The age of Teflon leaders: How Trump and other right-wingers are getting away with it

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In 2024, Michael Graugnard, a legal advisor to the U.S. Department of Agriculture, voted for Donald Trump. He was convinced of Trump's ability to resolve economic problems. Three months later, Graugnard and thousands of his colleagues in the federal government were fired. As could be expected, Graugnard is unhappy with the twist of fate. The position he lost was his dream job, for which he recently moved with his pregnant wife and child, he tells CNN. While he supports government efficiency, he “didn’t vote for it to be implemented the way it’s being implemented.” Nevertheless, Graugnard has no regrets about his vote: “I still support all of the goals of the administration.”

Wisconsin native Bradley Bartell does not regret voting for Trump either — even though his wife, a Peruvian national in the process of obtaining U.S. permanent residency, was arrested at the border under the new administration’s policy as the Bartells were returning from their honeymoon. Bartell still refuses to blame Trump for anything: “He has the chance to make the system better, even if he didn’t design it.”

Grognard and Bartell are far from the only cases. Even amid massive layoffs, increasing corporate influence on the White House, broken promises, a troubled economy, and the consolidation of power in the executive branch, 95% of Trump voters remain loyal to their president.

Trump appears to be getting away with actions that for many other presidents would have triggered at least a scandal — as in the case of Barack Obama's tan suit — or even impeachment. How does he do it?

Partisanship as part of identity

In democracies, a politician who implements failed policies — or who actively degrades democratic institutions — ought to suffer a loss of public support. In recent years, however, voters have increasingly remained loyal to their leaders despite these leaders’ scandalous and authoritarian behavior. Why?

A book by UC Berkeley professor Gabriel Lenz — “Follow the Leader?” — offers an explanation: voters tend to ignore candidates' political programs, and even if they know exactly what the candidates are offering, they hardly ever care. For example, during the 1980 U.S. presidential election, voters who supported an aggressive foreign policy were not more likely to vote for Reagan, even though he reflected their views. In 1948, union supporters were no more likely than union opponents to switch their support to Truman, the pro-labor candidate. After analyzing numerous examples, Lenz concludes that for voters, candidates' promises and policies are indeed very rarely important.

The only relatively objective factor that influences the average voter's behavior is the economy, but even this logic has stopped working in recent years. The economy grew rapidly under Biden and staggered after Trump's return, yet this fact had very little impact on the polls. Not even the outspoken opinions of public thought leaders from actors and musicians to Nobel laureates and professors could turn Trump’s supporters away from their chosen champion.

In recent years, Lenz notes, American voters have become increasingly committed to the “party course” — and increasingly hostile to their political opponents. Voters in the U.S. have demonstrated their willingness to forgive a candidate for staging an assault on the Capitol, having several criminal convictions, or creating a fraudulent cryptocurrency — so long as the rule-breaker is “one of us,” and so long as he ensures that “the other side” loses.

Growing loyalty to leaders and rising polarization transform politics into a kind of sport, with the goal to win at all costs. While dislike of political opponents is growing across the political spectrum ( Democrats have certainly appealed to the “weirdness” of their opponents), right-wing supporters are more susceptible to hostility.

Memes vs. meanings

However, the psychology of this standoff is not entirely symmetrical. Surveys show conservative and right-wing voters to be more politically aggressive and intransigent than others in society. Moreover, it was dislike and hostility toward political rivals that brought together Donald Trump's supporters, political analysts believe.

The difference is clearly seen in social media and popular culture. The rhetoric of “owning the libs” that became widespread after Trump's 2016 victory is one example. Well-known right-wing cartoonist John McNaughton admits that one of the purposes of his work is to “annoy the left.”

Going back years, Trump's rallies often revolve around mocking opponents. For example, in 2018, to the crowd's approval, Trump parodied and mocked Christine Ford, the woman who accused his Supreme Court pick Brett Kavanaugh of rape. One might recall how Trump's close aide Corey Lewandowski sneered at the story of a girl with Down syndrome separated at the border from her parents, which sparked a wave of approval among Trumpists and spawned memes.

