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Tag: Pat Buchanan

  • The Trump Admin Appointees Who Love Buchanan and Bukele

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    DURING THE BIDEN PRESIDENCY, Paul Dans—director of Project 2025, the Heritage Foundation–spearheaded plan for the next conservative administration—started on a lesser-known facet of the controversial program. In order to carry out Project 2025’s extensive policy framework for reconfiguring the federal government, Dans began mocking up a personnel database, one he reportedly envisioned as a “conservative LinkedIn” that would provide the next Republican occupant of the White House with thousands of appointment-ready, MAGA-devoted job candidates to fill out the political workforce. To test the ideological mettle of those who wanted to be included in the database, Dans required applicants to fill out a questionnaire that asked for specifics on their political beliefs and the names of public figures they most admired.

    In June, more than 13,000 responses to that survey were obtained and published by Distributed Denial of Secrets, a nonprofit online library of “leaked and hacked datasets.” The responses show that the men and women who bought into the Project 2025 pitch frequently professed extreme beliefs and questionable political affinities, including support for authoritarian leaders abroad, deep respect for racialist thinkers, and severe condemnations of U.S. civil rights law. And in the months since Donald Trump returned to the White House, many of these MAGA hopefuls have taken up positions in the federal government and are implementing the administration’s policies.

    In reviewing the leaked materials, I have identified a number of deeply concerning questionnaire responses that can be connected to people who now hold positions of influence as newly minted assistant secretaries, senior advisers, and policy analysts across the federal government. Such responses offered praise for extremists and authoritarians popular among the new right, including El Salvadoran president Nayib Bukele, Hungarian prime minister Viktor Orbán, and American right-wing thinker Pat Buchanan, and reflected beliefs that might call into question the applicants suitability for government employment. For instance, the man now responsible for running the Department of Education’s Office of Civil Rights seems to have attacked the “civil rights state,” and many respondents railed against the country’s changing demographics.

    The acting assistant secretary for legislative affairs for the Department of Homeland Security, Dillon McGregor, apparently effusively praised El Salvador’s authoritarian president in one survey response that was included in the leaked database and contained personal information matching McGregor. Nayib Bukele “has imposed his will in defense of the rights of his people, against widespread domestic tyranny and corruption which masqueraded as democracy,” one of the answers states. It then condemned American institutions and implied that the United States needs its own Bukele:

    We are in a similar situation in the US, where the very “democratic” institutions of our republic serve almost solely to undermine the lives of our people and their futures, the integrity of our economy and standing aboard, bleeding our nation dry and poisoning what little blood we have left.

    First elected president of El Salvador in 2019, Bukele has overseen the repeal of the country’s presidential term limits and the erosion of civil liberties, all of which he has justified through the unilateral imposition of an indefinite “state of emergency” that began in 2022. Bukele has also been a close collaborator of President Trump, agreeing to hold in the megaprison he built, CECOT, people deported by the administration—including the illegally deported Kilmar Abrego Garcia. Another detainee, Andry Hernández Romero, a gay hairstylist, reported after being released from CECOT that he was beaten and sexually abused by guards during his incarceration; he described the facility as “hell on earth.” McGregor did not respond to my requests for comment on his apparent praise of Bukele.

    Another questionnaire response listed “the civil rights state” as the public policy issue he was most passionate about in his Project 2025 questionnaire response. This author of this response gave the name Craig Trainor—which is the name of the individual who is now the acting assistant secretary for civil rights in the Department of Education, where in February he authored an especially strident “Dear Colleague” letter to colleges and universities, threatening their federal funding if they ran afoul of the current administration’s interpretation of civil rights law. Trainor also did not respond to my requests for comment, but the personal identifying information in the unredacted version of the database provided to me by DDoSecrets matched his own. The full response maintains that “the 1964 Civil Rights Act and its subsequent innovations has become, what the late Angelo Codevilla called, ‘the little law that ate the Constitution.’” Institutional fruits of the Civil Rights Act, it asserts, “are antithetical to the American founding, its Christian moral foundation and traditions, the Constitution, and a free and well-ordered society.”1

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    THE LEAKED DATABASE also connected the names of several current employees at the Office of Personnel Management to politically extreme statements. That office, which functions as a sort of HR department in most administrations, has, in the Trump administration, been the hub of efforts to make it possible to remove civil servants on political grounds, a policy usually referred to as “Schedule F” reclassification. A representative of OPM declined to comment when I asked if the responses represented OPM culture or reflected ongoing discussions within the agency.

