by Tim Alberta
The question Trump asked two years into his presidency, emerging from the longest shutdown in government history and awaiting the findings of Mueller’s investigation, was whether Republicans would remain “faithful” and “loyal.” It had been answered. Their allegiance to him, once fleeting and flimsy, had been hardened by fire. The GOP would belong to Donald Trump for the duration of his presidency.
But what happens when he’s gone?
IN THE SPRING OF 2017, NOT THREE MONTHS INTO HIS PRESIDENCY, Trump was hosting an intimate dinner for some veterans of the transition team when he ambushed them with a most unexpected query.
“Has any president besides Franklin Roosevelt done anything big after their first term?”
It was startling on many levels. For one thing, people around the table were surprised that Trump was demonstrating a textured grasp on the history of his office. And indeed, while some experts believe the so-called “second term curse” is overstated, there is no question that most multiterm presidents accomplish their major initiatives during their first four years.
But above all, the attendees were taken aback by the implication. Although Trump had been in office a very short time, he was showing signs of misery on the job. The press was unyieldingly critical. His staff was clumsy and ineffectual. Congress was moving like molasses. Democrats were dead-set against him. Even many of the Republicans who smiled in his face, Trump knew, were knifing him in the back.
It all made for a compelling thought experiment at the highest levels of the government, the stuff of whispered fantasy for the likes of Speaker Ryan and Reince Priebus and, later, John Kelly. If Trump achieved a series of major legislative victories in his first term, could he be convinced there was nothing to gain—and everything to lose—by seeking another?
“No, because it’s a very big job and there is a lot to do,” Trump told the New York Times in January 2019, responding to questions about such a scenario. He later added, “Here’s the bottom line: I love doing it. I don’t know if I should love doing it, but I love doing it.”
Whenever Trump does vacate the White House, the Republican Party will face a reckoning. It will have been rebranded as a protectionist, big-spending, anti-immigration entity. Its coalition will be overwhelmingly reliant on exurban and rural working-class whites and less dependent than ever on affluent, diverse suburbanites. Its character on everything from trade to international alliances to entitlement spending will be changed, if not converted entirely, from the turn-of-the-century GOP.
At that point, what will become of Trump’s party? Will its identity endure, reshaping the American right for decades or even generations to come? Or will it revert to its Reaganesque roots, embracing once more the concepts of limited government and global integration?
“It’s very much an open question,” says Karl Rove, the architect of George W. Bush’s victories and one of few elder statesmen in today’s GOP. “My gut says Trump won’t durably change the party. Republicans are free-traders, and this experiment with protectionism is going to end very badly. People in Ohio and Michigan, they’re going to see how bad protectionism is. We’re anti-communist here; we’re not isolationists. I think the American people know that we’re five percent of the population and twenty-five percent of the world’s economy, and if we want to be prosperous, we can’t just wash each other’s laundry.”
Kellyanne Conway, who is the closest thing to Rove’s counterpart in the Trump universe, sees it differently. “It will be a Trumpian party,” she predicts. “The constant outrage and opprobrium toward Donald Trump miss so much of what he’s knitting together in a sustainable way. His version of ‘America first’ will outlast him. What’s the next Republican president going to say? I’m going to raise taxes? I’m going to add regulations? I think getting back in the Paris accords and the Iran nuclear deal and trade deals that screw American workers are great ideas?”
There is, of course, another potential outcome. Republicans abandoned Bush’s version of the party when it ceased to align with their needs and attitudes, and they will defect from Trumpism just as quickly. But if and when they do, there is no guarantee of a return to the status quo. While Ryan is right that party politics are cyclical, those cycles don’t last forever. The fragmenting of America’s two-party system has so accelerated, in such a condensed window, that its implications are impossible to fully appreciate. The 2020 general election could very well pit a Republican nominee who was never a Republican (Trump) against a Democratic nominee who was never a Democrat (Sanders).
