When I covered the 2016 Republican convention in Cleveland, I filed several dispatches focusing on what should have been a central theme of that election year: The party had gone nuts. It was not just that a failed-casino-operator-turned-phony-reality-TV-celebrity had captured the Republican Party’s presidential nomination. The GOP had become dominated by far-right extremists pushing tribalistic grievances and irrational paranoia. During convention week, defeated presidential candidate Ben Carson compared Hillary Clinton to Lucifer. A prominent Trump supporter named Al Baldasaro declared on a radio show that Clinton deserved to “be put in the firing line and shot for treason.” A variety of delegates told me that Hillary and her husband, Bill, had achieved power by committing numerous murders (and covering up the assassination of White House aide Vince Foster). As I wrote at the time, “This is what you need to know about Donald Trump’s GOP. At the convention in Cleveland, Alex Jones, a prominent peddler of conspiracy theories, was in the hall as a special guest.” Of course, there were chants of “Lock her up!” during the official proceedings and at other events. This gathering was a clear sign that extremists motivated by assorted resentments and enthralled with political hatred were aiming to seize power.

Eight years later, with the latest GOP convention due to open in Milwaukee in three weeks, the Republican Party has become even more Trumpified and crazier. That’s obvious from its embrace of Trump’s Big Lie and its fervent support of a felon who tried to overturn the 2020 election and who incited an insurrectionist assault on the US Capitol. And in recent days, we’ve seen the extremism virus continue to spread unimpeded throughout the Republican Party.

It is nigh impossible to keep up to date with all the GOP nuttiness. In Louisiana, far-right GOP Gov. Jeff Landry signed a bill mandating that public schools and state-funded universities post the Ten Commandments in every classroom—a move that violates a longstanding Supreme Court ruling and the Establishment Clause of the Constitution, especially since the state law dictates that a Protestant version of the 10Cs—that differs from Jewish and Catholic renditions of Moses’ tablets—be displayed. Here is an example of religious fundamentalism that threatens American plurality. The intent of this law was highlighted by Fox host Rachel Campos-Duffy, who declared, “I think that we have to get over this fantasy of neutrality in institutions and schools. You either impose a Christian value or that vacuum is going have to be filled by something else, by somebody else's values.”

This is outright Christian nationalism: the imposition of a certain form of Christianity on the American public, particularly our kids. The party that claims it is devoted to parental rights has decided that it will force-feed a religious view to children in the classroom. Damn the Constitution.

In Indiana, delegates to the state Republican convention rejected gubernatorial nominee and GOP Sen. Mike Braun’s pick for lieutenant governor—an establishment Republican who serves as a state representative—and instead chose Micah Beckwith, a Pentecostal pastor who proudly wears the Christian nationalist badge. Regarding the January 6 assault, he claims God told him, “I sent those riots to Washington.” He’s perhaps best known in Indiana for trying to ban young-adult books he deemed too racy from a public library. Beckwith’s rise within GOP ranks is not an aberration. As New York Times columnist Michelle Goldberg recently noted, in Minnesota “delegates to the state convention endorsed the Alex Jones acolyte Royce White for Senate, and in Colorado...the state party recently called for the burning of Pride flags.”

In Idaho this month, the state GOP adopted a platform that urged ending all government funding and programs not mandated by the Constitution. It also called for a prohibition on “using taxpayer funding for programs beyond high school”—which could mean all higher education funding. The Idaho Republicans also included a provision opposing the destruction of embryos, which would create an obstacle to in vitro fertilization.

Republicans in North Carolina, as you might recall, in March selected Lt. Gov. Mark Robinson as their gubernatorial nominee. He has quite the résumé: He’s a homophobic antisemitic Holocaust denier who wants to outlaw all abortions and who believes that the 1969 moon landing might have been fake, that 9/11 was an “inside job,” and that it would be best if women couldn’t vote. More recently, Republican convention delegates from Arizona cooked up a plot to cause a revolt in Milwaukee that would free delegates from their pledge to vote for Trump. The purpose was unclear, but it might have been to create an opportunity to replace Trump as the nominee with Michael Flynn, the disgraced former national security adviser who has become a QAnon-ish Christian nationalist hero of the far right. According to the Washington Post, the Trump campaign moved quickly to shut down this effort.

As fringe right-wing nuttery and radical Christian fundamentalism has become mainstream within Trump’s GOP, one question is how much of this will be on stage at the convention. In past years, the party’s gubernatorial nominee in North Carolina could be expected a prominent speaking slot. Will Robinson be featured in Milwaukee? Will Landry be allowed on to the platform to hail his crusade for the Ten Commandments? Will the Queen of Crazy—Marjorie Taylor Greene—be allowed any time in the spotlight? Or will the Trump campaign try to keep the extremists under wraps?