    Let’s look at a few of the responses apparently tied to OPM personnel.

    Noah Peters is a DOGE agent who now works as an OPM senior adviser. Questionnaire responses tied to that name praise both Bukele and preeminent paleoconservative Pat Buchanan.2 In particular, Buchanan is put forward as the “one person, past or present,” most responsible for the respondent’s political philosophy, while Bukele is identified as “one living public policy figure” admired by the respondent. “I greatly admire Nayib Bukele, president of El Salvador,” the answer states. “He has done what was thought impossible: successfully curb criminal gang violence in Central America. In doing so, he has given back freedom to his citizens– freedom to walk the streets without fear.” Peters did not respond to my requests for comment.

    According to reporting by the New York Times, Peters was already being considered for a position in the Department of Labor as part of Project 2025 two years ago. In January of this year, 404 Media determined Peters was the likely author of at least one early OPM memo trying to make it easier to fire civil servants and replace them with dedicated partisans.

    Christopher Smith was a policy adviser with OPM until August, according to government monitoring company LegiStorm. A questionnaire answer given under that name and with corresponding personal information also emphasized Buchanan’s influence and specifically praised Buchanan’s 2001 book The Death of the West: How Dying Populations and Immigrant Invasions Imperil Our Country and Civilization as “a biting commentary on the importance of establishing, maintaining, and cherishing national identity.” The respondent credits the book with making him “place a great deal of emphasis on community, shared values, and common history- all of which are rebutted by the modern orthodoxy of multiculturalism, open borders, and a million iterations of America as an ‘idea’ rather than a nation.” Smith declined to comment when contacted.

    Brandon Mayhew has, since May, been a senior adviser at OPM. A set of questionnaire responses submitted under that name argued that authoritarian Viktor Orbán’s regime in Hungary ought to serve as a model for the United States. “I think [Orbán] has the right idea of fusing faith, family, and nationhood to create a very poignant political blend,” said one answer. “This is a political blend that promote [sic] the longevity and security of Hungary as a nation and state (something that can certainly not be said for many western European states who are self-immolating). I think Orban’s simple method is something we should be importing en masse in our own political order.” Mayhew also did not respond to my questions.

    Megan “Meg” Kilgannon, formerly of the right-wing Family Research Council, is now director of strategic partnerships for the Department of Education. Questionnaire answers tied to that name might serve as a synecdoche of the extremism now deemed acceptable for political appointees. Kilgannon declined to comment when reached by phone, but the personal information included in the unredacted version of the database provided to me by DDoSecrets matched hers. The Department of Education did not respond to emails requesting comment on Kilgannon’s apparent responses.

    The answers under Kilgannon’s name heap praise on far-right intellectuals Buchanan and Sam Francis. “The writing and philosophies of Pat Buchanan and Sam Francis have been foundational in my political formation,” one answer reads. “Over the years they are proven right again and again.” Another answer praising one of Buchanan’s books emphasizes that “demographics are drivers of social change, in both positive and negative ways.”

    Kilgannon is just one of many people currently serving in the executive branch who appear to have cited Buchanan as a key influence. But she was the only one I saw who also apparently cited the late Sam Francis, a close friend of Buchanan’s and a major figure on the hard right. In 1995, Francis was let go by the conservative Washington Times, where he had been a columnist, after fellow right-wing provocateur Dinesh D’Souza drew attention to racist comments he’d made at an Atlanta convention. Francis had declared white people needed to “reassert our identity and our solidarity, and we must do so in explicitly racial terms through the articulation of a racial consciousness as whites,” a belief he would continue to espouse until his death a decade later.

