The Boredom of Writing in the Trump Era

By Jonah Goldberg

Friday, September 26, 2025

 

“You must be loving this.”

 

I hear versions of this sentiment from normal people all the time. The “this” I am supposed to be loving is the ridiculousness of our politics. “You always have something to write about,” some will tell me. “You must never lack for topics.”

 

I totally get why people might think this. But I cannot begin to describe how wrong this is. Well, I can begin to describe it. I just fear I won’t be able to stop describing how wrong this is. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to do something self-indulgent and just tell you about my, well, my feelings.

 

I am not loving this. I hate this.

 

Let me count the ways.

 

For starters, I like arguments about ideas. The only way to have a good argument about ideas is if the person or people you’re arguing with have some degree of sincerity about what they are arguing for—or against. Being a political commentator in the Trump era is like being a sportscaster covering a game of Calvinball. The rules change all the time, so arguing about them is an exhausting waste of time.

 

The only rule of Calvinball is that the game is never played the same way twice. As the theme song goes:

 

Other kids’ games are all such a bore!

They’ve gotta have rules and they gotta keep score!

Calvinball is better by far!

It’s never the same! It’s always bizarre!

You don’t need a team or a referee!

You know that it’s great, ’cause it’s named after me!

If you wanna have fun!

Play Calvinball!

da da buh dum!

 

While Trumpball is definitely always about Donald Trump, reliably bizarre, and has no referees (save in the judiciary), it is different than Calvinball in important ways. Unlike Calvinball, Trumpball has teams and is rarely fun for those of us not on one of those teams. More importantly, while the rules and goals change all the time, the underlying point of the game is really always the same: Will Trump win?

 

Whether it’s crushing law firms he doesn’t like, exacting tributes from universities or pounds of flesh from media outlets, the basic story is always the same. Will the baby get his bottle?

 

In other words, the MacGuffin changes on a near-daily basis, but every day is another rerun, every month a replay of the same franchise. If you think Trump is the hero, it’s like an endless string of Die Hard reboots. We’ve done Nakatomi Tower, Dulles Airport, and New York City, let’s put John McClane in the Mall of America or Comic-Con—the terrorists can dress like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or something!

 

If you think he’s the villain, every day is a Nietzschean eternal rerun of the same movie starring Lex Luthor reimagined as if Biff Tannen hosted The Apprentice.

 

From the perspective of someone who likes arguments, it’s all so monotonous.

 

Trump’s motives are not hard to decipher—he literally posts his stage directions on Truth Social on a near-hourly basis. He’s perhaps the most Aesopian character to ever take center stage in American politics. The scorpion cannot be anything other than what the scorpion is. Trump is not necessarily a simpleton (though that case can certainly be made), but the simplicity of Trump’s character is so obvious that I never cease to be amazed by people who think he’s a complex person. His interior life is like a vast Amazon warehouse with endless rows of empty shelves save for some golf gear, some bank account records, a lot of MAGA swag, and press clippings about himself.

 

To argue that Trump is a complicated man is like arguing about the resplendence of the emperor’s new clothes: It is an act of pure imagination.

 

And that is why the arguments are so unsatisfying. I can run through nearly all of them in a few sentences.

 

The president has the power under the Constitution to do X, so you must not like the Constitution if you oppose him doing X.

 

He won the swing states, so he has a “mandate” to be this way. If you object, you must hate Trump voters and/or democracy.

 

Democrats did it too, so you have no right to complain (even if you’re not a Democrat and condemned the Democrats when they did “it” too).

 

And then there are all of the cases where people confuse explanations for excuses. The president feels that he was wronged, so he is getting payback. Okay? I knew that. So what? He thinks TikTok helped him win young voters, so he doesn’t want to shutter TikTok as the law demands. Yeah, I heard him say that too. Again, so what?

 

Towering above all the others is the “argument” that Trump is a brilliant dealmaker, a 4D chess master, an economic savant, an anointed chosen one, so when his supporters can’t explain or justify what he’s doing is right, they simply put their faith in his judgment. His ways are mysterious; who are we to question them?

