Julius Caesar still casts a long shadow. We have a 12-month calendar — and leap year — thanks to Julius. July is named after him (though the salad isn’t). The words czar and kaiser, now mostly out of use, simply meant “Caesar.”
We also can thank Caesar for the durability of the term “dictator.” He wasn’t the first Roman dictator, just the most infamous one. In the Roman Republic, the title and authority of “dictator” was occasionally granted by the Senate to an individual to deal with a big problem or emergency. Usually, the term would last no more than six months — shorter if the crisis was dealt with — because the Romans detested anything that smacked of monarchy.
When Caesar crossed the Rubicon (where we get that phrase) his enemies in the Senate fled. So, the remaining senators named him dictator for 11 days to hold fresh elections. His second dictatorship was set for 10 years, and then finally he was named dictator for life.
In the centuries that followed Caesarism, not dictatorship, was the real dirty word, at least for lovers of liberty.
Even in America, dictator held onto some of that “emergency problem-solver” connotation. During the Great Depression, many Americans craved just such a man. Legendary liberal columnist Walter Lippmann wrote at the dawn of the Great Depression, “A mild species of dictatorship will help us over the roughest spots in the road ahead.”
On FDR’s Inauguration Day 1933, the New York Herald-Tribune ran an approving headline: “For Dictatorship If Necessary.” Many aides and Cabinet secretaries were dubbed “dictators” in much the same way we sometimes call officials “czars” — as in drug czars, border czars, even “green jobs czar,” etc.
Later it was Hitler and Stalin who erased most of the “Mr. Fix-it” connotation of “dictator.”
But the real cautionary tale was there from the beginning. Dictatorship — the granting of unchecked powers during a temporary emergency — is what makes Caesarism possible. By giving one person the “arbitrary power” to declare war, levy taxes or hand out favors to sustain his popularity with the plebes, the temptation to become a Caesar is too great.
Some — like Cincinnatus, George Washington or Abraham Lincoln — can resist, but all you need is one lesser mortal to be granted undue power for the whole experiment in republican government to come crashing down. This was the history of republics until 1789, which is why Ben Franklin described the end result of the Constitutional Convention as “a republic, if you can keep it.”
The founders were steeped in Roman history. The Constitution is designed to prevent such temptation. But the founders also understood that sometimes a president should have extraordinary powers during an emergency. After all, the institution of a dictator had helped preserve the Roman Republic for centuries until Caesar’s Caesarism made it an empire.
In short, emergency powers are necessary only during actual emergencies. There’s a long history of American presidents declaring emergencies not to solve a crisis but to gain the power crises confer. Joe Biden tried to use the COVID-19 pandemic to cancel $430 billion in student loans he had no authority to cancel.
President Trump has declared a trade imbalance a national emergency. He claims the International Emergency Economic Powers Act (IEEPA) of 1977 — a law that doesn’t mention the word “tariff” — grants him total, unchecked power to levy tariffs to deal with that emergency. He’s used that alleged authority to punish Brazil — with whom we have a trade surplus — because its current government is prosecuting a Trump ally who also tried to steal an election.
And just last week, Trump announced that a pro-free trade ad bought by the government of Ontario using the words of President Reagan is justification for raising tariffs on all of Canada by another 10 percent. Not counting oil, we have a trade surplus with Canada, too. And we buy so much oil from Canada because they sell it to us at a below-market rate.
These are not emergencies. Nor are trade deficits, generally. Is it an emergency that you have a trade deficit with your local grocery store?
Trump’s lawyers have argued that denying the president this permanent and unlimited power would be disastrous, which itself is a Caesarist argument: I must have unchecked power to keep you safe.
IEEPA requires Congress to review the president’s actions every six months. But congressional Republicans have changed the rules to deny themselves the ability to check the authority Trump is abusing.
Trump is not a dictator, but as Benjamin Franklin understood, republics fail not so much because would-be Caesars seize power. They fail because cowards give it to them — under the false pretense of an emergency.
Donald Trump Isn’t a Dictator, but His Goal May Actually Be Worse was originally published the Tribune Content Agency.
Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.