    Because of their openly racialist views, Francis and Buchanan over the years were increasingly deemed verboten by the conservative mainstream. In 1992, National Review founder William F. Buckley Jr. wrote that Buchanan was “politically,” if not personally, antisemitic. A few years later, Donald Trump publicly called Buchanan “a Hitler lover” and “an antisemite.” And in a 2022 article in Vanity Fair, Alec Dent wrote that Francis “spent his final years largely confined to the fever swamps of explicitly white supremacist organizations.”

    If, as the Reagan-era maxim goes, “personnel is policy,” then in light of these questionnaire responses we should not be surprised that the second Trump administration continues attacking Americans’ civil rights, undermining free and fair elections, and prioritizing white immigration.


    SEVERAL RESPONSES connected to other people who have staffed the second Trump administration specifically cited a prominent 2020 book critiquing civil rights laws—in one case, referencing the book in support of a claim that the Civil Rights Act of 1965 “essentially replaced the original Constitution.” Another answer mentioned Curtis Yarvin, the neoreactionary monarchist, as one of the “more exciting contemporary thinkers” who’d influenced the respondent. Yet another listed the “demographic transformation of the United States and the Western World” as the respondent’s most important issue.

    While none of the individuals mentioned above confirmed to me that they had filled out the Project 2025 form, despite the matching names and corresponding personal information, three other individuals who self-identified as “liberals” in responses included in the database told me they remembered filling out the Project 2025 questionnaire, either to “gum up” the application process or to keep an eye on the effort. A fourth didn’t respond to an email I sent but had published a YouTube video in September 2023 that showed her filling out the form. Additionally, one conservative whose information was included in the leak agreed with some of the sentiments connected to his name during a brief phone conversation, but stated he couldn’t remember filling out the form and maintained the wording of the answers did not “sound like me.”

    The Heritage Foundation did not respond to my questions about the published database, or answer an earlier request for comment sent by left-leaning news outlet the Intercept.

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    1

    The answer, in all fairness, does not condemn the concept of civil rights in toto, and indeed allows that a hypothetical Civil Rights Act of 2025 should still “prohibit intentional discrimination.”

    2

    For the benefit of younger readers, Pat Buchanan had a long career first as a staffer for Republican Presidents Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan, and then as a right-wing pundit—punctuated by three runs for the presidency, in 1992, 1996, and 2000. The 1992 campaign is perhaps most memorable for his inflammatory speech at the Republican National Convention. A prominent far-right thinker, Buchanan has been obsessed with the relative “decline” of European populations for decades, as evinced by his books The Death of the West (2001) and Suicide of a Superpower (2011). In the acknowledgements section of the latter, as progressive nonprofit Media Matters pointed out, Buchanan gives “special thanks” for research assistance to an anti-immigration activist who’d written for the white-nationalist site VDare. A few years earlier, that activist had pleaded guilty to karate chopping a black woman on the head after allegedly calling her the N-word.

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  • The ‘Anti-Defeat’ Candidate

    The ‘Anti-Defeat’ Candidate

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    Like many politicians, Representative Dean Phillips likes to look people in the eye. And because he’s a politician, Phillips can glean things, just as President George W. Bush did when he peered into Vladimir Putin’s eyes and saw his soul.

    “I’ve looked Benjamin Netanyahu in the eye,” Phillips told a group of students at Dartmouth College, in Hanover, New Hampshire, last week.

    And?

    “I did not like what I saw,” Phillips said of the Israeli prime minister. “I do not like his government. He’s got to go.”

    Philips has also looked into Donald Trump’s eyes. That, too, was ominous. It was a few years ago, and the former president had invited a bunch of new House members to the White House for an introductory visit.

    “I looked him in the eye for the better part of an hour,” Phillips told me.

    And?

    “I saw right through him,” Phillips said. “I know exactly how to handle weaklings like Donald Trump.”

    How?

    “You’ll see,” he said. “Why would I give away my special sauce?”

