It seems to be taken as read that the Democrats will do well in the mid-term congressional elections in November, winning back a majority in the House of Representatives and, possibly (if somewhat more unlikely) in the Senate. That may make a difference to his legislative agenda, insofar as he still has one, and even if, as it appears, Republicans will have, by then, captured a decisive majority on an activist Supreme Court, one that may persist for decades. A hostile congress may be able to frustrate some of Trump's intentions but it won't necessarily be able to re-establish the world as it was before him: Trump still has a veto over legislation and the Democrats are unlikely to have the numbers to override it.

Trump complains endlessly of a fake mainstream media, determined to promote its own view of the world and which is more addicted to bending the truth than he is. So charged are American politics, however, and so great the chasm between the thinking, and wishful thinking, of his constituencies and the constituencies of the other side that he seems not to be much damaged by exposés, by demonstrations of his mendacity, or incidents such as those this week, when he claimed, very unconvincingly, to have "misspoken" and to have said the opposite of what he meant.

His internal critics, and moderates almost everywhere else, hope and expect that, sooner or later, the electorate will see through him. One wonders, however, whether they much help their cause by proclaiming each crisis the worst ever, and suggesting the imminent implosion of his government. Or see in his every action, or statement, definite indications that he is taking America to war or ruin. Observers from afar, getting most of their information through the prisms of his critics, wonder how he stays afloat and what he will do next.

In recent weeks, Trump has incited a trade war with China, then upped the ante several times, to a point of almost daring a massive and disastrous overreaction from China. The way some of his underlings talk, it could be a shooting war, if only to show who has the hairiest chest.

Trump is doing much the same with trade with Europe. He has described his NATO allies in Europe as foes and treated them with supreme rudeness, accusing them of not paying enough for their security against Russia. He went out of his way to insult British Prime Minister Theresa May and German Chancellor Angela Merkel, accusing the former, in effect, of not being tough enough in negotiating Britain's exit from the European Community, and Merkel of being compromised by Germany's purchase of energy from Russia. At the same time, he seems to have become great friends with Russian leader Vladimir Putin, the enemy his allies are not doing enough about.

He has seemed more comfortable and accommodating with North Korea's dictator than with the democratic leaders of his North American neighbours. During his election campaign, Trump railed against the appearance of weakness Barak Obama presented in the Middle East, and made it the centrepiece of his promise to make America great again. It is unclear that either his resolution, his proclaimed policies or his actions in the Middle East have contributed much to an image of might or dignity, let alone peace.

If he has appalled his allies, and mystified some of those he would usually categorise as America's enemies, he seems to have done his image no great harm among his constituents, particularly blue-collar Americans.

He is telling them that his tough talk produced promises of bigger contributions to NATO, and that those who insisted he should have used only the language of conflict are playing politics and promoting tension. His soft and accommodating ways with Russia may well have reduced the risk of an ultimate conflict. But those who have parsed his achievements with North Korea doubt that North Korea will disarm itself of nuclear weapons as readily as Trump seemed to promise.

His own bombast and self-certainty (and perhaps China's steadying hand on North Korea, given all the other uncertainties it faces) may have lowered the temperature and appearance of inevitable confrontation. His constituencies, moreover, buy his argument that protectionism is necessary to redress the export of American jobs that he says followed free-trade treaties.

For all of his embarrassments over seeming to kowtow to Putin, being accused of effective treason, and his stumbles over double negatives, Trump would be re-elected on his current opinion-poll showings, at least if the turnout was the same as last time. To beat him, Democrats must first mobilise people hurt by, embarrassed by or ashamed of Trump's policies in significantly greater numbers than last time. Hillary Clinton may have won the popular vote in 2016 (she lost in electoral college votes because the more skillful Trump campaign gained votes in the right places). But she could not inspire sufficient passion for herself in the top job, or for keeping Trump out of it.

So why is there no Democrat in the ring against Trump?

