Steven V. Roberts: Appreciating a consoler-in-chief

These two events highlight one of the most important roles played by any president: consoler-in-chief. In times of national tragedy — from floods and fires to school shootings and racial strife — this nation looks to its leader for both practical assistance and spiritual reassurance.

Some of the most memorable moments of the modern presidency embody this consoler-in-chief concept: Ronald Reagan comforting a grieving nation after the Challenger disaster; George W. Bush vowing revenge at ground zero after 9/11; Bill Clinton embracing survivors of the Oklahoma City bombing; Barack Obama singing "Amazing Grace" at the funeral of a Black pastor gunned down by a white assailant.

Several years ago, 83% of Americans told an Ipsos poll that they want a president to act as consoler-in-chief. Karen Hughes, a chief adviser to President Bush 43, described the role to The Washington Post: "I think the presence of the president has become a visible symbol of the presence of the American people, of their love and their concern and their prayers. And so the president goes to a site like Ground Zero or the Oklahoma tornado both to say, 'The American people are here with you,' and also ... that 'the resources of the nation are behind you.' And I think there's become an expectation that that will happen."

Biden is no one's idea of an inspiring speaker or energetic leader. Trump is far better at generating excitement and loyalty among his followers. It's hard to imagine anyone wearing a cap — of any color — proclaiming membership in Biden Nation.

Biden, however, is far better than Trump at the consoler-in-chief role. He might not create enthusiasm, but he conveys real empathy. He doesn't don red headgear, but he sheds real tears.

To see Biden at his best, recall the town hall early in his presidency that focused on COVID-19 — an issue Trump tried to wish away or banish with quack cures. He spoke directly to an 8-year-old child who was afraid of contracting the disease, saying, "Don't be scared, honey. Don't be scared. You're going to be fine."

Can you ever imagine Trump saying anything like that? Of course not. His whole approach is to project strength at all times, to never show weakness. As he told the Christian Broadcasting Network in 2016, "I'm not a big crier."

But empathy requires the willingness to admit vulnerability, to identify with suffering. Biden talks often about the loss of his young wife and daughter in a car crash, and his son Beau's death from cancer. He can relate to grief because he feels, and shares, his own experiences.

Empathy also demands the ability to think about others, not just yourself. And Trump filters events through only one lens: how it helps or hurts him. During that day in Puerto Rico, he told the crowd they should be "very proud" that only 16 people had died in the storm. When researchers later concluded that close to 3,000 fatalities could be blamed on the hurricane, Trump complained that local officials had inflated the death toll "to make me look as bad as possible."

"There's just some presidents that are better at showing warmth than others, and Trump is not good at that," explains Elaine Kamarck, a senior fellow at the Brookings Institution. "Trump shows outrage very well, anger very well, but he doesn't really show warmth."

Trump will occasionally read soothing words written for him by his aides, notes Democratic strategist David Axelrod, but "The problem is that in real life, he's a provocateur, not a healer, and his whole political project depends on those provocations."

Biden faces a precarious political future. His approval rating is stuck in the low 40s, and 56% of Democrats tell a recent ABC/Washington Post poll that they don't want him to run again. But as a consoler-in-chief, Biden sets a pretty high standard.

Steven Roberts teaches politics and journalism at George Washington University. He can be contacted by email at stevecokie@gmail.com.