Red caps, MAGA fervor and a Democratic senator at Trumpapalooza

An inevitable air of family filled the Dallas Mavericks basketball arena this Wednesday at the start of the “historic” Republican convention convened by U.S. President Donald Trump, aimed at turning around midterm polls ahead of the November elections that currently look concerning for his party.

There was a sea of caps in every possible color bearing the Trumpist slogan “Make America Great Again.” There were die-hard supporters like Mike Boatman, who traveled from Indiana and said he has been to “156 rallies” for the movement’s main — and in practice, only — star since 2015. The usual suspects were also there: a five-member Texas family in sequined jackets that together spell out Trump’s name, and the mustachioed man who has attended every Republican rite of passage for several years wearing a suit patterned with the wall the Republican magnate promised he would build on the U.S.-Mexico border.

The whole scene had a weary, déjà vu quality. And then something unprecedented happened: a Democratic senator, John Fetterman (Pennsylvania), appeared in a video to support the policies of a president who, with 55 days to go before the election, has lost the aura of invincibility with which he returned to the White House.

His unpopularity is setting records: the war with Iran is not only at a stalemate but seems unwinnable, and gasoline prices and the cost of living are still climbing. That is why dozens of candidates in competitive districts have found better things to do than be photographed in Dallas with a party leader who could prove toxic at the ballot box.

The event was conceived as a tailored, midterms-style version of the national conventions both parties hold every four years before the presidential election to name their candidates and show unity around those bids. The aim of Trumpapalooza — the unofficial name given to the convention, as if it were a rock festival with a single headliner — is nonetheless more diffuse. It also appears risky: presidents usually step back during midterms when they are as unpopular as Trump is now, but not being the center of attention seems beyond the Republican’s inclination.

The staging in Dallas resembled a traditional convention. The parquet of the American Airlines Center was lined with the flags of the 50 states, and the section closest to the stage, which Trump is scheduled to appear on for a second time Thursday, had two rows of seats reserved for the tribe of “Front Row Joes,” a chosen group of people who have never turned their backs on Trump, not even in his lowest moments.

On Wednesday, cries of “U. S. A! U. S. A!” and appeals to “common sense” and Abraham Lincoln could be heard every few minutes. Christopher Macchio, the president’s customary tenor, performed the national anthem. Posters bearing Trump’s likeness were everywhere and the merchandise store featured the latest MAGA items: T-shirts honoring MAGA youth activist Charlie Kirk, who was killed exactly a year ago, and shirts depicting the president as a Marlboro Man-style cowboy.

When that cowboy picked Dallas months ago as the ideal place to hold this unusual celebration, the choice seemed sensible. Trump won Texas comfortably in 2024, and Dallas is one of the relatively few large U.S. cities with a conservative mayor.

But the script changed on the fly. The emergence of a young rising Democratic star in James Talarico and a Republican candidate, Ken Paxton, who appeals mainly to Trump, has made it plausible in recent months that Texas may send a progressive to the U.S. Senate in Washington.

In a shrewd move, Talarico decided to greet the rival convention with a morning event at a north Dallas school to unveil an initiative for a food bank for needy residents. His campaign’s intent was clear: to contrast a candidate concerned about voters’ wallets — a key issue at the polls — with the rival party, gathered for a conclave for which the most expensive tickets cost $25,000. Paxton, for his part, was one of the headline acts on the first of the two days.

Many attendees at Trumpapalooza wore pins supporting Paxton, who used his speech to essentially praise Trump. They began arriving in Dallas the day before to fill the city’s hotels as the mercury neared 40 degrees Celsius. Some, like Pamela, who traveled from northern Virginia wearing a T-shirt proclaiming her “Trumpamania,” had $500 tickets to watch the show from the nosebleed seats.

The luckiest had access to the court, where stacks of signs were waiting at the foot of the seats for them to brandish when the time came. Messages read “Better wages for working families” or “[Joe] Biden and [Kamala] Harris screwed up. Help is on the way.” When speakers took the stage from 3.00 p.m., it became clear the constant tactic would be to blame the previous administration, even though Trump’s second term is approaching its third year.

Among the speakers expected, organized by thematic blocks, were several Cabinet members — from Attorney General Todd Blanche to Commerce Secretary Scott Bessent — as well as citizens called to share their stories and candidates for governor and both chambers of Congress, whose control some polls indicate Democrats could regain. Perhaps it was Tim Scott, the Senate hopeful from South Carolina, who gave the most flamboyant speech, ending in enthusiastic chants for Trump, who hours before the convention began had conceded a certain degree of defeat for his party in November.

Other candidates, such as Teresa Fox, a newcomer to politics who faces a steep challenge to unseat her rival in the deep-blue state of Washington, attended without a spot on the program, trying to make contacts and raise funds for their campaigns.

The list of Republicans who, unlike Fox, declined Trump’s invitation has kept U.S. media busy in recent days. In a party that has spent nearly two years largely without dissenting from its leader, this convention has been an occasion for many politicians to stand their ground, and senators such as Tommy Tuberville of Alabama and Mike Rounds of South Dakota, and House members running for reelection like David Valadao of California and Juan Ciscomani of Arizona, are not expected in Dallas.

The first lady, Melania Trump, will not attend either. An unexpected return to the fold made headlines a few weeks ago: the prodigal son who has just come back to MAGA, Michael Cohen, the president’s former lawyer.

His role in the Stormy Daniels trial — in which Trump was convicted on 34 felonies related to a hush money payment to the adult film star over an alleged extramarital affair that the president still denies — made Cohen an outcast in Trumpism. But this summer the two made peace in a turn few expected, and Cohen was wandering the stadium halls on Wednesday taking selfies and receiving attendees’ praise. One well-wisher told him good luck, to which he replied: “Thank you very much, but I don’t need it.”

Given the polls, the party may need a bit of that luck if it is to avoid losing one or both chambers and, with them, the legislative initiative for the second half of Trump’s presidency.

As for the success of the Dallas event, Trump took it for granted on Tuesday, claiming that the stadium had sold out. On its opening day, the American Airlines Center was not full. The organizers, however, maintained their estimate that the event would draw 20,000 participants. It came as no surprise: it’s well known how little the U.S. president usually cares about the stubbornness of the numbers when they stand in the way of his declaring victory.

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