 

Finally, there is the all-purpose, shoot-the-messenger claim that if you bring any passion to your opposition or criticism, you are suffering from “Trump Derangement Syndrome.” By making Trump the measure of the new normal, you can dismiss anyone who dissents as being the abnormal one. Take him into your heart and find all doubts lifted.

 

The Trump Derangement Syndrome charge is the most exhausting. While it’s certainly true that he has driven many of his critics into a form of irrational discombobulation, he has also discombobulated his biggest fans, too. It’s truly exhausting how people who’ve changed all of their positions to get right with Trump accuse me of being deranged for not doing likewise.

 

I get a lot of grief whenever I say I’m exhausted with the news or politics. I get it. This stuff matters. It’s my job to care about it. If I can’t be bothered, why should normal people get worked up?

 

George Packer has a great essay in The Atlantic on this very point. Whether or not you agree with his contention that Trump is an authoritarian (though not in the 20^th-century sense), Trump’s tactics rely on a form of authoritarian logic. If you can make caring about politics so gross, scary, or exhausting, normal people will retreat to their hobbit warrens, while the remaining combatants vie to be the less revolting option. Trump isn’t an ideologically sophisticated autocrat—he’s more Il Douche than Il Duce—but he does have an autocrat’s lust for praise and having his way.

 

Packer’s point about people retreating from public spaces to imbibe politics passively through screens is an important one because, in many ways, it inverts the formula of populist demagoguery. Willie Stark, the Huey Long character from All The King’s Men, famously said to the crowd: “Your will is my strength. Your need is my justice.” Trump’s relationship with his biggest fans reverses that. “My will is your strength. My justice is your need.” People watch him like a TV character they want to win, not for the audience’s needs but for Trump’s own needs. That’s just weird.

 

I get a lot of grief for writing so much about Trump (as I will again today). I also get grief when I don’t write about Trump. Indeed, the reason I’m writing this meta-meditation on writing in the Trump era is precisely because I looked deeply at the James Comey story and sighed, “I just can’t.”

 

Other than the specific facts—which Andrew McCarthy does a good job laying out—what new is there to say? Trump wants revenge. He’s using the government to punish his enemies. He’s undermining institutions to get it done. His partisan defenders are hypocrites—and so are many of his partisan critics. It’s the same plot, different episode of the same show.

 

My point isn’t to dismiss or diminish the importance of Trump’s pretextual attack on Comey, it’s just that some days it’s just too wearisome to add much to what everyone knows and has heard already, with a few different names or constitutional norms to check off.

 

That said, a while back I wrote about why we talk so much about Israel. The TLDR of my answer: because Israel is under threat. It’s in the news. I’ve never met an Israeli who wouldn’t love for Israel to just become like Denmark or Belgium—a normal, peaceful, prosperous country you occasionally read about by accident. The reason Israel dominates so many headlines and takes up so much headspace is that there are people who don’t want it to exist, and Israel has to deal with that reality. So it makes news, and a lot of people resent it for making news. The same holds for Ukraine. Ukraine would obviously like to just be a normal country like its Western neighbors. But Vladimir Putin has other ideas, and that forces Ukraine into the conversation.

 

There’s a similar point to be made about Trump. People ask me, “Why don’t you talk about the Democrats?” The short answer is I do. But the fact is that the GOP controls the White House and Congress and Trump controls his party in ways no president in living memory has. Moreover, he’s coloring outside the lines. He’s testing the system. He’s redefining conservatism in real time. He does everything he can to be the center of attention constantly. In short, he’s making news. He’s driving events. When people yell at me for writing too much about Trump, what many of them—not all—really mean is “Why do you have to criticize him so much?” Part of this response stems from the idea that conservative commentators are supposed to be partisan Republican commentators. But in ways that have never been truer in my lifetime, Republican and conservative are not synonymous terms.

 

It’s true, though: I don’t have to criticize him. But I do have to tell the truth as I see it. And I’m sorry to tell you this, but believing what I believe, telling the truth about Trump and criticizing him are pretty close to the same thing.