Dear Reader (even those of you who would make Dionysus proud),
Frankly, I’m a little relieved. In the lead-up to Donald Trump’s acceptance speech last night, the “he’s a changed man” buzz was hitting its crescendo. And I almost bought it.
Getting shot at is a sobering thing, or so I’m reliably informed. Even before the assassination attempt, Trump had been showing remarkable restraint. He let the attention stay on Joe Biden and the Democratic Party’s effort to throw him out like the staff of a pricey nursing home when the patient’s insurance runs out. The first three nights of the Republican National Convention were very professional, often entertaining, and at times truly compelling.
The speeches were a mixed bag, as they always are. But nearly all of them stuck to the script and stayed with the plan. The one major exception—other than Trump himself—was Peter Navarro, who came straight from prison to smash through his allotted time and deliver a mesmerizing diatribe. If you closed your eyes you could imagine him, over-tanned and shirtless, following you across a trailer park, a near-empty can of Schaefer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, as he complains about his parole officer with such passionate intensity he neither realizes nor cares that he’s following you into the Port-a-John. But other than that and a few other minor misses, it was absolutely clear that this convention was being run by the professionals.
That itself was plausible evidence Trump was a changed man. Because he had to let the professionals do their thing. And Donald Trump isn’t known for that. There’s a reason the Republican Party platform reads like a series of Truth Social posts, and it’s the same reason he’s cycled through so many lawyers, chiefs of staff, wives, etc. He likes to second-guess the chefs and season the soup to his taste, so to speak. He doesn’t like to be constrained by the rules—be they constitutional, ethical, moral, or religious.
Indeed, at least for the first three nights, the best evidence that Trump was a changed man came in what wasn’t said. There was no January 6 chorus, no references to the “political prisoners” and “hostages,” no significant efforts to peddle the stolen election lie. We know Trump wants his flying monkeys to fling that particular poo whenever and wherever possible. The head of the Republican National Committee, Michael Whatley, got the job because he was an election denier. But you didn’t hear that stuff. And Trump let that happen.
I didn’t necessarily think his sudden willingness to defer to grown-ups was proof that Trump was transformed by the assassination attempt. But, again, the chatter that he had finally discovered self-restraint predated the tragedy in Butler, Pennsylvania. And afterward, it became part of the media narrative. “Almost dying rocks perspectives — and people,” Axios’ Jim VandeHei and Mike Allen mused in a piece titled, “Getting shot in the face changes a man.” They wrote, “Yes, Trump has shown little appetite for changing his ways, tone and words. But his advisers tell us Trump plans to seize his moment by toning down his Trumpiness, and dialing up efforts to unite a tinder-box America.”
Then Trump spoke for those first 25 minutes or so. And in that long moment, it seemed there was something truthful to the chatter. Not only was Trump disciplined; the whole idea of recounting what he went through was brilliant. Who doesn’t want to hear that story for the first time, from the guy who was shot at? If he’d finished with the story, punctuated it with some trite platitudes about unity, civility, patriotism, etc., and even a little cheerleading for himself and the party, it would have been a triumphant conclusion to a successful convention. Democrats would have been even more demoralized at the end of Night 4 than they were at the beginning.
But then Trump rewarded himself. He had eaten his spinach and done his chores, and now he deserved some dessert. And there’s nothing that satisfies his cravings more than doing some improvisational Trump jazz to an adoring crowd.
That endless, almost onanistic, self-indulgence marked the longest convention acceptance speech of the television age. The planned—professionally planned—remarks clocked out at 3,000 or so words. The transcript lapped that number four times, to over 12,000. He meandered and serpentined, stopping at various moments like a dog eager to pee on or sniff at random things. He’d even, like my spaniel, rhetorically saunter over to various people just to say “Hi!” It started late and went so long that most viewers at home stopped watching long before he asked anyone for their vote. I suspect that if you strained to listen for it, you could hear political adviser Chris La Civita somewhere off-stage punching like he was asphyxiating in a box, desperate to create air holes. The audience in the room liked it, by most reports. But that’s like saying Skynyrd fans like hearing “Free Bird.”
Now, you might think I was relieved because I want Trump to lose—which I do—but if Trump really had been a changed man, I would have had to revisit that desire. When the man changes, your opinion of him should too.
Of course, that raises another reason you might think I was relieved: because I have so much invested in my whole “Character is Destiny” thing. I’ve been writing for nearly a decade now that Trump can’t change, won’t change, and that his continued dominance in Republican politics and American life will end badly because he’s a man of manifestly low character. But that’s not it, either.
