The Reemergence of Political Gravity

Donald Trump speaks at a Kennedy Center Honors reception at the State Department on Saturday. Julia Demaree Nikhinson/AP

For over a decade—!!!—Donald Trump has defied political gravity. After descending that Trump Tower elevator surrounded by fake supporters who had been paid to attend his campaign announcement, Trump pulled one disqualifying move after another. He insulted war hero John McCain. He mocked a reporter with a physical disability. He made crass and crude comments. He lied relentlessly. He celebrated fringe players like conspiracy theory–monger Alex Jones. And with each of these misdeeds and missteps, the pundits declared he was kaput. But he wasn’t. Not even after the grab-’em-by-the-pussy videotape.

Trump was able to survive gaffes, controversies, and scandals that would blow away any other politician. In part that was because, as one of his early advisers told me, being an asshole was part of his appeal. It was baked into the cake. How many times since he was first elected president has a commentator said—or you thought—in response to some Trump outrage, no other politicians could get away with this? That includes bear-hugging Vladimir Putin, mismanaging the Covid epidemic (which led to avoidable deaths of tens of thousands of Americans), his first impeachment, his effort to overturn a legitimate election to retain power, his incitement of political violence that aimed to destroy American democracy, and the countless instances of grift and graft he and his clan have perpetrated.

It seemed that the rules of politics and public life did not apply to Trump. Yes, he lost the 2020 election, but he resurrected himself—yet again defying the conventional wisdom following the January 6 riot that he was finished politically.

Trump still survives revelations and scandals that would destroy past presidencies—swiping classified documents, paying off a porn star. But the good news is that this does not mean that the political universe has been permanently upended. In recent weeks, there have been signs that political gravity does still exist and that we are not adrift in a cosmos free of all rules.

The most obvious indicator was the off-year elections. History suggested that Democrats would fare well, given Trump’s falling approval numbers and still-too-high prices. And they did, even better than expected in many places. (See Mikie Sherrill in New Jersey.) Beyond those electoral returns, we are seeing other normal political occurrences.

Trump is technically a lame duck president. Given his hold on the GOP, which he has turned into a cult of personality, it might be expected that he could escape this diminished status and still dominate. And, mostly, that’s so. But there have been a few whiffs of Republican restiveness. His illegal military attacks on suspected drug boats prompted a few Hill Republicans to ask questions and even suggest the need for an investigation. That might not lead to a full-fledged inquiry. But it’s the most pushback we’ve seen from the GOP. And a handful of congressional Republicans have hinted that they are concerned by the dramatic hike in health insurance premiums that’s about to hit because Trump and the GOP killed the extended subsidies for Obamacare policies. Again, there’s no open rebellion—except for Marjorie Taylor Greene—but the 100 percent obeisance of the GOP has dropped a point or two.

Then there’s MAGA. As historians of political movements will note, none of them live forever. The tea party, BLM, Occupy, the nuclear freeze—eventually they lose steam and develop fractures; leadership fights and disagreements cause fissures and sometimes cannibalistic internal conflicts. We’re witnessing that with MAGA now. There have been numerous splits and disagreements these past few months, with almost a civil war over the release of the Epstein files (and that may still transpire, depending on what the Trump administration does in response to the new law that compels the release of these documents).

MAGA world had a major brawl over Tucker Carlson’s friendly and supportive interview with Nick Fuentes, the white nationalist and Hitler fanboy. On the right, there’s been a pitched battle regarding support for Israel. The aforementioned Greene, once a MAGA favorite, has cast herself out of Trump’s circle of trust after tussling with him over the Epstein records and calling Israel’s war on Gaza “genocide” and voicing worry over rising health insurance premiums. The manosphere—Joe Rogan and the army of Rogan-wannabes—have groused about the ICE raids going too far, especially when they round up day laborers outside Home Depot who are simply looking for work. Steve Bannon, the grand strategist of MAGA, is not happy Trump is handing Big Tech a blank check. 

To get a sense of the insane vitriol and vituperation within MAGA land these days, check out this recent tweet from Laura Loomer, the avenging angel of Trumptown:

I don’t have the time, energy, or inclination to dissect and process this particular feud—for you or for me. But the point is clear: These people are nuts, and the internecine bloodlust is high.

I’m sure I’m forgetting some of the other fractures that have arisen recently. But MAGA is behaving in a familiar manner, with grifters and ideologues vying for attention, money, and turf. Trump won’t be around forever, and there’s scrambling for positioning in the post-Trump era. That’s true within the GOP for those who yearn to run in 2028, presuming there will be an election, and it’s also true for those who want to claim the MAGA mantle next. These may be separate power struggles.

Here's another sign of the reassertion of political gravity. After Trump won the election a year ago, there was much blathering about a strategic realignment in politics. He had increased his share of votes among Latinos, Blacks, and young people, especially men in these categories. Republicans were giddy, believing Trump had cracked a code that would bring these traditionally Democratic voters into the GOP coalition permanently. That was then. In the elections last month, these voters switched back to the Ds, even and especially young men. No, Trump did not deliver a history-defying permanent shift in electoral politics. It now looks like there’s a regression to the mean.

