‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’: Trump Rises as a Swaggering American Messiah
“Fight! Fight! Fight!”
Donald Trump recounted Thursday night how the crowd had initially thought he was dead, and he wanted to reassure them he was okay. “So I raised my right arm, looked at the thousands and thousands of people breathlessly waiting, and started shouting, ‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’”
The striking image of Trump at last Saturday’s rally—face bloodied, fist raised, with Secret Service agents and the Stars and Stripes completing the scene—flashed on giant TV screens. Delegates at the Republican National Convention in Milwaukee responded in unison.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” they chanted, raising their fists in the air. Trump had taken a bullet for them, and their fervor suggested they would be willing to do the same for him. A MAGA army on the march. A daunting sight for American democracy.
In that moment, it became clear that Trump’s survival of an assassination attempt had elevated him to a figure transcending politics, an American messiah with swagger. His command over the crowd, summoning anger, sympathy, and ecstasy effortlessly, evoked dark chapters in 20th-century European history.
Like past demagogues, Trump understands spectacle. His instinctive reaction to a bullet grazing his ear, narrowly missing his life, was a masterstroke of self-mythology. At the convention on Thursday, in an arena that normally hosts the Milwaukee Bucks, he delivered raw political theater.
Big screens showed Trump performing his awkward, fist-pumping, flat-footed dance to the Village People’s “Y.M.C.A.” To Democrats, comedians, and much of the world, it’s a ridiculous sight. To Trump’s followers, it makes him relatable and endearing.
His wife, Melania—rarely seen these days—walked out to Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9, joining Trump’s children Don Jr., Eric, Ivanka, and Tiffany in the stands. Musician Kid Rock, wearing a black hat, dark glasses, and a shiny cross, sang, “Say fight fight, say fight fight! Say Trump, say Trump!” The crowd echoed the lines.
Then came Lee Greenwood singing “God Bless the USA,” effectively Trump’s theme song. The crowd joined in as bright lights flashed on stage. A white panel slid up like a curtain for the big reveal. There stood Donald J. Trump, 78, former U.S. president, against the backdrop of five giant letters: “TRUMP.”
It was campy, gaudy, and kitschy—very Trump. Soon after, the entire stage transformed into a digital image of the White House, reminiscent of when Trump broke protocol by addressing the Republican convention from the actual White House four years ago. “USA! USA!” chanted a crowd holding “Make America Great Again!” and “Fire Joe Biden!” signs. Some shouted, “We love you!”
Then, in a hushed arena, Trump recounted the assassination attempt, warning that he might never tell the story again “because it’s too painful.” He delivered it with a cadence reminiscent of a bedtime story meant to lull children to sleep.
“I stand before you in this arena only by the grace of almighty God,” he said, wearing a dark suit, red tie, and ear bandage. “In watching the reports over the last several days, many people say it was a providential moment. Probably was.”
Indeed, several convention speakers suggested Trump was saved by divine providence. Ben Carson, his former housing secretary, said God “lowered a shield of protection” over Trump. House Speaker Mike Johnson quoted Benjamin Franklin: “God governs in the affairs of men.” Trump’s son Eric added, “By divine intervention and the angels above, you survived.”
For nine years, Trump tapped into the American trauma of race, making it about him. Now he has turned religion into a personality cult.
He recounted, “Once my clenched fist went up, high into the air—you’ve all seen that—the crowd realized I was okay and roared with pride for our country, like no crowd I have ever heard before. Never heard anything like it.”
This was the man who once inspired a crowd to storm the U.S. Capitol in an attempted coup. The scene in Milwaukee recalled Eleanor Roosevelt’s account of her husband Franklin’s 1933 inauguration: “The crowds were so tremendous. And you felt that they would do anything—if only someone would tell them what to do.” There was more theater from the greatest showman. Paying tribute to Corey Comperatore, who died at the Pennsylvania rally, Trump walked over to Comperatore’s fire jacket and helmet, which hung on a stand behind him. He leaned over, kissed the helmet, and asked for a moment of silence in honor of the former fire chief.
It was so far, so good for “New Trump,” the man supposedly changed forever by a near-death experience. He would now be “contemplative,” “softer,” and “unifying,” he claimed. He began promisingly enough, telling the convention, “I am running to be president for all America, not half of America because there is no victory in winning for half of America.”
But it didn’t take long for the old unhinged demagogue to reemerge. In a 90-minute speech mirroring his rallies, he vowed to “drill baby drill” and “close those borders” on his first day in office. He baselessly accused Democrats of “cheating” in elections, denounced Washington D.C. as “a horrible killing field,” and warned of a planet “teetering on the edge of World War Three.”
Trump also spoke of a “massive invasion at our southern border,” claiming immigrants were flooding in from prisons, mental institutions, and insane asylums. Cue his familiar and dated Hollywood reference: “The late great Hannibal Lecter. He’d love to have you for dinner.” Despite promising not to mention Joe Biden by name, he did so 40 minutes in with scathing criticism.
David Axelrod, a former Obama strategist, told CNN, “This is the first good thing that’s happened to Democrats in the last three weeks. This really reminded everyone why Donald Trump is fundamentally unpopular outside this room.”
The long, rambling speech contrasted with an otherwise disciplined convention that, while shocking by the standards of Ronald Reagan or George W. Bush, felt less extreme than the “Lock her up!” chants of 2016. The red meat came with a hint of moderation.
There were few references to “stop the steal” or January 6 insurrectionists being “hostages.” There was little boasting about the overturning of Roe v. Wade. There was no real effort to blame Democrats for the attempt on Trump’s life. Even the vendors mostly sold pro-Trump products rather than anti-Biden gear.
In short, it was a cautious convention for a party feeling confident but wary as Democrats debate whether to ditch Biden. But Trump, of course, blew all that up with his grievances and lies. When the divine demagogue finally wrapped up, his family joined him on stage as thousands of gold, red, white, and blue balloons descended. A singer performed “Nessun dorma” from Puccini’s opera Turandot. None shall sleep, indeed.