In 2020, the Republicans didn’t bother crafting a policy platform. It merely passed a resolution declaring it would “continue to enthusiastically support” Trump’s agenda. That measure stated the party would adopt a “new platform” at the 2024 convention. And, supposedly, a platform is under construction. Will there be any fights over the most extreme provisions? Will the platform be public evidence of the fringe-ification of the GOP? And what might transpire outside the hall? Everyone in the political-media world these days is fixated on possible disruptions and demonstrations at the Democratic convention regarding the war in Gaza. Yet an assemblage of extremists in Milwaukee could yield revealing moments that remind voters how bonkers the GOP is now.

Trump’s team certainly desires an orderly convention that promotes one main message: Trump Uber Alles. Yet it would certainly be better for American democracy if the right-wing freak flag flies and voters get a good look at the crazy that thrives within Trump’s GOP.

Got anything to say about this item—or anything else? Email me at ourland@motherjones.com.

In a recent issue, I contended that Trump’s close relationship to far-right extremism is the most under-covered story of this campaign. For an example, I pointed to Project 2025, the initiative of several right-wing organizations, led by the Heritage Foundation, to concoct an authoritarian and ultra-conservative agenda for a second Trump presidency. While this scheme has been covered by the New York Times and Washington Post, it has not yet become a major part of this election’s narrative.

Rep. Jared Huffman (D-Calif.) wants to change that. He has organized a Stop Project 2025 Task Force made up of House Democratic members—including Rep. Jamie Raskin of Maryland—to, as he puts it, develop “a coordinated strategy to save America and stop this coup before it’s too late.” In describing the right-wing initiative, Huffman doesn’t hold back: “Project 2025 is more than an idea, it's a dystopian plot that’s already in motion to dismantle our democratic institutions, abolish checks and balances, chip away at church-state separation, and impose a far-right agenda that infringes on basic liberties and violates public will. This is an unprecedented embrace of extremism, fascism, and religious nationalism, orchestrated by the radical right and its dark money backers.”

Less encouraging for those worried about Project 2025 is how a deep-dive article on this crusade and its major architect, Russ Vought, a Christian nationalist, was contextualized in the Washington Post. The paper placed the story on the front page of the hard-copy version of that day’s edition. Good. But this was the headline: “Trump ally maps out a muscular Oval Office.” Read that headline again. “Muscular” is a positive word. I want to be muscular. Don’t you? This was a demonstration of how our mainstream media often has a tough time characterizing extremism. Project 2025 is not a body-building plan to strengthen government. Its aim is to turn a Trump administration into an autocratic regime. That’s the news.

Meanwhile, in case you missed it, HBO host John Oliver recently joined the Project 2025 beat and did so with this hard-hitting report on the operation:

Shōgun. As readers of this newsletter know, I recently visited Japan and was fascinated by the nation, particular its blending of Western modernity and Japanese cultural traditions. So upon my return, I binged on Shōgun, the recently released Hulu/FX series based on James Clavell’s 1975 bestselling novel.

Set in the early 1600s, the book and show occur during the period when Japan first began interacting with Western powers. Initially, the Portuguese forged contacts with the various clans of Japan and held a monopoly on trade with the island nation, as its merchants worked with Catholic Church operatives to gain influence and spread Catholicism there. In the series, the rulers of Japan at this point—a council of several warlords—did not realize other European nations besides Portugal existed. (Any historians out there who can fact-check this?) Then one day, a Dutch ship called the Erasmus appears, piloted by a British Protestant named John Blackthorne. Its secret mission is part of the ongoing religious and commercial conflict between the Dutch and the Portuguese: snatch control of the lucrative East Asia trade from Lisbon. This European intrigue becomes interlaced with the rivalries within Japan among the warlords who are jostling for advantage following the death of the central ruler (the eponymous shōgun).

The Hulu series marvelously mixes these crosscutting tensions with a good dose of soap opera involving the personal lives of the key players and concocts an entertaining brew of geopolitics and character-driven drama. Blackthorne (Cosmo Jarvis), who’s first taken prisoner, eventually hooks up with Lord Toranaga (Hiroyuki Sanada), a clan leader driven out of the governing council by Lord Kazunari (Takehiro Hira), who is scheming to become the next shōgun. Blackthorne falls for Toda Mariko (Anna Sawai), a Catholic convert from a dishonored family who is close to the Portuguese priests and who serves Toranaga. One slight complication: She’s married to a warrior. And Toranaga is constantly conniving, outnumbered by Hira’s forces but always peering five moves down the road. 