The truth is I was relieved because last night, during those first 20-30 minutes, I thought Trump had changed—for the worse. For all the talk about how Trump had been humbled by his near-death experience, it was obvious that he was emboldened by it. “I had God on my side,” last Saturday, Trump testified. That is supposed to confer humility, but the message Trump was sending was that God had conferred authority.
The assassin’s bullet spared him, so he could be on that stage and, soon, in the White House. And the crowd ate it up:
Trump: I’m not supposed to be here tonight. Not supposed to be here.
Crowd chants: Yes, you are! Yes, you are!
Trump: Thank you. But I’m not. And I’ll tell you. I stand before you in this arena only by the grace of almighty God.
Trump is arguably, one might even say easily, the most arrogant and narcissistic political leader in modern American history. If you had asked me two weeks ago if there was a way to enlarge Trump’s ego, to increase his staggering self-regard and misplaced confidence in his rightness in all things, I would have said no. That tank is full. You can’t squeeze 10 pounds of B.S. into an already packed 5-pound bag. But now he was talking like he truly believes he was anointed by God to be president—and he saw only nods and heard only amens in response.
I was largely alone in being aghast at this live-action reboot of Gabriel Over the White House, as far as I could tell. Nearly everyone I was in contact with or following was so dialed into the story Trump was telling, and the political adroitness of telling it, that they missed what he was really saying. Though one friend did text me to commiserate over the “late republic” spectacle of it all.
I have nothing but admiration for Corey Comperatore and sympathy for his family. He gave his life protecting his family by taking a bullet intended for Donald Trump. I do not begrudge Trump for honoring the man. But the spectacle felt more like Mark Antony showing Caesar’s toga to the crowd. It was maudlin, manipulative, and brilliant.
Now, we’ve been hearing that Trump is God’s anointed champion for years. It’s a staple of the Michael Flynns and tent revivals, an article of faith for the Mike Lindells and Marjorie Taylor Greenes of the world. But until last night, it was indulged, not promulgated. Trump might repost a meme of Jesus guiding his hand at the Resolute Desk. Now, it was essentially party dogma. Franklin Graham declared it for all the world to hear.
This cast Eric Trump’s speech in a different light. He was given the prepared partisan red meat to deliver after Trump tore up his speech in the wake of the attempt on his life. In other words, he said many of the things that Trump was reportedly going to say. Here’s how he described a family meeting Trump allegedly held to warn his family of the ordeals he would endure in his selfless and patriotic quest to fix our broken land (emphasis added):
My father was clear it would not be easy. That there would be a huge price to pay and that the attacks would be vicious. Looking back, that was an understatement. They made up Russia hoax, the sham impeachments, the efforts to destroy an unbelievable company, a company that I run today. The efforts to cancel us, to silence him. To gag his free speech and to drag him through every radical left courthouse in America. To take his life.
This is grotesque. Whatever you think of the “Russia hoax,” his criminal trials, or his impeachments, the authors of those events have no known connection to the man who shot at Donald Trump. But the message was that they were all of a piece, which is a kind of blood libel. And now it was a blood libel against God’s anointed servant.
I still think all of that was appalling. But I would have been more worried if Trump had stuck to the script. That would have suggested that he really believed he was imbued with a new mandate of heaven to rule, to fight, fight, fight, and to defeat his enemies. But, it turns out, he doesn’t buy all of that. Not really. His advisers and handlers wanted that to be the takeaway. And that should worry us all.
But Trump clearly saw all of that as just more stuff the consultants want you to say because the rubes want to hear it. That was the spinach of politics. And once he got that out of the way, he reverted to the same vainglorious performer he’s always been. A truly pious man would be humbled by his experience. Piety and humility are for lesser men.
Sure, maybe he does think God has his back. Why wouldn’t He? I’m awesome, is how he probably thinks about it. Of course God thinks so too. Trump once said that while he is a Christian, he has never asked God for forgiveness. He’s not going to start now—because character is destiny.
In lieu of a Canine Update, Author Update: So as you know, I haven’t been home for two weeks so I don’t have much to report. Worse, I’m currently at CNN to record the Chris Wallace show and I am so sleep-deprived I forgot to bring my computer, so I’m typing this out on my phone. Anyway, the beasts are good. They weren’t home when I got there, so no welcoming committee video. But they did chastise me for my absence. Also, I don’t know if I’ll be able to get the Ruminant done, but if I do, I’ll regale you with tales of travel Hell.
ICYMI
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