The Don and the President: Trump, Gotti, and the American Cult of Untouchability
Picture New York City in the dying embers of the 20th century. The air, thick with the scent of ambition and decay, hangs heavy over streets that glitter with menace and opportunity. This is a city of spectacle, where power is a peacock, strutting and preening for the cameras, its feathers a gaudy display of wealth and impunity. It is a city of extremes, of glittering penthouses scraping the sky while the subway, a graffiti-scarred metal snake, rattles through the city’s dark underbelly. It is a city that rewards audacity; where the line between fame and infamy is not just blurred but erased.
And it is in this crucible of ambition and excess that two figures emerge, two men who, on the surface, seem to occupy different worlds, but who are, in reality, products of the same cultural ecosystem: Donald Trump, the celebrity real estate developer, and John Gotti, the celebrity mob boss. One, a brash, self-promoting tycoon who built his empire on a foundation of debt and media manipulation; the other, a ruthless, charismatic gangster who rose to the top of the Gambino crime family through a combination of violence and public relations savvy.
This essay is an exploration of the culture that created both, a culture that has now migrated from the streets of New York to the very heart of the American state. It is the story of how an American obsession with celebrity, brazenness, and impunity, once embodied by a flamboyant mobster, has found its ultimate expression in the presidency of the United States. As we have explored in our previous work ‘Teflon Don 2.0,’ the criminal logic that once governed the underworld now shapes American politics (Plague Island, 2025).
New York as the Crucible of Power (1970s–1990s): A City Where Rules Dissolve
The New York that forged Trump and Gotti was a city in flux, a city teetering on the brink of bankruptcy, plagued by violent crime, and yet, at the same time, a city of immense energy and creativity. It was a city where the old rules no longer seemed to apply, where developers, politicians, and mob families operated in parallel worlds, often with a shared code of loyalty, spectacle, and toughness. The city’s tabloids, The New York Post and The Daily News, served as the public stage for this drama, creating and sustaining the celebrity personas of men like Trump and Gotti, turning their exploits into a daily soap opera for the masses.
In this environment, the lines between the legitimate and illegitimate were porous. The construction industry, for example, was notoriously intertwined with organised crime, a fact that any ambitious real estate developer would have to navigate. As Selwyn Raab, a veteran reporter on the Mafia, has documented, the mob’s control over the concrete industry was a fact of life in New York construction (Raab, 2005). For a developer like Trump, this was simply the cost of doing business, a reality that he, like many others, accepted and adapted to. The Five Families controlled the unions, the supply chains, and the very concrete that formed the city’s skyline. To build in New York was to deal with the mob, either directly or indirectly. And Trump, ever the pragmatist, was more than willing to play the game.
The city’s tabloid culture was equally important in shaping the mythology of both men. The New York Post, in particular, became a vehicle for the construction of celebrity out of scandal and spectacle. Trump understood this dynamic intuitively. As one journalist who covered him during this era noted, Trump was obsessed with media coverage, spending hours each day calling reporters and feeding them stories about himself (Politico, 2016). He understood that in a city drowning in cynicism and corruption, the ability to generate headlines was a form of power in itself. The tabloids, hungry for stories that would sell papers, were more than happy to oblige. Trump became shorthand for celebrity, wealth, and the possibility that an ordinary man could become extraordinary through sheer force of will and shamelessness.
Celebrity Culture as Armour: The Transformation of Criminality into Glamour
Both Trump and Gotti instinctively understood that in a city like New York, performance was power. Gotti, with his custom-made suits and carefully coiffed hair, transformed himself from a common thug into a public figure, a ‘celebrity don’ who courted the cameras and cultivated an aura of glamour. His trials became media events, his swagger a form of defiance against the authorities. He was, as one law enforcement official put it, “the first media don” (Mouw, quoted in the New York Times, 2016).
But Gotti’s celebrity was more than just a public relations strategy. It was a deliberate attempt to redefine what it meant to be a mob boss. Traditionally, mob bosses operated in the shadows, their power derived from their invisibility. Gotti, by contrast, wanted to be seen. He wanted to be recognised on the street, photographed leaving restaurants, quoted in the newspapers. He understood that in the modern age, visibility was a form of power, and that a man who could command the attention of the media could also command the loyalty of his organisation. His expensive suits, his carefully groomed appearance, his willingness to speak to reporters, all of this was part of a calculated strategy to transform his criminality into a form of celebrity.