There’s betrayal—personal and political. Alliances are ever shifting. There are samurai fights and grand battles. And plenty of seppuku. Blackthorne’s Westerner-in-a-strange-land journey is well handled. Some of the CGI shots, though, are below par. Still, Shōgun has all the twists and turns and balance-of-power twirls of Game of Thrones—but without dragons and with roots in actual events of nearly 500 years ago. The Erasmus incident is based on a real episode, and Blackthorne is modeled on an English navigator named William Adams. (Here’s one article assessing the series’ historical accuracy.) Whether or not it’s close enough to the truth, this is an entertaining show that will make you feel smart for watching it.

Fallen Angels: A Story of California Corruption. One of my favorite genres is LA noir. True Confessions, Chinatown, L.A. Confidential. Raymond Chandler. James Ellroy. Walter Mosley. What is it about the City of Angels that produces such compelling fare? Is it the juxtaposition of glamour and grit within a metropolis that is ever-changing with waves of newcomers looking to strike it big in a town full of broken dreams? In some of the best works in this field, the driving force—money—is tied to quirks of the region: the water supply, real estate development, oil leases, and the absence of public transportation (Who Framed Roger Rabbit?). A new podcast called Fallen Angels chronicles a real-life, modern-day tale of noir-ish corruption that focuses on two critical centers of power in the city: the University of Southern California and the Los Angeles Times.

We open with a hotel room in Pasadena. It’s full of drugs. A young woman has overdosed. She’s unconscious. Her companion, a middle-aged man, tells the hotel manager there’s no need to call 911. But the manager does, and when the cops and paramedics arrive, the fellow simply walks away. The woman survives, but there’s no police investigation. Her companion goes scot-free. But a tip from a hotel employee to an LA Times reporter named Paul Pringle triggers an investigation revealing the companion was Carmen Puliafito, the dean of the USC medical school. Pringle and his colleagues dig into the story and discover the dean is living a double life that includes wild drug-fueled sprees with young people and a potpourri of illegal conduct. But they run into cover-ups at USC and the LA Times, where their editors, according to Pringle, put up roadblocks that seem designed to protect USC. (Those editors deny this.)

This is nonfiction, but the story is told as if a novelist living in a dumpy apartment in Hollywood cooked it up. This podcast, based on Pringle’s 2022 book, Bad City: Peril and Power in the City of Angels, is not just another voyeuristic true-crime joint. This series provides an inside look at the tough work of investigative journalism. It shows how a powerful institution tried to sidestep accountability. And it exposes what Pringle portrays as corruption within the most important media outlet in Los Angeles. I hear the podcast might be turned into a feature film. There sure is enough material here for another contribution to the LA canon of noir.

June 22, 2024: How Biden could rattle Trump in their debate; the continuing relevance of American Psychosis; the New York Times cute-ifies Robert Kennedy Jr.; Dumbass Comment of the Week (Ted Cruz); the Mailbag; MoxieCam™; and more.

June 15, 2024: Donald Trump, tech billionaires, AI: a recipe for disaster; Howard Fineman, RIP; Dumbass Comment of the Week (Associated Press); the Mailbag; MoxieCam™; and more.

June 11, 2024: The most under-covered issue of the 2024 election (Trump’s ties to right-wing extremism); the monster theme in Godzilla Minus One; the secrets of J.M. Coetzee’s The Pole; and more.

June 8, 2024: Is Donald Trump Jr. right that Republicans are weenies?; more on Trump’s love affair with revenge; Dumbass Comment of the Week (Sen. Tommy Tuberville); the Mailbag; MoxieCam™; and more.

June 4, 2024: The Trump-Russia denialists are back; revenge of the Trump; a frustrating Civil War; the unending extraordinariness of Richard Thompson; and more.

June 1, 2024: Trump loses a big battle in his war on accountability; Dumbass Comment of the Week; the Mailbag; MoxieCam™; and more.

May 25, 2024: Trump’s dangerous grifting; Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s crazier than you might think; Dumbass Comment of the Week (Jared Perdue); the Mailbag; MoxieCam™; and more.

May 21, 2024: Why do they believe Trump?; the meaning of Trump’s bad makeup; lesson from a mass shooter’s mother; the beautiful noir of Ripley; and more.

May 18, 2024: Here come the Russians, again; Sonya Cohen Cramer’s You’ve Been a Friend to Me; Dumbass Comment of the Week (Eric Trump); the Mailbag; MoxieCam™; and more.