    Phillips was telling me this while tucked into the back of a minivan, having just set off on a 90-minute ride from Hanover to Manchester. He wore a down vest over a blue dress shirt and looked me straight in the you-know-what as he described the “gravity of this entire circumstance” he was now embarked upon.

    He had just concluded one of his early days as an official primary challenger to President Joe Biden, the incumbent he must first dispatch before he can douse Trump with his proprietary Dean Sauce. Phillips is pursuing this mission despite long odds and an unsurprising chorus of how dare yous and not helpfuls from various Democratic gatekeepers. He has already said plenty about why he is doing this—about how Democrats are desperate for a Plan B to Biden, who Phillips says has no business seeking reelection at his age (81 on Monday), with his poll numbers and the catastrophic threat of his likely GOP opponent (yes, him). Phillips agonized over his decision and unburdened himself in multiple forums, including, quite expansively last month, to my colleague Tim Alberta.

    I was in New Hampshire because I wanted to see Phillips transition from theoretical to actual challenger. It is one thing to scream warnings about alarming data, and another to segue into the granular doings of a campaign. “This is an all-hands-on-deck initiative,” he told me, his words landing somewhere between hyper-earnest and naive, with occasional tips into grandiose. Phillips, 54, is a figure of uncommonly big plans and weighty burdens, especially given his relatively modest station (he has represented Minnesota’s Third Congressional District since 2019). He seems sincere about what he’s doing, especially compared with the two-faced default of so many elected Democrats who tout Biden’s reelection in public while privately pining for some other candidate, like Gretchen Whitmer, the Rock, or whomever they want instead. In this sense, Phillips’s gambit is noble, even necessary. It can also be lonely and awkward to watch up close.

    Since entering the race a month ago, Phillips has held a series of mostly low-key events in New Hampshire and has made a stop in South Carolina. I first encountered him during a heartfelt give-and-take with half a dozen members of the Dartmouth Political Union. “This is a beautiful American moment,” Phillips declared after a dialogue about abortion policy with a polite young Nikki Haley supporter. Later, at a town hall across campus, Phillips described that bridge-building exchange as “one of the most profound hours of engagement” he’s had in a long while and something “I will remember for years to come.”

    Phillips told me that his initial campaign forays have only—surprise—reaffirmed the premise of his errand: “Other than some Democratic elected officials, and only a few of them, I’ve not yet encountered a single person who doesn’t feel the same way,” he said, about the need for a Biden alternative. His go-to weapon against the president is public opinion, for which Phillips keeps getting fresh ammunition. “I want to give you some simple data,” he said during a meet and greet with about 50 students, faculty, and community members before the town hall. He mentioned a recent survey of voters in battleground states that had Biden trailing Trump by four points, 48–44. “But then you look at how Trump does against a ‘generic Democrat,’” Phillips said, “and the generic Democrat wins 48–40.” Heads bobbed in the classroom; Phillips shook his in exasperation.

    Phillips himself is polling at just 10 percent among likely New Hampshire Democratic-primary voters, according to a CNN survey released last week that had Biden at 65 percent. During our car ride, I suggested to Phillips that maybe he should change his name to “Generic Democrat.”

    “I never in my life aspired to be generic,” he replied, chuckling.

    Primary challenges to incumbent presidents have historically been associated with signature causes and fiery rhetoric. They tend to be ideologically driven—such as Ted Kennedy’s challenge to President Jimmy Carter from the left in 1980 and Pat Buchanan’s to President George H. W. Bush from the right in 1992. No one will mistake Phillips for a brawling populist. He is affable, well mannered, and extremely rich, with a net worth of about $50 million, some portion of it derived from the gelato-and-sorbet company—Talenti—that he co-owned before it was sold.

    Still, Phillips frequently brings up the late Senator Eugene McCarthy, a fellow Minnesota Democrat, whose uprising against President Lyndon B. Johnson in 1968 helped push Johnson to not seek reelection. The comparison is fraught in that Democrats wound up nominating another Minnesotan, Hubert Humphrey, who went on to lose to Richard Nixon. Carter and Bush also lost their general elections. This tends to be the main critique of Phillips: that his project could weaken Biden against Trump.

