The last time I attended a Republican National Convention, eight years ago, the mood was frenetic. That RNC began in the shadow of the shooting deaths of five police officers and the wounding of nine others by Black Afghan War veteran Michael Xavier Johnson in Dallas, Texas, in retaliation for the police killings of Alton Sterling in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and Philando Castile in Falcon Heights, Minnesota. Going into the convention, top Trump campaign aide Paul Manafort shocked reporters by suggesting that the violent atmosphere of “lawlessness” in the country was welcome news for the convention. The 2024 RNC in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, took place in the immediate shadow of political violence, this time an assassination attempt on the Republican nominee, Donald Trump. But whereas the former was used to depict a white nation under siege, the latter was celebrated as the ultimate triumph of the MAGA movement and its unconquerable hero.
In 2016 Trumpism was still a jumble of far-right groups that was markedly different from the mainstream of the party. Longtime party delegates adorned with elephant accessories mingled uneasily with the aggressive insurgents in the streets of Cleveland, unsure of what would become of their party whether Trump won or lost.
The 2016 convention in Cleveland began with an “America First Unity Rally” outside the convention, which featured such figures as Roger Stone, Alex Jones and Breitbart editor and internet racist Milo Yiannapoulos — a cast of characters that stirred a crowd of Infowars enthusiasts, white nationalists and Bikers for Trump. In Cleveland’s Quicken Loans Arena that evening it was “Law and Order Night,” where speakers lashed out against immigrants and protesters while defending the police in a show of authoritarianism far harsher than the usual fare at Republican conventions. Three parents in turn described the deaths of their children at the hands of undocumented immigrants. Another speaker demanded an end to rampant crime and “anarchy” in the streets. Rudy Giuliani shouted about Black protests at home and Islamist threats from abroad.
Outside the 2016 convention, many Republican delegates and other party members I spoke with evinced a kind of melancholy about their candidate. A number of them frankly admitted that he had not been their choice in the Republican primaries. Indeed, hesitancy about Trump was expressed by a wide spectrum of GOP supporters, from “mainstream” Republicans to social conservatives to free market libertarians.
Jan and Tina, two local Republican volunteers in their 70s, told me that the most important thing to them was party unity. When I asked them on what ground they thought the party should unify, they each demurred, turning the question back to me. I met two Tea Partiers from Westchester County, New York — Howard, an office chair manufacturer, and Steven, a real estate lawyer. They told me that the Tea Partiers in Congress had sold out their principles and that this is why the Republican grassroots chose Trump. When I asked if Trump shared their economic views, they said that they hoped that he would in time. Nick and Tim, two members of the then-small “limited government” organization Turning Point USA, admitted that they weren’t sure they would support Trump but thought it important to stick with the party for the time being.
Then there were the exuberant Trump supporters, who were delirious in their devotion to their candidate and saw him as a weapon of vengeance against Black Lives Matter protesters, illegal immigration and Islamic terrorism. For instance, I spoke with two men holding a “Teamsters for Trump” sign who drove up from New York City. They said they were there to represent “the issues of the working man” to Republicans. One complained to me about immigrants driving down wages, while the other described a “stinky mosque” down the street from his apartment that “never once flew an American flag.”
Eight years later, things look much different. The Republicans assembled in Milwaukee for the RNC this year expressed neither hesitancy on the one side nor populist rage on the other. Instead, the convention had the air of authoritarian serenity. Indeed, the physical space itself was dominated by metal fencing, concrete barriers and automatic weapons so that the conventioneers would be left untroubled. For starters, a multi-block area in downtown Milwaukee itself around the convention was walled off. Anyone entering this “hard perimeter” had to go through a series of highly securitized checkpoints. Party elites and major donors had the equivalent of a “fast pass” in order to be whisked swiftly through security in black SUVs. On the other end of the spectrum were the low-level event and hotel staff, who had a difficult time getting to their jobs. One hotel housekeeper I spoke to had spent 45 minutes walking around the perimeter in the intense afternoon heat trying to find a way through to get to her job.
A large swath of the city outside of the perimeter also felt like it was under siege — patrolled by over 4,000 cops on foot, bicycle patrols and armed personnel carriers from 126 law enforcement agencies across 24 states. On the first day of the convention an unhoused man was shot and killed by a group of police officers from Columbus, Ohio, a mile from the convention site. Such is the price for Republican ease and comfort in an economically suffering Rust Belt city. Indeed, the mixture of inconvenience, constraint, controlled movement and simmering threat of violence for those outside the privileged site of tranquility felt like a manifestation of Trumpianism writ small.
Unlike 2016, there were no offsite rallies with the likes of Alex Jones, Roger Stone or Milo Yiannopolos. There were no militia members or white nationalists making their presence felt around the convention. There were no crowds screaming “Lock her up! Lock her up!” And there were no angry scuffles with anti-Trump protesters. But neither were there GOP delegates who seemed unhappy or even hesitant about the party’s standard-bearer or who felt that they even had to make excuses for Trump. In 2024, every Republican is now confidently, blissfully, a MAGA Republican.
In sharp contrast to the constant static in the air in Cleveland, within the city’s downtown and Third Ward, the party faithful mingled and drank in outside bars, took group selfies on the street with right-wing celebrities like Celtics center Enes Kanter Freedom or stood in long lines at perimeter checkpoints, chatting easily in the hot July sun. Images of a bloodied, fist-pumping Trump on T-shirts, hats and posters sold like hotcakes next to rhinestone-bedazzled MAGA cowboy hats and thin-blue-line American flags.
There was no need for Proud Boys, Three Percenters or InfoWars enthusiasts outside the gates of the convention, because it is no longer an insurgency. In the months leading up to the 2016 convention, Roger Stone threatened to publicize the hotel room numbers of any delegates who might cast a vote against Trump, thereby endangering their safety. This year, a delegate vote against their beloved leader is unthinkable. In 2016 the convention mainstage featured one speaker after the next delivering dark jeremiads about the nation’s future, describing the undocumented as murderous hordes and Black Lives Matter protesters as violent thugs, painting Democrats as treasonous conspirators. Trump’s many Republican critics were mostly kept off the stage altogether.
Today, Trumpism is capacious and confident in its projections of power. No longer a populist revolt against the neoliberal wing of the party, it has a vision of rule that simply bundles venture capitalism with economic nationalism. In Milwaukee, the president of the International Brotherhood of Teamsters, Sean O’Brien, had a prime time speaking slot at the convention — bolstering the Bannonite populist flank of the party represented by the likes of Missouri Sen. Josh Hawley and, more important, Trump’s vice presidential pick, Ohio Sen. J.D. Vance.
Similarly the party now boldly combines hard nativism with right-wing multiracialism. The first night featured speeches from South Carolina Sen. Tim Scott, Florida Rep. Byron Donalds, celebrity hip-hop model Amber Rose, Peruvian immigrant Vanessa Faura and California lawyer and GOP official Harmeet Dhillon, who closed the proceedings with a Sikh prayer. The supremely self-assured MAGA party need not apologize to the Wall Street scions and corporate donors when Vance calls them robber barons. In the same way, the RNC need not answer to the deeply offended evangelicals calling Dhillon a satanist. Trump and his advisers can now mix and match political elements as they see fit. Even Democrats are hardly described as the monsters they had been so cast as in 2016. They are mere irritants — less a threat to the national body than a poorly aimed bullet that barely grazes its ear.
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