A coup in formation, even if it fails, leaves democracy permanently weakened.
Em novembro de 2020, Washington se viu diante de um teste sem precedentes em sua história democrática: um presidente derrotado que se recusava a reconhecer a derrota, demitia aliados e alimentava narrativas de fraude sem evidências. Para estudiosos do colapso democrático, o padrão era familiar — não pela história americana, mas pela história latino-americana, onde líderes que não aceitavam resultados eleitorais frequentemente marcaram o início do fim das instituições. A questão que pairava sobre o país não era apenas se a democracia sobreviveria ao momento, mas a que custo.
- Trump demitiu o secretário de Defesa via Twitter e pressionou aliados a declararem lealdade, movimentos que especialistas em golpes latino-americanos reconheceram imediatamente como sinais de alarme.
- Apenas cinco senadores republicanos reconheceram a vitória de Biden, enquanto o silêncio dos demais permitia que a narrativa do roubo eleitoral se consolidasse entre a base do partido.
- Uma pesquisa revelou que 70% dos republicanos já duvidavam da lisura das eleições — não um golpe consumado, mas uma fratura profunda na fé pública nas instituições democráticas.
- Especialistas como Steven Levitsky acreditavam que o Exército resistiria às pressões, mas admitiam que a certeza era impossível diante de um cenário sem precedentes na história americana.
- O dano real, alertavam os analistas, não seria o fracasso de um golpe, mas a permanência de uma narrativa que milhões carregariam consigo por décadas, corroendo a legitimidade democrática por dentro.
Washington entrava em território desconhecido. Donald Trump, derrotado por Joe Biden, recusava-se a conceder a vitória, repetindo alegações infundadas de fraude e demitindo altos funcionários — primeiro o secretário de Defesa Mark Esper, anunciado pelo Twitter, depois o secretário de Estado Mike Pompeo, que chegou a falar em uma "transição tranquila" para um segundo mandato que não existiria.
Para historiadores como Erick Langer, da Universidade Georgetown, o padrão era reconhecível: um líder que não aceita a derrota, pressão sobre as instituições militares por lealdade, erosão gradual das salvaguardas democráticas. Era o roteiro de Venezuela, Bolívia, e das ditaduras que varreram Brasil, Argentina, Chile e Peru. A diferença era que desta vez o cenário era os Estados Unidos. "Quando você demite seu ministro da Defesa tentando obter lealdade militar, isso acenderia alarmes na América Latina e em qualquer outro lugar", disse Langer. "Deveria provocar a mesma reação aqui."
Steven Levitsky, professor de Harvard e coautor de "Como as Democracias Morrem", acreditava que o Exército americano resistiria. Mas reconhecia a singularidade do momento: "É impossível ter certeza, porque o país nunca esteve em uma situação semelhante." Para ele, Trump era um autoritário com personalidade narcisista incapaz de aceitar a derrota — uma característica visível desde 2016, o que tornava a decisão do Partido Republicano de o nominar "incrivelmente irresponsável".
O perigo maior, porém, não era o golpe em si, mas o estrago que a tentativa já causava. A grande maioria dos senadores republicanos permanecia em silêncio, paralisada pelo apelo de Trump à base. Esse silêncio permitia que milhões de americanos fossem convencidos de que a eleição havia sido roubada. Uma pesquisa mostrou que 70% dos republicanos já não acreditavam que o pleito havia sido livre e justo.
"A narrativa vai continuar", alertou Levitsky. "Alguns republicanos podem aceitar o resultado. Mas o círculo íntimo de Trump e seus apoiadores mais fervorosos vão até o túmulo dizendo que a eleição foi roubada." As instituições poderiam resistir. A democracia poderia sobreviver à crise imediata. Mas o custo à sua credibilidade — dentro e fora do país — já estava sendo contabilizado.
Washington was entering unfamiliar territory. Donald Trump, having lost the presidential election to Joe Biden, refused to concede. Instead, he repeated unsubstantiated claims of fraud and began firing senior officials—first Mark Esper, his Secretary of Defense, announced via Twitter on the day Biden's transition team unveiled its pandemic response plan, then Mike Pompeo, the Secretary of State, who declared there would be a "smooth transition" to a second Trump term that would not occur.