With both parties buckling under the weight of extraordinary ideological and cultural pressures, and the electorate as a whole undergoing a sweeping demographic realignment, it’s not implausible to envision the post-Trump GOP splitting altogether rather than regressing to an era of paternalistic, top-down party politics. The palace gates were finally broken down by the 2016 election, with Trump’s candidacy the chosen battering ram of the populist masses. They may discover that overthrowing the monarchy didn’t bring the changes they hoped for—but that doesn’t mean they’ll reinstall a king.
“The Republican Party is on a pretty thin thread right now,” says Raúl Labrador, the former congressman and leader of the Tea Party faction that threatened to break away from the GOP in 2010. “The establishment invited this insurgency by not listening to the American people. It started during the Bush years. It got worse with Boehner. Now [Ryan]. And Trump actually spoke to those people. That’s why it’s so incumbent on him to listen to them. Because if he doesn’t, they will turn on him, too.”
What will that look like?
“Right now, they’re happy with Trump, but they’re going to grow disillusioned if they keep seeing trillions more in debt, if they don’t see the immigration problem solved, if they don’t see wages go up for everyday Americans,” Labrador warns. “I think voters will be looking for a new vehicle to keep those promises to the American people. That’s when you’re going to see a new political party. And you’ll get people from both sides—some of the Bernie Sanders people and some of the Trump people. That’s what I see coming.”
At the other end of the Republican spectrum, Sara Fagen, White House political director under Bush, offers an identical prediction.
“A lot of people think Trump is a footnote, that he’s just here for four or eight years, and then it goes back to normal. But I think that’s wrong. I think the party is changed for good,” she says. “And it won’t be sustainable. We’re in a period of incredible change as a country where the extremes of the left and right are going to converge, and you’re going to wind up with a third party. Over the next two or four years? No. But in the next twenty? For sure.”
In the interim, the jockeying to lead the post-Trump Republican Party has already begun. Marco Rubio and Ted Cruz—both seasoned, shrewd, and afflicted with the presidential bug—are charting their respective policy paths in the Senate. Nikki Haley is taking donor meetings around the country and mapping out her vision for the party. Mike Pence is waiting patiently in the wings, certain that his dutiful subservience will be rewarded. And a crop of ambitious next-generation Republicans is lurking in the shadows. All of these people are sizing up Trumpism and molding themselves to annex some part of its appeal.
They all face the same problem: There is only one Donald J. Trump.
A singular figure in the sweep of American mythology, the forty-fifth president identified a historic convergence of cultural and socioeconomic unrest and used it to remake the political landscape in his image. There can be no imitating Trump’s style or replicating his success.
Rarely has a president so thoroughly altered the identity of his party. Never has a president so ruthlessly exploited the insecurity of his people.
I WANT TO KNOW: IS HE TRANSITIONAL OR TRANSFORMATIONAL?
Trump smirks. “I mean, can there be—” he stops abruptly. “I don’t want to be saying it.”
But the president can’t help himself. “Can there be a question?”
he says, pushing his chair outward and standing up, casting a shadow over the Resolute desk. “Honestly, can there be even a question?”
Acknowledgments
WHEW.
That was a bit long—shocking, no doubt, to everyone who has edited me—so I’ll try to be succinct here.
There is no way I could have written this book without the love, encouragement, and unconditional support offered by my wife, Sweta. It’s challenging enough to be a working mom with three boys under the age of five. But to carry that load alone for the better part of a year—while her absentee, first-time author husband toiled in his basement study battling anxiety and sleep deprivation—ought to qualify Sweta for some sort of humanitarian award. Naturally, she will shrug this off, her selflessness surpassed only by her humility. The world should know, however, that any praise I may receive for this project rightfully belongs to her. (Your criticisms may still be directed to me.) Sweta, you are the rock of our family, the love of my life, and, as I said on our wedding day, the headline of my heart. I treasure you.
