At American political conventions, there used to be such a thing as an outsider candidate: men who were elected president who were unknown, even to some in the party that elected them. (Men like James Polk, Franklin PierceAnd Warren Harding.)

At the 2024 Republican National ConventionDonald Trump was so central to the four days, he was the metaphysical opposite of an outsider… a klieg light candidate, who came to the arena (where all dissension was banished) every day like a professional wrestler and took his place in the big white chairs of the Trump family box, where he was adored.

He watched as defeated campaign rivals (Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis and former South Carolina Gov. Nikki Haley) paid tribute to him.

Among those he brought down were those he raised, such as Senator J.D. Vance of Ohio.

A net bandage around his right ear served as his only warning of the chaos he had endured and the demise he had escaped days earlier. That he had survived was further proof to his followers that he was their champion—that he had made the ultimate sacrifice for them, that he had been touched by God. (Kimberly Guilfoyle declared, “God has given Donald Trump armor!”)

When he finally spoke (and spoke…and spoke…), the crowd cheered the 92-minute walk, littered with exaggerations and liesbecause their tribune presented himself as the embodiment of their movement and of America.

It was a stark contrast to the sitting president’s lonely struggle on the opposite journey: President Joe Biden, who was being hounded by members of are party that he must step aside so that their the movement could continue.

Political conventions are no longer intended to choose presidents; they often don’t even affect the race for office. But they do tell us what a party expects of its man in office.

For Donald Trump’s party, it’s a one-man show.

The story is produced by Jay Kernis and Aria Shavelson. Editor: Chad Cardin.

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