Eric Trump, the newly appointed ALT5 board director of World Liberty Financial, walks outside of the NASDAQ in Times Square as they mark the $1.5- billion partnership between World Liberty Financial and ALT5 Sigma with the ringing of the NASDAQ opening bell, on Aug. 13, 2025, in New York City.
Why does the Trump family always get a pass?
Deputy Attorney General Todd Blanche joined ABC’s “This Week” on Sunday to defend or explain a lot of controversies for the Trump administration: the Epstein files release, the events in Minneapolis, etc. He was also asked about possible conflicts of interest between President Trump’s family business and his job. Specifically, Blanche was asked about a very sketchy deal Trump’s son Eric signed with the UAE’s national security adviser, Sheikh Tahnoon.
Shortly before Trump was inaugurated in early 2025, Tahnoon invested $500 million in the Trump-owned World Liberty, a then newly launched cryptocurrency outfit. A few months later, UAE was granted permission to purchase sensitive American AI chips. According to the Wall Street Journal, which broke the story, “the deal marks something unprecedented in American politics: a foreign government official taking a major ownership stake in an incoming U.S. president’s company.”
“How do you respond to those who say this is a serious conflict of interest?” ABC host George Stephanopoulos asked.
“I love it when these papers talk about something being unprecedented or never happening before,” Blanche replied, “as if the Biden family and the Biden administration didn’t do exactly the same thing, and they were just in office.”
Blanche went on to boast about how the president is utterly transparent regarding his questionable business practices: “I don’t have a comment on it beyond Trump has been completely transparent when his family travels for business reasons. They don’t do so in secret. We don’t learn about it when we find a laptop a few years later. We learn about it when it’s happening.”
Sadly, Stephanopoulos didn’t offer the obvious response, which may have gone something like this: “OK, but the president and countless leading Republicans insisted that President Biden was the head of what they dubbed ‘the Biden Crime family’ and insisted his business dealings were corrupt, and indeed that his corruption merited impeachment. So how is being ‘transparent’ about similar corruption a defense?”
Now, I should be clear that I do think the Biden family’s business dealings were corrupt, whether or not laws were broken. Others disagree. I also think Trump’s business dealings appear to be worse in many ways than even what Biden was alleged to have done. But none of that is relevant. The standard set by Trump and Republicans is the relevant political standard, and by the deputy attorney general’s own account, the Trump administration is doing “exactly the same thing,” just more openly.
Since when is being more transparent about wrongdoing a defense? Try telling a cop or judge, “Yes, I robbed that bank. I’ve been completely transparent about that. So, what’s the big deal?”
This is just a small example of the broader dysfunction in the way we talk about politics.
Americans have a special hatred for hypocrisy. I think it goes back to the founding era. As Alexis de Tocqueville observed in “Democracy In America,” the old world had a different way of dealing with the moral shortcomings of leaders. Rank had its privileges. Nobles, never mind kings, were entitled to behave in ways that were forbidden to the little people.
In America, titles of nobility were banned in the Constitution and in our democratic culture. In a society built on notions of equality (the obvious exceptions of Black people, women, Native Americans notwithstanding) no one has access to special carve-outs or exemptions as to what is right and wrong. Claiming them, particularly in secret, feels like a betrayal against the whole idea of equality.
The problem in the modern era is that elites — of all ideological stripes — have violated that bargain. The result isn’t that we’ve abandoned any notion of right and wrong. Instead, by elevating hypocrisy to the greatest of sins, we end up weaponizing the principles, using them as a cudgel against the other side but not against our own.
Pick an issue: violent rhetoric by politicians, sexual misconduct, corruption and so on. With every revelation, almost immediately the debate becomes a riot of whataboutism. Team A says that Team B has no right to criticize because they did the same thing. Team B points out that Team A has switched positions. Everyone has a point. And everyone is missing the point.
Sure, hypocrisy is a moral failing, and partisan inconsistency is an intellectual one. But neither changes the objective facts. This is something you’re supposed to learn as a child: It doesn’t matter what everyone else is doing or saying, wrong is wrong. It’s also something lawyers like Mr. Blanche are supposed to know. Telling a judge that the hypocrisy of the prosecutor — or your client’s transparency — means your client did nothing wrong would earn you nothing but a laugh.
Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.