When President Trump declared that the U.S. strikes “obliterated” Iran’s nuclear program, it wasn’t just a policy claim—it was an exercise in narrative control. Predictably, his assertion was met with both support and skepticism. Yet more than a comment on military efficacy, the statement falls into a broader pattern that underscores how Trump uses language not just to communicate but to dominate.
Alongside top officials like CIA Director John Ratcliffe and Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth, Trump claimed the strikes set Iran’s nuclear ambitions back by years. However, conflicting intelligence assessments tell a more nuanced story. A leaked Defense Intelligence Agency report concluded that while infrastructure was damaged and entrances sealed, core components such as centrifuges remained largely intact. Iran had already relocated much of its enriched uranium. The International Atomic Energy Agency echoed that damage was reparable.
Given this, it's not partisan to question Trump’s sweeping claim—it's responsible journalism. And yet, he has once again lashed out at the press and intelligence agencies, accusing them of spreading “fake news” and undercutting American pilots. This reaction—deflecting criticism with outrage—is part of a now-familiar pattern in his public playbook.
Trump's reliance on inflammatory, and often dehumanizing, language is not an unfortunate quirk—it’s a deliberate tactic. Over the years, he has referred to immigrants as “vermin,” accused critics of being “poison” to America, and described political opponents as “enemies from within.” These aren’t casual insults. They are rhetorical devices with a dark history.
There are several reasons why this behavior continues to go largely unchecked:
- Repetition breeds normalization. Trump’s use of personal attacks has been so consistent that many Americans have become desensitized. What once might have been shocking now barely registers.
- Political survival instincts. Many of his allies remain silent out of fear—either of political fallout or of becoming his next target.
- Institutional restraint. Leaders like General Colin Powell have opted not to trade insults, choosing professionalism over confrontation.
- The media’s whirlwind pace. Provocative remarks often get lost in the avalanche of breaking news, limiting sustained public attention.
But language is not harmless. It shapes perception, frames debate, and influences behavior. When politicians label tax cuts as “relief” or describe policies in terms that evoke cultural identity—like “Make America Great Again”—they’re leveraging powerful emotional currents. It’s a common tool, but when wielded irresponsibly, it becomes dangerous.
A 2024 linguistic analysis of Trump’s speeches revealed a sharp uptick in violent and exclusionary terms, outpacing democratic norms and nearing the rhetoric of authoritarian regimes. What’s striking is that this trend doesn’t correspond with national crises. Rather, it appears intentional—language tailored to cast politics as an existential battle between “us” and “them.”
History warns us where this can lead. Dehumanizing language reduces the moral barriers to violence. It erodes our democratic foundations by normalizing division and incivility.
Harsh political rhetoric is nothing new in America. But the sheer volume, intensity, and repetition from someone with such a vast platform sets a dangerous precedent. The question now isn’t whether we agree with Trump’s policies. It’s whether we’re willing to accept this weaponization of language as the new political norm.
David Nevins is co-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.