Incumbency is a great advantage to an American president and, usually, a president going for a second term wins. But unpopular or unsuccessful presidents, such as Jimmie Carter and George H. W. Bush, have failed to get a second round, and Democrats, if they believe their own propaganda, should have high expectations for 2020. No doubt a good result in the mid-term elections will embolden some candidates. But no one is straining at the leash, and no one (and certainly not Clinton) is providing the Democrats with national leadership, stature or even the moral authority to take on and trounce Trump in public opinion. That's not to say that template Democrats are not saying template things to their own constituencies. What does not seem to be happening much is reaching out to the other side, the creation of new coalitions or any sense of a crusade against what Trump represents. The congressional election races are as much local as national and, even with material that could fuel grievances, such as the damage done to Obamacare, the Democrat campaigns so far seem to lack a unifying national theme.

The Democrats still have two years before the convention at which they will nominate a candidate, and the primary season is more than 20 months away. No one yet seems to have a vast war chest that could sustain a very long campaign, and there is no candidate (as with Clinton last time) who gives the appearance of having most of the Democrat establishment's blessing and, thus, the support of the party's machinery.

For virtually all of Clinton's campaign for the Democrat nomination, she had front-runner status, a significant edge with campaign funds and opinion-poll indications that she could trounce any Republican candidate, including Trump. Only at the fag end of the primaries did a populist candidate, Bernie Sanders, expose her hollowness to her own party, but even then there were few doubts that she could and would win. Cynics remarked that, if it were possible for her to lose, she would find a way, but it seemed unlikely.

There can be little doubt that there was Russian interference in the election. Even Trump does not deny it, even as he vehemently, but not quite convincingly, denies any collusion between members of his team and the intelligence operation against Clinton. Revelations over the past year about Cambridge Analytica's techniques, and Facebook's weaknesses, have greatly increased awareness of how sophisticated such campaigns can be.

But it is all too easy to suggest that Trump won only because of Russian interference. He was campaigning effectively enough in his own right, if with a style (and a disregard for truth and political convention) that made him hard to counter, and nothing has been shown about the Russian contribution that suggests it mobilised his constituencies' hopes, fears and anxieties better (or more ruthlessly) than Trump did himself. Russian dirty tricks (particularly with Democrat National Committee emails and Clinton's supposedly insecure communications) may have helped Trump point to Clinton's weaknesses, but they were pretty obvious from the start.

It's interesting to reflect that Australia's two main political parties have software, and access to information about voters, that is far more sophisticated than that which was available to Cambridge Analytica. They, too, have the advantage of compulsory voting, with the result that the focus of campaigns can be on the message, rather than persuading voters that the election is important enough to get out and vote. The data about individual voters, and social media tools, add to the experience and rat cunning of politicians and their party organisations, and are particularly helpful in framing the issues. Do they end up making a big difference? The experts doubt it, sometimes even doubting that the campaigning season, and all of the advertising, makes a great deal of difference. Most voters make up their minds long before the election is called.

One might expect it to be somewhat different in elections whose outcomes depend on who has created sufficient enthusiasm to get out to vote. Even here, however, effective tactics on both sides have a tendency to cancel each other out. Candidates might go negative, at some points, to frighten their allies about the prospect of the others winning: Clinton was fairly effective at showing Trump to be a boor, a potential bull in a China shop, ill-suited by experience and temperament for the top job. If he was as bad as he was painted (and he probably was, as experience has shown), it's amazing that positive parts of Clinton's record and character could not overwhelm him, despite any mud he threw in her direction. Yet Trump succeeded, in major part, because his core constituencies did not want Clinton at any price. At the same time, Clinton could not create enough enthusiasm about herself to get enough women, Latinos, African-Americans and other natural Democrat voters to come out. Both parties knew the key states, and what was at stake. If it seems somewhat unfair that Trump could be president with fewer votes than Clinton, his team was more effective than Clinton's in getting up the vote where it mattered.

One sometimes gets the impression that Trump's major political weakness in relation to the special prosecutor's probe into collusion with the Russians is in its constant reminder that he won only narrowly, and that he didn't even get more votes. Trump's megalomania always seems to require him to have won big, and better, or at least to claim and pretend it was so. This seems to be worsening, judging by some of his remarks this week. And perhaps he has, by now, persuaded himself that any scoffing involves disloyalty to the nation, as much as to himself. That's a big glass jaw that someone, perhaps a Latina, should be dying to have a crack at.

Jack Waterford is a former editor of The Canberra Times. jwaterfordcanberra@gmail.com