EDITORIAL: “Witch Hunt” — When the White House Turns Impeachment into Political Martyrdom

Maxime Marquette

2026-06-27 16:00:20

“Witch Hunt”: Anatomy of a Survival Slogan

The term “witch hunt” has a specific history in American political vocabulary. It evokes McCarthyism, ideological purges, and show trials. To use it in the context of an impeachment proceeding constitutionally initiated by the House of Representatives is to engage in a massive semantic shift. Trump first used it systematically in 2017 in response to the Mueller investigation. Since then, the term has become a universal defensive reflex: the “Russia hoax,” the first impeachment over Ukraine, the second impeachment in January 2021, the Epstein case, and now the new threats of impeachment for a possible third round if the Democrats retake the House in November 2026.

Senator Tommy Tuberville reiterated this in May 2026: “Hundreds of innocent Americans have been behind bars for five years because of this fabricated witch hunt”—referring to the prosecutions related to January 6. This rhetoric of persecution is spreading from the top down, infecting every level of the Republican Party. It creates an alternative reality in which the normal exercise of congressional oversight becomes an illegitimate political weapon.

The “Anti-Weaponization Fund”: Monetized Victimization

In May–June 2026, the Trump administration attempted to create a $1.8 billion anti-weaponization fund intended to compensate “victims of lawfare”—that is, Republican supporters facing legal action. This initiative was blocked by a federal judge and then shelved by Acting Attorney General Todd Blanche (“We’re not moving forward with the fund, period”), but its very existence speaks volumes: the victimization narrative had reached such a level of maturity that the administration was seeking to monetize it directly using public funds.

David Corn, writing in Mother Jones, called a spade a spade: the fundamental premise of the fund—that past administrations had armed the government against Trump and his allies—is, in his view, “complete nonsense.” The three major investigations into Russia—the 2019 report by the DOJ Inspector General, the 2020 bipartisan report by the Senate Intelligence Committee, and John Durham’s 2023 final report—all concluded that the investigation was legitimate, even if certain FBI practices were open to criticism.

This “anti-weaponization” fund fascinates me as much as it revolts me. It’s victimhood elevated to the status of budgetary policy. It’s no longer “we’re being persecuted”; it’s “you’re going to pay for our imaginary persecution.” It took some nerve. And Trump had the nerve. That’s the dark genius of this rhetoric.

The Two Impeachments of the First Term: A Look Back at an Unprecedented Double Impeachment

Ukraine 2019: The Landmark Precedent

Trump’s first impeachment, in December 2019, centered on allegations of abuse of power: Trump allegedly conditioned military aid to Ukraine on the opening of an investigation into his political rival Joe Biden. The House impeached him, and the Republican-majority Senate acquitted him in February 2020. The White House immediately called it a “sham impeachment” and a “partisan witch hunt.” Director of National Intelligence Tulsi Gabbard reignited the controversy in June 2026 by releasing declassified documents claiming that Inspector General Michael Atkinson had conducted an investigation based on secondhand testimony and “politicized and fabricated” narratives.

These documents provide the ideological fuel for the attempt to expunge the impeachments. Representative Anna Paulina Luna (R-Florida) announced a resolution to “invalidate the fraudulent impeachment of Trump.” House Speaker Mike Johnson confirmed to Trump that this resolution is “a priority and something Congress should address.” The constitutional process is thus being reinterpreted as a historical injustice to be erased—an unprecedented act of rewriting in American parliamentary history.

January 2021: Incitement to Insurrection

The second impeachment, in January 2021, centered on incitement to insurrection following the January 6 Capitol riot. This time, seven Republican senators voted for conviction—insufficient to reach the required two-thirds majority—but it marked a historic rift in Republican unity. According to White House rhetoric, this bipartisan vote should theoretically invalidate the label of a “partisan witch hunt.” Nothing of the sort happened: the seven senators who “broke ranks” were treated as traitors, and the vast majority of them did not survive politically after the vote.

