The first president to face two removal trials in a single term
Nos últimos dias de um mandato marcado pela divisão, Donald Trump confronta a possibilidade de se tornar o único presidente norte-americano a enfrentar dois processos de destituição, depois de apoiantes seus invadirem o Capitólio numa tentativa de travar a certificação dos resultados eleitorais. A coligação bipartidária que se forma contra ele — com republicanos a juntarem-se aos democratas — revela até que ponto o assalto ao coração da democracia americana abalou lealdades que pareciam inabaláveis. Enquanto o país se prepara para uma transição de poder sob ameaça de novos protestos armados, a nação confronta-se com uma questão mais profunda: o que significa preservar a ordem constitucional quando as próprias instituições foram postas à prova.
- Trump descarta o segundo processo de destituição como 'absolutamente ridículo', mas o Congresso avança com uma acusação formal pela alegada incitação à violência no Capitólio a 6 de janeiro.
- Pela primeira vez na história dos Estados Unidos, um presidente pode ser julgado duas vezes num único mandato — uma perspetiva que sublinha a gravidade sem precedentes do momento.
- Republicanos rompem com a lealdade partidária e unem-se aos democratas, sinalizando que o assalto ao Capitólio ultrapassou os limites do tolerável mesmo para aliados de longa data.
- As autoridades federais alertam para protestos armados antes da tomada de posse de Biden: o Monumento a Washington é encerrado e a cerimónia de inauguração será realizada sem público.
- Trump viaja para o Texas para inspecionar a construção do muro fronteiriço, numa aparente normalidade que contrasta com a crise constitucional em curso em Washington.
Na tarde de terça-feira, Donald Trump dispensou em poucas palavras a ameaça de um segundo processo de destituição, classificando-o de absurdo e afirmando que estava a gerar uma enorme onda de indignação no país. Horas depois, embarcou num voo para o Texas, como se a presidência seguisse o seu curso habitual. Mas em Washington, a realidade era outra.
O processo tinha sido desencadeado pelo assalto ao Capitólio quatro dias antes, quando uma multidão de apoiantes de Trump invadiu o edifício para impedir a certificação dos resultados das eleições de 2020. A acusação era direta: o presidente tinha incitado a violência. O que tornava o momento historicamente singular não era apenas a gravidade dos factos, mas a coligação que se formava contra ele — republicanos a juntarem-se aos democratas numa câmara habitualmente dividida por linhas partidárias rígidas.
Se a Câmara dos Representantes votasse a favor do impeachment, Trump tornar-se-ia o primeiro presidente norte-americano a enfrentar dois processos de destituição num único mandato. A votação estava marcada para quarta-feira, e o país aguardava para saber se o Senado reuniria votos suficientes para uma condenação — improvável, mas já não impossível.
Entretanto, as autoridades federais lidavam com uma ameaça paralela. Informações de serviços de inteligência apontavam para a possibilidade de protestos armados em Washington e noutros estados antes da tomada de posse de Joe Biden, a 20 de janeiro. O Monumento a Washington foi encerrado ao público, e a cerimónia de inauguração seria realizada sem espetadores — um afastamento radical da tradição, reflexo de como o assalto ao Capitólio havia perturbado os rituais mais elementares da democracia americana.
Donald Trump stood in the White House on Tuesday afternoon, hours before boarding a flight to Texas, and dismissed the prospect of a second impeachment trial as absurd. The outgoing president told reporters that another removal proceeding in Congress—this one triggered by the Capitol riot four days earlier—was "absolutely ridiculous" and was generating what he called "tremendous anger" across the country. He did not elaborate on who exactly he believed was responsible for the anger, only that the effort to strip him of his remaining powers was "a terrible thing."
What made this moment historically unusual was not merely Trump's defiance, but the bipartisan coalition forming against him. Republican members of Congress had begun joining their Democratic counterparts in supporting his removal, a rare alignment in a chamber typically divided along party lines. Their accusation was direct: Trump had incited the violence that erupted at the Capitol on January 6, when a crowd of his supporters breached the building in an attempt to disrupt the certification of the 2020 election results. If the House voted to impeach him again, Trump would become the first president in American history to face two removal trials during a single term in office.
The timing was extraordinary. The nation was already fractured by deep political divisions, and now it faced the prospect of a second constitutional crisis before the incoming president, Joe Biden, had even taken the oath of office. Trump said he wanted no violence in the country, a statement that rang hollow to many given the circumstances that had prompted the impeachment push in the first place. The House was scheduled to debate the charges on Wednesday.
Meanwhile, federal authorities were tracking a different threat. Intelligence suggested that armed protests could erupt in Washington and across several states in the days leading up to Biden's inauguration on January 20. The warnings were specific enough that the National Park Service took the extraordinary step of closing the Washington Monument to the public. The presidential inauguration ceremony itself would proceed without spectators—a stark departure from tradition, a visual reminder of how thoroughly the Capitol riot had upended normal democratic ritual.
Trump's trip to Texas to inspect border wall construction seemed almost surreal in context. The president was traveling the country as if his position were secure, as if a second impeachment trial were merely a political inconvenience rather than a constitutional reckoning. But the machinery was already in motion. The House would vote. The Senate would hold a trial. And the nation would watch to see whether enough Republicans would break ranks to convict him—an outcome that seemed unlikely but no longer impossible.
Notable Quotes
Trump called the second impeachment proceeding 'absolutely ridiculous' and said it was causing 'tremendous anger' in the country— Trump, speaking to reporters at the White House
Republican and Democratic lawmakers united in accusing Trump of inciting the Capitol violence and supporting his removal from office— Multiple congressional sources
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did Republicans start turning on Trump now, after four years of loyalty?
Because the Capitol riot crossed a line that even party loyalty couldn't contain. When your own workplace is breached by a mob, the political calculus changes. Some Republicans saw it as an existential threat to the institution itself.
Did Trump actually say he incited the violence, or is that the accusation?
He never admitted it. He said he didn't want violence. But his words in the days before—telling supporters to "fight like hell"—were what the accusers pointed to. The question wasn't what he intended, but what he knew would happen.
Why close the Washington Monument? Isn't that extreme?
It's a measure of how seriously authorities took the threat. They weren't just worried about scattered protests. Intelligence suggested organized, armed groups might show up. You don't close national monuments on a whim.
Could Trump actually be convicted in a Senate trial?
Unlikely, but not impossible. You need two-thirds of the Senate to convict. That means some Republicans would have to vote with all the Democrats. A few said they might. Most didn't.
What does it mean that he'd be the first president impeached twice?
It means the system was being tested in a way it never had been before. The Constitution allows for it, but it had never happened. Everything about this moment was unprecedented.