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Clearly, I underestimated the depth of the emotional bond between Trump and his voters. What I continue to hear in personal conversations are passionate testimonials that the former president is the only candidate to be trusted, the exclusive remedy to our corrupt system, the lone meaningful defender of God, flag and country. Debate is futile.
That’s not to say Trump’s legion of admirers is a “cult,” as critics like to claim. They are not mindlessly mesmerized by Trump. They are also not enemies of democracy. To the contrary, the Trump supporters I know are patriotic Americans who believe the country is at a tipping point politically and culturally, and that no other candidate is sufficiently impervious to the pull of “the swamp” to effect a rescue.
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No torrent of pundits’ warnings, no impassioned lectures from political elites, no collection of GOP officials lining up against Trump will derail him. Neither will indictments (or guilty verdicts) or blockbuster revelations; in fact, such things are evidence of a corrupt bureaucracy aligned against him.
I never sufficiently comprehended the intensity of the connection, but Trump did. In January 2016, he famously told rallygoers in Iowa: “I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose any voters.” At the time, I and many others wrote it off as typical Trump hubris. Turns out it might not have been so outlandish after all.
What engenders such dedication? Many have observed that Trump tapped into a sense of abandonment felt by large swaths of the population, but I still don’t think those who are confounded by Trump fully appreciate how profound and widespread that feeling was — and remains.
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Consider the political earthquake that has occurred over a generation in West Virginia, where I worked in the early 2000s. It was a state I came to love, but West Virginians believed that the rest of the country didn’t care about them. They were at the bottom of the national totem pole, the butt of everyone’s jokes. As a result, they were proud, fiercely independent and often suspicious of outsiders.
In the 1990s, when Bill Clinton twice carried the state with ease, West Virginia was deep blue. Today, it’s bright-red Trump Country. A political swing that dramatic does not occur unless it is driven by a powerful sense of alienation from the status quo. What characteristics distinguish West Virginia? It’s 93 percent White, with an aging population heavy on veterans and churchgoers, and low on college graduates. In state after state, those demographics represent Trump voters. Critics like to say that Trump enflames those voters’ fears and plays to their racism. His supporters will tell you he inspires them to hope and assures them, without apologies, that they still matter.
For me, Trump was originally a promising agent of change. When he squandered that opportunity, I was immediately ready to move on. He meant nothing to me on a personal or sentimental level. By contrast, when I talk to those who are still with him, I am reminded that, if not for Trump, many of them would not be civically engaged at all. In their minds, other politicians ignored or patronized them. Trump met them where they lived and inspired them to care.
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Trump has energized a segment of America whose values and traditions are mocked as bigoted, backward or too religious. The world is hurtling past them at breakneck speed. Their belief that Trump is their last, best hope to avoid being left in the dust is partly disturbing, partly endearing and partly heartbreaking.
Part of me wishes for them that which I know is impossible — that the world wasn’t changing so fast, and that Trump could be the man they dream he is.
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Donald Trump is the front-runner, by far, for the Republican nomination for president in 2024. How can that possibly be?
I tried to be clear-eyed about Trump in 2016. I assumed he sought the presidency for its power and prestige, aligning him with most candidates. What set him apart in my mind was his disregard for political correctness, his independence from handlers and the promise his candidacy held to blow up the conventional rules and bring about a much-needed reset.
I expected Trump, upon winning, to replace the buffoonery with more maturity. Sadly, his juvenile antics turned out to be no act. While his behavior was churlish, his achievements in office were more impressive than critics admit.
But when he refused to accept the outcome of the 2020 election, incited an attack on the Capitol and skipped Joe Biden’s inauguration, I moved on. And I confidently predicted that most Republicans would eventually do the same.
More than two years later, as the 2024 campaign gears up in earnest, it’s clear that such assumptions were naive. Even after a federal indictment regarding his hoarding of classified material, polls show Trump’s dominance in the GOP field is unabated. This month, reporters shared tweets documenting what one called Trump’s “jaw dropping” crowd for a South Carolina rally.
Clearly, I underestimated the depth of the emotional bond between Trump and his voters. What I continue to hear in personal conversations are passionate testimonials that the former president is the only candidate to be trusted, the exclusive remedy to our corrupt system, the lone meaningful defender of God, flag and country. Debate is futile.
That’s not to say Trump’s legion of admirers is a “cult,” as critics like to claim. They are not mindlessly mesmerized by Trump. They are also not enemies of democracy. To the contrary, the Trump supporters I know are patriotic Americans who believe the country is at a tipping point politically and culturally, and that no other candidate is sufficiently impervious to the pull of “the swamp” to effect a rescue.
No torrent of pundits’ warnings, no impassioned lectures from political elites, no collection of GOP officials lining up against Trump will derail him. Neither will indictments (or guilty verdicts) or blockbuster revelations; in fact, such things are evidence of a corrupt bureaucracy aligned against him.
I never sufficiently comprehended the intensity of the connection, but Trump did. In January 2016, he famously told rallygoers in Iowa: “I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose any voters.” At the time, I and many others wrote it off as typical Trump hubris. Turns out it might not have been so outlandish after all.
What engenders such dedication? Many have observed that Trump tapped into a sense of abandonment felt by large swaths of the population, but I still don’t think those who are confounded by Trump fully appreciate how profound and widespread that feeling was — and remains.
Consider the political earthquake that has occurred over a generation in West Virginia, where I worked in the early 2000s. It was a state I came to love, but West Virginians believed that the rest of the country didn’t care about them. They were at the bottom of the national totem pole, the butt of everyone’s jokes. As a result, they were proud, fiercely independent and often suspicious of outsiders.
In the 1990s, when Bill Clinton twice carried the state with ease, West Virginia was deep blue. Today, it’s bright-red Trump Country. A political swing that dramatic does not occur unless it is driven by a powerful sense of alienation from the status quo. What characteristics distinguish West Virginia? It’s 93 percent White, with an aging population heavy on veterans and churchgoers, and low on college graduates. In state after state, those demographics represent Trump voters. Critics like to say that Trump enflames those voters’ fears and plays to their racism. His supporters will tell you he inspires them to hope and assures them, without apologies, that they still matter.
For me, Trump was originally a promising agent of change. When he squandered that opportunity, I was immediately ready to move on. He meant nothing to me on a personal or sentimental level. By contrast, when I talk to those who are still with him, I am reminded that, if not for Trump, many of them would not be civically engaged at all. In their minds, other politicians ignored or patronized them. Trump met them where they lived and inspired them to care.
Trump has energized a segment of America whose values and traditions are mocked as bigoted, backward or too religious. The world is hurtling past them at breakneck speed. Their belief that Trump is their last, best hope to avoid being left in the dust is partly disturbing, partly endearing and partly heartbreaking.
Part of me wishes for them that which I know is impossible — that the world wasn’t changing so fast, and that Trump could be the man they dream he is.
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