Trump’s Raised Fist Will Make History — And Define His Candidacy

The apparent assassination attempt of former President Donald Trump on Saturday outraged, electrified and emboldened Republicans, who hailed Trump’s clenched fist in the wake of gunshots, while it sobered Democrats who were already nervous about the threat of political violence and their diminished prospects this fall.

Within minutes of the rifle fire at Trump’s rally in Butler, Pennsylvania, Republican anger at the shooting turned to admiration at Trump’s instinctive response and then jubilation at his defiance, a reaction that underscored the persecution his supporters feel and the instantaneous manner of how even the most grave news is processed.

By sundown, and without concrete reporting about the deceased shooter’s identity, Republicans were openly faulting their political opponents for the incident.

“We will not tolerate this attack from the left,” said Rep. Mike Kelly (R-Pa.), who was present at the rally.

The accusation was as raw as it was remarkable. It evoked the 1963 assassination of President John F. Kennedy, which many Democrats immediately ascribed to the right-wing hostilities the then-president confronted in Dallas.

In the always online and deeply polarized world of 2024, though, the claims came quick, no matter the lack of information about motive.

One of Trump’s potential running mates, Sen. J.D. Vance (R-Ohio), said, “The central premise of the Biden campaign is that President Donald Trump is an authoritarian fascist must be stopped at all costs,” adding: “That rhetoric led directly to President Trump's attempted assassination.”

Also seeing an opening, Sen. Mike Lee (R-Utah) joined with Robert O’Brien, Trump’s former national security adviser, to call on Biden to drop all federal charges against the former president.

Even Trump’s children immediately responded to the near-murder of their father with a sense of triumph rather than shock. “He’ll never stop fighting to Save America,” Donald Trump Jr. posted online, with a picture of his father, fist raised, face bloodied and surrounded by Secret Service, an American flag in the backdrop.

Others, including sitting members of Congress, rushed to post the same or similar pictures and then joined with Trump officials to use the hours after the shooting to vent about the initial media reports, which understandably were careful about how to describe such a stunning event.

Some of this bravado was just that, the stuff of wanting to say something online, as is typical now in response to any news, without thinking through the profound implications.

However, the speed and intensity of the response also reflected the boiling anger so many Trump loyalists felt long before the former president gripped his right ear Saturday night. His supporters feel he has been pursued by the government in a manner befitting an exiled opposition leader and that, as Vance said, this was the inevitable outcome of America succumbing to Third World tactics. The facts — particularly the Biden administration’s initial reluctance to pursue charges against his predecessor — don’t reflect the claims, but they’ve seeped in deeply on the American right.

It may have been jarring in the moment, but there was a reason so many Republicans thought to quickly post the photos of a blood-streaked Trump: They will prove politically potent.

In campaigns, perception can quickly harden into reality and symbolism is often more significant than substance. The pictures and film of Trump rallying the crowd will likely be the enduring image of this election and perhaps his entire political career.

Even before President Biden’s catastrophic debate last month, Trump had run on a platform of strength, portraying himself as a politically muscular figure against a weak and aging incumbent president. Next week’s Republican nominating convention will deliver Trump a hero’s welcome and an audience to match, befitting a party leader who had a brush with death.

“The raised fist will become the iconic symbol of the convention,” predicted longtime GOP strategist Mike Murphy.

Convention planners had already successive evening themes dedicated to making America “safe” and “strong” again, sessions that will, along with Trump’s expected cameo with his new running mate the opening night, be vivified with new meaning after the shooting.

The former president is likely to enjoy a rallying effect in immediate polls, with more independents likely shifting his way. “There will be some good, old-fashioned American compassion for Trump,” predicted Murphy, who opposes the former president’s campaign.

What’s less clear is whether the shooting hastens Democratic calls for Biden to withdraw from the race. Most elected Democrats responded to the shooting by denouncing political violence and few wanted to discuss how it may echo in the campaign.

Yet in private, many Democratic political veterans were bracing for Trump to enjoy a convention bounce larger than he could have ever hoped to enjoy in such divided times. And it wasn’t difficult to detect a sense of doom, that an already uphill campaign may have become out of reach. One longtime strategist invoked Bill Clinton’s memorable line about “strong and wrong” always trumping “weak and right.”

What worried Democrats the most was whether Biden could rise to the moment, whether he’d appear more like a forceful Lyndon Johnson addressing a joint session of Congress after Kennedy’s murder or the elderly looking House speaker, John McCormack, sitting on the rostrum.

Shortly before the shooting, the president shouted down a Democratic representative on a conference call aimed at steadying his listing candidacy and demonstrating to nervous lawmakers he was capable of forging ahead. But the call unnerved even some of Biden’s most dedicated allies, who lamented how insecure and defensive the president sounded when the lawmaker, Rep. Jason Crow (D-Colo.), questioned Biden’s ability to argue he could remain commander-in-chief.

Before another Biden skeptic waiting his turn could ask a question, the call was ended. The president then got in his motorcade and arrived late for Saturday evening mass as a summer rain came down near his Delaware beach house.

The episode felt cinematic, a vivid scene in an extraordinary moment of political crisis: a president clinging to office as his own party mounts what’s effectively a mid-campaign parliamentary coup.

Then shots rang out on live television from Western Pennsylvania.

And while the worst was avoided, it felt like the awful culmination of the menace that has been building since Gabby Giffords, Steve Scalise and Jan. 6.

“The real question tonight,” said David Axelrod, the Democratic strategist, “is what are the implications for our country, are we going to pull back or go deeper into division and violence?”

He wasn’t the only person wondering, or dreading, the same question.

“A fraction of an inch and he would’ve been dead,” said Karl Rove. “To survive that moment and react the way he did, it’s an iconic moment. But what worries me is: Is this one and done, or are we entering a period like from 1963 to 1981?”

From Kennedy’s killing to the attempt on Ronald Reagan’s life two months into his presidency, there were a series of political assassinations and two shooting attempts at then-President Gerald Ford.

Rep. Guy Reschenthaler (R-Pa.) also represents Western Pennsylvania. He was not at the Trump rally, but is an enthusiastic supporter of the former president. Yet on Saturday night, he only sounded like a worried American.

“My big concern is that this isn’t a one-off and we’re going to see more political violence,” Reschenthaler told me.