Trump, for his part, was a master of self-promotion, a reality-TV billionaire who understood that celebrity could be a potent form of armour. His gold-plated lifestyle, his tabloid-friendly romances, and his carefully cultivated image as a self-made man were all part of a performance, a mythology that he used to build his brand and neutralise his critics. The Apprentice, with its catchphrase “You’re fired!”, was the culmination of this strategy, a form of political soft power that transformed him from a New York curiosity into a national figure. He learned early on that in a culture that confuses attention with legitimacy, celebrity can be a powerful weapon. The show ran for 14 seasons and was watched by millions of Americans who had never heard of Trump before. It created an image of him as a successful businessman, someone who knew how to make tough decisions and fire incompetent people. The reality – that Trump was a serial bankrupt who had failed at numerous business ventures – was irrelevant. The image was all that mattered.
In an age of cynicism and disillusionment, the public is more drawn to the spectacle of celebrity than to the substance of character or policy. Celebrity culture, with its emphasis on image and performance, is inherently amoral, which is why it can so easily accommodate figures like Trump and Gotti. It is a culture that values notoriety over integrity, one that is more interested in the sizzle than the steak. When criminality is repackaged as celebrity, violence is transformed into charisma, and when corruption becomes a form of entertainment, the moral foundations of society begin to crumble.
The Aura of Untouchability: The Myth of the Invincible Man
The myth of the ‘Teflon Don’ was born in the courtrooms of New York, where Gotti, for a time, seemed invincible. A series of acquittals, often the result of jury tampering and witness intimidation, only served to bolster his legend. Each indictment became an opportunity to perform, to project an image of persecution and defiance. It was a strategy that, for a time, proved remarkably effective.
Gotti’s first major trial came in 1986, when he was charged with racketeering, loansharking, illegal gambling, and murder. The trial was a spectacle. Gotti arrived at the courthouse each day in expensive suits, smiling for the cameras, waving to supporters. The jury, it would later be revealed, had been tampered with. One juror was bribed, another intimidated. On March 13, 1987, Gotti was acquitted of all charges. The verdict was a stunning blow to the prosecution, and a triumph for Gotti. He emerged from the courthouse to a crowd of supporters, his legend only enhanced by his apparent invulnerability to the law (Get Gotti, 2023).
But the acquittal was not the result of the strength of his defence; it was the result of corruption. Gotti had learned a crucial lesson: the law was not an objective force, but a system that could be manipulated by those with enough money and power. This lesson would shape his entire approach to the criminal justice system. When he was finally convicted in 1992, it was not because the system had become more just, but because his own underboss, Sammy Gravano, had turned informant. Gravano, who had been Gotti’s closest associate, testified that Gotti had ordered at least 10 murders, including the killing of Paul Castellano, the previous boss of the Gambino family. Gravano’s testimony was devastating, and Gotti was convicted on all counts (Get Gotti, 2023|). He died in prison in 2002, his legend tarnished by the revelation that his invulnerability had been built on a foundation of lies and corruption.
Trump, too, has cultivated an aura of untouchability, a sense that he is above the law. The impeachments, the indictments, the investigations, the lawsuits: all have been woven into a narrative of victimhood, a story of a righteous warrior persecuted by his enemies. The ‘witch hunt’ narrative is a direct extension of mob logic: never show fear, always hit back harder, and turn every trial into a spectacle. It is a strategy that has been remarkably successful in hardening his base and delegitimising the institutions that seek to hold him accountable.
Trump faced four separate criminal indictments in 2023 and 2024, on charges ranging from falsifying business records to obstruction of justice to violation of the Espionage Act. In May 2024, he was convicted on 34 counts of falsifying business records in New York. Yet even this conviction has been woven into his narrative of persecution. He has used his legal troubles as a campaign tool, raising millions of dollars from supporters who see him as a victim of a corrupt system. Like Gotti, Trump has learned that the courtroom is a stage, and that the verdict is less important than the performance. His legal team, following the playbook laid out by Roy Cohn decades earlier, has employed delay tactics, attacked the judges and prosecutors, and attempted to turn every trial into a referendum on the legitimacy of the institutions themselves.
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Roy Cohn: The Bridge Between Worlds
If there is a single figure who embodies the connection between the worlds of organised crime and mainstream politics, it is Roy Cohn. A legal prodigy who rose to fame as the chief counsel to Senator Joseph McCarthy, Cohn was a master of the dark arts of legal warfare. He was also the lawyer and mentor to both Donald Trump and some of New York’s most notorious mob bosses, including Anthony “Fat Tony” Salerno and Paul Castellano (Esquire, 2020).