Sitting down one night last November to begin writing, I got as far as typing “Chapter One” before spending an interminable stretch staring at the otherwise barren screen, wondering what I’d gotten myself into and whether it was yet time for a bathroom break. What spurred me to action then, and every night over the next several months, was the thought of my three sons sleeping upstairs. They were far too young—a newborn and two toddlers—to understand what their dad was doing. But they were my inspiration nonetheless. One day my little boys will be men and, like other kids coming of age in that next generation, they will be brimming with questions about this strange national legacy they inherited. My job as a journalist means nothing compared to my duties as a father; fortunately, this book provided me an occasion to wear both hats, putting on paper a decade’s worth of reporting that I hope will inform their views of politics, culture, and the human condition. Abraham, Lewis, Brooks: Thank you for clarifying my purpose. Never forget who you are and whose you are. I love the three of you so very much.
Everything I know about parenting, and whatever successes I’ve had in life, I owe to my mom and dad. They have modeled the virtues of integrity, faithfulness, reliability, perseverance, and trustworthiness that I aspire to in my professional and personal callings. Their devotion—to each other, to their children, and to the Lord—has set an example for which I will be forever grateful. Every child should be so fortunate as to be raised by parents who encourage their every endeavor, commiserate with their every struggle, forgive their every failure, and celebrate their every triumph. Mom and Dad, thank you for everything.
To my three brothers, who collectively showed minimal interest in this project and seemed largely unimpressed with my landing a book deal, thank you for keeping your little brother grounded. The fact that you respect me less for being an author than for being a family man—and for being a better athlete than all of you—speaks volumes about our shared priorities. Chris, J.J., Brian: The next round’s on me.
I want to send love to my nieces and nephews (Alexis, Norah, Henry, Madison, Gabriel, Tyler, Isaac, Miles) and my sisters-in-law (Kristi, Steph). And I want to give a special shout-out to Rudy and Kinjal, my bhai and bhen, for always being here for us and the boys.
There are three people to whom I’m deeply indebted for getting this colossus on wheels. Matt Latimer and Keith Urbahn, my agents at Javelin, went all-in despite having bigger clients and more lucrative projects to pursue. Their guidance was essential from start to finish. And Jonathan Jao, my editor at HarperCollins, could see my vision for telling this story—one not just about Trump, but about the culture that produced him—when many others could not. He also helped whittle down a manuscript that came in 100,000 words long while keeping its soul intact, never losing patience with his author even when he had every right to. Matt, Keith, Jonathan: All three of you guys have been loyal advisers and confidants throughout a process that was daunting and entirely foreign to me. I cannot imagine having smarter, savvier, more responsive people by my side.
Bringing this book to life, particularly on a crash production schedule, would not have been possible without some of the other brilliant minds at HarperCollins. Sarah Haugen deserves special accolades for her capability and good cheer throughout. But even before the manuscript was submitted, the heaviest lifting was done by two people: Derek Robertson, my assistant (and fellow Michigander), who was tireless in his fact checking and researching; and Jim O’Sullivan, my dear friend and dedicated sounding board, who provided real-time feedback on things big and small. Derek and Jim, the peace of mind you provided me was truly invaluable. Please know that I’m exceptionally grateful to the both of you.
Choosing HarperCollins to publish this work came on the advice of a number of industry veterans, all of whom told me some variation of the same thing: There is no better publicity team in the business. Having worked with Tina Andreadis and Theresa Dooley, I cannot overstate just how right they were. While my list of rookie concerns grew longer by the day since signing on that dotted line, I can honestly say that the marketing of this book never concerned me for a moment. Tina and Theresa, you have exuded competence and professionalism every step of the way. I’m so glad to have you in my corner.
Long before I sold myself as someone capable of writing a definitive account of the modern political era, I was a part-time janitor, full-time waiter, and struggling community college student with no real direction in life. It was only after transferring to Michigan State and coming under the tutelage of two men in particular—Eric Freedman and Bill McWhirter—that I realized a love not just for journalism but for political storytelling. Having once believed that no career could be more satisfying than that of a baseball beat writer, Eric and Bill helped me see the thrill of covering a far more important game. I’m not sure where life would have taken me had I not come under their influence—but it certainly wouldn’t have been Washington.
It was the work in Eric’s program, the Capital News Service, that led to my big break: an internship at the D.C. bureau of the Wall Street Journal. For that opportunity I must first thank the late Terry Michael, whose program, the Washington Center for Politics and Journalism, opened the door to a career in the capital. At the Journal, it was Mary Lu Carnevale, the eminently gifted (and exceptionally patient) news editor who held this wide-eyed intern’s hand when others justifiably wondered what the hell he was doing in her newsroom. Thank you, Mary Lu, for your grace and your kindness.