That brings us to Trump’s poll numbers. Cheap analysis focuses on this standard marker. But it shows us that Trump is not a supernatural politician. In recent decades, all presidents decline in popularity after they enter office. Trump is following that pattern—and more so. His approval rating, according to the latest Gallup poll, has plummeted to 36 percent, with disapproval hitting 60 percent. Some surveys have Trump a few points higher on approval. Yet it’s evident he’s getting close to hitting his floor.

My unscientific guesstimate is that about 30 to 35 percent of the nation fully buys Trump’s bunk. They believe his bullshit—America’s about to be destroyed by migrants; radical lunatics, commies, antifa, Democrats, and the media are scheming to annihilate the nation; the Deep State is out to sabotage Trump; and only Trump, the smartest, strongest, and most noble man in human history, can save the US of A. No matter what happens, they will stand by their man.

Yet the rest of the nation is not cottoning to his mass deportation crusade, his economic policies, his razing of the East Wing, his revenge-infused implementation of authoritarianism, his brazen corruption, his plutocratic policies, and his never-ending nastiness. It’s not wearing well. If you do a lot of crap that’s unpopular, you won’t be popular. That’s a rather basic rule of politics, and Trump is not escaping that. And Republicans, naturally, are wigged out that one of the major historical trends of American politics will likely hold next year: The president’s party gets socked in midterm elections.

It's far too early to make any predictions. External circumstances can always change any political equation. What happens if there’s a war in Venezuela? Or if the White House can find a trans migrant who commits a heinous crime? And we all ought to worry about Trump and his crew concocting ways to screw with next year’s elections.

Don’t put on any rose-colored glasses. Trump has done so much harm and damage. According to Impactcounter.com, the ending of US foreign assistance and the demolition of USAID has led to nearly 700,000 deaths, including the deaths of 451,000 children. There’s still much harm and damage to come, here and abroad. But it is reassuring that the laws of politics remain partially intact. Trump, the GOP, and MAGA are not immune. But their opponents need to keep in mind that these vulnerabilities do not predetermine a downfall; they only provide an opportunity for a fight.

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

It was bad news for MAGA conspiracy theorists: The suspect arrested last week for allegedly planting pipe bombs at the Democratic Party and Republican Party headquarters in Washington, DC, the night before the January 6, 2021, riot at the Capitol, believed Donald Trump’s bullshit that the 2020 election had been rigged against him. After being apprehended by the FBI, Brian Cole Jr., 30, reportedly confessed and told the feds he bought into Trump’s Big Lie. That’s highly inconvenient for all the MAGA folks who have been claiming for years that the unsolved crime was an “inside job”—perhaps engineered by the FBI itself or other nefarious actors—in sync with the supposed Deep State operation that orchestrated the 1/6 insurrectionist attack to discredit Trump and his supporters. A leading proponent of this nonsense was Dan Bongino, once a right-wing podcaster and now deputy director of the FBI.

The “inside job” conspiracy theory Bongino and others pitched never made sense. If Deep State evildoers were cooking up a false-flag riot, why also try to blow up the DNC and RNC offices? To further tar Trump’s loyalists? Seems to me that setting up a violent assault on Congress would be a difficult enough task and sufficient for the mission. A bipartisan bombing would create a messy narrative. In any event, there was no such diabolical plot—just the fever dreams of MAGA. And folks like Bongino exploited and encouraged this paranoia for profit.

Last week, Bongino admitted that. After the arrest was made, Fox host Sean Hannity asked Bongino about his previous insistence that the pipe bomb op was an “inside job.” Bongino, who had previously said he was certain this had been a Deep State scheme, didn’t say he had been wrong. Instead, he replied, “I was paid in the past, Sean, for my opinions. That’s clear. One day I will be back in that space, but that's not what I'm paid for now. I’m paid to be your [FBI] deputy director, and we base investigations on facts.” That sure sounds like an acknowledgment that Bongino dished out conspiratorial swill to make a buck and had no allegiance to accuracy. His comment raises an obvious question: Is this the sort of person you want leading the FBI?

There’s much speculation that Bongino’s troubled tenure at the bureau won’t last much longer. Not long ago, Trump appointed a co–deputy director, which was widely seen as a sign of no confidence in Bongino. Whatever happens, Bongino’s confession shows that he never should have been in this post. Only in a Trump administration could a crazed conspiracy entrepreneur serve as a top law enforcement official.

“Without Books We Will Be Barbarians,” Niall Ferguson, The Free Press. I’m no fan of Bari Weiss’s Free Press nor of conservative historian Niall Ferguson, who too often has been softish on Donald Trump. But I recently came across an essay the latter wrote for the former on the value of reading books, and I found it thought-provoking and informative. If you subscribe to this newsletter, you are obviously a reader and, I assume, a reader of books. That places you in a minority. As Ferguson points out, the chunk of Americans who read for pleasure dropped from 28 percent to 16 percent from 2003 to 2023. And a 2022 survey found that 52 percent of Americans had not read a book in over a year. This decrease in book-reading has been especially acute among younger people and children.