    One student at Dartmouth questioned Phillips about the 1980 example, arguing that Kennedy was the reason that Carter was ultimately blown out by Ronald Reagan. Phillips came back with a lengthy and somewhat defensive response. “Ted Kennedy didn’t cause Carter’s problems any more than I’ve caused Joe Biden’s problems,” he said. The student nodded and thanked the candidate, who in turn thanked the student—and another beautiful American moment was forged.

    “I am the anti-defeat candidate,” Phillips said, describing his enterprise to me later. “I am the truth-telling candidate.” “Truth-telling” is of course subjective, in campaigns as in life. Phillips then told me about a visit he’d made to a Hanover restaurant that day. After a series of “wonderful conversations” with random diners, he’d encountered a young woman who “I sensed was not showing any compassion for butchered Israelis”—a reference to the Hamas attacks on October 7. So Phillips, who is Jewish, paused the conversation and asked a question of his own. “I said, ‘Are you telling me that you support Hamas?’” Phillips said. “And she goes, ‘Yes.’” At which point, he’d heard enough.

    “I said, ‘Look, I really enjoyed our conversation, but I can’t continue this.’”

    “Wait, did you really enjoy that conversation?” I interrupted, questioning his truth-telling.

    “I’ll tell you what, that’s a good point,” Phillips acknowledged. “I did not enjoy it.”

    In that spirit of engaging with people of different backgrounds and persuasions, Phillips frequently invokes his friendship with Rashida Tlaib, the only Palestinian American in Congress, who was censured by the House this month for her comments about Israel. Phillips refers to Tlaib as “my Palestinian sister” and to himself as “her Jewish brother.”

    I pressed Phillips on the state of his relations with Tlaib. “It’s as difficult as ever and more important than ever,” he said. He then raised the stakes even higher. “I believe that as Rashida Tlaib and Dean Phillips go, so will the Middle East,” he said. (A lot of pressure there!)

    As our nighttime ride persisted southeast down Interstate 89, the conversation took some quick turns.

    “Is Kamala Harris prepared to step in if something happened to Biden?” I asked Phillips.

    “I think that Americans have made the decision that she’s not,” he said.

    I replied that I was interested in the decision of one specific American, Dean Phillips.

    “That is not my opinion,” Phillips clarified. He said that every interaction he’s had with the vice president has been “thoughtful” and that “I’ve enjoyed them.”

    “That said …” Phillips paused, and I braced for the vibe shift.

    “I hear from others who know her a lot better than I do that many think she’s not well positioned,” he said of Harris. “She is not well prepared, doesn’t have the right disposition and the right competencies to execute that office.” Phillips also noted that Harris’s approval numbers are even worse than Biden’s: “It’s pretty clear that she’s not somebody people have faith in.”

    But again, Phillips is not one of those people: “From my personal experiences, I’ve not seen those deficiencies.”

    If Phillips had looked me in the eye at that moment—and granted, it was dark in the back of the van—he would have seen a slightly confused expression. Why was he hiding behind these Trumplike “many people are saying” attributions? Similarly, he often speaks in glowing terms about Biden’s performance in office—“his administration has been quite extraordinary”—while leaning heavily on “the opinion of others” or “the data” to make his case that the president himself needs to go. Phillips can seem torn at times as he attempts to hedge his way through somewhat contradictory impulses: to give Biden his proper due while also trying to end his career.

    I asked Phillips what would happen if his campaign really takes off—he wins a bunch of primaries—and then Biden tries to placate the insurgents by dumping Harris in favor of their hero, Dean Phillips. Would he agree to serve as Biden’s new understudy?

    I anticipated the “I’m not answering hypothetical questions” blow-off that they teach in Candidate School. But Phillips apparently skipped class that day. “That’s a really interesting question,” he said, before letting me down gently.

    “President Biden will never replace Vice President Harris on the ticket, ever,” he said.

