As the Republicans anoint the ex-President, the Democratic panic over Joe Biden reaches a coup-like crescendo. By Susan B. Glasser Photograph by Sinna Nasseri for The New Yorker The Republican National Convention’s finale on Thursday night began, fittingly, with a clown show: Hulk Hogan, shouting in a voice that sounded like a Disney Animatronic version of a pro wrestler giving a political speech. He talked about the “real Americans” in the room, “the Trumpites who are going to be running wild the next four years,” and the “gladiators” who will lead them back to power—Donald Trump and his new running mate, the Ohio senator J. D. Vance. Then he stripped off his jacket, and ripped off his shirt, to reveal a bright-red Trump-Vance 2024 T-shirt, in honor, he said, of the near-death experience that Trump had suffered less than a week earlier. “I want the world to know that Donald Trump is a real American hero,” Hogan said. In the imperial red MAGA box, just above the convention floor, Trump stood at attention, wearing his signature navy suit and red tie. At the end of Hogan’s performance, Trump—convicted felon, front-running Presidential candidate—pumped his fist in the air, the small white bandage on his right ear a reminder of what were, perhaps, the most unbelievable few days I can ever recall in American politics. |
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