The Predator-In-Chief: Trump’s Cabinet Picks Are A Legacy Of White Male Violence

There’s a rarely spoken truth about white supremacy: It isn’t just about power, politics, or economics—it’s also about a deeply entrenched pact among white men, and their female accomplices, to protect and enable each other’s alleged sexual crimes.

Whether the victims are white women, people of color, their own or other people’s children, this pact has served to shield accused sexual predators across generations, cloaking their apparent congenital deviance in the armor of authority and morality. For decades, these accused predators operated with impunity. Their alleged abuses have been known to many, but rarely challenged because they have been shielded by a system designed to protect them. And their survivors are often dismissed as inconvenient obstacles to power.

But now, with the second election of Donald Trump, the pretense has been abandoned. The mask has come off.

Accused sexual predators are no longer hiding in shame—they are being openly elected to office, celebrated and appointed to the highest positions of power. Their alleged abuses are downplayed, reframed as partisan smears, or even lauded as acts of dominance and proof of their fitness to lead in a system that thrives on racism and patriarchal violence.

What we’re now witnessing in America is a revolting pageant of white patriarchal power that would make rapist Strom Thurmond chuckle from the grave.

The protection and elevation of these accused sexual predators isn’t an aberration within our democracy. It is fundamental to the preservation of a system built on control, domination and the unchecked power of white men. And Trump’s second election is the culmination of this shamelessly patriarchal project, a stark affirmation that coercion and violence are not only tolerated but celebrated as hallmarks of American leadership. It is a declaration that accountability has no place in a hierarchy designed to shield the powerful and dismiss their victims as collateral damage in the pursuit of dominance.

Normalizing predators

Last month, when Republican congressman Matt Gaetz withdrew from his nomination as Attorney General—handpicked by Donald Trump—it marked yet another chapter in the sordid saga of GOP power players accused of sexual misconduct. But Gaetz is no anomaly—and neither is Donald Trump. Both are part of an intergenerational compact among white men to perpetuate and protect alleged sexual abuse while posturing as defenders of morality and “traditional values.”

Over the past decade or so, the same architects of anti-LGBTQ hysteria and performative disgust at child abusers have repeatedly been exposed for their own crimes, from possession of child pornography to acts of predatory violence. Figures like Trump, who remains politically untouchable despite a staggering number of allegations, exemplify this orgy of white patriarchal violence—a systemic feature of power where the vilest acts are not punished but shielded as an unspoken privilege of dominance.

In recent decades, an alarming number of Republican leaders, activists and public figures have been implicated in crimes of sexual violence, particularly against minors. These aren’t a string of coincidences or isolated scandals. The list of Republican (and Democrat) accused predators stretches across statehouses, churches and campaign offices. The compilations barely scratch the surface of the rampant predation woven into the fabric of Republican leadership. And at the pinnacle of this system stands Donald Trump, a man accused of walking into dressing rooms of underage beauty contestants, assaulting dozens of women and allegedly raping a 13-year-old child.

The convergence of misogyny, white supremacy and political power underpins Trump’s decision to elevate accused predators.

But Trump didn’t just embody this culture of predation—he institutionalized it, elevated it and normalized the presence of accused sexual predators at the highest levels of government.

His first presidency became a staging ground for a brazenly unapologetic celebration of white male power, one that has openly embraced white men with histories of sexual violence. Trump’s first Cabinet was a rogue’s gallery of accused domestic abusers, sexual harassers, enablers and predators.

His most recent Cabinet picks are no exception.

In addition to Matt Gaetz who is accused of sex trafficking a minor, Pete Hegseth, tapped for secretary of defense, faces accusations of sexual assault dating back to 2017. Even his own mother accused Hegseth of “abusive behavior” against women. Robert F. Kennedy Jr., chosen for secretary of health and human services, has been accused of groping a babysitter. Even WWF mogul Linda McMahon, slated for secretary of education, has faced scrutiny for covering up sexual misconduct allegations within her company.

These appointments are not random. They are deliberate signals to a base that views accusations as badges of defiance against “woke” accountability. Trump has made clear that alleged sexual violence is not a disqualifier but an intrinsic feature of his brand of governance.

But-but, Democrats have sexual predators in their party too. True. Democrats like Al Franken, John Conyers, Ruben Kihuen, Andrew Cuomo, Tony Mendoza, Bob Filner and Eliot Spitzer have faced significant political and social consequences for their misconduct. Power, unfortunately, often attracts those who abuse it. But what sets the Republican Party apart is the deliberate celebration, protection and elevation of these accused predators as part of its broader project of white male supremacy. The Democratic leadership has generally responded with accountability, unlike the Republican Party which has institutionalized a culture of impunity.

