In light of the Trump administration’s track record of aggressive assertions of presidential power, such concerns aren’t misplaced. It’s not hard to imagine how an energetic president with authoritarian instincts might be able to turn this crisis to his advantage in carrying out a Trumpian policy agenda—sharply limiting travel across the country’s borders or even between states; placing blame for the virus on immigrants and nonwhite Americans to inflame popular sentiment in favor of further immigration restrictions; implementing an invasive surveillance regime in the name of public health, but one that could be kept in place indefinitely.

Yet the administration has been comparatively restrained in its response to the virus—in fact, if you ask most public-health experts, far too much so. Instead of springing into action with worrying zeal, Trump has waffled since the beginning. In January, he denied that the virus posed a problem at all, insisting that “we have it very well under control” and that “we pretty much shut it down coming from China.” By early March, he was still declaring that the pandemic would miraculously dissipate—not the language of a would-be dictator in search of a Reichstag fire to use as an excuse to consolidate power. Authoritarians tend to want to prolong emergencies, not deny their existence or wish them away.

Indeed, Trump’s actual assertions of power in response to the crisis have been so anemic that the law professor Steve Vladeck—speaking on The Lawfare Podcast recently—warned that the president’s underdeployment of national-emergency authorities might allow the virus to spread. Likewise, the president’s scheme to end social distancing and reopen the economy would hinge on rolling back what few measures the federal government has put in place, not exerting new authorities. The irony is that Trump actually has very little power to kick-start “opening up our country,” as he put it: Governor after governor has issued orders for state residents to shelter in place and for nonessential businesses to close, and the president has no ability to force the states to “open up.” In other words, his most aggressive proposal yet would probably involve him doing nothing.

The trouble for Trump is that once he acknowledges the premise that the virus is a real threat, there are only two paths for him to take—the two approaches between which he has bounced. The first is traditional presidential management. The federal government has genuine capacities. Wielding them requires a lot of work: untangling the actions of various agencies, ensuring that the government is working as quickly as possible, coordinating with states, and rallying the country. These are the things normal presidents do. And the nature of the crisis necessarily changes and narrows the choices before him, pushing Trump toward more managerial questions. He can get only so far with jingoistic baiting about the “Chinese virus” and actions at the border that map onto his preexisting worldview. Eventually, the options before him will turn out to be more technocratic: Is a hospital ship available to send to New York? What can the administration do to best help an economy shut down by people engaged in social distancing? Should the Army Corps of Engineers be deployed to construct hospitals? The big problem with this approach for Trump is that he’s bad at it. He plainly doesn’t enjoy it. Management is not his jam.