that the power of a great story — to address a thing without naming it or even being so dang obvious about it? These stories earnestly and thoughtfully engage with Trump’s larger presence, even if that’s just by connecting with a shared sense of existential upheaval, social/political revolution, and a desire to banish ignorance from our society in the name of positivity/collaboration.
Comics Against Trump: How modern stories explore/satirize The Donald
Courtesy of AHOY Comics.
‘It’s My Life!’
Because this specific satirical framework/approach is what I believe really works for 2025 and its unique challenges and opportunities. We’ve moved beyond a place where satire is evidently outside the purview of some folks’ general mental capacities. (See the Slam Frank Musical that fooled heaps of TikTok users for waaaay too long.) That’s not to say satire is dead; rather, there’s lots of truly smart people doing it right now and facilitating an important outlet for our dread and apprehension of those in power. It’s just not exactly high up in the hierarchy of people’s media consumption, and it’s clear there needs to be something novel to truly reach people.
What these creators are doing, then, is very much satire of a rather certain sheen. We’re filtering big, complex ideas like environmental decay and social devolution through the filter of what is, with all due respect to creators and the medium, cartoons that rely on varying degrees of humor and exaggeration. Secondly, there’s a clear focus on contemporary politics and issues, and that relevance focuses on the razor-thin line between hope and despair that’s defined much of the last five to 10 years. And, lastly, it’s a balance between Juvenalian (more about condemning people/institutions) and Horatian (generally fun/good-natured ribbing) satire in that the joy of great art and exaggerated hijinks undercuts (or maybe augments?) these huge ideas about the true state of our world. Let’s call it satire for a very special world, and whether or not that’s better, it feels like the tone and speed we need to make a difference.
There is something of a precedent for comics like these. I’m thinking of books like the Grant Morrison-penned Animal Man and the Alan Moore-led Swamp Thing. Both stories had their “political bent” — the former was all about animal rights and consumerism, while the latter focused on environmentalism and our relationship to the natural world. Despite these specific focuses (and that both came out in the mid-to- late ’80s amid robust political activity/upheaval), they never felt like overt satire. They instead seemed focused on telling great stories that also happened to be socially progressive. That distinction really matters: It’s not about placating people but finding ways to speak to an audience and how they”ll engage/connect with messages.
The Comics Baba Yaga
And through this sort of method, comics creators are able to deal with some of the satirical concerns I’d mentioned earlier and really get to the true heart of Trump. These books/stories each frame Trump and the general black hole of regressive politics that’s formed around him in a way that absolutely neuters the bulk of his physicality and general absurdity. He’s instead rendered to represent a perversion of our general way of life, and a deviation from norms that feels dangerous (but perhaps isn’t wholly unexpected…) He’s not a caricature in any way that’s goofy or silly, but instead a personification of all the ignorant, asinine tendencies that we wish we’d overcome but clearly haven’t (yet?) Trump isn’t the monster in the dark, but rather the rot we fear has a hold of all of us.
Comics Against Trump: How modern stories explore/satirize The Donald
Courtesy of Magma Comix.
In that way, it’s as if these books spoof or satire less of a person and more of what this person represents to us —a sharp counter to the lame-oid days of Bush. Here, Trump becomes a Boogeyman that we can grasp and manage through the power of art. A Boogeyman, I’d add, whose very presence is innately linked to our own, and none of these books let us forget how involved we are in the process of our own damnation. Trump never once shows up, but he doesn’t have to — we know he’s there because he’s us (to an extent) and we have to reconcile with that in what’s a rather painful but wildly important process. It’s an approach and positioning that feels like it’s very much of this unique time, and yet connects back to a tradition in a way that elevates how comics sees itself in the grander scheme of the world and certainly media.
That last point seems extra important. Because it seemed like, for a long enough time, that comics either ignored or lost some of its ability to poke at our leaders in a way that offered up novel insight. Sure, there’s clearly outliers as I’d already mentioned (i.e., those cameos), but generally comics doesn’t seem to know how to fully engage with these powerful figures a la the U.S. president. Think about how Barack Obama and Dubya have both been treated/depicted across comics (mostly the Big Two) — there’s sometimes a bit of much-needed snark involved, but mostly it focuses on their place as powerful men and emphasizes a certain reverence for the office.
Now, that’s not necessarily because we seem to adore these presidents, but that given the confines of comics, it can be hard to fully tackle any meaningful spoofing and still sell books (or even get books out of the publishing house in the first place). It’s hard to blame the industry (well, not too hard) considering the history of lampooning world leaders often felt like it had to align with comics’ status as something solely for children and/or adult burnouts. I mean, the biggest claim to fame was Captain America punching Hitler, and as satisfying as that imagery will always be, it’s not exactly the most advanced kind of social criticism.