Cohn’s career was a masterclass in the weaponisation of the legal system. During the McCarthy era, he helped orchestrate the persecution of alleged communists, using innuendo, intimidation, and outright fabrication to destroy careers and lives. He was ruthless, unscrupulous, and utterly without shame. When his role in the McCarthy witch hunts became a liability, he simply moved on to other clients, other causes. He represented organised crime figures, using the same tactics he had employed against communists: delay, discredit, and attack.
Cohn’s legal strategy was simple and brutal. He taught his clients to never apologise, to never admit wrongdoing, and to always, always go on the offensive. He understood that the courtroom was a theatre, and he used it to create a spectacle, to turn legal proceedings into a public relations battle. As journalist and author George Packer has written, “Trump became Cohn’s client and protégé. They won the case by not losing—by counterattacking, raising phony charges, admitting no wrong” (Packer, 2019). This strategy was employed in Trump’s defence against a housing discrimination lawsuit filed by the Department of Justice in 1973. Instead of defending against the charges, Cohn advised Trump to counterattack, filing a $100 million countersuit against the government. The case was eventually settled, with no admission of wrongdoing by Trump. The message was clear: if you have enough money and power, you can turn the tables on your accusers (Esquire, 2020).
Cohn was the bridge between the two worlds, the man who translated the brutal logic of the mob into a viable political strategy. He showed Trump that the law was not a constraint on power, but a tool to be wielded by those who understood how to use it. He taught Trump that victory was not about truth or justice, but about domination, about making your opponent look weak and foolish. These lessons would shape Trump’s entire approach to business and politics.
Psychological Parallels: The Bottomless Hunger and the Narcissistic Wound
Beyond the shared cultural context and the direct lineage of Roy Cohn, there are striking psychological parallels between Trump and Gotti. Both men are driven by a bottomless hunger for attention, respect, and dominance. For Gotti, respect was everything, a currency that he demanded and enforced through violence. For Trump, attention is the ultimate prize, an insatiable need that has driven him from the world of real estate to the pinnacle of political power.
Both men operate in a world where winning is the only truth, where rules, norms, and morality are seen as obstacles to be overcome. This worldview is characteristic of what psychologists call “malignant narcissism,” a personality type characterised by an inflated sense of self-importance, a lack of empathy, and a willingness to exploit others for personal gain. It is a personality type that is often found in authoritarian leaders, individuals who demand absolute loyalty and are intolerant of dissent (Goldner-Vukov, 2010).
The public personas of both men are also built on a foundation of grievance and victimhood. They are the wronged, misunderstood, persecuted heroes of their own narratives, fighting against a corrupt and unfair system. This is a powerful and seductive narrative, one that taps into a deep-seated American romance with the ‘tough guy’ victim, the outlaw who stands up to the establishment. Both men present themselves as outsiders, as men who have been unfairly treated by a system rigged against them. Gotti, despite being a ruthless killer and extortionist, cultivated an image of himself as a man of the people, a defender of his neighbourhood against the encroachments of the powerful. Trump, despite being born into wealth and privilege, presents himself as a self-made man who has had to fight against the establishment every step of the way.
This narrative of victimhood is particularly powerful because it allows both men to justify their own ruthlessness. If the system is corrupt, then any means are justified to fight back. If the rules are rigged, then there is no shame in breaking them. This is the logic of the authoritarian, the logic that justifies the use of any tactic, no matter how brutal or dishonest, in the pursuit of power.
Courtrooms as Stages, Accountability as Illusion
For both Trump and Gotti, the courtroom has been a stage, a platform for performance. Gotti’s courtroom appearances were legendary. He would smile for the cameras, give interviews to reporters, and generally behave as if he were the star of the show. His acquittals only added to his legend, reinforcing the idea that he was untouchable. The jury tampering that led to his acquittal in 1987 was not a secret, it was widely suspected by prosecutors and journalists, but it did not diminish his status. If anything, it enhanced it. The fact that Gotti could corrupt the justice system itself was proof of his power.
Trump has taken this strategy to a whole new level, using his indictments as a campaign tool, a way to rally his base and raise money. He has turned every legal challenge into a test of loyalty, a way to separate his true believers from his enemies. In doing so, he has exposed the fragility of a legal system that is ill-equipped to deal with a political leader who refuses to play by the rules. His legal team has employed every delay tactic available, filing motions to postpone trials, appealing decisions, and generally attempting to run out the clock until the statute of limitations expires or political circumstances change.
The ability of both men to evade accountability is not just a personal failing; it is a symptom of a deeper systemic problem. It reveals a two-tiered system of justice, one for the rich and powerful, and another for everyone else. When two men so steeped in allegations can repeatedly avoid accountability, the issue is structural, not personal. The legal system is designed to protect the powerful, not to constrain them. Those with enough money can hire the best lawyers, file endless motions, and drag out proceedings for years. Those without money must accept whatever justice the system offers, which is often swift and harsh.
