They are idiots, but make no mistake—they are extremely well paid idiots, and their fat paychecks should never be confused with intellectual honesty or moral courage. They speak with the swagger of prophets, yet their principles are nothing more than rental properties, leased out to the highest bidder on any given news cycle. Imagine, for a moment, that Donald Trump were a Democrat—same chaos, same late-night tantrums, same disdain for truth and decency. Would conservative commentators spare him even a single merciful headline? Absolutely not; they would eviscerate him without pause, calling him a threat to the republic and a danger to every institution they once claimed to love. But Trump is a Republican, and so they adjusted, because consistency is a luxury they cannot afford.
Before Trump arrived on that golden escalator, they openly despised his worldview—they mocked populist tantrums, warned against strongman theatrics, and praised free trade, global alliances, and the sober wisdom of Reagan and Buckley. They had standards, or at least they performed standards convincingly enough to fool their audiences for a generation. Then Trump came down, and their spines dissolved like cheap aspirin in water; their ideological compass shattered into a thousand convenient pieces, and they flipped their positions as easily as changing a television channel. They cheered tariffs they once called suicidal, embraced nationalism they once labeled dangerous, excused cruelty they once would have condemned, and defended the indefensible with straight faces and steady teleprompters. They have no morals, only a tribe, and the tribe’s loyalty matters far more than any dusty principle gathering cobwebs in some forgotten think-tank manifesto.
Somebody like Hitler is there? No problem, we will adjust
This pattern is hardly new—they did the exact same thing under Reagan, under both Bushes, and during every jingoistic march to war that filled their columns with patriotic fervor and their bank accounts with speaking fees. They cheered tax cuts for billionaires, deregulation for polluters, and invasions that killed hundreds of thousands, all while posing as the sober guardians of American greatness. If Adolf Hitler himself were to rise again, wrapped in a flag and speaking in slogans, these very commentators would find a way to frame him as a decisive leader, denounce his enemies as radical saboteurs, and praise his economic numbers while ignoring the smoke from the chimneys. They would never resign in protest, never publish a courageous dissent—they would simply rewrite their old columns, swap out the names, and cash their checks with trembling, grateful hands.
Paid by stupid people
So who do they truly serve? Not the working-class viewers who shout at their screens, not the middle-class families struggling with grocery bills—they serve only the super-rich, the billionaires who own the networks, the hedge-fund barons who underwrite the think tanks, and the corporate lobbies that purchase their book deals and luxury speaking engagements. They are courtiers in expensive suits, flatterers with bylines, mercenaries who wear journalism like a cheap costume while performing the oldest service of all: protecting entrenched wealth from any genuine threat.
And who, in the end, pays their salaries and funds their empires? Stupid people—the loyal viewers, the angry subscribers, the small-dollar donors who mistake performative rage for righteous rebellion, sending their hard-earned money to men and women who despise their intelligence almost as much as they rely on their gullibility. That is the grim, unlovely truth of the modern commentary business, and no amount of rhetorical fireworks can disguise it.
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