In the year of Trump and Sanders, Game Of Thrones stokes the fires of populism

Everyone loves a good populist struggle. Actually, let’s amend that: Everyone who has chosen to ally themselves with a populist struggle loves a good one. If you’re staring down a populist uprising on the receiving end, you’re doubtless much less sanguine about the whole enterprise. Sometimes, however, it’s difficult to know what kind of political movement you’re facing. After all, the term can be twisted and tweaked a million ways, in order to call any number of actions “populist,” political or otherwise. Consumers don’t like New Coke? Let’s call it a “populist rage” against the brand! Words and definitions change over time, but sometimes a word holds such appeal that its meaning is watered down, or gets redefined into its own opposite. (Paging “literally,” party of one.)
But the 2016 presidential election is very much about a clash of populisms—which is also the dominant political dynamic on Game Of Thrones. The masses-vs.-elite narratives on Thrones illuminate the current waves of mass American anger. There are other shows about political behavior and other historical examples of the same, but for contemporary pop-culture insight into the fierce factionalism that has riven both parties, you’d be hard-pressed to beat the Seven Kingdoms for comparable examples.
Let’s quickly define what we’re talking about by “populism,” before Jaqen H’ghar knocks us upside the head for not being precise in our language. Common usage of the term often implies that it just means something supported by lots of people. For our purposes, populist movements have two main factors. First, populism is an explicitly political point of view that sees society as more or less separated into two groups, the “pure people and the corrupt elite,” to quote political scientist Cas Mudde. There are the hardworking everyday folks, this thinking goes, and then there are the nefarious leaders at the top, holding them down. And second, these movements are an expression of voice by a population that feels unheard by existing power structures. Whether you agree or not, supporters of any populist movement genuinely believe they’re getting a raw deal, and that the people in charge of listening to their cries are ignoring them. Somehow, the system is broken, and populism entails distrust of the institutions and people currently tasked with fixing it. In the words of Mr. Robot: “Fuck society.”
Game Of Thrones’ most pressing narratives—with the exclusion of the world-threatening White Walkers bearing down on Westeros—deal with large, government-shaking populist movements, for good and ill. The capital of King’s Landing is currently dealing with just such a movement, and a religiously inspired one, no less. (It’s always easier to get a bloodthirsty crusade going when you’ve got God on your side, after all.) The sparrows are the very definition of a populist uprising, a mass of discontented people angry at the violence visited upon common folk by the squabbling Houses, and committed to not only making their voices heard, but creating reforms.
True, the High Sparrow and his fellow believers may have been granted authority under the existing crown to reform as the Faith Militant, but consider the motivation. Cersei Lannister and the other nobles were already hearing rumblings of rebellion, and while appointing the High Sparrow to the position of High Septon may have been a short-sighted move to inflict damage against Cersei’s rivals in House Tyrell, it was also a sop—an attempt to placate a growing movement by making them a part of the very institution they were rising up against. Republican Party, meet the Tea Party.
The sparrows are thus the representation of a successful populist movement—so successful, in fact, that they now seem capable of bringing down the same government that tried to assuage them. This is exactly the point the High Septon/Sparrow made to Jaime Lannister in episode two of this season: They’re all a bunch of peasants and “nobodies,” but collectively, they can take down a king, if they so choose. For those in power, this is the nightmare scenario.
Another kind of populism is rattling the rafters across the Narrow Sea, as masses of soldiers and slaves alike have joined under the banner of Daenerys Targaryen, moving from city to city, freeing slaves, toppling masters, and then moving on. In its dedication to social uplift for the most oppressed members of society, Daenerys’ movement represents a kind of populism idée fixe, a single-minded dedication to radical aims that won’t be swayed by argument. At least, it was until very recently. With Daenerys’ absence, Tyrion, Varys, Grey Worm, and Missandei learn that ruling is different from toppling rulers. It’s easier to run against something, both practically and ideologically, than to run something. Pragmatism is chipping away at idealism in Meereen, and Daenerys’ populism—premised on the belief that she speaks for “the people”—gets thornier when those people express discontent with the direction of the change.
Part of the reason for the mess in Meereen is Tyrion’s attempt to move out of the populist style. Populism is characteristically couched in simple, direct language, aimed at ordinary people, a manner of political rhetoric that prides itself on its straightforward, no-bullshit nature. But it’s not just the language that’s blunt. The solutions and ideas offered are also typically simple and direct. “No more slavery!” is as frank as it gets, while messy, incremental progress like Tyrion’s seven-years-a-slave proposal looks suspiciously like capitulation to the slavers whom Daenerys’ people signed on to fight. That’s one of the big problems with populism: It sets itself up as the transformative, antagonistic enemy of existing social structures, so if it actually manages to make inroads, the very fact of its success resembles betrayal to those who have internalized its us-vs.-them worldview.
From Westeros to the West Wing
Two campaigns still in the running for the presidential nomination on both the Republican and Democratic sides evince shades of populism, albeit in varying ways. First, there is the demagoguery of Donald Trump, whose form of populism resembles Peronism, named after the authoritarian regime of former Argentinean president Juan Perón. (Perhaps you’ve heard of his wife, Eva? If not, don’t cry for her.) Trump’s economic message is fatuously populist, pitting the masses of working folks against the elites in Washington, D.C. It’s aggressively corporatist, centered around his claim that a savvy businessman like himself can succeed where politicians, in the pocket of big businesses, fail. And like Perón, Trump is regularly compared to fascist dictators, considers himself the embodiment of his nation, and accuses anyone who disagrees with him of being a liar, crazy, unpatriotic, or some combination of the three.