In George Orwell’s 1984, during the height of Hate Week, Oceania abruptly shifts its enemy from Eurasia to Eastasia, with no prior announcement. The transition is executed mid-sentence by a Party orator who seamlessly redirects his animosity, “not only without a pause, but without even breaking the syntax.”
Republicans within Donald Trump’s Inner Party encountered a similar challenge of rhetoric when the president unexpectedly altered his stance on Russia’s conflict with Ukraine. One late February morning, GOP leaders in Washington extolled Ukraine’s President Volodymyr Zelensky as a champion for his resilience against Russian aggression. By afternoon, following Zelensky’s Oval Office meeting with Trump and Vice President J. D. Vance, he was rebranded as an ungrateful and troublesome warmonger—resented for being the sole obstacle to peace, if he wasn’t the one who instigated the conflict.
Once this abrupt change was conveyed to party leaders, a pro-Zelensky social media post was removed as promptly as the banners denouncing Eurasia. Secretary of State Marco Rubio, Speaker of the House Mike Johnson, and Senator Lindsey Graham—once advocates for Ukraine—were thrust before the cameras, akin to the Hate Week orator, not to clarify a new stance, but to feign that nothing had altered while the U.S. shifted allegiances. In nearly identical phrasing, they insisted that Zelensky must acquiesce to Trump’s demands, which coincidentally align with Vladimir Putin’s, threatening that he should resign if he failed to comply. Ukraine has become America’s enemy, not Russia.
Philosopher Henri Bergson noted, “The attitudes, gestures, and movements of the human body are laughable in exact proportion as that body reminds us of a mere machine.” Laughter arises from the “deflection of life towards the mechanical.” This perspective sheds light on why politicians appear comical when they use scripted language instead of authentic expression. They become like the ideologues in 1984, whose empty rhetoric and lifeless eyes prompt observers to view them as mere automatons. Stripped of independent thought, they articulate elaborate arguments fluently, yet exist devoid of genuine conviction. While all politicians experience moments of robotic speech, only a select few can disavow an entire ideology with such ease.
Graham’s robotic behavior showcases his ability to effortlessly shift from one position to another while maintaining his party loyalty, which serves as his sole consistent stance. Johnson, on the other hand, struggles to articulate himself, resembling a simple man fumbling for words: “I can tell you that we are—we are re-exerting peace through strength. President Trump has restored strength to the White House. We anticipated this moment would arrive; we worked hard for it, and now it’s here.” Rubio presents a more complicated case. Witnessing the outrage in the Oval Office, his principles visibly faltered, causing him to sink deeper into the yellow sofa instead of defending his beliefs. A staunch advocate for democracy in the Senate, Rubio must have wrestled with the cognitive dissonance brought on by his newly mandated positions, leaving a mark of distress on his face.
However, Rubio had already started to mechanize himself weeks prior by shutting down foreign-aid programs he once championed. After the meeting, he lambasted Zelensky with the overzealous frustration indicative of a thoroughly hollowed policy maker.
When leaders require their subordinates to relay falsehoods—up is down, Oceania has always warred with Eastasia, Ukraine bears the blame—it serves as both a loyalty test and a display of control. Such ritualized humiliation is a key feature of authoritarian regimes. Trump compels aides, advisors, and friendly media to spout absurdities, solidifying their bond to him and liberating himself from restraint. They are aware that any hint of independence could lead to political ruin, or even physical harm. Gradually, they become detached from conscience and lose even the motivation derived from fear, morphing into machines devoid of original thought. Their relaxed expressions and fluid delivery betray their forgetting of pre-existing ideas or beliefs.
Trump alone is free to express his true thoughts. There’s nothing contrived or mechanical about his rejection of Ukraine, Europe, and America’s leadership role in the free world; he doesn’t belittle Russia like a puppet. He seemed most authentic when he expressed solidarity with Putin to Zelensky, deriding the Ukrainian president for the suffering inflicted upon his nation. And if American policy regarding the war flipped again a week or two later, it wouldn’t signify a shift in Trump’s perspective—he still favors dictators and aspires to join their ranks. It simply reflects the leader’s ability to declare that Oceania is at war with Eastasia or Eurasia whenever it suits him.
Since childhood, attested by Maggie Haberman’s biography, Confidence Man, Trump has revered strength and scorned weakness. The language utilized by Ukraine’s defenders—terms like sovereignty, democracy, and shared values—clearly repulses him, as they symbolize weakness. For Trump, strength is not rooted in noble virtues or bravery, but in the unrefined power to dominate others, be they individuals or nations. Zelensky’s physical and moral valor, particularly his refusal to be belittled in front of cameras, triggers Trump’s ire; he is used to unyielding subservience and flattery.
Trump’s decision in March to cease supplying arms and intelligence to Ukraine does not adhere to a policy of isolationism. When Vance, in his pursuit of a U.S. Senate seat in Ohio in 2022, stated, “I don’t really care what happens to Ukraine one way or the other,” he conveyed an isolationist sentiment. However, this detachment pales in comparison to Trump’s contempt for Zelensky and his enduring admiration for Putin. Trump seeks a Russian victory and a Ukrainian defeat.
Some analysts contend that Trump is steering American foreign policy towards a “realist” approach: a calculated view that Ukraine resides within Russia’s sphere of influence, not America’s; that supporting a beleaguered democracy against a far larger dictatorship drains American resources without aligning with American interests; and that, in an increasingly multipolar world, the U.S. is overcommitted and should abandon attempts to uphold global rules and democratic values in favor of acting like a traditional great power utilizing its strength to secure its own interests.
While these assertions appear rational, they do not accurately encapsulate Trump’s actions and rhetoric. Providing aid to a perilous adversary, alienating allies, breaching agreements, extorting concessions, threatening annexation, and dismantling a stable global order that has bolstered American influence for nearly eight decades aren’t “realistic” policies. They reflect a brash worship of power rather than any realistic paradigm and are extensions of Trump’s character on a global scale, jeopardizing the values that Americans and others hold dear, and morphing the United States into a mere reflection of Putin’s Russia. Whether Trump is an actual Russian agent is beside the point; he is effectively acting as one.
A survey conducted in early March by the civic organization More in Common indicates that Americans have not entirely forsaken the values that Trump and his sycophants are undermining. Almost two-thirds of respondents express sympathy for Ukraine, and a majority support continued military aid. Even among Republicans, most attribute the war’s initiation to Russia and consider Putin a dictator, with support for Russia lingering in the low single digits. The results suggest that years of propaganda and deceit from Trump and the MAGA right have not completely tainted the American public’s understanding of truth. While those in power may insist that might makes right and that Oceania has perpetually been at war with Eastasia, most ordinary Americans have yet to discard their notions of right and wrong. They may represent the last remaining hope for America.
This article appears in the May 2025 print edition with the headline “The Hollow Men.”
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