 Glenn Beck, seen here at a Trump rally on Oct. 13, said in 2016 that Trump was "an immoral man who is absent decency or dignity" and that opposing him was the only "moral, ethical choice." |
EARLY IN William Shakespeare's "Richard III," the villainous title character embarks on a seemingly impossible task: to persuade Lady Anne, the bereaved widow of Prince Edward and daughter-in-law of the late King Henry VI, to marry him. The idea could hardly be more offensive, since Anne knows it was Richard who killed both her husband and his father. But Richard is shameless. He not only makes a play for Anne, but he does so while she is grieving over the bleeding corpse of the murdered king and cursing his assassin.
Unabashed, Richard begins flirting with her, praising her beauty and claiming he loves her. Anne spits at him, insults him, and damns him as a "dreadful minister of hell," but he just repeats that he wants to marry her and take her to bed. Shakespeare makes the repulsiveness of Richard's character evident to all. Yet by the end of the scene, despite everything she finds repugnant about him, Anne has agreed to become engaged to Richard. He gives her a ring and watches her leave the stage, then sardonically gloats: "Was ever woman in this humor wooed? / Was ever woman in this humor won?"
In the years since Donald Trump walked onto the presidential stage, I have often thought of that scene. Time and again I have been dumbfounded by Trump's ability to successfully woo elite conservatives and top-ranking Republicans who were once fiercely opposed to him as a matter of principle. It has baffled me to see so many prominent opinion leaders and public intellectuals on the right — men and women who used to call Trump out for his ugly character, odious words, compulsive lying, and reckless demagoguery — eventually pledge him their troth. Like Lady Anne yielding to Richard despite his manifest vileness, scores of Trump's most resolute public opponents changed into some of his most resolute public supporters. Why?
To be clear, I am not questioning any Republicans, prominent or not, who might have initially opposed Trump in the belief that he was not a viable candidate and then changed their minds when they realized differently. Nor am I faulting erstwhile Republican critics who opposed Trump at first because they were backing a different candidate (or who were themselves among those candidates).
Similarly, I have no trouble understanding that there are single-issue voters who find Trump unlikable but strongly supported him all the same because of his stand on the particular issue that matters most to them — immigration, judicial appointments, Israel, trade, whatever. By the same token, I respect the many people who never liked Trump but held their noses to vote for him because they sincerely believed the alternative was worse.
No: The conservatives and Republicans I have in mind are the ones who were adamant and very public about being Never Trumpers because anything else — so they said — would violate their moral convictions or betray their conservative values or bring shame on the Republican Party. Individuals like the high-profile radio host Glenn Beck, for example, who in 2016 told his huge audience that Trump was "an immoral man who is absent decency or dignity" and that opposing him was the only "moral, ethical choice." Just three years later, Beck was a full-throated Trump supporter, insisting that he would "gladly" vote for him in 2020 because a Trump defeat would mean "the end of the country as we know it."
Or like Dennis Prager, the prolific conservative writer, broadcaster, and public moralist who began by declaring that Trump's vulgar words "render him unfit to be a presidential candidate, let alone president," but switched 180 degrees to claim that it is "childish" to oppose a candidate merely because of his odious personal traits.
There is an abundance of additional examples, from the evangelical leader Albert Mohler to Daily Wire cofounder Ben Shapiro to the renowned economist Thomas Sowell. Of the 22 notable conservatives who contributed to National Review's much discussed "Against Trump" special issue in 2016, at least half reversed themselves within a few years. Many of Trump's most vehement backers in 2024 were once among his most vehement foes.
What explains it?
The nearly universal self-justification for these reversals is that while Trump is surely a flawed man, he is a good leader and the nation needs him, and their previous hostility to him was misguided. I suppose some number of these famous converts to Trumpism may genuinely believe that. But human beings have a powerful inclination to believe things, even wildly untrue things, when it is in their social, political, or economic interest to do so. And for many people who need to see themselves as influential and crave the attention of an audience, there is a compelling interest indeed in not being regarded as irrelevant or out of fashion.
As Trump conquered the Republican Party, the party gradually remade itself in his image — and high-ranking Republican officials found it in their interest to do likewise. As conservatism came to be increasingly identified with Trump's MAGA dogma, celebrated conservative intellectuals, pundits, and organizations adjusted their beliefs accordingly. Much of this was purely cynical — think of the Republican members of Congress who were ready to wash their hands of Trump immediately after the Capitol riot, only to rally around him when it was clear that his popularity among the Republican rank and file had not suffered.
It is important to note that not all of Trump's big-name critics chose to bend the knee, and many of them paid a price — in lost income, lost reelection bids, or lost friends and followers. To be sure, one thing they didn't lose was self-respect. Then again, do any of the noted Republicans and conservatives who did bend the knee think less of themselves for having done so? I think it far likelier that they congratulate themselves on having seen the light, all the more so after Trump's triumphant reelection to the White House last week. For many, abandoning their Never Trump values was the best career move they could have made. Just ask Vice President-elect J.D. Vance.
And there, it seems to me, is the litmus test. When those who claimed to oppose Trump as a matter of principle switched sides, did it cost them anything to do so? Did it hinder them professionally? Or did their change of heart just happen to coincide with the prevailing winds?
Never Trumpers who jumped to Team MAGA and prospered may not be cynics in the Groucho Marx mold: "Those are my principles, and if you don't like them I have others." Like Lady Anne, they may simply have yielded to an irresistible force. What Shakespeare would have made of the Trump drama — the next act of which is about to start — we cannot know. But it is perhaps worth reflecting that by the end of "Richard III," Anne has come to realize that in succumbing to the lure of the "dreadful minister of hell," she made a very unwise choice.
Jeff Jacoby is a columnist for The Boston Globe.
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