The somewhat sketchy parallels between Richard Nixon’s failed presidency and that, prospectively, of Donald Trump are already being widely drawn — erratic, deeply unpopular, wilfully tone-deaf. There is at least one domain in which they have nothing in common at all.

Richard Nixon could not have conceived of the digital exoskeleton that now wraps and has transformed the American political arena. In his day, three networks and a dozen big city dailies set the political agenda each day — and it was one that was generally favourable to his goals, if not enthusiastic about the man. His opponents had to rely on the nascent underground press beginning to takeoff in those same cities, and a few supportive mainstream journalists to rally support.

But it is the speed of the political attack and counterattack today that is so extraordinary. News cycles then were almost hilariously slow. TV news film of the Vietnam War was three days old by the time it aired. Expensive long-distance telephone calls were the only tool then, today filled by smartphones, high-speed broadband and nanosecond social media campaigns. It is hard to convey how much slower, more vulnerable, and inefficient political communication and organization was 50 years ago — especially if you were the insurgent.

Nixon and Trump do share one key, potentially fatal, political disability, however. After angry demonstrations at his 1969 inauguration, anti-war protests slowly built from thousands to hundreds of thousands over the first half of his administration. It had two dramatic impacts: it enraged Nixon and his followers and provoked them to make increasingly unwise political choices.

It also began to physically isolate him. At his nadir, he could not appear in any open public arena without being shouted down by angry protestors. For an embattled politician desperate to get his increasingly unpopular message out, having only the Oval Office of the White House as a pulpit, predicted a certain fate.

Donald Trump’s victorious 4 a.m. stance, a colossus bestride the Twitterverse, was important to his overwhelming a far more hostile party, media and political establishment. Even if his thundering rants did often make him the crazy uncle in the attic from whom no one could yet wrest his battered iPhone.

But two pairs of events since his inauguration may be the first signs that those who live by the 140 character sword can also be decapitated by it. The dramatic success of the Women’s March of protest, with arguably greater numbers for the insurgents — sorry, Donald — than rallied for the victor was a digital triumph. Even more stunning, in terms of speed and scale, was the marshalling of thousands of protestors, at a dozen American airports, within hours of Trump’s teenage tantrum of a Muslim ban.

Tom Hayden and Jerry Rubin, protest organizers of that earlier era must be looking down in astonishment at this lightning-speed digital political war.

In the following week came a more ominous foreshadowing of the Nixon nightmare.

First, the White House had to quietly cancel a planned visit to the iconic Harley Davidson factory. Within hours of its even being rumoured, Harley employees had tweeted their intention to be outside with the protestors if he showed up.

Then, somewhat astonishingly, given their history and traditional British restraint, the speaker of the U.K. House of Commons, declared from his chair in the House, that under no circumstances would Trump be welcome to address their Parliament. His effrontery was followed by demands that a planned official visit also be cancelled. Theresa May was left in the awkward position of having to publicly defend her not now so helpful new friend.

Several presidents have done the almost clichéd Harley visit, along with many other aspirant politicians. Warm presidential visits to the Queen are also too common to be much noted any more. Except when they are denied.

Donald Trump may be on the verge of facing the first political contest fought over the heads of the mainstream media and the political establishments of both parties, as millions of Americans plot, attack, mobilize and isolate him digitally in real-time. For a populist politician who needs the power of big crowds for personal validation and communication, to be denied any controlled forum outside the White House gates would be fatal — just as it became for Nixon.

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Yes, he is the first modern politician to have truly mastered the lightning bolt power of digital attack. But he will soon be battling tens of millions of Americans, and global citizens, with the same tools and perhaps even greater motivation. I don’t like his odds.

Robin V. Sears, a principal at Earnscliffe Strategy Group and a Broadbent Institute leadership fellow, was an NDP strategist for 20 years.

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