A heavily armed California man was caught trying to storm the White House correspondents’ dinner Saturday with the apparent intent to kill the president.
It didn’t take long for Washington to start arguing. Democrats denounce violent rhetoric from the right, but the alleged assailant seemed to be inspired by his own rhetoric. President Trump, after initially offering some unifying remarks about defending free speech, soon started accusing the press of encouraging violence against him. Critics pounced on the hypocrisy.
The argument about hypocrisy isn’t about mere inconsistency. The point of the accusation is to say that condemnations of violence are insincere. “Your team says it’s against violence” or “your side says my side encourages violence” but just look at what your language inspired!
The hypocrisy is bipartisan.
Indeed, for two decades now, it seems that whenever political violence erupts, there’s a moment where partisans wait to learn the motives of the perpetrator so they can start blaming the other side for inciting it. Sometimes they don’t even wait. Jared Loughner, the man who shot former Democratic Rep. Gabrielle Giffords and killed several others, was instantaneously labeled an agent of the tea parties and Sarah Palin. The truth is he was such a paranoid schizophrenic, a court found him incompetent to stand trial.
I don’t have the space to run through the dozens of examples — the congressional baseball shooting, the Charleston AME church slaughter, the El Paso Walmart massacre, the recent murder of Minnesota lawmakers, the Jan. 6 riot or the failed attack Saturday night. But in the wake of these bloody crimes, partisans of left and the right will scour the killer’s social media or read their “manifestos” and place the blame on the rhetoric of the team closest to the assailant’s ideology.
Now, my point isn’t to say that blaming the rhetoric of nonviolent people for the crimes of violent people is wrong. It is wrong, of course, particularly as a matter of law. If I quote Shakespeare and write, “Let’s kill all the lawyers,” I am not responsible for someone who actually shoots a lawyer (nor is the Bard). But that doesn’t mean violent, extremist rhetoric is laudable, healthy or blameless for the sorry state of American politics or society or that it never plays a role in inspiring wrongdoing.
However such rhetoric might encourage violence, it certainly encourages the sense that something is broken in American life. More specifically, it fuels the idea that our political opponents are existential enemies.
“Outgroup homogeneity” is the term social psychologists use to describe the very human tendency to think the groups you belong to are diverse and complex, but the groups you don’t belong to aren’t. A non-Asian person might think all Asians are alike, but for Asians the differences between — or among! — Chinese, Japanese, Korean and Indian people are both obvious and significant.
American politics right now are almost defined by outgroup homogeneity. Many Democrats and progressives think all Republicans and conservatives are alike, and vice versa. That would be bad enough, but the problem is compounded by the fact that each side tends to think the consensus on the other side is defined by their worst actors and spokespeople. This is sometimes called “nutpicking.” You find the most extreme person on the other side and hold them up as representative of all Democrats or Republicans.
Partisan media amplifies this dynamic at scale. Pew finds that Republicans (who watch Fox News) are more familiar with the term “critical race theory” than Democrats, the supposed devotees of it. Democrats recognize the term “Christian nationalist” more than supposedly Christian nationalist Republicans do.
Consider the recent debates over Hasan Piker and Nick Fuentes, both prominent social media influencers, one far left the other far right, who say grotesque, indefensible and stupid things. The arguments within the two coalitions are not over whether they should be spokesmen for their respective sides, but whether their “voices” (and fans) should be welcome inside the broader Democratic or Republican tents. Few accommodationists endorse the worst rhetoric from Piker or Fuentes, but they oppose “purity tests.”
On the merits, I think both should be shunned and condemned. But even if the question is purely a political one, they should still be ostracized. Why? Because people outside the respective coalitions will — however fairly or unfairly — hold up the extremists on the fringe as representative of the whole. The only way for either party to prove it opposes extremism to people outside the tent is by opposing it inside their own tents first. Otherwise, their hypocrisy will continue to define them.
Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.
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.