Gene Healy’s analysis in Reason Magazine (June 22, 2026) is scathing: the second impeachment was “even more clearly warranted” than the first. Trump had “incited a mob, attempted to intimidate Congress and his own vice president, and sought to overturn the results of an election he had lost.” The Constitutional Court was bypassed, and the institution of Congress was violated. To call this a “witch hunt” is an act of Orwellian audacity.

There is something that deeply troubles me about the attempt to whitewash the impeachments: it is the implicit admission that history will judge them harshly. If it really were a witch hunt, why be so afraid that history books will record it? You don’t erase what you’re innocent of. You erase what you’re ashamed of.

Institutional Architecture Put to the Test by Systematic Denial

Impeachment as a Constitutional Safety Net

The American Founding Fathers conceived of impeachment as the last line of defense against an abusive executive branch. The House impeaches, the Senate tries—a fundamental balance of powers in any liberal democracy. But this mechanism rests on one assumption: that political actors accept the legitimacy of the process, even when they dispute its conclusions. Yet Trump and his administration have systematically rejected this legitimacy, labeling every step of the process a partisan maneuver, every witness a conspirator, and every vote an act of treason.

The study published in the academic journal Democratization (May 2026) is alarming: since January 2025, the level of democracy in the United States, as measured by the LDI index, has reportedly fallen back to the level of 1965—the year President Johnson signed the Voting Rights Act. Legislative oversight of the executive branch has plummeted. Congress has reduced oversight capacity. The Trump administration has filed impeachment resolutions and complaints against federal judges who ruled against the government, referring to “judicial rebellion.”

The two-thirds threshold in the Senate: the structural shield

The real question is not whether the charges are valid. It is whether the system can function when one side refuses to play by the rules. Conviction in the Senate requires a two-thirds majority—that is, 67 out of 100 senators. With a Republican majority loyal to Trump, this threshold is virtually insurmountable. Senator John Cornyn (R-Texas) himself warned his constituents in May 2026: if Republicans lose the House in the November midterms, Trump will “most likely be impeached for the third time.” An implicit admission that the constitutional mechanism works—but that its outcome depends on the balance of partisan power.

Jamie Raskin, a Democratic representative from Maryland and potential future chair of the Judiciary Committee should Democrats retake the House, summed up the situation well (June 2026): impeachment “is not a panacea,” but “one tool among others, and we will use it if necessary.” This calculated caution stands in stark contrast to the Republican doomsday rhetoric that portrays any new impeachment process as a democratic catastrophe.

This paradox strikes me every time: a constitutional tool designed to protect democracy has become, in the hands of its opponents, the very proof of democracy’s illness. It is a diabolically effective form of institutional judo. And I still don’t see how to respond to it other than with the rigor of the facts.

"Weaponization" as a Counter-Narrative: When Trump Turns the Accusation Around

The Art of Portraying Oneself as the True Victim

The concept of “weaponization”—the use of the state for political purposes—has been at the heart of Trumpian rhetoric since 2017. White House spokesperson Abigail Jackson articulated it clearly in June 2026: “No one is better positioned to speak about the weaponization of the government than Trump—he has been the target of repeated weaponizations by his political rivals.” This rhetoric is incredibly effective: it neutralizes criticism by turning it on its head. Do you accuse him of abusing power? Then you are the one abusing power by accusing him.

But the documented facts tell a different story. Trump ordered criminal investigations into James Comey, Letitia James, Adam Schiff, and John Brennan. His administration carried out raids on law firms and universities. According to David Corn, “the investigations and prosecutions Trump complains about were not acts of weaponization. They were normal government business.” ” The true acts of weaponization, according to the author, are those that Trump commits himself—live, right before our eyes.

The “deep state” as a universal scapegoat

DNI Tulsi Gabbard took this narrative to its peak in June 2026 with the release of declassified documents claiming that “deep state actors within the intelligence community fabricated a false narrative” used by Congress to impeach Trump in 2019. These documents, presented as explosive, show that Inspector General Atkinson conducted only a 14-day preliminary investigation, based on secondhand testimony, and that the DOJ had concluded that there was “no campaign finance violation” and that “no further action was warranted.”