An orgy of white patriarchal violence

While both parties have grappled with individuals abusing their positions of power, the Republican Party’s institutionalization of impunity echoes a legacy deeply embedded in American history, where sexual violence and domination were integral to sustaining systems of white male supremacy.

From its inception, American democracy has equated control over exploitable bodies with the maintenance of social order. The intertwining of power and sexual violence has long been a cornerstone of white male supremacy. During slavery, white men weaponized sexual violence to assert dominance over enslaved Black women, treating their bodies as extensions of their own property.

This pattern of exploitation didn’t end with emancipation—it evolved. Under Jim Crow, lynching became a public spectacle, used to reinforce racial hierarchies and instill terror. White men often justified these murders with accusations of Black men threatening white women’s purity, despite their own unchecked predation against Black women and children, and their long heritage of enjoying sexual violence against their own daughters.

These rituals of violence upheld the myth of white male virtue, even as they concealed its predatory core. The same playbook was carried into the 20th century, where political, legal and religious institutions shielded white men from accountability for acts of sexual violence. By the 1980s, the rise of the religious right amplified this protection, using moral rhetoric to excuse abuses while demonizing marginalized groups.

The Catholic church shielded abusive priests for decades, relocating them rather than holding them accountable, while the Boy Scouts of America covered up rampant child sexual abuse by its leaders. These institutions operated under a cloak of moral authority, using their perceived righteousness to excuse or dismiss systemic abuse. What ties these examples together is the institutional reinforcement of one principle: White male abusers must be shielded to protect the broader structure of power they represent.

By shielding predators and placing them in positions of power, the system reinforces dominance as the ultimate qualification for leadership. These predators embody the violence, coercion and entitlement that white supremacy rewards. Democracy does not require morality—only the preservation of the hierarchies that prioritize white male authority. To hold predators accountable would be to dismantle the very myth of white male dominance that underpins this system, a risk the status quo cannot afford to take.

White supremacy and the victim narrative

Donald Trump’s rise—and his unapologetic elevation of white male predators—is deeply tied to a growing narrative of white male victimhood. In an era marked by demographic shifts, feminism’s gains and challenges to traditional power structures, many white men feel their dominance slipping. The declining white birth rate and fears about so-called “white extinction” have stoked panic, turning the protection of white male power into a survival strategy for white supremacy. This panic is not subtle; it manifests in explicit political rhetoric about immigrants “replacing” Americans, assaults on abortion rights to force women into reproductive roles, and backlash against civil rights movements that demand equality.

By presenting white men as victims of modernity—beleaguered by feminism, “woke culture,” and increasing racial diversity—Trump and his allies tap into a deeply entrenched grievance. In this narrative, predators like Trump, Matt Gaetz, and Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh are not abusers; they are martyrs. Their scandals become symbolic of the supposed unfairness of accountability itself, reframed as attacks on white male identity rather than their own predatory actions. This victim narrative mobilizes anger, deflecting attention from systemic abuses while reaffirming white male supremacy.

The threat of women’s autonomy

The rise of feminism and women’s growing autonomy—over their bodies, economic lives and political influence—represents an existential threat to a system that relies on controlling women. White supremacy is not just about race; it is also deeply patriarchal, demanding that women remain subordinate to men to maintain the social order. The backlash against reproductive rights is not only about abortion but also about reasserting control over women’s bodies. Assaults on access to contraception, family planning and bodily autonomy are directly tied to fears of declining white birth rates and the loss of white dominance.

Accused predators like Trump and his allies embody this patriarchal defiance, rejecting feminist demands for accountability and framing such movements as dangerous disruptions to the status quo. By placing these men in power, the system sends a clear message: Alleged sexual violence is not a disqualifier but a demonstration of dominance, an assertion that white male power cannot be undermined by changing norms or movements for justice.

This narrative of grievance has also fueled the rise of incel (involuntary celibate) culture, which frames men’s inability to control women sexually as a societal failure. Incels view women’s autonomy as a direct affront to their entitlement to power, sex and status. These misogynistic beliefs have merged with broader far-right ideologies, creating fertile ground for white supremacist and patriarchal violence to flourish. Trump’s predatory behavior and unapologetic bravado resonate with this demographic, portraying him as a figure who rejects the rules imposed by feminism and modern equality.

This convergence of misogyny, white supremacy and political power underpins Trump’s decision to elevate accused predators. White supremacy depends on controlling bodies—women’s through subjugation and reproduction, and men’s by offering impunity for predation as a reward for loyalty to the system. Elevating accused predators to positions of power reaffirms this control, signaling that white male dominance remains untouchable despite cultural and demographic shifts.