None of this is surprising, given the advent of screens. Once upon a time, one’s options for visual and audio diversions were limited. There was a small number of television networks and radio stations broadcasting a limited amount of fare. If nothing appealing was on at a given moment, you would have to look elsewhere to entertain yourself. Books could compete. But with the arrival of the internet and social media, websites, posts, email, and the like vied for attention. There was no limit to how much time you could devote to surfing, scanning, and scrolling. Then came streaming, and a near-infinite supply of television, films, music, and videos of exploding watermelons (and the like) was available 24/7. Of course, this would cause page-turners to become binge-watchers. Perhaps it’s a wonder book-reading hasn’t declined more, as we’ve fallen into a black hole of content.

Assessing these trends, Ferguson presents a dire take: “When people stop being able to read—to make sense of the meaning of text on a page—they also lose the ability to make sense of the world. At stake here is nothing less than the fate of humanity, given the intimate connection between the written word and civilization itself.” After issuing this dark prognosis, Ferguson darts through the history of the published word, hailing the superiority of literate societies over nonliterate societies—a notion that might be contested by some anthropologists and other historians.

My hunch is that reading is tied to developing important analytical and expressive capabilities (such was writing). I hold the fully uninformed theory that absorbing information through reading hard copy rather than through listening or viewing a screen is a much different task for the brain and, thus, enlists (and develops) different parts of that organ and that this form of intake has an impact on the absorption, processing, and retention of information and ideas. (Neuroscientists out there, feel free to stomp on my belief.) One does not need to be a literate-society chauvinist to wonder whether a decline in book-reading might have negative consequences for our species and world.

I don’t want to be a fuddy-duddy who grouses about kids these days. And Ferguson, not surprisingly, casts a conservative shadow on his concern. Such as when he says that with less book-reading,

[W]e shall quickly lose the ability to think analytically, because the crucial way our civilization has been transmitted from generation to generation is through the great writers, from whom we learn how to structure an argument so that it is clearly intelligible to others. You may think you are learning from the podcasts you listen to. But I defy you to write down the arguments you heard a week ago, much less the evidence that was adduced in support of them.

It could be that younger (and future) generations figure things out with less book-delivered content and prove him wrong. Yet I concur in fretting that a decrease in book consumption does not bode well—and not only for book authors like me. Whether Ferguson is right or wrong (or biased) in his reading of world history, he raises an important matter worthy of pondering—which is what a public intellectual ought to do. He made me want to read more about it.

After the Hunt. Two philosophy professors, a philosophy grad student, and two psychotherapists walk into a bar...Not sure what sort of joke or movie you’d get out of that set-up. But After the Hunt, a very serious film, places these five people not in a tavern but in a Me-Too-ish cauldron in an academic cloister, and the resulting brew is meh. Julia Roberts is Alma Imhoff, a philosophy prof on the verge of obtaining the prize of tenure at Yale. Andrew Garfield is Hank Gibson, her close (too close?) pal and colleague, and competitor for tenure. The marvelous Ayo Edebiri (of The Bear) is Maggie Resnick, a top PhD student. And with all this talent, After the Hunt comes off flat and flat-footed.

The trouble begins when Maggie shares with Alma the allegation that Hank sexually assaulted her after one of those lovely cocktail parties at Alma’s lovely house. Alma doesn’t immediately support Maggie, and that angers the prized pupil. There’s a secret—perhaps more than one—that hinders Alma. Meanwhile, Hank claims Maggie is concocting this story because he caught her plagiarizing. And a campus scandal ensues. Did I mention this is happening at Yale? For some reason, director Luca Guadagnino tells us that repeatedly, and he also repeatedly zooms in on the hands of the characters, as if they can provide clues.

With the three philosophy experts and Alma’s husband, Frederick (Michael Stuhlbarg), and her friend Kim Sayers (Chloë Sevigny), each a psychiatrist, there’s much spewing of erudition and name-dropping of Big Thinkers, but none of that helps anyone in this mess. The movie takes a stab at the question, what is privilege? Maggie is Black and queer, but also the daughter of wealthy parents who have donated gobs of money to Yale. The university certainly does not want to alienate its moneybags. Hank, a white dude, tells us he reached these academic heights on his own merits, without help from mommy and daddy. But Guadagnino doesn’t take this too far.

It's intriguing to watch Roberts play the aloof and conflicted Alma, who’s carrying a mighty big burden from the past. But what she does with it ends up not that interesting. And the conclusion is confusing and unsatisfying. The film is not helped by an annoying and distractive score—or the loud ticking that appears at the most obvious moments. After the Hunt aims to Say Something, but it offers, at best, a fuzzy lesson.