Goldstone’s latest book is “Not White Enough: The Long, Shameful Road to Japanese American Internment.” Learn more at www.lawrencegoldstone.com.
In his take no prisoners crusade to out-Trump Trump and be the next occupant of the White House, Ron DeSantis has donned a right-wing superhero cape as America’s self-anointed Number One Culture Warrior. Touting Florida as the state in which “woke comes to die,” he has forced through a compliant legislature a series of laws for which the term “conservative” is inadequate.
His legislative record, the cornerstone of his presidential campaign, is undeniably impressive, in quantity at any rate. In addition to the “Don’t Say Gay” law, which first banned classroom discussion of sexual orientation and gender identity through the third grade and was later extended to cover all grades, DeSantis signed a bill prohibiting abortions after six weeks of pregnancy, and another that prevents school staffers or students from being required to refer to people by pronouns that do not correspond to their sex at birth, as well as barring school employees from asking students what pronoun they use. Public colleges can no longer use state or federal funds for diversity, equity, and inclusion programs.
Then there was the “Stop WOKE Act,” which constrains race-based discussions in schools and businesses, and another law that prohibits school curricula from casting whites as historically racist or that they should feel guilty for past actions aimed at racial minorities.
Thanks to DeSantis, Floridians can now carry concealed firearms without a permit, meaning neither a background check nor training is required. Not satisfied with half-measures, the governor favors allowing these same people, even if they are potential mass murderers, to openly and proudly flaunt their weaponry in public. To balance that out perhaps, death sentences will no longer require a unanimous jury.
This is all in addition to his feud with Disney, which had previously been largely thought of as a company founded by a right-wing racist and likely anti-Semite.
There has been so much attention paid to these laws individually that few have taken a step back to examine just what kind of society DeSantis is trying so frenziedly to create, and what parallels to it might exist in American history.
There is one, and it is an eerie match for DeSantis’s policies—the 1950s sitcom. And like DeSantis’s political and historical narrative, it is made up.
Father Knows Best is the perfect example. That series, featuring the lovable, attractive Anderson family, ran for seven seasons, ending the year John F. Kennedy was elected president, and was so popular and so idealized that the Treasury Department commissioned a 30-minute episode to help sell United States savings bonds.
The cast would have found a warm place in Ron DeSantis’s heart—assuming he has one. Avuncular Robert Young—who later brought a similar persona to Marcus Welby, MD—is dad Jim, who always has the right answer and never loses his temper; Jane Wyatt is mom Margaret, who could not be happier spending her days cooking, cleaning, and being a warm, wise, and reassuring presence to the couple’s three children, nicknamed Princess, Bud, and Kitten, who do not work, never get in fights, never fail a course in school, and live, albeit grudgingly, on limited allowances.
Jim works as an insurance agent and the family, which lives on Maple Avenue in Springfield, state unnamed, eats dinners together, goes to church every Sunday, never swears, questions authority, nor seems to have need of any government service. They are always well-dressed and well-groomed, and although sex could not seem further from anyone’s mind, including mom and dad, all are clearly and blissfully heterosexual.
In those years, American families could sit at home, watch Father Knows Best and other shows like it, and feel that all was right with the world…their world.
But it was not. The real Father Knows Best world was as phony as the one DeSantis wants to foist on the people of the United States.
The illusion begins with the cast. Robert Young was an alcoholic who also suffered from depression, and it was often difficult for him to complete a day’s shooting upright. When the show ended, he went into rehab and joined AA. Billy Gray, who played Bud, admitted to having gay sex and smoking marijuana from age 14; “Princess” Elinor Donahue became anorexic; and “Kitten” Lauren Chapin was molested by her father at age sixteen and later became a heroin addict and prostitute.
Each of the cast members seems to have successfully straightened out their lives, but it took a level of hard work and commitment that none of the Andersons needed because all their problems were conveniently solved by script writers.
Even worse was what these slices of cardboard American pie did not show. No one was poor, no one had an unwanted pregnancy, no one was unfairly stopped by the police, no one was denied the right to vote, no one was bullied in school, and no one but no one was a person of color, except perhaps for a cheerful domestic.
While Father Knows Best was reassuring America’s white population, Black Americans were being beaten and lynched in the South, uncloseted gay people were discriminated against in every aspect of life, women were often treated as incapable of holding either a real job or a real thought, and those who were transgender were forced to spend every single day living an excruciating lie.
That is the world to which Ron DeSantis would happily return, one where helpless, vulnerable minorities are sacrificed so that the majority can live in smug security. DeSantis’s phony world is different from the phony world of sitcoms in that the cruelty is not offstage, but rather right out there and even celebrated. Being meaner and more cruel than Donald Trump is no easy task, but DeSantis is giving it his all.