From the Streets to the State: The Protection Racket Logic and the Erosion of Democracy
John Gotti ran a protection racket. Donald Trump governs like one. The logic is the same: loyalty is enforced through fear, enemies are punished, and tribute is extracted. In Gotti’s world, the tribute was cash. In Trump’s world, it is political, financial, and reputational (as well as cash).
A protection racket is a system in which a powerful entity, whether a mob boss or a government, offers ‘protection’ to businesses or individuals in exchange for payment. The protection is often protection from the very entity offering it. The system works because the victims have no choice; they must pay or face violence or ruin. The system is inherently corrupt because it replaces the rule of law with the rule of force.
Trump’s use of presidential pardons, for example, has been a clear and consistent pattern of rewarding loyalty and silencing potential witnesses. His attacks on the judiciary and law enforcement are a form of intimidation, a way of sending a message to his opponents that he is not to be trifled with. His transactional approach to foreign policy, which often prioritises personal relationships and business deals over national interests, is a classic example of the protection racket logic at work.
When the state begins to behave like organised crime, the consequences are profound. Institutional legitimacy collapses. Citizens begin to act like subjects, not participants. And the very foundations of democracy are eroded. A protection racket state is not a state governed by law, but a state governed by the whim of the strongman. In such a state, there is no rule of law, only the rule of power. There is no justice, only the arbitrary exercise of authority. There is no freedom, only the freedom to obey.
Trump’s second term is the full flowering of this cultural lineage. He is now ruling from the apex of power with the ethos he learned in the underworld-adjacent political culture of New York. The myth of the invincible strongman is intoxicating, but it is always an illusion. Gotti died in prison, his empire in ruins, his legend tarnished by the revelation that his power had been built on lies and corruption. Trump’s story is still unfolding, but the parallels are undeniable.
The deeper point is this: America mistook notoriety for strength, and now the country is paying the price. The line between political power and criminal mythology has been blurred, and the consequences are all around us. The question is not whether Trump is a mobster, but whether the American political system has become a kind of mob, a system where loyalty is everything, and the law is just another tool to be manipulated.
The Machinery of Loyalty: How Protection Racket Logic Transforms Institutions
The transformation of government into a protection racket does not happen overnight. It is a gradual process, a slow erosion of norms and institutions that, once begun, becomes increasingly difficult to reverse. The first step is always the same: the consolidation of power in the hands of a single individual or a small group of loyalists. This is precisely what Trump has accomplished so far in his second term.
Gotti’s organisation was built on a simple principle: loyalty was rewarded, disloyalty was punished. Those who remained loyal to Gotti received a share of the profits, protection from rivals, and a position of respect within the organisation. Those who betrayed him faced violence, imprisonment, or death. This system worked remarkably well for a time, allowing Gotti to maintain control over an organisation of thousands of people spread across New York and beyond.
Trump has replicated this system within the executive branch. His cabinet is filled with loyalists, men and women who have demonstrated their willingness to put Trump’s interests above the interests of the country or their own agencies. His Attorney General, his FBI Director, his advisors, all are chosen not for their competence or their commitment to the rule of law, but for their loyalty to Trump. This is not a government; it is a syndicate.
The consequences of this transformation are already visible. The Department of Justice, once an independent institution dedicated to the rule of law, has become a tool for political retribution. Prosecutors who investigated Trump are themselves being investigated. Law firms that represented Trump’s opponents are being targeted. The message is clear: if you oppose Trump, you will be punished. This is the logic of the protection racket, applied to the machinery of government.
The erosion of institutional independence is particularly dangerous because it undermines the very foundations of democracy. A democratic system depends on the existence of institutions that are independent of political pressure, ones that can check the power of the executive and protect the rights of citizens. When these institutions are corrupted or destroyed, democracy itself becomes impossible. The rule of law is replaced by the rule of force. Justice becomes a tool of the powerful, not a protection for the weak.
The Mythology of Strength: Why the Strongman Seduces
One of the most puzzling aspects of both Gotti’s and Trump’s appeal is that they are not actually strong. Gotti was a brutal killer, but he was also a man driven by insecurity and the need for constant validation. Trump is a serial bankrupt who has failed at numerous business ventures, yet he presents himself as a successful businessman. Both men are, in fact, profoundly weak, driven by narcissistic wounds and the desperate need to prove their superiority to others.
Yet millions of people are drawn to them and see in them a kind of strength. This is the paradox of the strongman: his weakness is often the source of his appeal. The strongman promises to protect his followers from a world that is chaotic, threatening, and unfair. He promises to restore order, to punish the enemies of the people, to make the nation great again. He promises certainty in an uncertain world.