What Gabbard presents as an explosive revelation is in reality a partisan reinterpretation of already known facts. The 2019 investigation was criticized by Durham on certain procedural aspects—notably the FBI’s surveillance of Carter Page. But none of these reports concluded that the overall investigation was a fabrication. The intelligence community, led by Marco Rubio himself, reaffirmed in 2020 that Moscow had indeed interfered in the 2016 election to benefit Trump.

The “deep state”—I always come back to it with the same question: if it’s so powerful, how did Trump manage to win the presidency twice? The narrative doesn’t hold up logically. But it’s not meant to hold up logically—it’s meant to fuel anger. And that’s far more dangerous than a rational argument.

The Pressure Ahead of the Midterms: Impeachment as an Election Issue

The Democrats’ Dilemma: To Impeach or Not to Impeach?

The Democrats are caught in a major strategic dilemma ahead of the November 2026 midterms. On one hand, a galvanized base is calling for a third impeachment of Trump. On the other, the party leadership is coldly calculating that an impeachment without a Senate conviction would be a waste of effort. Hakeem Jeffries, the House Minority Leader, put it diplomatically on June 14, 2026: “We have neither ruled out nor ruled in any course of action when it comes to holding him accountable.” He added that the Democrats’ priority remains making life more affordable for Americans.

But this cautious approach is being challenged by more radical voices. George Conway, a Democratic candidate in Manhattan, promised in June 2026 to push for a third impeachment of Trump “to put him out of commission for good,” while pointing at the Capitol from his campaign camera. A theatrical gesture, but one that reveals the pressure being exerted on the Democratic leadership. Rep. John Larson (D-CT), for his part, had filed articles of impeachment in April 2026, accusing Trump of having become “more unreasonable” and of endangering “the lives, safety, and security of the American people.”

Impeachment as a Tool for Mobilization, Not Governance

Gene Healy, writing in Reason Magazine, draws a scathing conclusion from the experience of the first two impeachments: the constitutional bar is too high to allow for the removal of a president, except under bipartisan circumstances that the current polarization makes virtually impossible. Trump has “doubled the number of presidential impeachments in American history” and has weathered them all. He secured his party’s nomination and then won re-election. The seven Republican senators who voted to convict him in 2021 were almost all politically destroyed.

The lesson Healy draws from this is profound: if Congress were to regain sufficient political will, it should devote it to structural reforms—limiting the president’s war powers, regulating states of emergency, and curtailing the ability to legislate by executive order—rather than to an impeachment whose outcome, according to Senator Schatz, would be “highly predictable for everyone .” But such reforms are politically thankless. A third impeachment, on the other hand, is electorally profitable.

What this sequence reveals about American politics concerns me more than Trump himself. Impeachment has become a tool of political communication rather than a genuine constitutional mechanism. Both parties contribute to this—the Republicans by refusing any accountability, the Democrats by using the process as a permanent election campaign. And meanwhile, institutions are quietly eroding.

The White House Confronts History: Censorship as an Admission

Erase History or Challenge It?

Trump’s request to “expunge” his two impeachments from his first term is politically fascinating precisely because it is legally absurd. The Constitution provides no mechanism for expunging an impeachment. Constitutional experts are unanimous on this point. Rep. Don Bacon (R-Nebraska) put it bluntly in the Wall Street Journal: “It’s ridiculous. What happened is part of history.” Sen. Adam Schiff was even more direct: “The stain of Trump’s two impeachments cannot be erased.”

There is, however, a historical precedent, as noted by Gene Healy: in 1837, Andrew Jackson’s allies in the Senate voted to “expunge” the censure the Senate had imposed on him in 1834. A clerk struck out the text in the Senate Journal and wrote “Expunged by order of the Senate.” But, as Healy notes, “the original remains clearly visible.” History, for its part, does not obey parliamentary resolutions. Trump knows this. The expungement is not intended for history—it is intended for the MAGA base and the midterm elections.