Today, this strategy has become the de facto media policy of the White House. Its official X account is now brimming with taunts and memes. In February, the account posted footage of the detention and subsequent deportation of chained immigrants with the ASMR tag, normally used for pleasant and soothing videos. Recently, the White House joined the AI Ghibli Studio trend, posting an anime-style image of the arrest and deportation of a Dominican national accused of drug trafficking. The White House team also posted a mocking meme to comment on the deportation of a Brown University doctor.

Friend or foe

Loyalty to one's “friends” is another side of the coin. In part, this could be why Donald Trump recently refused to fire administration members implicated in the scandal that erupted after National Security Advisor Michael Waltz invited the editor-in-chief of The Atlantic into a secret chat room. Trump’s lack of action in this case was explained by his refusal to “grant victory to liberal journalists.”

Along with showing greater hostility toward “adversaries,” right-wing voters demonstrate greater willingness to forgive “friends” their transgressions. A study by the Friedrich Ebert Foundation shows that supporters of the AfD, the Sweden Democrats, and Hungarian Fidesz are willing to turn a blind eye to their leaders' authoritarian tendencies as long as “foes” do not come to power.

A study in political psychology focusing on the U.S. came to a similar conclusion. Democratic Party supporters react more negatively to misconduct or immoral actions by Democratic politicians than Republican supporters do when it is fellow partisans being accused, especially when it comes to acts of negligence or indifference. In 36% of cases, partisanship was a sufficient reason to ignore any misbehavior whatsoever.

Such loyalty is inherent to a specific group of voters. Political scientists Sofia Vasilopoulou and Daphne Halikiopoulou describe two types of far-right voters: the “core” ideological supporters and the “periphery,” consisting of those who vote out of frustration with the system. Most often, the latter look for a way to punish the government and elect populists as a form of protest, while the former really are driven by principles — most importantly, the ones that distinguish “friends” from “foes.”

Core voters are convinced that their group — whether it is based on ethnicity, ideology, or anything else — “deserves” democracy and public goods more than others, and they see their political opponents as competitors for limited resources. Under such circumstances, the far-right’s anti-immigration stance follows logically from the perception of newcomers, “outsiders,” as a threat.

For many right-wing supporters, ethnic identity is the core parameter that drives their choices. A study from the Dutch Radboud University explains that this is not a case of positive identity, but the opposite. Simply put, the far-right do not vote out of pride in the nation, its accomplishments, or themselves, but a sense of threat — be it from immigrants, dissidents, or anyone else.

Democracy for the chosen few

Curiously, such voters can pay lip service to democracy even as they condone undemocratic practices that are of benefit to their group. In the U.S., 82% of voters say that democracy is a good thing, but they are also willing to revise their democratic ideals if necessary: more than 50% of Republicans during Trump's first term supported his unilateral legislation. Today, 76% support Trump in his defiance of court rulings. If a leader acts in their interests, they are not squeamish about this leader's undemocratic behavior, and even justify it.

Paradoxically, they call themselves pro-democracy but support authoritarian policies. Why? They believe that if democracy protects “foes,” it inevitably harms them. Therefore, it is okay to ignore its principles sometimes.

As a result, while 92% of Republicans were convinced in 2022 of the need for congressional oversight of Joe Biden's administration, in 2019 only 65% thought it was important to ensure such a check applied to President Trump. Similarly, whereas before the 2020 election 81% of Republicans thought the loser should concede defeat, as many as 62% of them refused to recognize Biden as the legitimate president after the results were tallied.

Revisiting moral values

According to psychological surveys, right-wing and populist leaders successfully redefine moral ideals. For example, they prioritize loyalty, authority, and in-group solidarity. Trump explicitly confirms this: “I prize loyalty above all things — above intelligence, above drive, and above energy...”

The Cato Institute writes that Trump supporters are three times as likely as Hillary Clinton voters were to value three things: order, loyalty, and tradition. First, order. A strict hierarchy is important to them, and they perceive those who break the rules as a threat. Second, loyalty. It's all about being a “friend.” They maintain in-group rituals and condemn traitors. And finally, tradition. This is especially true for religious conservatives, who strive to maintain the “purity” of ideals.