    For the record—bonus nugget—Phillips predicts that Trump will select Robert F. Kennedy Jr. to be his running mate. “And they will be very difficult to beat,” he fears. These are the kinds of empty punditing calories that get passed around during long drives on chilly campaign nights.

    As we approached Manchester, Phillips flashed back to reality, or something. “I am the best positioned to defeat Donald Trump,” he said. “All I’m focused on right now is to run a spirited, thoughtful, and energetic campaign.”

    “What about ‘vigorous’ and ‘robust’?” I asked.

    “Yes, yes,” Phillips said, nodding. It was getting late, and we were both getting a bit punchy.

    “And bold,” he added.

    Our van pulled into the Manchester DoubleTree just before 10 p.m. Phillips had to wake up in a few hours to catch a 6:15 a.m. flight back to Washington. He looked me in the eye. I’m not sure what he saw, or what I saw, but I wished him luck.

    “I’ve enjoyed this,” Phillips said.

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    Mark Leibovich

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  • Trump Has Become the Thing He Never Wanted to Be

    Trump Has Become the Thing He Never Wanted to Be

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    One thing can be said for the proprietors of the MAGA Mall: They know their brand.

    The right-wing-merch retailer’s setup was among the most impressive at this year’s Conservative Political Action Conference—a gargantuan display of apparel and tchotchkes meticulously curated to appeal to every segment of the Donald Trump–loving clientele. There were the MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN hats in “classic” red for those who prefer a timeless look, and the ULTRA MAGA 45 hats for the more trend-conscious. There were T-shirts with Trump as Superman and T-shirts with Trump as the Terminator and—because even the most patriotic T-shirt designers eventually run out of ideas—T-shirts with Trump as the Geico lizard. (You can save 40% off everything by switching to Trump.)

    When I stopped by the booth on Friday afternoon, I noticed a smattering of non-Trump-branded products in the mix and thought I’d spotted a clever angle for a story.

    “How’s the Ron DeSantis stuff selling?” I asked two people running the booth.

    “Oh, good, another one,” the woman mumbled. “You’re the third one to ask today. You media?”

    I nodded, feeling somewhat less certain of my cleverness, and sheepishly confirmed that I was a reporter. She seemed to stifle a sigh. “Not great,” she said, gesturing toward a cap that read MAKE AMERICA FLORIDA: DESANTIS 2024. “It’s about 50 to one Trump.”

    As I turned to go, I heard her add, “But, I mean, we have a lot more Trump stuff …”

    It was a perfect microcosm for CPAC’s strange vibe in 2023. Billed as the conservative movement’s marquee annual gathering, the conference was once known for its ability to draw together the right’s various factions and force them to compete noisily for supremacy. In the 1990s, Pat Buchanan rallied paleoconservative activists against the Bob Dole wing of the GOP. In the early 2010s, Tea Partiers in Revolutionary-era garb roamed the premises while scruffy libertarians hustled to win the straw poll for Ron Paul. Yes, the speakers would say controversial things, and yes, presidential candidates would give sporadically newsworthy speeches. But more than anything, it was the friction that gave the proceedings their electric, carnivalesque quality—that rare, sometimes frightening sense that anything could happen.

    This year, that friction was notably absent. Trump, who jump-started his career as a political celebrity with a speech at CPAC in 2011, has so thoroughly captured the institution that many of the GOP’s other stars didn’t even bother to show up. Everything about the conference—the speakers, the swag, the media personalities broadcasting from outside the ballroom—suggested that it was little more than a three-day MAGA pep rally.

    The result: In my decade of covering the event, I’d never seen it more dead.

    I wasn’t the only one who noticed. Eddie Scarry, a conservative writer and longtime CPAC attendee, tweeted that the conference had devolved into a parade of “peripheral figures, grifters, and aging Fox News personalities who show up like they’re rock stars. Not to mention, 80% of it remains a tribute to Trump. Who is that still fun for?” Sponsors grumbled to Rolling Stone that turnout had dropped off from past years. My colleague John Hendrickson, who attended on Saturday, wrote that the conference had a “1 a.m. at the party” vibe, and wondered if 2023 would be remembered as “the last gasp of CPAC.”

