Presidential Election of 2016

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      The End of the Trump Era Will Be Unsatisfying

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      Since the 2022 midterm elections, the end of the Trump era in American politics has become, at least, a 50-50 proposition. While Ron DeSantis surges in multiple national polls, the former president has busied himself shilling $99 digital trading cards to his most devoted fans. The promised battle royale, in which Trump emerges from Mar-a-Lago to smite his challenger and reclaim his throne, may yet be in the offing. But it’s also possible that Trump 2024 will end up where many people expected Trump 2016 to go, diminishing into an act of self-indulgence that holds on to his true loyalists but can’t win primary-season majorities.If that’s how Trump goes out, doing a slow fade while DeSantis claims his mantle, the people who have opposed Trump most fiercely, both the Resistance liberals and the Never Trump Republicans, will probably find the ending deeply unsatisfying.There will be no perp walk where Trump exits the White House in handcuffs (though he could still face indictment; that hope lives), no revelations of Putinist treason forcing the Trumps into a Middle Eastern exile, no Aaron Sorkin-scripted denunciation driving him, in shame, from the public square.Nor will there be a dramatic repudiation of the Trumpist style. If DeSantis defeats Trump, it will be as an imitator of his pugilism and populism, as a politician who promises to fight Trump’s battles with more effectiveness and guile.Nor, finally, will there be any accountability for Trump’s soft enablers within the Republican Party. There was a certain political accountability when the “Stop the Steal” devotees lost so many winnable elections last month. But the men and women who held their noses and went along with Trump at every stage except the very worst will continue to lead the Republican Party if he fades away; there will be no Liz Cheney presidential campaign to deliver them all a coup de grâce.These realities are already yielding some righteous anger, a spirit evident in the headline of a recent essay by Bill Lueders at The Bulwark: “You’re Only Leaving Trump Now?” Never forget, Lueders urges, that if Republicans abandon Trump it won’t be because of his long list of offenses against decency and constitutional government; it will be only because, at last, they’re sure he cannot win.As an original Never Trumper, I don’t begrudge anyone this reaction. If Trump fades, it will be a victory for places like The Bulwark, but people naturally want something more than a quiet, limited victory after a long existential-seeming campaign. They want vindication. They want to feel as if everyone finally agrees: Never again.But an unsatisfying absence of repudiation or vindication is a normal feature of democratic life. The act of winning an election creates an alchemy of loyalty — vox populi, vox Dei — that in most circumstances only losing can de-catalyze. The time it takes for parties to repudiate their most dismaying leaders can extend for decades or centuries (as in the case of the Democratic Party’s slow divorce from Andrew Jackson). And voters don’t usually impose permanent penalties on parties, preferring to take each election as it comes.The Democratic Party’s Southern wing was a literal party of insurrection in the 1860s and the Northern wing was tainted by the attachment, but they simply reunited as a normal opposition party after the Civil War. The next Republican president elected after Richard Nixon’s resignation, Ronald Reagan, paid no price for having been one of Nixon’s stalwart defenders throughout most of the Watergate affair. The public voted in droves against the perceived dangerous radicalism of Barry Goldwater and George McGovern, then turned around and voted for the parties that nominated them a few years later.Or, to pick an international example, in the brief window when Russia was a semi-functional democracy, its leading opposition party was, of course, the successor to the Communist Party, whose dictatorial rule had recently been overthrown.In current politics, it isn’t just anti-Trumpers who find themselves frustrated by voters’ refusal to look backward. Consider the hope among conservatives that Democratic overreach on Covid restrictions, especially school closures, would play a decisive role in the 2022 elections. It did play a crucial role in the 2021 elections, when those policies were still in place or up for debate. But once they were lifted, the public largely moved on, leaving conservative activists depressed because there was no lasting punishment.This desire for vindication is completely understandable. How else can you ensure that serious mistakes won’t be repeated, or that an awful demagogue won’t just slip into sheep’s clothing and return?The answer, however (and this is tough medicine), is that the way to avert that kind of repetition is to make certain you have a strategy for winning the next election, and the ones after that — on the public’s terms rather than your own.The Times is committed to publishing a diversity of letters to the editor. We’d like to hear what you think about this or any of our articles. Here are some tips. And here’s our email: letters@nytimes.com.Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Twitter (@NYTOpinion) and Instagram. More

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      Warnock Wins, and Once Again Trump Loses

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      The last Senate runoffs in Georgia fell on the 5th of January, 2021, which meant they were immediately overridden in the nation’s imagination by the events of Jan. 6. But everything that’s happened since has somehow brought us back around to where we stood just before the riot at the U.S. Capitol, with yet another Georgia runoff providing yet another case study in why the Republican Party desperately needs to move on from Donald Trump.In the case of the previous runoffs, Trump’s influence on the outcome was flagrant and direct: He made the entire pre-runoff period a stage for his election-fraud dramatics, pushing the Republican Senate candidates, Kelly Loeffler and David Perdue, into attacks on the integrity of the elections they were trying to win. And he almost certainly dampened Republican turnout with his suggestion that the fix was in — a suggestion amplified by his more lunatic allies, who discouraged Republican voting outright.This time around the Trumpian influence was a little more indirect, but still important. He publicly encouraged his old U.S.F.L. pal Herschel Walker to run for Senate and helped to clear the field with his endorsement, ensuring that the G.O.P. would have a hapless, incompetent and morally suspect candidate in one of the year’s most important Senate races. And then he forced Walker to stagger through the runoff against Raphael Warnock in the shadow of Trump’s own low-energy campaign announcement, which was succeeded by Trump’s dinner with anti-Semites, which was succeeded by Trump’s call to suspend the Constitution in order to restore him to the presidency.All of this predictably helped make the runoff a fractal of the larger 2022 pattern: Under Trump’s influence, with Trump’s preferred candidates, the Republican Party first sacrificed a potential Senate majority and then sacrificed one more Senate seat for good measure.The natural question evoked by the memory of the last runoffs, though, is whether this will make any long-term difference inside the G.O.P. If Republican voters didn’t tire of Trump after he gave away a winnable election and then inspired a mob to storm the Capitol the