For scholars of democratic collapse, the pattern was recognizable. Erick Langer, a historian at Georgetown University, called it "a coup in formation." He was not being hyperbolic. In past Latin American crises—Venezuela, Bolivia, and the military dictatorships that had gripped Brazil, Argentina, Chile, and Peru—the sequence had been similar: a leader unwilling to accept defeat, pressure on military institutions to demonstrate loyalty, the slow erosion of institutional guardrails. The difference was that this was happening in the United States, a country that had never faced such a test.
Langer pointed to Trump's removal of his defense secretary as a particularly alarming signal. "When you fire your defense minister trying to get loyalty from the military to follow your orders, that would set off alarms in Latin America and anywhere else," he said. "It should provoke the same reaction here." The question that had determined the fate of democracies across the developing world now hung over Washington: Would the military accept the president's direction, or would it hold the line?
Steven Levitsky, a Harvard professor and author of "How Democracies Die," believed the U.S. military would likely resist such pressure. But he acknowledged the unprecedented nature of the moment. "It's impossible to have certainty," he said, "because the country has never been in a similar situation." Levitsky characterized Trump as an authoritarian with a narcissistic personality incapable of accepting defeat—a fact, he noted, that had been evident since 2016 and made the Republican Party's decision to nominate him "incredibly irresponsible and inconsequential."
What made the moment more dangerous was not the immediate threat of a successful coup, but the damage being done to democratic institutions in the attempt. By early November, only five Republican senators had acknowledged Biden's victory. The rest remained silent, paralyzed by Trump's popularity with the party base. This cowardice, Levitsky argued, was allowing Trump to continue what he called "this circus," even though the outcome was already determined. Eventually, Republicans would have to accept defeat. But in the meantime, they were systematically convincing millions of Americans that the election had been stolen.
A Politico/Morning Consult poll showed that 70 percent of Republicans now believed the election was neither fair nor free. This was the real injury—not a coup that might fail, but a permanent fracture in the public's faith in democratic legitimacy. "The narrative will continue," Levitsky said. "Some Republicans may accept the result. But Trump's inner circle and his most fervent supporters will go to their graves saying the election was stolen. That has terrible consequences for public opinion and political culture." The institutions might hold. Democracy might survive the immediate crisis. But the cost to its credibility, both at home and abroad, was already being calculated.
Notable Quotes
When you fire your defense minister trying to get loyalty from the military to follow your orders, that would set off alarms in Latin America. It should provoke the same reaction here.— Erick Langer, Georgetown University historian
Trump is an authoritarian with a narcissistic personality who cannot admit defeat. It was incredibly irresponsible of the Republican Party to nominate him for this position.— Steven Levitsky, Harvard professor and author of 'How Democracies Die'
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
When you look at what Trump is doing—the firing of officials, the fraud claims—why does it remind scholars of Latin American coups?
Because the sequence is almost identical. A leader loses, refuses to accept it, then starts testing whether the military will follow orders instead of the constitution. In Chile, Argentina, Brazil, that's how it began. The difference is those countries had weaker institutions. We're watching it happen here for the first time.
But the U.S. military is different, right? Stronger institutions, deeper democratic roots?
Probably. Levitsky thinks they'll hold. But he also says we can't be certain because it's never happened before. That uncertainty itself is dangerous.
So even if Trump fails, something is broken?
Yes. Seventy percent of Republicans now think the election was stolen. That's not a temporary political disagreement. That's a permanent wound to how people see democracy working. Even if institutions survive, trust doesn't.
Why won't Republican senators just say Trump lost?
Fear. He's popular with their base. Speaking against him costs them politically. So they stay silent, which lets him keep spreading the fraud narrative. Levitsky calls it cowardice, but it's also rational self-preservation.
Is there a way out of this for Republicans?
Eventually they have to accept the loss. There's no legal path forward for Trump. But by then, millions of people will have been convinced the election was rigged. The damage to democratic legitimacy is already done, regardless of what happens next.