The Epstein Case: The “Witch Hunt” That Masks Panic

The book by Maggie Haberman and Jonathan Swan, “Regime Change: Inside the Imperial Presidency of Donald Trump,” reveals that while the administration publicly dismissed the Epstein case as a “Democratic hoax” and a “witch hunt,” Trump’s top aides—Todd Blanche, Susie Wiles, Kash Patel, and J.D. Vance—held regular emergency meetings in the Situation Room, normally reserved for national security crises. If this is a “witch hunt,” it’s hard to understand why the administration’s brain trust would spend its weeks managing a nonexistent crisis in the very room where operations against bin Laden were planned.

This contradiction between public rhetoric and the operational reality of the White House is perhaps the most powerful internal refutation of the “witch hunt” narrative. You don’t convene the Situation Room to address a fiction. You use it when the threat is real, documented, and serious enough to mobilize the administration’s highest-ranking officials. The “witch hunt” label isn’t a conviction—it’s a communications shield.

The Situation Room convened to manage a “non-existent witch hunt”—this image will go down in history as a symbol of everything that is false about the rhetoric of victimization. I can’t believe Trump’s aides actually believe this. What they’re doing is managing the disaster while publicly denying that it exists. It’s pure institutional cynicism.

The West Facing the American Mirror: What the Impeachment Tells the World

Liberal Democracy Under Global Pressure

The weakening of American institutions is not occurring in a geopolitical vacuum. China, Russia, Iran, and North Korea are closely watching every episode of institutional paralysis in the United States. Every time “witch hunt” rhetoric neutralizes a constitutional check, it is our adversaries who benefit. Vladimir Putin has built his power precisely on this model: dismissing any opposition as a foreign conspiracy, any investigation as a fabrication by enemies of the people, and any countervailing power as a threat to national stability.

A study in Democratization (May 2026) highlights that the level of democracy in the United States has regressed to that of 1965—before the Voting Rights Act. Freedom House has documented that the Trump administration resisted or ignored court rulings in more than one-third of the cases decided against it in 2025. Trump has characterized these acts of resistance as a “judicial rebellion.” The rhetoric of institutional victimization thus becomes a tool for undermining the rule of law, with direct consequences for the West’s ability to defend its values against autocracies, which, for their part, have never pretended to play by the rules of institutions.

The American Example and Its Impact on the Liberal World Order

Ukraine is watching as well. The West, which is defending Kyiv against Russian aggression, must be credible in its defense of its own institutions. A U.S. president who labels every constitutional procedure a conspiracy undermines the West’s legitimacy as a defender of the international rule of law. This is not a rhetorical detail—it is a geopolitical reality of the highest order. Zelensky, who is resisting Putin’s aggression with admirable determination, needs an American partner whose institutions function and whose word carries weight.

Trump is, whether we like it or not, a necessary evil for a West that needs his military and economic power. His approach to Ukraine and Russia deserves the harshest institutional criticism, without ever ignoring the geopolitical realities that make Washington the irreplaceable pillar of the Western security architecture. But this dependence must not blind us: a West that normalizes the destruction of its own checks and balances cannot claim to defend the liberal model in the face of autocracies.

I am writing from the West, and I believe in the West. Not naively—I see its contradictions and hypocrisies. But I believe that the liberal model, with its imperfect institutions and cumbersome checks and balances, is infinitely better than the alternatives proposed by Beijing, Moscow, and Tehran. And that is precisely why every attack on American institutions revolts me: this is not just an American issue.

The Role of the Republican Senate: Accomplice or Hostage?

The Republican Senators’ Survival Strategy

Understanding the mechanisms by which the Republican Senate protects itself from Trump is essential to grasping why the “witch hunt” rhetoric works so well. The seven senators who voted to convict Trump in 2021—including Lisa Murkowski, the only one to have “survived politically” according to Healy—paid a considerable electoral price. This political reality creates structural pressure: voting against Trump is political suicide in a Republican Party that has been transformed into an electoral machine serving a single man.