very next day, why would merely giving away another runoff be a deal-breaker? If Trump somehow managed to remain the 2024 front-runner after the insanity of 2021’s Jan. 6, why would his loyalists abandon him after the mere political disappointments of 2022’s Nov. 8 and Dec. 6?One answer is that the truest loyalists won’t; there will be a strong Trump vote in any imaginable Republican primary where he doesn’t drop out early. But for the Republicans who aren’t the deepest loyalists — the ones who didn’t vote for Trump in the early primaries of 2016, the ones giving Ron DeSantis leads here and there in early primary polling — there are two reasons to suspect that this runoff’s aftermath will be different from the last one’s.The first is just the compounding effect of multiple defeats. Like a miracle sports team, the ’69 Mets or this year’s Moroccan World Cup soccer squad, Trump earned himself a storehouse of belief with his stunning upset in 2016. That the Republican Party then lost the House in 2018 — well, that was to be expected, since incumbent parties generally struggle in the midterms. That the G.O.P. lost the presidency in 2020 — well, there was a plague, mass protests, rejiggered election rules and a general atmosphere of craziness, and anyway the polls were wrong and Trump almost pulled it out in the Electoral College, the miracle juice still there but just not quite enough.But to disappoint again in 2022, in a context where many Republicans expected to do extremely well — and more, to have so many of Trump’s preferred candidates flop while other Republicans won easily — well, at a certain point the memory of 2016 fades, and the storehouse of faith and good will is depleted. At a certain point even a potent demagogue needs to post some actual wins to hold his coalition together. At a certain point — maybe it isn’t here yet, but it’s closer — the leader who loses just starts to look like, well, a loser.The second reason this time might be different is that there will be time for the defeat’s reality and lessons to sink in, for the stink of loserdom to circulate — whereas last time Trump was actually helped in his bid to hold onto influence and power by the way the Georgia results vanished into the smoke of the Capitol riot.Yes, there was a brief moment where his obvious culpability in the mob’s behavior weakened him dramatically, leaving him potentially vulnerable to a concerted push from congressional Republicans. But when that push didn’t come, when the G.O.P. leadership took the cautious (in the case of Mitch McConnell) or craven (in the case of Kevin McCarthy) way instead, their decisions helped to rebuild Trump’s relevance and power.And so did the peculiar nature of Jan. 6 itself, which despite the best efforts of its media interpreters was always destined to be an unstable signifier — a deathly serious insurrection from one vantage point, but from another a more absurd affair, defined more by the spectacle of the QAnon Shaman roaming the Senate floor than by the threat of an actual coup d’état. However shameful some of the spin that Trump defenders settled on to explain away the day’s violence, they had material to work with in the sheer strangeness of the riot, which in a polarized atmosphere inevitably yielded to warring interpretations of its meaning.Stark election defeats, on the other hand, while less serious and less extreme than a violent disruption of the Senate’s business, are also harder to reinterpret in ways that make your own side out to be martyrs rather than just losers.Trump’s election fraud narrative managed that kind of reinterpretation once. But if Trump has to run in 2024 against DeSantis, he’ll be facing a rival who won’t need to reinterpret defeats as stolen victories, because he himself won easily when Walker and so many other Trumpian picks and allies lost. And the old rule that if you’re explaining, you’re losing, may apply especially to a situation where Trump has to explain to primary voters why the winning he promised them turned into so many unnecessary defeats.The Times is committed to publishing a diversity of letters to the editor. We’d like to hear what you think about this or any of our articles. Here are some tips. And here’s our email: letters@nytimes.com.Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Twitter (@NYTOpinion) and Instagram. More

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      Reality Winner Tried to Resist and Found Herself Alone

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      It was a big deal that Reality Winner’s probation officer let her travel from Texas to her sister’s house in North Carolina over Thanksgiving. She is, after all, a traitor, in the eyes of the law.Ms. Winner was arrested in 2017 for leaking to journalists a classified intelligence report on Russian hacks into U.S. election infrastructure and has been confined ever since — in a Georgia county jail, a federal prison, a halfway house and, most recently, in a probation so strict that she often feels strangled.Still, Ms. Winner viewed the trip with the wariness of an underdog conditioned to expect any small kindnesses to turn back against her.“It wasn’t my idea,” she said flatly by phone. “I preferred not to go.”Oh, and another thing, she said pointedly: She went during Thanksgiving but for her niece’s birthday.“I hate Thanksgiving,” she said. “I hate the food. I hate the vibe.”This side of Ms. Winner becomes familiar after a while: the cranky prison yard impulse to let everyone know just how much she doesn’t care and can’t be hurt. It poorly camouflages the battered idealist who, despite disillusionment and harsh punishment, appears bent on finding some way to make herself useful on a grand scale. She never had much money, education or connections, but in her own way, she has repeatedly tried to save the country — first as a military linguist guiding foreign drone attacks and later by warning the public that Donald Trump was lying to them about Russia.Both efforts went bad, though, which is why I think of Ms. Winner as a sorrowful casualty — not only of our poisoned political culture but also of a contemporary America replete with corruption and amoral bureaucracy. The harder she tried, it seems, the more her ideals soured into disgust.When I first spoke to Ms. Winner, in the summer of 2021, she was still fighting the drug habit she’d picked up behind bars and trying to tamp down the explosive aggression she’d used on the guards. On home confinement at her mother and stepfather’s ranch outside Corpus Christi, Texas, she held forth in meandering, disarmingly frank phone calls about the degradations of prison, the power of linguistics, a surreal childhood crossing back and forth into Mexico on pharmacy runs with her opioid-addicted father.All these months later, Ms. Winner is still on probation, but she’s grown more focused and stable. Most of her energies now are fixed on attracting clients to her CrossFit coaching practice. At 31, she is already a living relic of one of our nation’s most surreal political crises.She still isn’t allowed to talk about her military service or the contents of her leak, leaving me to puzzle over why a young woman who still guards the secrets of the terrorism wars would risk everything to expose a five-page National Security Agency file on efforts to hack voter registration systems.Ms. Winner mailed the report anonymously to The Intercept, where a reporter took the ill-advised step of giving a copy to the N.S.A. for verification. The authorities almost immediately zeroed in on her. She was charged under the Espionage Act, the same laws used to prosecute the Rosenbergs, Aldrich Ames and pretty much any other 20th-century spy you