White women’s tears and the predator presidency

A few weeks ago, as Kamala Harris gave her concession speech, Howard University’s campus grounds were flooded with the tears of white women. They cried hard, visibly moved by the historic loss of a woman who had reached the heights of power and representation. But those tears carried a deeper truth. They weren’t just about Harris—they were about what her defeat symbolizes. Those tears, for me, were the reckoning of liberal white women who understand, deep down, the system they have long upheld and their complicity in what is to come.

What do white women know? What do they see coming?

They know that white male supremacy is sharpening its claws, that the predator-in-chief is ascending to power again and that the backlash against progress is here to stay. But they also know something more personal: This moment is not just about white men’s dominance—it’s about the ways white women have been groomed, terrorized and indoctrinated into subjugation, and how they have upheld these systems for generations.

White women have been raised by conservative parents and grandparents who taught them that their bodies were not their own. In homes steeped in patriarchal control and violence, many white women were conditioned to believe their worth was tied to their ability to serve, to submit, to reproduce. Their mothers and grandmothers often came from traditions that honored male dominance, where silence and complicity were survival strategies. The trauma of that upbringing was passed down like a family heirloom, instilling in white women an internalized sense of inferiority, fear and complicity.

This is why so many white women voted to strip away their own reproductive rights. To many of these women, power is something that belongs to men. They have been socialized to fear autonomy, to distrust feminism, and to see their value through the eyes of patriarchy. This cultural grooming is why, when faced with a choice between self-liberation and the comfort of subjugation, millions of white women chose the latter, voting to uphold systems that harm them and everyone around them.

White women’s tears at Howard were not just an acknowledgment of loss—they were a reflection of their own cowardice. Liberal white women, the ones who claim to champion equality, have too often sat silently, unwilling to confront the conservative ideologies within their own families, communities, and traditions. They knew what the stakes were when Trump rose to power the first time. They knew what was happening when Brett Kavanaugh was confirmed. They saw the backlash against #MeToo, the rise of incels, and the assault on abortion rights. Yet, too many of them chose comfort over confrontation, privilege over solidarity, silence over resistance.

The truth is that white women have been instrumental in the rise of white male supremacy. They are its beneficiaries, even as they are also its victims. It is white women who taught their sons to believe in their entitlement to power and their daughters to stay small, to accept submission as a way of life. It is white women who have shielded predators in their homes, churches, and communities, crying tears of pity for the accused while scorning their victims. White supremacy thrives because white women uphold it, their tears serving as both a shield and a weapon.

What those tears at Howard University signified is the dawning realization among liberal white women of what this all means for them. They see the future—the continued erosion of their rights, the rise of predators in positions of power, the consolidation of white male supremacy—and they know they have been complicit in its making. Their tears were not just about Kamala Harris or reproductive rights or Trump. They were about the crushing weight of history, a history they have been too cowardly to confront for too long.

Trump didn’t just embody this culture of predation—he institutionalized it, elevated it and normalized the presence of accused sexual predators at the highest levels of government.

White women for too long have believed their race afforded them a degree of protection within a patriarchal system. Trump’s presidency reveals that whiteness alone does not shield them from exploitation when gendered power dynamics are in play. Their fear signifies a reckoning: supporting systems that prioritize race over gender may have brought short-term privileges, but the enduring consequences of a patriarchal system now threaten their safety and freedom. And now this dual realization is both terrifying and disempowering, forcing white women to grapple with the realities of intersecting oppressions in ways they have ignored in the past.

White supremacy has always relied on the dual role of white women as enablers and victims. Their trauma binds them to the system, while their complicity ensures its survival. The predator presidency, with all its violence and domination, is not an aberration—it is the inevitable result of a society built on white patriarchal control. And until white women reckon with their role in this system, the cycle will continue, leaving their tears as little more than the soundtrack to their own subjugation.

At the end of the day “Make America Great Again” is a promise that white men get to do whatever they want, to whomever they want, whenever they want. This is white male supremacy at its most shameless. A predator-in-chief poised to retake the presidency, surrounded by a Cabinet of enablers and predators, buoyed by a system that thrives on the abuse of power.

What we’re now witnessing in America is a revolting pageant of white patriarchal power that would make rapist Strom Thurmond chuckle from the grave and Thomas Jefferson toast his wineglass with a knowing smirk. These men—enshrined as “great statesmen” but predators cloaked in patriotism—would see this moment for exactly what it is: Their disgusting handiwork is alive and well and parading through the corridors of power with zero shame or accountability.

“Make Abuse Great Again!”

Dr. Stacey Patton is an award-winning journalist and the author of Spare the Kids: Why Whupping Children Won’t Save Black America.

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