It’s Smashing Time
So, then, what’s changed? How has comics been able to change how it does this important work of poking the powerful and leveling the playing field? It’s an especially interesting prospect considering the climate of 2025. There’s a segment of the comics buying public that, rather unfortunately, either support Trump or are big fans of his “Steven Seagal School of Geopolitics.” (Even more unfortunate? We have to somehow abide these people in our daily lives.) It’s a tendency perpetuated elsewhere — despite standing up to his bogus policies, even an institution like Columbia University had to fall in line. It’s my theory that comics saw this development coming down the pipeline, and so the political dissections had to be much more subversive.
That’s not to say they’re totally secret. I’ve spoken to a handful of writers and artists in recent months, and each one has felt the whirlpool of complicated feelings while trying to do their best to work through it all as both individuals and as artists with a certain platform. These same creators are aware of the confines of the industry, the unique demands of advocacy and activism, and are responding in ways that engage with these ideas in the name of artistry and inventiveness. That if you’re going to change people’s hearts and/or minds, you have to tell stories that speak beyond a moment or one idea and instead reach toward something deeper. That could be fear of the future, the loss of personal agency, and/or how democracies die not in some battlefield but in darkness of night.
Add in an increasing turn toward creator-owned titles as a refuge for more robust social commentary, and it’s all facilitated this perfect storm where comics can reach a more satisfying level of satire as a counter to Trumpism’s clawed grasp on a segment of the population and his questionable use of bullying as a means of governance. It’s this approach and overall tone that I think works best — it lets stories be stories, but also allows people to connect to them their own fears and obsessions, and that’s the true power of a great story with any real staying power. Sure, some of these stories don’t have the same obvious oomph as the Hitler-smashing Cap, but that’s not really what we need right now.
Dam, Meet Ground
What we do need, however, is a way to reconfigure this moment in our collective brain pans. We need narratives that remind us that nothing is new — just the names and faces attached to the latest villainous assault. We require stories that contextualize all of this greed, ignorance, and desperation as elements of the human existence (like carbon or neon). We want important properties that make it abundantly clear that we’ve always done this to ourselves, are currently doing this to ourselves, and will likely continue to do it to ourselves (until we’re stopped — likely by our own hands somehow).
Comics Against Trump: How modern stories explore/satirize The Donald
Each of those stories I touched on connects with and reflects these ideas and sentiments — they show us the larger, sometimes painful scope of history and try to point out that this moment is less of a fluke and more the long-term consequences of minuscule educational funding, a celebration of idiocy and ignorance as social badges, and what happens when systems get too big to properly function. They’re of a moment in the sense that they came out right when all of this was popping off, and we’re in the midst of this seismic shift in terms of our understanding of and engagement with the long, sordid history of America. They’re not about Trump, per se, but they likely couldn’t have come out in any other moment.
And that’s why these titles (and so many others of the last few years) are so dang valuable: not just as a warning or a bit of guidance, but how unique comics is in the grand scheme of culture. That for a number of reasons (the inherent “rules” of the medium, the logistics and scheduling of releases, the unique history of being art’s forgotten step-child, etc.), comics are positioned like few other industries/mediums to connect past, present, and future in such a vital way. That true satire shouldn’t just be about poking fun at some tiny, ineffective man — it should be about exposing the roles we’ve all played in damning ourselves toward a future we can somehow hardly believe has come to pass.
‘Accept It That Soon You’ll Be Drenched To The Bone’
Can we fix it all? Are we inevitably doomed? Is this truly the beginning of the end? IDK, yo. What I do know, however, is that I feel better having read these stories. It’s life-affirming that people care enough (about art and politics and everything in between) to do what they can — even if what they can is tell a little story about man’s promise but also our sustained enthusiasm for ineffectiveness. That they choose to depict heroes and villains (of varying levels of conceptualness) battling it out if only to show us that the stakes are bigger than we ever imagined.
It’s not the creators’ jobs to fix a damn thing, but for us to finally have the courage to grasp what we’ve done and to then see if there’s hope for anything better. And if there is, these stories will be there to show us the path to a better world. And if nothing can be fixed, and we’re truly doomed, then hopefully comics will still be here singing of life in the darkest of shadows.
Time’s a flat circle, yeah, but what the heck are you gonna do about it this time?
" and the remaining 20% told me to start with the "deadpool and cable" run, the problem being that I don't know who cable is and I don't give a fuck about him.
" actually is. If you're telling me that what came before doesn't matter, then why would what come after matter? Why would anything told in this story matter if it plays out the same no matter how much of it you have read?