can name. The act has long been criticized for lumping together leaks motivated by public interest and, say, peddling nuclear secrets to a foreign government. Ms. Winner is considered a prime example of its downside.She pleaded guilty and was given 63 months in prison, the longest federal sentence ever for the unauthorized release of materials to the media. (The former C.I.A. director David Petraeus got off with probation and a fine for sharing eight notebooks full of highly classified information with his biographer, who was also his mistress.)Deemed a flight risk and denied bail, Ms. Winner languished for 16 months in a crammed Georgia county jail cell. While negotiating her plea deal with prosecutors, she said, she plotted suicide and fantasized about federal prison “like I was going away to an elite university — ‘Oh, look, they have a rec center, they have a track, they have a commissary, they sell makeup.’”All of that for nothing or, at least, for very little. Ms. Winner’s intervention hardly registered. She wanted to prove that the White House was lying: U.S. officials knew that Russia had attacked U.S. voting infrastructure just days before the 2016 election. But the revelation hardly scratched public awareness.“Reality Winner is a whistleblower because?” said Ben Wizner, the director of the American Civil Liberties Union’s Speech, Privacy and Technology Project. “How many people would give the same answer to that?”“You can’t imagine a more unlikely person to serve the longest-ever sentence under the Espionage Act” for leaking to the media, he added. “It’s perverse.”The hardest part, Ms. Winner said once, is not the punishment but “just knowing that you really didn’t change anything. Nobody cares.”“The people on the left who pretend to champion you. They really didn’t do anything for you,” she said. “The people in the center won’t say your name. And the people on the right still think you’re a terrorist.”Shane Lavalette for The New York TimesWhy did she do it? Ms. Winner bristled at this question. “Come on, you were there, too. You remember how it was. It was such a weird time,” she said.She’s right. I remember.It was Mr. Trump’s first year in the White House, and America was having a nervous breakdown all over the internet — MAGA fanatics in rapturous dreams of banning Muslims and building shark-infested moats along the border and, from others, fevered warnings of impending fascist takeover and Vladimir Putin as Mr. Trump’s puppet master. The thick suspicion that we were drifting toward something intolerable. The hyperbole of it all.Commentators suggested that the president could be a Russian asset; retired government servants openly urged their successors to insubordination; Mr. Trump described a “deep state” within the government working to undermine him. What does it mean, in such times, to be a traitor?Ms. Winner left the Air Force and started a desk job with an N.S.A. contractor in Augusta, Ga. She’d found her house online for just $500 a month and rented it sight unseen because it was close to her gym. The neighborhood proved rough; her dog cowered at gunfire outside. But she didn’t mind. She had her dog and a few guns, including a Glock and a pink AR-15. ( “Georgia has castle laws, so as long as you don’t shoot ’em in the back, you get off. So, duh.”)She practiced yoga and CrossFit and spent her days off wandering downtown, daydreaming about buying a derelict Woolworths and turning it into an ashram where people down on their luck could get a free meal. She had a Sunday morning ritual: chop vegetables to prepare her dinners for the week while talking on the phone with her mother.“It was getting more and more political because, like, we can’t help it,” Ms. Winner recalled.Mr. Trump was a constant theme. According to Ms. Winner’s mother, Billie Winner-Davis, her daughter was convinced that he would destroy the country. Ms. Winner told her mother she was glad she’d left the Air Force, because there was no way she could serve under him. When the United States bombed an air base in Syria, Ms. Winner told her mother it was “smoke and mirrors,” Ms. Winner-Davis recalled — Russia was given warning to evacuate the base, her daughter said.Ms. Winner watched Mr. Trump on TV scoffing at suggestions of Russian interference. “He’s lying,” she thought; she’d seen the proof. She recalled that the whole enterprise of government and war had started to seem rotten; she’d thought that she could make a difference working quietly within national security and, eventually, gaining enough authority to make better decisions. Now it felt pointless.“If there’s this jackass in the White House, apparently none of this matters,” she said recently, trying to describe her mind-set when she printed the report and dropped it in the mail. “It was the repeated lies.”For years, Ms. Winner had dreamed of distinguishing herself in a moment of heroism. “I always wanted to be a badass like Carrie from ‘Homeland,’” she said. “Somebody who got something done in counterintelligence or counterterrorism and I think — I don’t know — just kind of being that stand-alone figure.”There was a lot of talk about insurgency that year. Twitter was full of grandstanding and “I am Spartacus” declamations. But Ms. Winner slammed into a hard realization: Despite all the grumbling and proclaiming, the resistance, if it existed, did not rush to defend her.Ms. Winner talks a lot about social media, about its capacity to warp political life and set traps for people — including herself. She is haunted by the experience of watching news stories about politicians’ tweets from inside prison, where she had zero access to social media.Twitter didn’t give the prisoners protective gear during the pandemic. Facebook didn’t prevent inmates from losing family members to street violence. Nothing came of it, she realized, but cluttered minds and wasted time.“When you’re pulled away from it and you see all the energy put into it, it’ll break your heart,” Ms. Winner said. “Nobody is coming to save you, because they’re so busy with a tweet.”Shane Lavalette for The New York TimesIt is hard to understand how Ms. Winner evolved into an ideological insurgent, because she can’t talk freely about the days when she was a loyal service member. The state-imposed silence about the years she spent identifying drone targets and helping to assassinate people casts a fog of ambiguity over a complicated and perhaps even morally compromising part of her story.Everything we know about Ms. Winner’s war contributions comes from an Air Force Commendation Medal praising her for “enemy intelligence exploitation” and geolocating combatants. According to the medal, she aided in 650 captures and 600 kills.That’s a sobering body count for a young woman who, just a few years earlier, was teaching herself Arabic at the public library to better understand the faraway land that her country had invaded. As a teenager, Ms. Winner joined the military to learn more languages and because college looked like “somebody else’s moneymaking machine.” In the Air Force she learned Pashto, Dari and Farsi but ended up sequestered in a Maryland base eavesdropping on the other side of the planet.At times she expressed empathy for the people on the receiving end of the U.S. wars, fantasized about burning the White House down and even told her sister that she hated America. Those expressions of disgust, captured in online messages and private notes seized from Ms. Winner’s home, were eventually resurrected and patched together by prosecutors who seemed, Ms. Winner thought, to imply that she was a terrorist.Ms. Winner-Davis believes her daughter ended up leaking, at least in part, because she had been disillusioned by her military service. She recalled her daughter fretting over the reliability of the intelligence, telling her mother, “When you see somebody go poof on the screen, you’ve got to make sure it’s right.”