From conservative values to a one-man circus

Somewhere along the line, the script got tossed. Not lost, not misplaced—just crumpled, spat on, and hurled over the shoulder like a half-baked sales pitch. There was a time when “Republican” meant something specific to me. Not necessarily something you had to agree with, but something. Fiscal conservatism. Small government. Family values. These things may have felt righteous or oppressive, depending on your angle, but they were distinct. They had roots. 

But today, what’s left isn’t the old tree; it’s a gaudy, plastic facsimile that’s somehow the centerpiece of the garden. It’s not really Republican anymore—it’s Trumpican, a one-man show, where the audience is compelled to clap and the house lights are alwayson him. The philosophy seems simple enough: Trump first, and if there’s anything left over, sprinkle it among the believers. Loyalty? Sure, as long as it’s loyalty to the man with his name in gold letters.

Remember when Republicans demanded a balanced budget, and “wasteful spending” was a phrase they tattooed on the forehead of anyone even thinking about social programs? Well, those days disappeared into the same ether as “character counts.” In their place: Trump’s 2017 tax cuts, swelling the deficit by over $2 trillion, like an overinflated beach ball ready to pop. Fiscal conservatism took a nose dive, traded for the temporary thrill of self-glorification—no principles, just “look at me, I’m cutting taxes.”

And what happened to small government? To that old rallying cry against federal overreach? Funny how the same crowd that raged against too much government control got real comfortable with executive orders being dished out like party favors. Trump’s version of small government wasn’t about shrinking federal power; it was about wielding it however he liked. When state governors defied him—remember those early pandemic days when some decided to keep their citizens safe? He flexed and postured like a spoiled kid denied a new toy, using whatever influence he could to undermine them. It wasn’t about principle, just personal power.

Then there’s “family values.” For years, Republicans swore they were the party of morality, shouting at anyone who might dare think differently. Bill Clinton’s transgressions? Hang him in the public square. Trump’s access Hollywood tape? Boys will be boys.Suddenly, three marriages, a string of accusations, and hush money payments to a porn star were things you could just pray away on a Sunday morning. The hypocrisy hung in the air like bad cologne—stinging, undeniable, and impossible to ignore.

It’s a cult of personality now. The people who used to wave Reagan’s banner—Mr. “Shining City on a Hill”—are now deep into the business of shining Trump’s shoes. There’s no guiding star except his whims, no platform but his ego. Criticize him, and you’re out. It doesn’t matter if you’re a lifelong conservative, a party elder, or someone who’s given your whole career to the cause. The Trumpican values are loyalty, adulation, and denial. It’s about applauding the emperor, no matter how gaudy the robes—or how naked he really is.

The Republican Party of old wasn’t without its flaws, but at least it had an identity beyond one man’s hunger for the spotlight. What’s left now is a hollowed-out shell, and all that rattles inside is Trump’s name, repeated endlessly like a mantra, echoing in a once-grand hall that’s starting to look more like a funhouse.

You don’t have to agree with conservative values of the past, but they were values. They were debatable. They had substance. The Trumpican version—the one with all the lights and the circus and the constant noise? That’s not conservatism; it’s a con, and the only value left is the man at the center, demanding your applause.

Robert Gass lives in Calverton.

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