Intimidation is a powerful weapon. And it comes in many forms — especially in the age of Trump
Toilets are left on a Berkeley street in 2010. A commode sent anonymously to the author appears to send an ominous message about his anti-Trump opinions.
Two Toilets on the Street – 2:02 p.m. – Berkeley These reminded me of outhouses in the Saline Valley, where two toilets were side by side, no door, with the desert as a backdrop. Camera Settings: Canon EOS 5D Mark II, ISO 640, 1/60, f 22, 24mm lensLiz Hafalia/S.F. Chronicle
By David Kirp
June 21, 2025 (SFChronicle.com)
Intimidation is a powerful weapon.
President Donald Trump and his MAGA acolytes have taken a page from the classic autocrats’ playbook, deploying fear to stifle opposition. Anyone who runs afoul of the movement risks the threat of a nasty reprisal.
The threat of physical attacks on lawmakers and their families, fueled by the Trump regime’s inflammatory rhetoric, is a reason why some Republican members of Congress are playing possum.
“We are all afraid,” Alaska Sen. Lisa Murkowski said, speaking on behalf of colleagues who are fearful of speaking for themselves.
One of the most widely used scare tactics against federal judges who have overturned executive orders involves anonymously sending a pizza to their homes.
This isn’t just a prank. It’s psychological warfare, a black humor way to convey an ominous message — we know where you live and where your family lives.
“Be afraid” is the message. “Be very afraid.”
I get it. I have my own psychological warfare story. While it’s unnerving, I’m still standing.
In my case, it was a commode, not a pizza, that I received.
It recently arrived at the local post office in a beat-up cardboard box, a few days after the Chronicle published an opinion piece in which I described my ambivalence about living in Donald Trump’s America, where democracy is under siege.
My husband, Niko, picked up the box. Because it was too big to fit into the car, he opened it and brought it into the house.
“Here’s the commode you ordered,” he told me.
“Say what?” I replied, or words to that effect. “I didn’t order it.”
At first, Niko was disbelieving.
“Maybe you bought it by accident,” he suggested, as if someone might buy a commode in a fit of absence of mind. To convince him, I called Amazon, which confirmed that I hadn’t ordered it.
The box didn’t contain a note of explanation from the anonymous sender. Amazon, the shipper for a third-party vendor, was clueless and the manufacturer was unhelpful.
Being sent an unwanted commode sounds like the punch line of a bad joke, but it puts me in the same camp as the judges who are getting those pizzas.
To me, the message was plain: “We are targeting you and your husband, not just by outing you but also by delivering something that’s usually needed by people of a certain age — people like you. Commodes cost more than pizzas (the one I received sells for $42.98 on Amazon), but we’re willing to spend a considerable amount of money to intimidate you.”
“Why me?” I wondered, once I decoded the implications of my “gift.” I’m no firebrand leading the charge against the tyrant in the White House.
For a number of years, I taught a large undergraduate class at UC Berkeley called the “Ethics in the Age of Trump” — the running joke was that it would be a very short course. Mentioning Berkeley to a MAGA acolyte is certainly a bit like enraging the bull with a red cape.
My writings have invariably taken positions that are diametrically opposed to the Trump wood-chopper agenda. Apparently, that’s enough to put me on a list of undesirables.
After my Chronicle column ran, I received a bevy of emails that demanded — in language unfit for a family newspaper — that I, the “scum of the Earth,” do the country a favor and leave immediately.
I’m not easily cowed.
I shrugged off the emails. I know from experience that if you take a controversial position in an opinion piece, you can expect obscene rants. But if the purpose of sending me the commode was to shut me up or convince me to depart, the strategy backfired.
Trump and his MAGA wolf pack want their opponents to “self-deport” because it smooths the glide path to autocracy.
To hell with that.
Instead of rushing to buy a one-way ticket to a saner country, I’ve doubled down on my opposition to the endless stream of outrages emanating from Washington and to the imminent threat to the rule of law posed by the autocrat in the White House.
Millions of Americans have been demoralized by the Trump blitzkrieg. The zigzags can leave you gasping: sky-high tariffs one day, lower tariffs the next day; humiliate Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky, then send arms to Ukraine, but threaten to walk away from the war and hand Russia a victory.
The litany of inconsistencies is endless: sledgehammer Columbia University into retreating on academic freedom, then tell the university today that its obeisance doesn’t get it off the hook; require public schools to eliminate diversity, equity and inclusion programs, then back down when New York says “no”; propose to annex Canada, then make nice with the prime minister.
The passivity of many of Trump’s opponents during the first five months of his presidency resembles the despondency of the mice in famed psychologist B.F. Skinner’s lab. When they were exposed to random punishments, the mice simply stopped trying.
Yet now, as the implications of the president’s misdeeds sink in, many Americans are trying to figure out how they can fight back. If you’ve read this far, my hunch is that you may be in this camp.
Here’s my advice — do not take it lying down.
There are many ways to oppose this regime — joining demonstrations, writing and phoning your congressional representatives, enlisting in a political campaign, supporting immigrants when federal immigration agents swoop in and contributing to organizations that are defending the rule of law. Doubtlessly, you’ll come up with other possibilities that work for you.
What’s crucial is that you combat the curse of fatalism — that you keep from becoming one of Skinner’s mice — since that’s precisely how the authoritarian administration wants you to react. Overcome your fear. (Yes, I’m still working on that part, too.) Find a way of contributing to the survival of democracy that works for you. The stakes couldn’t be higher.
Meanwhile, the commode episode has a happy ending — my local senior center was pleased to take it off my hands.
Inadvertently, the mystery sender did a good deed.
David Kirp is a professor emeritus at the Goldman School of Public Policy at UC Berkeley.