This promise is seductive, especially to those who feel left behind by the modern world, who see their status and their security slipping away. The strongman offers them a scapegoat – immigrants, minorities, the elite – and a promise that he will protect them from these threats. He offers them a sense of belonging, a community of like-minded people who share their grievances and their fears. He transforms their anxiety into anger, and their anger into a sense of purpose.
But the strongman’s strength is an illusion. It is built on a foundation of lies, corruption, and violence. When the illusion is shattered, when the strongman is revealed to be weak, incompetent, or corrupt, the consequences are often catastrophic. The followers feel betrayed, and they often turn to even more extreme forms of authoritarianism in search of a stronger protector. The cycle of authoritarianism feeds on itself, each failure of the strongman leading to a demand for an even stronger strongman.
What makes this moment particularly dangerous is that the mythology of strength has been weaponised by a sophisticated propaganda apparatus. Social media algorithms amplify messages that confirm people’s existing beliefs and grievances. Right-wing media outlets provide a constant stream of content that reinforces the narrative of persecution and victimhood. The strongman’s lies are repeated so often that they begin to feel like truth. The distinction between reality and fantasy collapses.
The Inevitable Decline: What History Teaches Us
History is littered with strongmen who seemed invincible, who commanded the loyalty of millions, who controlled the machinery of government and the instruments of violence. And yet, they all eventually fell. Some were overthrown by their own followers, others were defeated by external enemies, still others simply died and were replaced by successors who lacked their charisma or their ruthlessness.
Gotti’s fall came not from external pressure, but from within. His own underboss, Sammy Gravano, turned informant and testified against him. Gravano had been Gotti’s closest associate, his right-hand man, the person he trusted most. Yet when Gravano realised that Gotti’s leadership was leading the organisation toward destruction, he made the calculation that his own survival was more important than his loyalty to Gotti (Get Gotti, 2023). This is the inevitable fate of all protection racket systems: they contain within them the seeds of their own destruction.
The system works only as long as the strongman can deliver on his promises, only as long as he can maintain the illusion of invulnerability. The moment that the illusion cracks, the moment that followers realise that the strongman cannot protect them, the system begins to collapse. Loyalty based on fear and the promise of reward, is fragile. It evaporates the moment that fear is replaced by a greater fear: that of going down with a sinking ship.
Trump faces similar vulnerabilities. His organisation is held together by fear and the promise of reward, not by genuine loyalty or shared values. The moment that fear dissipates, the moment that his followers realise that he cannot protect them, that his promises are empty, the organisation will begin to collapse. Already, there are signs of fracture. Former allies have turned against him. His legal troubles mount. The institutions he has attempted to corrupt are beginning to resist.
The question is not whether Trump will eventually fall. The question is how much damage will be done before he does, and whether the institutions of democracy can survive the assault that he is mounting against them. The danger is not that authoritarianism will triumph permanently, but that in the process of being systematically dismantled by it, democracy itself will be damaged beyond repair.
Conclusion: The Don and the President
This is not about comparing a president to a mobster. It is about the culture that created both, and the national romance with men who promise protection while dismantling the very systems meant to keep people safe. It is about what it means for a democracy to idolise men who pride themselves on being untouchable. It is about what it reveals about a nation that has blurred the line between political power and criminal mythology.
The comparison between Trump and Gotti is not merely a rhetorical flourish. It is a warning. It is a recognition that the same psychological and cultural forces that produced a mob boss in the 1980s have now produced a president for a second time in the 2020s. It is a recognition that the American political system has become vulnerable to the same logic that governs organised crime: the logic of loyalty, intimidation, and the pursuit of power at any cost.
What makes this moment particularly dangerous is that the logic of the protection racket has been applied not to a criminal organisation, but to the machinery of government itself. The FBI, the Department of Justice, the courts – all have been targeted for corruption and control. The free press, once a check on executive power, is under assault. The independence of the judiciary is being undermined. The separation of powers, the foundation of constitutional democracy, is being eroded.
The tragedy is that this did not have to happen. The American political system had survived previous assaults on its norms and institutions. It had weathered scandals, corruption, and the rise of demagogues. But it had always been able to recover because there remained a critical mass of people in government, in the media, in civil society, who believed in the rule of law and the principles of democracy. The question now is whether that critical mass still exists, and whether it is large enough to resist the assault that is being mounted against it.
How much longer can a country survive when it treats lawlessness as charisma and accountability as optional? That is the question that now confronts the American people. And the answer will determine the future of their democracy.
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References
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