    The relative dearth of Republican star power this year could be attributed to the scandal surrounding CPAC’s chairman Matt Schlapp, who was recently accused of fondling a male campaign aide against his will. (Schlapp has denied the allegation.) But in an interview with NBC News, one anonymous GOP operative said that top Republicans had already come to view the conference as a chore in recent years. “Someone said to me, ‘We all wanted an excuse not to go, and Schlapp gave it to us,’” the operative said.

    The apparent decline in interest isn’t just about CPAC. It speaks to a serious problem for Trump’s 2024 campaign: His shtick has gotten stale. Which makes it awkward that so many party leaders continue to treat him like he’s still the generational political phenomenon who galvanized the right in 2016—the natural center of attention.

    Writing last year in National Review, the conservative commentator Michael Brendan Dougherty noted that Trump’s appeal in 2016 resided largely in his image as a disruptive outsider who said shocking, outlandish things. To recapture that magic, Dougherty wrote, “Trump needs to re-create the iconoclastic thrill of supporting him, the empowering sense that he is an instrument for crushing the establishment in both parties.”

    Instead, Trump has followed a different trajectory. His CPAC speech on Saturday night, like so many of his recent appearances, felt predictable and devoid of vitality as he rambled past the 90-minute mark in front of a not-quite-full ballroom. Trump, in other words, has become the establishment—and the establishment, by definition, is boring. He might as well attach an exclamation point to his campaign slogan and start asking voters to “please clap.”

    Jack Malin, a freshman at Florida Gulf Coast University, traveled to CPAC this year for the first time, with a group of college Republicans. When I asked him what he thought of Trump, Malin talked about the transgressive excitement he felt as a high-school kid following the 2016 election. Trump got him interested in politics. But Malin is not so into Trump anymore. “I would say, as much as people love him, his four years have come and gone,” Malin told me. For 2024, he likes DeSantis, the Florida governor, and so do most of his friends.

    As Malin spoke, I glanced past him at a crowd of onlookers that had formed around Donald Trump Jr., who was recording an interview with Steve Bannon. There was a time when these two men were seen—by critics and supporters alike—as dangerous provocateurs. Spellbound fans would hang on their every word; indignant journalists would live-tweet their speeches and interviews. Now their rhetoric about “deconstructing the administrative state” and “draining the swamp” just sounded like white noise. (As Trump and Bannon ranted, I watched some spectators turn their interest toward a baby and mom at the edge of the crowd.)

    Nowhere was the general ennui at CPAC more palpable than in Exhibit Hall D, on the ground floor of the convention center in National Harbor, Maryland. In some ways, the scene was the same as in years past: nicely dressed conservatives perusing rows of booths set up by think tanks, lobbyists, and vendors. There were, as ever, exhibits for niche companies such as The Right Stuff, a dating app for Republicans, and Patriot Mobile, “America’s only Christian conservative wireless provider” (for those tired of relying on godless liberals for Wi-Fi.) The aforementioned MAGA Mall occupied one corner of the room, competing with at least two other booths peddling Trump-branded paraphernalia. And a mock Oval Office—adorned with various photos of Trump—was available for selfies.

    But there was something perfunctory and rote about all the ostentatious Trump worship. At one booth, a group called the Conservative Caucus was showing off an oversize scroll topped with the message Thank You for Your Service President Trump! (Followed by a disclaimer in much smaller print: Not an endorsement, just a BIG thank you!)

    A friendly guy working the booth, Art Harman, told me proudly about how the scroll contained more than 100,000 signatures and ran 135 feet long when fully unfurled. Once we started talking politics, though, Trump seemed to slip from his mind. When I asked him who he thought of when he pictured the future of conservatism, he answered quickly: DeSantis.

    “He’s a more youthful guy. He’s energizing people a lot,” Harman said, going on to extol the Florida governor’s many virtues. He paused for a moment to think. “He’s kind of the only one who comes to mind offhand.”

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    McKay Coppins

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