A basement ballroom in downtown Washington, far from the usual Trump extravaganza. Instead of a high-octane rally, this one featured trays of mini-cupcakes and macarons, surrounded by conservative “helicopter moms” enjoying white wine. The occasion, as reported by The New York Times, was the Joyful Warriors summit, organized by Moms for Liberty, a group born during the pandemic that has rapidly gained clout in Republican circles.
Boasting over 130,000 members nationwide, the group showcased their concerns with panels like “Abolishing the Department of Education” and “Moms Know Best: Protecting Kids from Secret Gender Transitions in Schools.” The event was awash with literature on child sex trafficking, the fallout from Covid-era school closures, and even a book provocatively titled “Take Two Aspirin and Call Me By My Pronouns: Why Turning Doctors Into Social Justice Warriors is Destroying American Medicine.”
While the group has stumbled in the past—such as a local chapter once quoting Adolf Hitler before issuing a hasty retraction—the summit provided Trump with a golden opportunity. The audience of energized suburban women, many newly politically engaged, is a key demographic he hoped to win over for the upcoming election. Tiffany Justice, the group’s co-founder, highlighted how many attendees had become politically active out of concern for their children’s education.
Trump’s choice to speak to the organization was strategic, especially given his recent onslaught of misogynistic attacks against Vice President Kamala Harris. His social media posts, including a particularly lewd one linking Harris and Hillary Clinton to “blow jobs,”, have sparked outrage. When asked about the former president’s comments, Justice, however, opted to focus on other issues.
Trump’s reputation for skating past controversies that would end most political careers was on full display. Despite his history of disparaging veterans, boasting about sexual misconduct, and being found liable for sexual abuse, he remains a polarizing figure with a dedicated base. Panina Mintz, a New Jersey microbiologist who shifted her political views during the pandemic, summarized the paradox: “I don’t care what he says—it’s just about actions.”
At the summit, Trump expertly played to the crowd’s anxieties. He seized on hot-button issues like transgender athletes in women’s sports. “Who would want men playing in women’s sports?” he asked, stirring boos from the crowd—a clear sign he was striking the right chord. Trump also delved into other contentious subjects, such as the Olympic controversy involving Imane Khelif. With his usual flair, he mimed a boxing jab and made light of the situation, blending humor with controversy to entertain his audience.
Despite the lighthearted atmosphere, Trump managed to charm the room with personal stories. He reminisced about his daughter Ivanka’s transition from fashion mogul to government official and spoke fondly of his Scottish heritage, using humor to engage his audience. His reflections on past debates, including his infamous clash with Megyn Kelly, served as a reminder of his unique ability to stir both amusement and controversy —an ability to simultaneously alienate and attract that apparently captivates the American electorate in ways few other politicians can.
