Picture this: Donald Trump, the self-proclaimed champion of ‘the people’, parading around an airfield in a garbage truck—a performance as elusive in purpose as it is captivating in absurdity. The viral spoof of Trump's diction by Keaton Patti, 'When life gives you lemons, Joe Biden kills you with them' is a quip which whilst not true captures the believability of his escalating rhetoric. The garbage spectacle—a response to President Biden’s offhand remark labelling Trump’s supporters as 'garbage'—is firmly rooted in the Trumpian tradition of petulant displays and absurd platitudes, seasoned with bravado and finger-pointing. If you read Jude Russo’s recent article in the Critic (which I suggest you don’t) on why a second Trump presidency shouldn’t scare European liberals it becomes clear that the conservative right has a penchant for ‘sane-washing’ its candidate.

The irony is rich. In 2016, Trump’s appeal lay in his irreverence, his promise to 'drain the swamp' and reconnect with forgotten Americans. Yet in 2023, his rhetoric has descended into bumper-sticker clichés about Bidenomics, offering predictable talking points  and broad, partisan soundbites that lack the connection to individual grievances that once drove his movement. Instead of capturing the pulse of the discontented American heartland, Trump’s language now mirrors the kind of political platitudes he once condemned. 

Consider Trump’s jarring shift to declare himself a defender of 'reproductive rights'. For many conservatives, this term signifies only one thing: a softening stance on abortion—a position fundamentally at odds with the core values of his evangelical base. Or perhaps it’s his redefinition of the issue as IVF, of which he labelled himself the father of. The 'most pro-gay president' in American history or a devout Christian since birth? These paradoxical assertions encapsulate Trump’s appetite for enigmatic and contradictory statements—crafted more to confuse than to clarify. If you sift through his posts on Truth Social, you’ll find neither substance nor coherence—just a jumble of buzzwords dressed up as a doctrine.

Russo rationalises Trump’s proposed reduction of aid to Ukraine, ignoring his peculiar relationship with Putin, by describing Russia as a 'pariah power and economic backwater' which wouldn’t have fared any better ‘wrest[ing] away a few provinces’ without American opposition. The former president’s casual consideration of cutting military aid to Ukraine is an ideological difference that should worry Western liberals and from a stateside perspective doesn’t even align with any aim of maintaining America’s ‘greatness’—only adding to the surreal nature of Trump’s foreign policy.

Then there are Trump’s outlandish claims about foreign threats, where migrants, he assures us, are coming to 'eat our dogs' or obtain gender-affirming surgeries in prison. The hyperbole feels almost desperate—a clamouring attempt to engage a fevered portion of his base by crafting a vision of America besieged by threats as fantastical as they are implausible. For years, Trump’s supporters have overlooked gaffes that would have derailed any ordinary candidate, chalking them up to his ‘everyman’ authenticity. But how far can this immunity stretch?

The real mystery isn’t Trump’s rhetoric but the Republican Party’s tolerance for it. While Democrats are routinely scrutinised for even minor gaffes or ideological divisions, Republicans rally behind a candidate whose statements range from crude to incendiary. Trump’s remarks about Kamala Harris or his use of language that would be deemed unacceptable in any professional setting seem to go unchallenged. Perhaps the supreme court’s conservative majority and a Republican-led House has emboldened Trump’s supporters, convincing them that their power is assured.

What’s most ironic, perhaps, is that Trump—once the outsider and critic of entrenched elites—has become firmly part of the establishment, wielding influence across traditional power structures, social media platforms, and even fringe movements. The so-called disruptor has reshaped the landscape to suit himself, feeding his base a blend of anti-establishment rhetoric while basking in the privilege and immunity of establishment power.

For Trump, this race isn’t about advancing conservative values, nor is it about single-issue battles like immigration or abortion. This campaign increasingly resembles a gladiatorial spectacle, a test of loyalty where Trump measures the limits of his supporters’ tolerance for bluster and bloviation. Yet, for the loyal followers he has assured he has 'loved from the beginning', it may be a show they no longer need to attend. America’s right has the chance to redefine its future, to look beyond this era of chaos and pageantry. As 2025 approaches, Republican voters face a clear choice: to perpetuate the spectacle or, finally, to clear the stage.