At that point, I was a penniless intern renting a closet for $400 a month in the not-yet-renovated Petworth neighborhood, driving an Oldsmobile with two plastic-wrapped windows and selling CDs to a pawn shop on 14th Street NW for two dollars apiece to buy ramen noodles. In the decade since, I’ve outworked a lot of reporters who are smarter and better pedigreed. But I’ve also benefited tremendously from the risks taken on me by people who could have played it safe: Jim VandeHei, John Harris, Danielle Jones, Mike Allen, and Ben Smith at Politico; Reid Wilson, Josh Kraushaar, Ron Fournier, and Charlie Green at National Journal; Rich Lowry and Jack Fowler at National Review; and, in my second tour at Politico, the amazing Carrie Budoff Brown.
It’s imperative at this point that I stop to thank the four colleagues and friends who have meant the most to me in this journey: Kristin Roberts, my erstwhile editor at National Journal, who pushed me to maximize my abilities as a source reporter and brought out the best in my stories, though I hated some of her edits; Shane Goldmacher, my old office mate in the NJ “locker room,” whose polish and precision rubbed off on me every single day, and whose dramatically different background made us an odd yet perfect pairing; Eliana Johnson, who lobbied to bring me aboard National Review even as it threatened her status as the publication’s top news reporter, and who secured us the autonomy to produce some powerhouse reporting from an opinion journal not traditionally known for it; and Blake Hounshell, the mad tweeter, whose quick-twitch social media instincts belie a
storytelling guru whose stewardship of Politico Magazine took my feature writing to another level.
All four of you—Kristin, Shane, Eliana, and Blake—have been crucial to the advancement of my career and the refining of my talents, all the while allowing me to remain true to myself. I could ask for nothing more.
As for remaining true to myself, allow me to recognize my original supporting cast—a group of guys who helped make me the man I am today. To Jim Nelson, Bill Duffey, A. J. Lear, Kyle Lamanen, Sean Taylor, Garrett Chapman, Jason Olinik, Joe Powell, Phil Clark, and all my other boys from back home, thanks for having my back. (Honorable mention to the out-of-towners: Andy Geyer, Anthony “Zags” Zagajewski, and the UVA crew that adopted me in Arlington.) And to those mentors who steered me away from trouble as an unruly youth—Sean Carleton, Joe Mackle—I hope you guys take a special satisfaction in seeing that your efforts paid off.
It’s also important that I recognize the friendships I’ve forged along the way—not the D.C. cocktail circuit chums who traffic in mutually beneficial relationships, but the buddies with whom I’ll be drinking beers longer after we’ve escaped the Beltway: Alex Roarty, Scott Bland, Steve Shepard, Raphael Esparza, Sean Sullivan, Patrick Reis, Jim Oliphant, Ben Terris, Charlie Szold, Jonathan Swan, Adam Wollner, Josh Dawsey. You guys have made it much easier to tolerate living and working in the world’s most insufferable city. Thanks for the good times, one and all.
On another professional note, I want to express my appreciation to some of the particularly great and generous colleagues I’ve had the privilege of learning from and working alongside over the past decade: Ron Brownstein, who first suggested this specific angle for a book; Major Garrett, who made time for young reporters and never acted as though we were anything but peers; and Tim Grieve, who made a big bet on my career long before I had done anything to warrant his confidence. I’m also gratified to have called the following people colleagues: Beth Reinhard, Nancy Cook, Alex Burns, Dan Friedman, Richard Just, Nick Tell, Steve Heuser, and the entire Politico Mag staff. Also, because I drew from so much of my past work in reconstructing this storyline, I want to make a special point of thanking the people I’ve shared important bylines with: Billy House, my tutor in covering Congress; Alexis Levinson, my partner on the 2016 debate circuit; Rachael Bade, Elena Schneider, and of course, all my former Hotline comrades.