In May 2026, Senator John Cornyn made a disturbingly clear statement, warning that if Republicans lost the House, Trump “would most likely be impeached for the third time.” His wording is revealing: he does not say “unjustly” impeached; he says it would be the logical consequence of a change in the majority. This is an admission that impeachment is not judged on the merits, but on the balance of partisan power. The Constitution states that the Senate tries the case. In practice, the party governs.

The Trump-Republican Senate Tension: The Limits of Loyalty

Even within the Republican Senate, tensions exist. In June 2026, the relationship between Trump and the Republican Senate reached a “tipping point,” according to the Associated Press: Trump disrupted attempts to swiftly confirm his own nominees and made his support for the oversight bill contingent on new demands. He threatened to be “the last Republican president” if the election bill failed. This volatility creates an atmosphere of constant uncertainty which, paradoxically, reinforces the “siege” rhetoric: Trump casts himself as a lone warrior against everyone, even his allies.

This dynamic is calculated. The loyalty of Republican senators is not driven by ideological conviction but by fear of losing their seats. As long as Trump controls the party’s base, he controls the senators. And as long as the senators obey him, no impeachment can succeed—no matter how serious the alleged offenses. It is a de facto constitutional lock, not envisioned by the Founding Fathers, but built brick by brick by Trump’s mechanism for dominating his party.

What strikes me about the Republican senators’ stance is their resignation. They know. Most of them know full well what is happening, what is happening to our institutions, and what Trump represents for democracy. And they remain silent—or worse, they applaud. Out of fear. This kind of collective cowardice is exactly what autocracies know how to exploit. This is not a moral judgment—it is a geopolitical observation.

The War on Judges: When the Executive Branch Targets the Checks and Balances

The Executive Branch in Open Conflict with the Judiciary

One of the most troubling manifestations of the rhetoric of institutional victimization is the all-out war against the judiciary. The Trump administration has filed impeachment resolutions against federal judges who issued unfavorable rulings, accusing them of “judicial insubordination.” Trump even publicly targeted Supreme Court justices in early 2026. This offensive, unprecedented in recent U.S. history, fits perfectly into the logic of a “witch hunt”: any countervailing power exercised against the executive branch is redefined as a hostile political act.

The U.S. District Court for the Eastern District of Virginia temporarily blocked the anti-weaponization fund in May 2026, scheduling a hearing for June 12. In doing so, it exercised exactly the function assigned to it by the Constitution. The administration’s response was to challenge the legitimacy of this decision while ultimately abandoning the fund under Republican pressure. The pattern repeats itself: an initial attack on institutions, a tactical retreat under pressure, but maintaining the victim narrative for public relations purposes.

The “my only limits are my own morality” doctrine

The Democratization study cited above reports an extraordinary statement by Trump: his powers are limited only by “his own morality,” and only the courts—not Congress—have the power to restrict his domestic agenda “under certain circumstances.” This presidentialist conception, taken to the extreme, is, in and of itself, a unilateral redefinition of the American constitutional system. It transforms the system of checks and balances into mere rhetorical window dressing, from which the executive branch breaks free whenever it deems it appropriate.

This doctrine has an internal logic consistent with the “witch hunt” rhetoric: if institutions are corrupt and used as political weapons, why submit to them? The argument goes like this: rules only apply if they are applied fairly, and since they are not, Trump is justified in ignoring them. This is the reasoning of a gangster who claims to be persecuted because the police arrested him. The sophistication of the packaging should not obscure the fundamental nature of the argument.

“My only limits are my own morals”—I am still searching the history of Western democracies for a comparable statement made by a sitting president. I cannot find one. That is precisely the problem. We are in uncharted territory. And when the map disappears, institutions must be all the more robust. Yet they are not robust enough.

