TEHRAN- At first glance, Trumpism appears to be a distinctly contemporary political phenomenon, inseparable from the personality, rhetoric, and political career of Donald Trump. Yet reducing Trumpism to a single individual risks overlooking the deeper social and historical forces that made it possible.
Trump did not emerge in a vacuum. Rather, he became the most visible representative of a longstanding current within American society—one rooted in racial hierarchy, economic dominance, cultural exclusion, and an enduring belief in American exceptionalism.
The persistence of this tendency is evident in the support it continues to receive from a significant segment of the American public, often strong enough to blunt institutional and legal efforts aimed at restraining authoritarian impulses and exclusionary politics. In many respects, Trumpism should be understood not merely as a political movement but as the modern expression of an older ideological tradition that has repeatedly surfaced throughout American history.
For decades, artists have turned their attention to this aspect of American life, using their work to expose its contradictions and consequences. Cinema, in particular, has proven especially effective in this regard. Throughout the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, American cinema has repeatedly confronted issues of racism, colonialism, violence, and power. Some films have done so directly through historical narratives, while others have relied on allegory and symbolism to expose uncomfortable truths. Among the most compelling recent examples is “The Sinners,” a film that transcends the conventions of horror and fantasy to offer a powerful meditation on the social and political tensions that continue to shape the United States.
Although “The Sinners” can be enjoyed as a supernatural thriller, its deeper significance lies in its symbolic architecture. Beneath its surface narrative of vampires, violence, and survival, the film constructs an allegorical portrait of America itself—one in which race, power, memory, and resistance are locked in a perpetual struggle. Viewed through this lens, the film can be interpreted as a cinematic exploration of the cultural and ideological forces that have found contemporary expression in Trumpism.
The story revolves around two Black twin brothers, Stack and Smoke, who return to their hometown after acquiring money from Chicago’s white criminal underworld. Their dream is simple yet meaningful: to establish a café that will serve as a gathering place for the local Black community. However, from the very beginning, the film signals that this is not merely a story about entrepreneurship or family bonds. Every location, conversation, and visual detail appears designed to evoke a larger historical reality.
One of the film’s earliest and most revealing scenes occurs when the brothers purchase an abandoned sawmill from its owner, Hagwood. The transaction seems straightforward until the brothers insist that neither Hagwood nor any of his associates in the Ku Klux Klan should ever return to the property. Hagwood dismisses the Klan as an outdated relic, a remnant of a bygone era with no relevance to contemporary life.
Yet the film immediately undermines his claim.
The brothers notice that the floor of the mill appears to have been freshly cleaned. Hagwood offers no convincing explanation. The image invites viewers to imagine a hidden history of violence concealed beneath a carefully maintained surface. Symbolically, the scene reflects a broader reality in American society: the tendency to treat racial violence and historical injustice as matters of the distant past while their consequences remain deeply embedded in the present. The cleaned floor becomes a metaphor for collective amnesia, an attempt to erase historical crimes without addressing their legacy.
As the narrative progresses, the film increasingly abandons conventional realism in favor of symbolic storytelling. Characters cease to function solely as individuals and instead begin to represent larger social and cultural forces.
Annie, Smoke’s former wife, embodies one such force. As a practitioner of traditional healing and spiritual rituals, she represents cultural memory, ancestral wisdom, and the importance of maintaining a connection to collective heritage. In a society shaped by displacement and historical trauma, Annie serves as a guardian of continuity. Her presence reminds viewers that survival depends not only on material resources but also on preserving cultural identity.
The inclusion of a Chinese immigrant couple further expands the film’s symbolic framework. Their participation in the café transforms the establishment from a local business into a multicultural refuge. The café becomes a sanctuary for communities historically marginalized within American society—a space where traditions, languages, and memories coexist despite external pressures.
Even the landscape itself contributes to the film’s political message. Repeated images of vast cotton fields evoke the history of slavery and forced labor that played a foundational role in the development of the United States. These fields are more than background scenery; they are reminders that the prosperity of the nation was built upon systems of exploitation whose consequences continue to resonate across generations.
The film’s symbolic ambitions become unmistakable with the arrival of Remmick, a mysterious white traveler seeking shelter from Native Americans pursuing him through the countryside. Appearing injured and frightened, Remmick presents himself as a victim. He claims that Indigenous people have kidnapped his wife and subjected him to unimaginable suffering.
His story immediately secures the sympathy of a farming couple, Joan and Bert.
Inside their home hangs a Ku Klux Klan robe displayed beside an American flag. The visual composition is impossible to ignore. By placing these two symbols together, the film suggests a relationship between organized racism and certain interpretations of national identity. The message is not subtle: the forces represented by the Klan are not portrayed as external aberrations but as elements embedded within a broader social and political tradition.
When Native Americans arrive seeking Remmick, Joan refuses to surrender him. Armed and defiant, she drives them away. Only after their departure does she discover the horrifying truth. Remmick is not a victim at all. He is a vampire who has already infected her husband.
At this point, the film’s allegorical dimensions fully emerge.
The Native Americans represent indigeneity, historical memory, and a connection to the land that predates the arrival of European settlers. They recognize the threat posed by Remmick and attempt to stop it. Yet their efforts are obstructed by individuals whose ideological commitments prevent them from recognizing danger even when it stands directly before them.