Although sitcoms are very much alive, the Father Knows Best variety is not. America has grown up, at least a little, and sitcoms, such as Modern Family, have evolved along with it.
Too bad Ron DeSantis has not.




















A golden tray sits on the Resolute Desk as President Donald Trump speaks during an announcement on American nuclear innovation in the Oval Office at the White House on July 24, 2026, in Washington, D.C. Trump is signing multiple executive orders targeting the nuclear energy sector and easing rules for new reactors and nuclear fuel supply chains.
Trump’s hubris rivals the fallen heroes of ancient Greek mythology
In January, the New York Times asked President Donald Trump if there were any limits on his global powers.
“Yeah,” the president responded, “there is one thing. My own morality. My own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me.”
That was eight months ago, but fortunately Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster adaptation of “The Odyssey” has made ancient Greek literature newly relevant. Before that window closes, I’d like to talk about hubris.
Today, the term mostly means excessive pride or arrogance. That’s part of what the Greeks meant by it too, but the meaning was a bit richer and more specific. Hubris was an insolent or outrageous act that offended the gods, often because the transgressor was claiming abilities or authorities that solely belonged to supreme beings.
Nolan renamed and slightly modified the concept of xenia for the film, calling it “Zeus’ law.” In the director’s telling, mortals should follow the rules laid out by the gods, specifically the requirement to treat strangers with respect lest they be gods in disguise.
In a sense, hubris is the opposite, or at least the rejection, of xenia. The hubris of the suitors, and at times Odysseus himself, invites punishment by the gods and their mortal instruments.
Which brings me back to Donald Trump. His claim that there are no constraints on his personal power to dictate events on the global stage was one of the greatest expressions of hubris ever uttered by a political leader.
Trump’s claim was obviously false when he made it.
He vowed that he could end the Russia-Ukraine war in 24 hours. He’s proved powerless to make that happen. If he had divine powers to work his will, why would he have balked at implementing his tariffs so often that Wall Street adopted the “TACO trade” term for his deals? “TACO” stands for “Trump always chickens out.”
And why would Trump have made so many embarrassing concessions to China — from rescinding tariffs on Chinese goods to allowing them to buy crucial and incredibly valuable computer chips?
But Trump saw his success at capturing Venezuelan strongman Nicolas Maduro as proof of his ability to launch missiles to the same effect as Zeus’ lightning bolts. Trump believed he was the most powerful man who ever lived.
This is no exaggeration. In March, when the Iran invasion seemed successful, Trump gave a document penned by“Presidential Historian David King” to New York Times reporters Maggie Haberman and Jonathan Swan purporting to prove that Trump was “the most powerful person to have EVER walked this planet.” King was, in fact, a businessman and occasional caddy for legendary golfer Gary Player.
King compared Trump favorably to many of history’s most powerful, and often heinous, figures: Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun, William the Conqueror, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin, Genghis Khan, Mao Tse Tung, Adolf Hitler and Vladimir Lenin. Many of these men thought they were the most powerful person in the world, too. And many were defeated precisely because they believed it.
At least Napoleon and Hitler had a string of truly impressive victories before they learned the folly of hubris. The limits on Trump’s power have been exposed by far less august forces than the combined might of the allies in World War II or the fearsome Russian winter.
Iran is a comparatively middling power. But the regime’s ability to absorb punishment while imposing its will on the Strait of Hormuz has proved to be a greater constraint on Trump’s power than his morality or mind. We should note that, at least rhetorically, his morality has not proved much of a constraint. He has repeatedly promised to destroy Iranian “civilization” if the regime refuses to capitulate.
But they haven’t — and won’t anytime soon — because the regime’s tolerance for pain far outstrips Trump’s. The combined fear of skyrocketing oil prices, outrage of Gulf state potentates, diminishing weapon supplies and domestic unpopularity is doing the work that international law, congressional oversight and the collective opinion of foreign policy experts can’t or won’t do.
If I considered Trump more heroic than reason and facts could allow, I would say his Sisyphean predicament has the whiff of Greek tragedy to it. Trump is vexed by the fact that the Iranians won’t honor deals or ratify his countless premature claims of victory — giving new meaning to his vow that his presidency would make people tired of winning. It’s almost like they’re out-Trumping Trump.
Things might have gone better if he’d heeded that great Greek tragedian Sophocles: “For Zeus utterly abhors the boasts of a proud tongue.”
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Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.