“Through her work, she saw a lot of lies,” Ms. Winner-Davis said. “Reality saw another side of our country.”In the military and as an N.S.A. contractor, Ms. Winner vanished into the secrecy of federal institutions. It happened again when she went to prison. Each time, it seems, she emerged traumatized and depleted.Ms. Winner lived through both the pandemic and the racial tensions of 2020 in prison, where the social upheaval manifested in flares of violence and harsh recriminations. Covid meant draconian, monthslong quarantines and lockdowns in cells so tightly packed, she said, that inmates had to take turns standing up. As nerves frayed, guards began to randomly engage in collective punishment like tossing the cells and destroying people’s belongings.But it was the death of George Floyd that, to Ms. Winner, made prison life unbearable. Just hours after his murder hit the national consciousness, she said, she watched a white guard assault a Black inmate who’d made a rude comment.It was in those supercharged early days, stressed by increased hostility from prison staff members, Winner said, that she started getting high. Everyone, she said, had stores of psychiatric medications and other pills; you could combine them in different ways and crush and snort them to produce a buzz.“I was very, very aggressive” toward the guards, Ms. Winner said. “I’d just sit at the door punching the glass every time they walked by.”And so it was: a gradual disintegration in situation and morale until, at last, anticlimactically, Ms. Winner was released.Shane Lavalette for The New York TimesMs. Winner landed back where she started — at her mother’s place, saddled with an ankle monitor, dreaming of escape. She couldn’t bear to tell her mother how bad things had been in prison, but she couldn’t act normal, either. Her mother sensed that Ms. Winner had regressed to adolescence.“It definitely feels like there’s been some permanent damage,” Ms. Winner told me around that time. “Coming home and being in a stable environment and trying to have that control day to day — it hasn’t really fixed anything.”In those early weeks, Ms. Winner sought solace with a high school friend who, like her, had struggled with substance abuse and the law.“The scars were still healing from where I cut myself in quarantine,” she said. “He was the only person I could show those to and say, ‘Look, all I want to do is get high.’”In the confusion of those early weeks, she married her friend in secret — a decision that scandalized her disapproving mother and unraveled when the pair split up after just 44 days of marriage. Describing all of this, Ms. Winner suddenly laughed.“I’m obviously a 130 percent person,” she said. “Obviously.”She spent time with her family’s menagerie of four rescue dogs, three cats and a young horse. The Winner-Davis place has long operated as an informal refuge for rejected animals, giving Ms. Winner early lessons in the unforeseen complications of benevolence. She was a teenager when her pet kitten was killed by a pack of 15 dogs. Realizing their good intentions had mushroomed beyond control — and getting no help from the local animal shelter — the family ended up shooting some of the dogs they’d tried to save.Her childhood memories unfolded like tales from the forgotten margins of America, especially when it comes to her father, who bestowed on Ms. Winner her unforgettable name and lectured her at length about the importance of the traitor Judas to Christian theology. She called her father a “forever student”; she also described him as a junkie, gambler, possible draft dodger and would-be minister. His spine was shattered in a car accident before she was born, leading to years of excruciating surgeries and an unshakable dependence on painkillers.“OxyContin became his best friend, and of course nobody saw it as a vice,” Ms. Winner said. “But after that, he was never a competent person.” Eventually he split up with her mother and moved to Harlingen, Texas, near the U.S.-Mexico border.Still, he kept turning up to collect her and her older sister for allotted custody weekends. As they drove south along the coast, he’d hold forth on mystical and pseudoscientific topics. “Ninety minutes of ancient aliens, the Maya, the enigma of cultures, people coming from the sky,” Ms. Winner recalled.When their father won at cards, they’d take his winnings over the Rio Grande into Nuevo Progreso, Mexico, where he’d drop the girls at the orthodontist to have their braces checked while he sauntered from pharmacy to pharmacy, telling the clerks to keep the change so they’d leave his prescription unmarked. He’d redeem the same prescription at eight or nine shops.“He was a trafficker,” Ms. Winner said. “We learned everything. All the different checkpoints all the way up into Texas.”At first she loved the adventure of these trips, but as she got older, the shine began to wear off. Their father was getting sicker, surviving a few overdoses. Today these trips are the stuff of bad dreams.“I have nightmares about trying to get out of Harlingen, just the anxiety of needing to go home,” she said. “And realizing how many times he was probably high on pain pills and driving us.”Ms. Winner’s father didn’t live long enough to witness her moment of disastrous fame. Incapacitated from a series of heart attacks, he died in 2016. Like his daughter, he’d been radicalized by the Trump era — but in the opposite direction. He had become an ardent MAGA supporter, a development she attributes to incessant exposure to Fox News broadcasts in his nursing home.Relations between the unreliable father and the rest of the family had been strained for years. And yet at the end, Ms. Winner drew close to him.Watching him slip deeper into dementia, she realized that he could offer her a unique gift: He wasn’t lucid enough to repeat her secrets about the Air Force and the wars. So she unburdened herself into the closing door of a fading mind, this unfathomable father figure collapsed into moribund confessor.Back in Texas, Ms. Winner has narrowed her ambitions down to her local community. She said that she wants to do good things there, at home, where she can see them. She wants to coach, to use physical activity to fight addiction and give young people a chance to work through their stress.She’s got her scars — and maybe we do, too — but she’s ready to try, yet again, to turn all this into something good.The Times is committed to publishing a diversity of letters to the editor. We’d like to hear what you think about this or any of our articles. Here are some tips. And here’s our email: letters@nytimes.com.Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Twitter (@NYTopinion) and Instagram. More

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      Republicans Hate Everything About Trump’s Dinner With Ye and Fuentes Except Trump