The symbolism is striking. A destructive force enters society under the guise of victimhood and innocence. Those most capable of identifying the threat are ignored or dismissed. Meanwhile, prejudice and fear create the conditions necessary for the threat to spread.
Remmick himself functions as the film’s central metaphor. Unlike traditional cinematic vampires motivated primarily by hunger, Remmick is closely associated with wealth, influence, and persuasion. He carries gold, promises prosperity, and presents himself as a benefactor. His power derives not only from violence but from his ability to convince others that submission serves their interests.
This combination of wealth and ideological manipulation recalls contemporary political dynamics in which economic power and cultural resentment frequently reinforce one another. The film portrays Remmick as someone who transforms fear into loyalty and converts insecurity into obedience.
Now, the vampire—dripping with gold—merges with the armed, racist couple. This fusion of wealth and bigotry immediately evokes the image of Trump’s fortune paired with the ideology of figures like Pete Hegseth, whose tattoos and calls to purge high-ranking officers of color from the military signal a specific brand of nationalism.
On one side, we have this alliance of wealth and prejudice; on the other, a community of Black people and immigrants who, armed with nothing but their traditions, faith, and ancestral roots, gather in a café to engage in music and dance that feels more like a symbolic ritual than mere entertainment. These are the two fronts of the story’s conflict.
The plot unfolds as a classic struggle between good and evil, but with a sharp edge. It depicts white aggressors who attempt to enter the Black-owned café under the guise of peace and friendship, only to tear the inhabitants apart, infect them, and enslave them to seize their land.
This community possesses neither great wealth nor political influence. Instead, its strength comes from shared traditions, collective memory, religious faith, and cultural resilience. Music, dance, storytelling, and ritual become forms of resistance. The café evolves into far more than a physical location; it becomes a symbolic fortress defending identity against forces of assimilation and domination.
One of the clearest examples appears during an exchange between Remmick and Mary, Stack’s lover. Displaying his wealth and confidence, Remmick insists that his goal is simply to help those inside the café. He speaks of salvation, protection, and opportunity.
The rhetoric sounds familiar because it mirrors language often employed by political leaders and governments seeking to justify intervention in the affairs of others. Throughout modern history, military campaigns, economic pressures, and political interference have frequently been presented as efforts to promote freedom or stability. The film invites viewers to question such claims by exposing the self-interest concealed beneath them.
Economic symbolism also plays an important role. While Stack and Smoke are accustomed to operating within the dollar-based economy, local residents rely on their own forms of exchange and value. Their insistence on preserving local systems of trade becomes an act of cultural and economic self-determination, resisting absorption into larger structures of power.
The film’s treatment of religion is perhaps its most provocative element.
In traditional vampire stories, sacred texts and religious symbols serve as powerful weapons against evil. “The Sinners” deliberately subverts this expectation. When Sammy, the brothers’ cousin, attempts to repel the vampires by reciting biblical verses, the expected reaction never comes. Rather than recoiling, the vampires enthusiastically join in the recitation. Remmick himself describes the scripture as comforting. The moment suggests that religious language can be appropriated and weaponized by those pursuing power, transforming faith from a source of moral guidance into a political instrument.
The twin protagonists ultimately embody a deeper division within traditional communities. One path leads to corruption and submission, promising security and immortality at the cost of identity and freedom. The other demands resistance, sacrifice, and unwavering commitment to heritage. The brothers’ divergent journeys reflect a broader question confronting communities under pressure: whether to compromise with destructive forces or confront them despite the risks.
The struggle between these two possibilities forms the emotional core of the film.
Rather than presenting resistance as easy or guaranteed to succeed, “The Sinners” emphasizes its costs. Characters suffer loss, betrayal, and death. Yet the film argues that preserving dignity and autonomy sometimes requires accepting those risks.
What ultimately elevates “The Sinners” beyond the conventions of horror cinema is its political and social resonance. The vampire becomes a metaphor for a system that sustains itself through manipulation, wealth, and division. The Ku Klux Klan imagery, the promises of salvation, and the infiltration of vulnerable communities all point toward a critique of enduring structures of domination.
Through its rich symbolism, “The Sinners” argues that the forces represented by Trumpism are neither new nor isolated. Instead, they are the latest manifestation of historical patterns that have shaped American society—from the dispossession of Native Americans and the oppression of Black communities to military interventions abroad. By weaving these themes into a compelling narrative, the film offers more than entertainment; it serves as a meditation on power, memory, and resistance.
Whether viewers agree with every aspect of its political interpretation or not, “The Sinners” succeeds in transforming horror into social commentary. Its vampires are not merely monsters lurking in darkness. They are embodiments of systems that thrive on division, exploitation, and fear. Their power depends upon persuading others to participate willingly in their own domination.
“The Sinners” offers more than a critique of a particular political movement. It presents a broader reflection on the enduring struggle between memory and amnesia, solidarity and division, freedom and domination.
In the end, the film suggests that confronting such forces is unavoidable. Like the rising sun that vampires cannot withstand, truth eventually exposes what darkness seeks to conceal. Until then, resistance remains the only path available to those determined to preserve their dignity, heritage, and freedom.
Photo: Illustrated by Sajjad Amir-Yazdani
SAB/
Disclaimer : This story is auto aggregated by a computer programme and has not been created or edited by DOWNTHENEWS. Publisher: tehrantimes.com