The 2026 Articles of Impeachment: A Look at the New Charges

Larson, Hegseth, and the Wave of Impeachments

The wave of impeachments in 2026 isn’t limited to the president. Representative John Larson (D-Connecticut) filed articles of impeachment against Trump himself in April 2026, accusing him of becoming “more unreasonable” and endangering the lives and safety of Americans. He simultaneously called on the Cabinet to invoke the 25th Amendment. But a dozen Democrats also filed articles of impeachment against Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth, accusing him of illegal actions that caused civilian deaths in the Caribbean, obstruction of congressional oversight, reckless handling of sensitive military information, and waging an unauthorized war against Iran.

Paradoxically, this proliferation of articles of impeachment illustrates how their impact is being diluted. When everything is subject to impeachment, nothing really is. The White House has an easy time denouncing a “partisan avalanche” when Democrats are simultaneously targeting the president, a secretary of state, and other officials. This constitutional tool risks losing credibility by being invoked for every controversy, even legitimate ones.

The War Against Iran and Presidential War Powers

The charge of waging an unauthorized war against Iran raises a fundamental constitutional question that the “witch hunt” rhetoric tends to obscure: Who decides to go to war in a democracy? Article I of the U.S. Constitution grants Congress the power to declare war. The War Powers Resolution of 1973 imposes limits on presidential military engagement without congressional authorization. In June 2026, the House voted to limit Trump’s war powers in Iran—a resolution that Republicans had consistently rejected until then.

It is precisely this kind of abuse—the unilateral expansion of presidential powers in foreign and military policy—that Gene Healy’s critique identifies as more dangerous than symbolic impeachment. If Congress truly wanted to protect the institutions, it would tackle unchecked war powers, permanent states of emergency, and legislation by executive order. These reforms are less spectacular than impeachment, but far more lasting.

War against Iran without congressional authorization is, in my view, the impeachment issue that deserves the most attention—not because it is factually the most serious (even though it potentially is), but because it directly attacks the very heart of the separation of powers. And this issue gets lost in the media noise generated by other controversies. Perhaps that is intentional.

What the Victimization Narrative Tells Us About the State of MAGA in 2026

MAGA as a Tribal Identity, Not as a Political Ideology

The persistence of “witch hunt” rhetoric reveals something important about the true nature of the MAGA movement in 2026. It is no longer an ideological platform—taxation, immigration, trade—but a tribal identity built around collective victimization. Trump supporters do not necessarily believe that the deep state is literally persecuting them, but they share the feeling that the cultural and institutional elite look down on them. The “witch hunt” is the most effective metaphor for describing this sentiment.

This dynamic has precedents in the history of democracies in crisis. Victimization as the glue that binds a political movement’s identity is not a Trumpian invention—it is a classic rhetorical tool of authoritarian populism. What is new is its institutionalization: the White House itself—with its official spokespeople, press releases, and taxpayer-funded website—has become the primary vehicle for the victim narrative. Propaganda is no longer external to the state—it is the state.

The Electoral Base and the Myth of Founding Persecution

To understand why the “witch hunt” rhetoric resists all factual refutations, one must understand that it serves an almost religious function for the MAGA base. The leader’s persecution is the founding narrative that binds the community together and gives it meaning. Facts that contradict this narrative do not weaken it—they are reinterpreted as further evidence of the system’s corruption. This is the logic of conspiracy theories: every refutation is a confirmation.

The initiative to expunge the impeachments must be understood in this light: it is intended not to rewrite history for historians, but to reinforce the conviction of the believers. If Congress votes to “erase” the impeachments—even symbolically—the MAGA base will see this as confirmation that the impeachments were indeed unjust. And if Congress does not vote, that refusal will become further proof that the system is corrupt. In either case, Trump wins the internal debate.

What troubles me most about the MAGA narrative is that this rhetoric resonates with people who are not stupid. Millions of intelligent, hardworking, and often honest Americans buy into this narrative. It’s not naivety—it’s political despair disguised as anger. And political despair, when left unaddressed, breeds monsters. Trump is the symptom, not the cause.