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      There was a pattern with Donald Trump during the 2016 presidential election. He would say or do something outrageous and often quite offensive. Most people condemned him and the remarks themselves. Republicans took a different approach. They condemned the remarks, but avoided an attack on Trump the person.You saw this in full effect during the Republican primary season, when Trump refused to disavow support from David Duke, the former Ku Klux Klan leader and Republican candidate for senator and governor in Louisiana. Both leaders of the Republican Party in Congress, Mitch McConnell and Paul Ryan, condemned Duke.“If a person wants to be the nominee of the Republican Party, there can be no evasion and no games,” Ryan said. “They must reject any group or cause that is built on bigotry. This party does not prey on people’s prejudices.”“There has been a lot of talk in the last 24 hours about one of our presidential candidates and his seeming ambivalence about David Duke and the K.K.K., so let me make it perfectly clear,” McConnell said. “That is not the view of Republicans who have been elected to the United States Senate, and I condemn his views in the most forceful way.”As for Trump, who led the field for the nomination? “My plan is to support the nominee,” Ryan said. McConnell was not ready to commit at that point, but in short order, he bent the knee too.Trump is once again running for the Republican presidential nomination. Once again, though this time as the former president of the United States, he has the automatic support of a large part of the Republican Party base, as well as a large faction of Republican politicians, from state lawmakers to top members of the House of Representatives. And once again he has forced members of his party to make a choice about his rhetoric and behavior: Will they condemn his actions and cast him out or will they criticize his choices but allow him the privilege of leadership within the party?The offense this time? As you may have heard, Trump held a pre-Thanksgiving dinner with Kanye West, who has turned himself into arguably the nation’s most prominent antisemite, and Nick Fuentes, a far-right provocateur whose supporters, called groypers, were among the crowd that stormed the United States Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021.Trump, for his part, claims he knew nothing about Fuentes, who is an antisemite, a Holocaust denier and a white supremacist. “This past week, Kanye West called me to have dinner at Mar-a-Lago,” Trump said in a statement on Friday. “Shortly thereafter, he unexpectedly showed up with three of his friends, whom I knew nothing about.”This is hard to believe. Trump has had links to the far right going back to his first presidential campaign. Whether out of belief or, more likely, out of his extreme narcissism, he has refused to disavow his supporters on the fringes of American politics. And as we all know, he encouraged them outright in his attempt to hold on to power after his defeat in the 2020 presidential election. Trump may not have known about Fuentes in particular — although I think that is doubtful, given Fuentes’s proximity to Republican politics — but he certainly knows the type.It took Republican leaders a few days to muster the energy to respond to the meeting. But on Monday afternoon, a cascade of high-level Republican officeholders criticized Trump for meeting with Fuentes.Mike Pence, Trump’s vice president, made a stern statement: “President Trump was wrong to give a white nationalist, an antisemite and a Holocaust denier a seat at the table. I think he should apologize for it, and he should denounce those individuals and their hateful rhetoric without qualification.”Senator Bill Cassidy of Louisiana said, “President Trump hosting racist antisemites for dinner encourages other racist antisemites.”John Thune, the Senate minority whip, said that the dinner was “just a bad idea on every level. I don’t know who was advising him on his staff but I hope that whoever that person was got fired.” And Senator Lindsey Graham of South Carolina told reporters: “The meeting was bad, he shouldn’t have done it. But again, you know, there’s a double standard about this kind of stuff.”You’ll notice, in all of this, that while Republicans are willing to condemn Fuentes and Ye and Trump’s decision to eat dinner with them, they are not willing to go so far as to draw any conclusions about Trump himself. Even Pence — who had, in this group, the strongest words for Trump — took care not to impute any malice to his former boss. “I don’t believe Donald Trump is an antisemite. I don’t believe he’s a racist or a bigot,” he said. “I think the president demonstrated profoundly poor judgment in giving those individuals a seat at the table.”One of the few Republicans to condemn Trump as a person and a political figure was Mitt Romney, who, notably, no longer has any national ambitions beyond the Senate. “There’s no bottom to the degree to which he’s willing to degrade himself, and the country for that matter,” said Romney, who also called the dinner “disgusting.”Among those Republicans who have been silent on the matter so far, the most conspicuous is Ron DeSantis, the governor of Florida, where the dinner took place. DeSantis is often eager to jump into national political controversies. But he’s also Trump’s rival for control of the Republican Party and eager to court (and win) the former president’s supporters.Recently, there has been quite a bit of talk about the extent to which Republicans are leaving Trump behind and how they’ve tried to ignore his complaints and keep their distance. But this episode demonstrates the extent to which that distance — the distance between Trump and the Republican establishment — is overstated.Trump can still force the rest of the party to respond to him; he can still force it to contend with his rhetoric and his actions. And most important, his influence still constrains the behavior of other Republicans — rivals, allies and everyone in between. Trump is still at the center of the Republican political universe, exerting his force on everybody around him.I have no doubt that Republican elites want to rid themselves of Trump, especially after their poor performance — historically poor — in the midterm elections. But what we’re seeing right now is how that is easier said than done; how even in the face of the worst transgressions, Trump still has enough power and influence to make the party hesitate before it attempts to take action — and pull punches when it does. It’s the same hesitation and fear that helped Trump win the nomination in 2016. And if Republicans cannot overcome it, it will help him win it again in 2024.The Times is committed to publishing a diversity of letters to the editor. We’d like to hear what you think about this or any of our articles. Here are some tips. And here’s our email: letters@nytimes.com.Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Twitter (@NYTopinion) and Instagram. More

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      Mike Pence Is Having a Moment He Doesn’t Deserve

      by

      Mike Pence had a go-to line during his time as vice president of the United States. When his boss would ask him to carry out some task or duty — say, take an overseas trip or run the response to a pandemic — Pence would look President Trump in the eye, nod and say, “I’m here to serve.”The phrase recurs in Pence’s new memoir, “So Help Me God,” which covers his years as a congressman, governor of Indiana and vice president, with a focus on Pence’s actions during the assault on the Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021. It is the tale of the loyalist who finally had enough, of the prayerful stand-taker who insisted that he did not have the power to overturn an election, no matter the arguments concocted by Trump and his air-quote lawyers.With rioters calling for his hanging and Trump tweeting that Pence lacked “the courage to do what should have been done,” the vice president turned to the aides and family members with him in an underground loading dock at the Capitol. “It doesn’t take courage to break the law,” he told them. “It takes courage to uphold the law.” It is an inspiring scene, marred only by Pence then asking his daughter to write down what he said.Pence has been busy promoting “So Help Me God” on television, distancing himself from Trump (urging him to apologize for dining with a Holocaust-denying white supremacist at Mar-a-Lago last week) and even teasing a possible White House run of his own in 2024. The book debuted at No. 2 on The New York Times hardcover nonfiction best-seller list, and the Justice Department is now seeking to question Pence in its investigation of Trump’s efforts to remain in power after the 2020 election. Clearly, the former veep is having his moment.Feel free to buy the book, but don’t buy the redemption tale just yet. Pence was indeed in the White House to serve, but he served the president’s needs more than those of the nation. In “So Help Me God,” Pence rarely contradicts the president, even in private, until the days immediately preceding Jan. 6. He rarely attempts to talk Trump out of his worst decisions or positions. He rarely counters Trump’s lies with the truth.Most damning, Pence failed to tell the president or the public, without hedging or softening the point, that the Trump-Pence ticket had lost the 2020 election, even after Pence had reached that conclusion himself. Americans should be enormously grateful that the vice president did not overstep his authority and attempt to reverse the will of the voters on Jan. 6. But you shouldn’t get the glory for pulling democracy back from the brink if you helped carry it up there in the first place. And, so help me God, Pence did just that.Why wouldn’t Trump — a man Pence invariably calls “my president” and “my friend” — assume that his vice president would help steal the election? Pence had agreed to so much else, had tolerated every other national and personal indignity with that faraway, worshipful gaze.The irony is that Pence’s record of reliable servility was a key reason he was in position to be the hero at the end. And so the vice president became that rarest of Trump-era creatures: a dedicated enabler who nonetheless managed to exit the administration with a plausible claim to partial credit. If Pence got to do the right thing on Jan. 6, it was because he had done the wrong one for so long.The purpose of the vice president, of course, is to serve as second banana, preferably without getting too mottled by lousy assignments, presidential indifference or embarrassing deference. (Pence fills his sycophancy quotas in the book, extolling the president’s physical stamina, likening Trump to Jimmy Stewart’s character in “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington” and noting that he displayed a signed copy of “The Art of the Deal” in his West Wing office during his entire vice presidency.) Still, I searched through the 542 pages of this memoir for any instances in which Pence exercised enough character and independent judgment to tell Trump that he might have been on the wrong course about something, about anything. I found two such cases before the events surrounding Jan. 6. Two.No, it’s not when the president fired F.B.I. director James Comey in May of 2017, an action Trump took not for self-serving reasons, he assured Pence, but because it was “the right thing to do for the country.” (Apparently Pence is so persuaded by this argument that he quotes it twice.) It’s not when Trump praised the “very fine people” on both sides of the Charlottesville tragedy in August 2017. (Any notion of a false equivalence between neo-Nazis and those opposing them, Pence explains, was an unfortunate “narrative” that “smeared” his good friend in the Oval Office.)It’s not when the administration separated children from their parents at the southern U.S. border. (On immigration, Pence writes, Trump “led with law and order but was prepared to follow with compassion.”) It’s not when Trump pressed Ukraine’s leader to investigate a potential Democratic rival in the 2020 election. (“It was a less-than-perfect call,” Pence acknowledges, but its imperfections were stylistic, the product of Trump’s “casual” and “spontaneous” approach to foreign relations.)It’s not when Trump confused a frightened populace with his nonsensical coronavirus briefings in the spring of 2020. In fact, Pence explains away those sessions by suggesting that Trump believed that “seeing him and the press argue was in some way reassuring to the American people that life was going on.” And it’s not when Trump shared a stage with Vladimir Putin in Helsinki in July 2018 and accepted the Russian president’s denials about election interference. Pence says he encouraged Trump to “clarify” his views, but the vice president seemed far more troubled by media coverage of the event. “The press and political establishment went wild,” he writes. “It sounded as though the president was taking Putin’s side over that of his national security officials.” If it sounded that way, it was because that was the sound the words made when they left the president’s mouth.That is a standard Pence feint: When Trump says or does something wildly objectionable, Pence remains noncommittal on the matter and just condemns the “ever-divisive press” that covered it. When Trump derided Haiti, El Salvador and various African nations as “shithole countries” in an Oval Office conversation in early 2018, “the media predictably went into a frenzy,” Pence laments. The former vice president even faults journalists for drawing attention to Covid infection numbers in May 2020, “at a time,” Pence writes, “when cases in more than half of the states were dropping, and case rates were also in decline, numbering 20,000 a day, down from 30,000 in April.” As if 20,000 new Americans infected with a dangerous virus each day was not newsworthy.The two meaningful disagreements that Pence expressed to the president in real time were these: First, Pence demurred when Trump considered inviting Taliban representatives to Camp David; he suggested that the president “reflect on who they are and what they’ve done and if they have truly changed.” Second, the president and vice president had a testy exchange when Corey Lewandowski, a former Trump campaign manager, left a pro-Trump super PAC and joined Pence’s political action committee. Pence reminded Trump that he had encouraged the move, but Trump denied having done so. “By that point I was angry,” Pence acknowledges; he even admits to raising his voice. Somehow, the Taliban and Corey Lewandowski rated equally as lines that shall not be crossed.Between Election Day on Nov. 3, 2020, and the tragedy of Jan. 6, 2021, while Trump and his allies propagated the fiction of a stolen vote, Pence enabled and dissembled. Describing the outcome of the vote in his memoir, he offers a gloriously exculpatory euphemism, writing that “we came up short under circumstances that would cause millions of Americans to doubt the outcome of the election.” (Circumstances could not be reached for comment.)When Trump declared victory in the early hours of Nov. 4, Pence stood alongside him in the East Room of the White House, in front of dozens of U.S. flags and behind a single microphone, and “promised that we would remain vigilant to protect the integrity of the vote,” Pence recalls. In the days that followed, Pence addressed conservative audiences and pledged to continue the fight “until every legal vote is counted and every illegal vote is thrown out!”Note those slippery, wiggle-room formulations. Pence does not directly state that he believed the election had been stolen, yet his rhetoric still appears fully in line with Trump’s position. The ovations at his speeches were “deafening,” Pence notes. So was his public silence about the truth. Less than a week after the election, Pence had already admitted to Jared Kushner that “although I was sure that some voter fraud had taken place, I