Such moral standards allow voters to come to terms with internal contradictions: the same actions that might otherwise be labeled undemocratic are reimagined as being necessary for defense of order, group survival, and “sacred ideals.” It reinforces the belief that loyalty — defined as standing by one's “friends” — is more important than anything else, even if it means turning a blind eye to violations of democratic norms.

Devotion to a politician rather than to democracy also explains one of the most striking events of 2021 in the U. S.: Trump supporters’ storming of the Capitol on Jan. 6. Trump had openly called for his supporters to revolt, a clear violation of traditional democratic norms that initially caused some shock in the party, cutting Trump's overall approval rating by a relatively whopping 11%.

However, the prioritization of party affiliation and loyalty soon came into play. For most Trump supporters, even an attempted coup was not enough reason to cut ties with him. Only a month after the assault, the party's support had returned to January levels. By then, 72% of Republicans had decided that there should be no investigation into the failed attempt to overturn the results of a free-and-fair election. They did not care whether the law or democratic norms were violated, as long as they were violated in the interests of “their” group.

Homo economicus

Xenophobia and radicalization do not come out of nowhere. Supporters of populist and nationalist leaders often believe that external enemies — such as globalization or “multiculturalism” — pose a serious threat not only to cultural heritage but also to economic well-being. In their eyes, supporting populist leaders is not just a political stance, but a defense of the community and its well-being.

Incidentally, populist politicians often use economic fears to turn people against “outsiders.” Immigrants and minorities are portrayed as competitors for jobs and social benefits. “Outsiders” do not just serve as a convenient ‘external threat’ for populist politicians — they are painted as competitors in the struggle for daily bread. When voters feel increasing financial pressure and when inequality continues to grow, this resentment only grows stronger. As a result, people become more prone to point fingers at “outsiders.”

Once again, the economy proves to be the root cause of all problems. As Gabriel Lenz points out, even voters most loyal to the party or indifferent to realpolitik treat the economy as the only objective factor. Before the 2024 election, Americans were increasingly talking about economic issues, with 52% identifying them as the decisive factor determining their vote. Notably, most Americans (77%) rated the condition of the economy as poor or borderline satisfactory, despite what one would call an objectively favorable economic climate. Asset market growth, economic growth, and low unemployment were the main achievements of the Biden administration, and this mismatch of perception and reality has generated heated debates.

But it is the voters rather than economists who are right in their assessment, argues economist Eugene Ludwig, who writes that politicians often overestimate their progress in combating unemployment. Statistics count millions of people stuck in part-time jobs as being employed, which includes self-employed journalists or couriers working a few hours a week who are in search of full-time work. In addition, statisticians overlook people who have simply given up looking for work. “You could be homeless on the streets, making an intermittent income and functionally incapable of keeping your family fed, and the government would still count you as 'employed,'” Ludwig writes.

The same goes for wages. For one, the conventional indicator of weekly earnings is based only on full-time wages, excluding both unemployed and part-time workers. As a result, the median annual salary in the U.S. nominally reaches $61,900. But the more realistic figure, Ludwig estimates, is 16% lower — only $52,300 a year.

According to Ludwig, inflation is not an accurately assessed indicator either: if analysts exclude the more luxurious items from the basket and add foods that are more popular among the poor, last year's inflation rate turns out to be almost twice as high as the official figure. Moreover, in discussions around fighting inflation, policymakers often ignore a simple fact: even the lowest levels of inflation do not reduce prices that have already risen. Without a surge in income — which is not happening — people still cannot afford higher-priced food, even if prices are rising more slowly.

Therefore, no matter how well the economy performs on paper, the poorest 50% and the shrinking middle class are feeling worse off and less confident. Under these circumstances, they start looking for a place to direct the blame — often enough, it falls on vulnerable groups who cannot stand up for themselves. Exploring these real-world issues at the core of the “right turn” — and truly addressing economic inequality — could be the key to revitalizing democracy.