Delta County Voters Draw Parallels Between Nero and Trump

Tuesday’s election is more than just a primary. It’s a colossal opportunity to change history.

That’s the thesis from the other side of the Atlantic, written by someone standing in the Colosseum in Rome, 90 degrees and sweating, trying to ignore the urge to dump water over their head just to survive the heat. It’s a strange place to find a political argument for Delta County, but the writer argues that looking back at the Roman Empire offers a mirror for today’s political climate that is both terrifying and oddly clarifying.

The piece draws a direct line from Emperor Nero to Donald Trump. Not just a vague similarity, but a specific lineage of narcissism. Nero, the writer notes, set a "high standard for cruelty, self-aggrandizement and narcissism" long before the 45th president took up the mantle with "shameless enthusiasm." When the fire hit Rome, Nero didn’t just rebuild; he seized the moment to use public funds for his own Golden House — a Mar-a-Lago of his day, envisioned to consume one-third of the city. He saw himself as the ultimate arbiter of culture, playing his lyre and dictating that the city be rebuilt in the Greek style he favored.

And, obsessed with his legacy, he commissioned a 98-foot-tall bronze statue of himself.

The writer points out that when the populace started blaming Nero for the fire, he didn’t just issue a press release. He launched a campaign to dehumanize, persecute, and execute Christians en masse. It’s a classic move: distract from economic decline and military failures by finding a scapegoat. The writer notes that Nero’s popularity plummeted as the economy tanked, and he supposedly killed himself before his assassins could get the job done — a "selflessly patriotic act," if you’re feeling ironic.

But the story doesn’t end with Nero. The writer argues that what followed was a frenetic campaign to erase his legacy. Construction of the Golden House halted. Eighteen elephants were conscripted to haul the giant statue to a new site, where it was redesigned to represent the sun god, Sol. It’s a reminder that power is fragile, and history is written by the victors who then have to figure out how to make the loser look like a god instead of a monster.

The comparison extends to Mussolini, who rose to power with the support of Italians wearing distinctive black shirts. The writer notes that Mussolini was an "enthusiastic public speaker" who frequently contradicted himself and had "little respect for the facts." His cult of personality propelled him into a dictatorship that lasted until his death in 1945. The implication is clear: the tools of authoritarianism haven’t changed, even if the shirts have.

This isn’t just about Rome. It’s about us. It’s about the local officials we vote for on Tuesday. It’s about whether we see the current political climate as a series of isolated events or as part of a long, cyclical pattern of power consolidating around individuals who prioritize their own legacy over the health of the republic. The writer suggests that standing in the Colosseum forces you to take the long view. It makes the "fetid reflecting pool in D.C." and the "multimillion-dollar political campaigns in Colorado" seem trivial, yet also more significant. Because if history is any guide, the next time the economy dips or the fires start, we’ll be looking for someone to blame, and someone to build their own Golden House on our dime.

The article doesn’t offer a voting guide. It doesn’t tell you who to mark on the ballot. It just asks you to remember the elephants hauling the statue. It asks you to remember that when the writing is on the wall, it’s often because someone ran out of public funds to keep the lights on. Tuesday is just a day. But the choice we make that day echoes. It echoes back to Nero. It echoes forward to whoever comes next. And somewhere in between, there’s a bronze statue waiting to be reinterpreted.