wasn’t convinced it had cost us the election.” Why not share that conclusion with the public? Why stand by as the big lie grew bigger and Jan. 6 grew inevitable?The memoir revisits several conversations between Pence and Trump in the weeks immediately preceding Jan. 6 — all missed opportunities to convey the truth to the boss. Instead, Pence reassured Trump that “the campaign was right to defend the integrity of America’s elections.” (Pence often refers obliquely to the actions of “the campaign,” as if he played no role in it, as if his name was not even on the ballot.) He dances around reality, coming closest to it when he advised the president that “if the legal challenges came up short and if he was unwilling to concede, he could simply accept the results of the elections, move forward with the transition, and start a political comeback.”On Dec. 14, 2020, state electors officially voted and delivered an Electoral College majority to Joe Biden and Kamala Harris, leading Pence to acknowledge that “for all intents and purposes, at that point the election was over.” He says so now in the memoir; if only he had said it in public at the time. Yes, he told Trump repeatedly that the vice president lacks the authority to overturn the results of the election. But not once in his book does Pence say to the president that, even if I had the authority, I would not exercise it — because we lost.Throughout “So Help Me God,” readers find Pence still running interference for Trump, still minimizing his transgressions. When he quotes the president’s video from the afternoon of Jan. 6, in which Trump finally called on the rioters to stand down, Pence makes a revealing omission. Here is how he quotes Trump: “I know your pain, I know your hurt … but you have to go home now, we have to have peace.” What did Pence erase with that ellipsis? “We had an election that was stolen from us,” Trump said in the middle of that passage. “It was a landslide election, and everyone knows it, especially the other side.” So much of Pence’s vice presidency is captured in those three little dots.Sometimes the problem is not the relevant material Pence leaves out, but the dubious material he puts in. Pence writes, with an overconfidence bordering on overcompensation, that he was going to win re-election as Indiana governor in 2016, that his victory “was all but assured.” In fact, Pence’s approval ratings in the final stretch of his governorship were low and polls indicated a tight contest against his Democratic opponent.Pence writes that Trump “never tried to obscure the offensiveness of what he had said” on the infamous “Access Hollywood” tape, perhaps forgetting that Trump dismissed his words as mere “locker room talk” and later suggested that the voice on the recording might not have been his own.Pence also writes that the White House, busy with its Covid response, did not have “much time for celebrating” after the president’s acquittal in his first Senate impeachment trial in February 2020, even though the next day Trump spoke about it in the White House for more than an hour before a crowd of lawmakers, aides, family members and lawyers. Trump explicitly called the speech a “celebration” and referred to that day, Feb. 6, 2020, as “a day of celebration,” as Pence, sitting in the front row, no doubt heard. The day would indeed prove a high point in the administration’s final year, as a pandemic, electoral defeat and insurrection soon followed.“I prayed for wisdom to know the right thing to do and the courage to do it,” Pence writes of the days before Jan. 6. Unsurprising for a book with this title, Pence’s Christian faith is a constant reference point. Raised Catholic, Pence describes being born again during his college years and joining an evangelical church with his wife. Throughout the memoir, Pence is often praying, and often reminding readers of how often he prays.Each chapter begins with a Bible passage, and Pence highlights individuals he deems particularly “strong” or “devout” Christians, with Representative Julia Carson of Indiana, who died in 2007, Senator Josh Hawley, Representative Jim Jordan and Secretary of State Mike Pompeo making the cut. I kept wondering if he would consider the role that his outspoken faith may have played in getting him on the ticket in the first place. If Trump picked him to reassure Christian conservatives, how does Pence feel about that bargain?In the epilogue, Pence provides a clue. Of all the Trump administration’s accomplishments, he writes, the “most important of all” was making possible the Supreme Court’s decision in Dobbs v. Jackson, which ended the constitutional right to abortion. “The fact that three of the five justices who joined that opinion were appointed during the Trump-Pence administration makes all the hardship we endured from 2016 forward more than worth it.” Pence, in other words, is the ultimate “But Gorsuch!” voter. That is what he got out of the bargain, plus a new national profile that he may leverage into a bid for the only higher office left to seek.In the book’s appendix, Pence reprints several documents that emphasize different aspects of his public service. There is his 2016 Republican convention speech, in which he hailed Trump as both an “uncalculating truth-teller” and “his own man, distinctly American”; his 2016 State of the State of Indiana address; his letter to Congress on Jan. 6, 2021, in which he stated that the vice president’s role in certifying an election is “largely ceremonial”; and his letter to then-Speaker Nancy Pelosi, six days after the attack on the Capitol, refusing to invoke the Constitution’s 25th Amendment to remove Trump from office. Pence also adds two texts in which he takes special pride, and which I imagine him citing in any future presidential run.First is an essay titled “Confessions of a Negative Campaigner,” which Pence published in 1991 after his second failed run for Congress. “It is wrong, quite simply, to squander a candidate’s priceless moment in history, a moment in which he or she could have brought critical issues before the citizenry, on partisan bickering,” Pence wrote. He was describing himself, with regret. The second is a speech that Pence, then representing Indiana’s Sixth Congressional District, delivered at Hillsdale College in 2010. “You must always be wary of a president who seems to float upon his own greatness,” Pence declared. He was describing the Obama presidency, with disdain. The president, he wrote, “does not command us; we command him. We serve neither him nor his vision.” Pence warned that “if a president joins the power of his office to his own willful interpretation, he steps away from a government of laws and toward a government of men.”These documents provide an apt coda to Pence’s vice presidency. One day, he may use them to distinguish himself from his president and his friend, to try to show that Pence, too, can be his own man. For now, he does not make the obvious connection between the sentiments in his essay and speech and his experience campaigning and governing alongside Donald Trump. Or if he does, he is calculating enough to keep it to himself.After all, Mike Pence was there to serve.The Times is committed to publishing a diversity of letters to the editor. We’d like to hear what you think about this or any of our articles. Here are some tips. And here’s our email: letters@nytimes.com.Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Twitter (@NYTopinion) and Instagram. More

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      The Republican Party Made Trump the Focus of the Midterms

      by

