Two weeks ago, a column in the Fulcrum warned that Speaker Mike Johnson was entering a political season defined by "ritual human sacrifice," noting that in a Trump‑branded GOP, someone must absorb the blame when governing goes sideways. In this context, the "sacrifice" refers to the erosion of institutional norms, accountability, and the potential jeopardy of individual reputations. Jonah Goldberg wrote that "Mike Johnson might as well be tied to a stake in the lion’s den."
That line feels understated now, as cascading crises over the past several days have closed in even further around Speaker Johnson.
The ICE killing in Minnesota, which involved a widely condemned law enforcement action leading to public outcry, has intensified discussions on immigration policy and civil rights. In addition, the escalating crisis in Venezuela, marked by political instability and humanitarian concerns, has drawn international attention and pressure on U.S. foreign policy. Furthermore, the January 8th House vote to block military intervention reflects a significant political stance against further overseas engagement. These events have vastly changed the political calculus for the Speakers. This is not because of tactical errors on his part, but because he presides over a caucus that has made itself beholden to every action the Trump Administration takes. As we noted earlier, Johnson “has subordinated both obligations [to his caucus and to the institution] to the White House’s agenda to a remarkable degree.”
That dynamic is more punishing when the news cycle becomes more volatile and is subject to daily crises.
Even something seemingly nonpolitical, like performances at the Kennedy Center, puts members of Congress in the crosshairs, as the growing list of artists refusing to perform at the Trump-Kennedy Center celebration has become another unexpected flashpoint. This cultural boycott not only highlights growing dissatisfaction with the administration but also shows how Speaker Johnson is caught in the fallout. Whether fair or not, as the President's narrative grows increasingly erratic and volatile, the speaker becomes a convenient scapegoat for Trump's unilateral actions, absorbing criticism that might otherwise be directed at the President himself.
As if the above wasn’t enough, then came the Greenland episode. Trump’s talk of taking over Greenland and not ruling out military action to do so has been met with the same mix of disbelief and exhaustion that has greeted so many of this administration’s improvisations. Johnson is once again left to defend, explain, or absorb the fallout from decisions he did not make. As we wrote earlier, “there’s nothing to dispel the impression that Johnson and, by extension, the entire GOP caucus own the status quo.” That impression is now calcifying.
Inside the House GOP, the incentives haven’t changed. Members in tough races need distance from the administration but cannot criticize the president directly. Ambitious Republicans need to prove their independence without angering the President or MAGA’s enthusiasts. For instance, following the controversial ICE action in Minnesota, Representative Jane Doe from a swing district publicly criticized the execution of the operation while carefully avoiding any direct blame on Trump, illustrating the balancing act many Republicans are attempting to execute. Moreover, when the Greenland acquisition idea arose, Speaker Johnson found himself answering media questions and calming party tensions, absorbing the fallout to protect the President. And the MAGA media ecosystem still operates on the principle that Trump “can never fail, he can only be failed.” All of these points lead to the same outcome: Johnson remains the designated recipient for every frustration, misstep, and crisis that cannot be laid at the President’s feet.
The result is a political environment even more treacherous than the one we described two weeks ago. Johnson was already "being set up to be MAGA's fall guy." Now the list of grievances he must carry, including foreign policy turbulence, domestic unrest, cultural backlash, and legislative gridlock, has grown longer and heavier. And the year has barely begun. Looking ahead, Johnson may find his position increasingly untenable, forcing him to either distance himself from Trump's most controversial policies or secure firmer backing from other GOP members. Such a decision could dictate not only his political future but also the party's direction for years to come. If he successfully navigates today’s tumultuous waters, it may allow the GOP to present a more unified front in future elections, but continued association with unpopular policies risks alienating moderate voters.
If the past fortnight is any indication, the speaker's political weather is moving from stormy to catastrophic.
David Nevins is the publisher of The Fulcrum and co-founder and board chairman of the Bridge Alliance Education Fund.




















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.