U.S. Institutions on the Eve of the Midterms: Between Resilience and Fragility

Institutional Mechanisms of Resistance That Hold

Despite the attacks, certain mechanisms of institutional resistance held firm in 2025–2026. Federal judges blocked several of the administration’s measures. Republican senators resisted certain Trump-era initiatives—such as the anti-weaponization fund. Inspectors general continued to carry out their duties despite pressure. The independent press—led by Maggie Haberman and Jonathan Swan—continues to produce reports that expose the reality behind the official narrative. These scattered acts of resistance may not be spectacular, but they constitute the living fabric of democracy.

The 2026 Freedom House report certainly documents a deterioration, but it also highlights a remarkable capacity for civic resistance. American civil society is not passive. Lawyers’ unions, universities, and civil rights organizations—all have been targeted by the administration, but none have capitulated. This resilience is the real issue at stake in the November 2026 midterms: whoever controls the House will determine whether this resistance can be organized at the institutional level or whether it will remain confined to civil society.

The Stake in November 2026: Rebuild or Worsen?

The November 2026 midterms are shaping up to be a major test of American institutional resilience. If the Democrats retake the House, a third impeachment is likely—but its constitutional utility would remain limited without a landslide victory in the Senate. If the Republicans retain their majority, the push to expunge the impeachments will regain momentum, sending an extraordinarily negative signal about the system’s ability to correct itself.

In both scenarios, the “witch hunt” rhetoric will have achieved something fundamental: it will have normalized the idea that constitutional procedures are political weapons, not mechanisms of governance. And this normalization—regardless of the election outcome—is Trump’s lasting victory over American institutions. It will outlive his term, whatever its outcome.

I conclude this analysis with an uncomfortable certainty: Trump’s greatest victory will not be legislative, diplomatic, or even political. It will be cultural. He will have succeeded in convincing a significant portion of America—and, by extension, the world—that democratic institutions are nothing more than instruments of power disguised as principles. And that conviction, once planted, is very difficult to uproot. That’s why we’re fighting. That’s why it matters.

Conclusion: The Inevitable and the Necessary

What the “witch hunt” really reveals

The “witch hunt” rhetoric employed by the White House in response to every impeachment proceeding is not a legal defense. It is a political survival strategy that operates on several levels simultaneously: it neutralizes factual debate, galvanizes the base, punishes Republican dissent, and—more fundamentally—discredits institutions by portraying them as partisan tools. The fact that these institutions may sometimes be imperfect, or that certain investigations may have involved procedural errors, does not justify this blanket dismissal. Democracies have the right—and the duty—to scrutinize the exercise of executive power.

In this analysis, Trump is both the problem and the indicator. He did not invent American polarization—he exploited and amplified it with undeniable political genius. Impeachment as a constitutional tool suffers from a design flaw that is not of its own making: the two-thirds threshold in the Senate is too high to function in a hyper-polarized bipartisan system. It is this system that must be reformed. But this structural reform is precisely what the “witch hunt” rhetoric prevents from being discussed by dominating the media landscape.

What the West Must Take Away

The West—Europe, Canada, Australia, Japan—is observing these American developments not as an exotic spectacle, but as a stress test for a model that its members share and on which they depend. Liberal institutions are not immutable givens—they are fragile constructs that require active maintenance, conscious defense, and a collective will to resist distortion. The rhetoric of institutional victimization is not unique to the United States: it is gaining ground in Hungary, Poland, Italy, and other weakened democracies. What Trump is doing in Washington is the prototype of a model that is spreading abroad.

Defending the West means defending its institutions—including, and perhaps especially, when one of its leaders attacks them from within. This is not an act of interference; it is an act of civilizational solidarity. The inevitable outcome here is not the impeachment itself—it is the fundamental question it raises: Can a democracy survive a leader who denies the legitimacy of its own checks and balances? The answer depends on all of us, not just Americans.

Signed, Maxime Marquette, columnist