      If Republicans have many things going for them in next week’s elections — an economy that’s like a millstone around Democrats’ necks, fear in the electorate about crime and a chaotic immigration system, President Biden’s low approval ratings — they are also taking what appear to be some enormous risks: having candidates on the ballot who many observers see as too inexperienced, extreme or scandal-burdened to win in November.But they forget that Republicans already took an enormous risk, in 2016, by nominating Donald Trump for president. And not only did they avoid ballot-box suicide to win the election, but it was the beginning of a renaissance for the Republican Party. Mr. Trump’s approach, gleeful culture war combativeness atop core conservative principles, delivered both short-term policy wins and long-sought victories for his party’s base, like tax cuts, a long procession of conservative federal judges, a Supreme Court majority that overturned Roe v. Wade, the American Embassy moved to Jerusalem. He also pleased the Republican right by giving the party a new focus on immigration and shifting its foreign policy away from wars and nation-building in the Middle East.The Republican Party’s strategy in 2022 has been to double down on the Trump approach. Its candidates for the U.S. Senate in Pennsylvania and Georgia, Herschel Walker and Mehmet Oz, are celebrities without political experience, as is Kari Lake, a former Phoenix area news anchor who is now the Republican nominee for governor of Arizona.Blake Masters, running for the U.S. Senate in Arizona, has never held office and is perhaps best known for his association with Peter Thiel, a billionaire co-founder of PayPal, for whom Mr. Masters once worked and with whom he co-authored the 2014 book “Zero to One.” Also close to Mr. Thiel, and likewise a first-time aspirant to office, is the Republican nominee for the U.S. Senate in Ohio, J.D. Vance, famed for his own best-selling book, the 2016 memoir “Hillbilly Elegy.”Mitch McConnell may question “candidate quality,” but the Republican Party’s embrace of apparently high-risk candidates is a sign of confidence, not weakness. The party’s voters feel strongly enough about the populist, pro-Trump positioning that they have supported them over more experienced and less controversial figures.This reinvention is presenting midterm voters with something that looks fresh and new, at a time when the old party identities, and old norms and institutions, seem feeble and impotent.Joe Biden is a living symbol of that. In 2008, the Democrats branded themselves as the party of hope and change. President Biden is the farthest thing from a face of change, and fear of Mr. Trump has characterized the party’s messaging far more than any sense of hope. The Democrats are defensive, and what they’re defending seems to be naturally decaying — a political consensus that has disappointed Americans, fulfilling neither the demands for justice of the passionate left nor the middle class’s expectations for economic growth and stability at home and abroad.In these crumbling conditions, risk may be more attractive than hopeless defensiveness. And the G.O.P. is exciting, for good and for ill, in a way that the Democratic Party has not been since Barack Obama’s re-election. Boldness pays dividends, especially when the fundamental conditions of a midterm election make the risks smaller than they seem.Nominees like Mr. Masters, Mr. Walker and Ms. Lake have been controversial even in some quarters of the Republican Party. They have staked out hard-right political positions and have not backed down from aligning themselves with Mr. Trump even during an election season in which the former president’s conduct during the riot at the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021 is the subject of ongoing congressional hearings and his handling of classified material at his Mar-a-Lago residence under scrutiny by the Justice Department. Except for Mr. Walker, these candidates faced early competition in their primaries from experienced Republican officeholders.The party’s gambles look increasingly likely to pay off. Encouraged by recent polls, Republicans expect the right-wing populist approach of 2016 to produce midterm results like those of 1994, when the party picked up both chambers of Congress. Even so, skeptics of Trumpian reinvention of the Republican Party might wonder if its success — assuming it materializes — is not despite, rather than because of, Mr. Trump and his style of politics.Democrats contemplating a “red wave” next week might console themselves with the thought that nothing they could have done would have changed the fundamental forces giving Republicans an advantage this cycle. After all, the president’s party almost always loses seats in midterm elections.If Democrats under Bill Clinton could lose both the U.S. House of Representatives and the Senate in 1994, and Republicans under George W. Bush could lose both in 2006, it may seem like destiny for the Democrats to lose their razor-thin majorities in the House and Senate under President Biden this year. Democrats lost the House in Barack Obama’s first midterm elections in 2010 as well, and the Senate in his second in 2014.What’s more, some Republicans who have defied and opposed Mr. Trump, like Gov. Brian Kemp of Georgia, are also poised to do well on Nov. 8. The former president’s critics in the party might well believe that any version of the Republican Party could do well in this environment, and the they might do even better without the new populist right.These thoughts are a comfort to those who would like to see American politics revert to what had passed for normal in the years before 2016. But they don’t overturn the daunting reality faced by both Democrats and anti-Trump Republicans: The Republican Party has chosen to remake itself in Trump’s image, and the political gestalt he created can win. It won the White House in 2016 and it has held on to the Republican Party as an institution even after the defeats of 2018 and 2020. This year Republican congressional and gubernatorial candidates are more Trump-like than ever, from their views on immigration and foreign policy to their disdain for the Republican Party establishment of the time before Mr. Trump. Experience counts far less than before, certainly in Republican primaries, while candidates like Mr. Walker, Mr. Oz, and Ms. Lake suggest that celebrity appeal will play a growing part in Republican politics, and thus the country’s, in the future.Mr. Vance, 38, and Mr. Masters, 36, for their part show that the reinvented Republican Party is attracting highly talented and intelligent young candidates who are likely to further accelerate the party’s ideological transformation. For its supporters, and perhaps for a wider curious public, the Republican Party has become exciting and evolutionary. While Democrats have taken some risks of their own this cycle, with candidates such as Pennsylvania nominee for U.S. Senate, John Fetterman, the party still seems more reactive than creative.The Republican Party has nominated and primed set to elect a wave of right-wing candidates who will shape American politics in the years ahead with or without Mr. Trump.The Republicans, in short, are taking entrepreneurial risks and have the initiative. And while the conditions of the 2022 midterms allow them to capitalize on it, the impetus itself is what matters most for our future.Daniel McCarthy is the editor of Modern Age: A Conservative Review.The Times is committed to publishing a diversity of letters to the editor. We’d like to hear what you think about this or any of our articles. Here are some tips. And here’s our email: letters@nytimes.com.Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Twitter (@NYTopinion) and Instagram. More