Senate majority leader Mitch McConnell was quick to endorse Donald Trump, waiting fewer than 24 hours after Trump had cleared the Republican primary field. He did so by releasing a 75-word statement at eight o’clock in the evening. And that was that.
Since his brief endorsement, McConnell has had almost nothing good to say about Trump. During the “Mexican judge” eruption, he wryly commented that “Republican primary and caucus voters wanted something very different from what we are accustomed to, and I think it’s safe to say that Donald Trump is different from what we are accustomed to.”
Asked if Trump is “qualified” to be president, McConnell demurred, saying, “the American people will be able to make that decision in the fall.” Even as late as the end of June, McConnell would say only that Trump was “getting closer” to being “a credible candidate.”
Like nearly all of the party elites, McConnell surrendered to Trump. Yet he did so in the least helpful manner. He never made any pretense of covering for Trump or arguing that Trump would be good for the party or the country.
On the other hand, consider Paul Ryan, long regarded as the future of the Republican party. Ryan held out against supporting Trump, then met with Trump, and then capitulated. This made him a conscientious Trump supporter, a guy who decided to go all-in only after reflection and for substantive reasons.
This makes Ryan far more accountable for Trump’s missteps. It also makes Ryan’s well-intentioned but elliptical criticisms of Trump humiliating (to himself) and destructive (to the party). Ryan’s position is so tragic that it brings to mind Marshal Philippe Pétain.
You may remember Pétain as a footnote from history, a figure whose name became shorthand for collaboration with the enemy. But Pétain was a complicated and tragic figure.
He was one of the French heroes of the First World War. A visionary strategist, he believed in the power of artillery at a moment when French military doctrine prized masses of infantry. Pétain became a legend at Verdun, where he halted the German advance. Afterward, he was quickly promoted to commander in chief of the French Army.
As head of the army, Pétain was gallant, brave, and wise. Shortly after taking over command, he faced a mutiny in the army. He listened to the disgruntled troops. They were neither cowards nor shirkers, but men who had endured unimaginable strain under the yoke of suboptimal commanders. Pétain took their complaints under advisement, implemented reforms, and greatly improved morale. He held a series of courts-martial but commuted the vast majority of the sentences, understanding that his army needed a fighting spirit more than it needed textbook discipline. In 1918, Winston Churchill—then minister of munitions—visited Pétain at the front in Beauvais. He came away so impressed with the man that he telegraphed Lloyd George before going to bed and begged him to “scour your whole military organization” and send as many men as possible to join the French. At the close of the war, Pétain was given the unparalleled honor of being made marshal of France.
Then came World War II. As Germany had rearmed and become increasingly belligerent between the wars, Pétain argued that France could protect itself with defensive structures, such as the Maginot Line. When the Germans rushed around the Maginot Line and began slicing through France as a hot knife through butter, Pétain was brought into the war cabinet.
Now prime minister, Churchill met with the French cabinet in June 1940, as the German advance became a full-blown catastrophe. He begged them to stand fast. Pétain would not. As a last resort, Churchill proposed defending Paris, so that it would absorb German troops trying to subdue the city. According to Churchill’s secretary, “The French perceptibly froze at this.” Pétain replied, “To make Paris a city of ruins will not affect the issue.” Continuing to resist the Germans, Pétain said, would mean “the destruction of the country.” And so, to avoid destroying France, Pétain surrendered it.
There was no negotiation in terms. Germany insisted the productive parts of France become occupied zones. French government was relegated to Vichy; Pétain accepted the job of the vassal state’s “prime minister.”
In 1944, as France was being retaken by the Allies, Pétain was evacuated to Germany. When he returned, he was put on trial by the new French government, for treason. He was convicted, stripped of all ranks and honors (save his status as marshal of France), and sentenced to death. Charles de Gaulle, now president, took pity on the 90-year-old man and commuted the sentence to life imprisonment. Pétain spent the rest of his days on a small island off the Western coast of France. He died without ever again setting foot on the continental soil he had once defended so gallantly.
Paul Ryan is not Pétain (nor is Trump Nazi Germany). But there are similarities in their tragic arcs. Ryan was the brave young thinker willing to tackle America’s entitlement problems and bring new ideas to the Republican party. He was so respected that Mitt Romney selected him as his running mate, turning Ryan into a national figure.
After becoming speaker of the House, Ryan assumed responsibility for a large share of the institutional burden that is the Republican party in Washington. So when Donald Trump launched his takeover bid, Paul Ryan mattered. And like Pétain what he did in opposition was ineffectual.
Then, when Trump won the Republican nomination, Ryan sought terms. He met with Trump for a summit. He then announced his endorsement in an essay-length op-ed full of rationalizations. “We have more common ground than disagreement,” he concluded.
And what did Ryan get from Trump in return? Nothing. The Republican party is an occupied zone; Trump embarrasses and degrades the institution on a daily basis. Every time he does so, reporters go running to Ryan for comment. Unlike Mitch McConnell, whose endorsement was pro forma and cynical, Ryan’s was deliberative, intentional, and high-minded. As Pétain was willing to sacrifice France’s honor to save Paris, Ryan judged that he had to endorse Trump for the good of the House and to keep his party from being torn apart. And in so doing, he unwittingly became the prime minister of the Vichy Republicans.
Trump never did pivot. He has yet even to acknowledge any of the “common ground” Ryan claimed to see. Trump has been so disdainful of Ryan’s subservience that when asked if he would endorse Ryan in Ryan’s primary race against a Trumpkin insurgent, he declined and mocked Ryan for his weakness: “I like Paul,” Trump said, “but these are horrible times for our country. We need very strong leadership. We need very, very strong leadership. And I’m just not quite there yet.”
Worst of all has been Ryan’s influence on the resistance. When Ryan began his Trumpian odyssey, he gave cover to Republicans who wanted to resist Trump. But today, as Ryan issues his demurrals about Judge Curiel or the Khan family or whatever other outrage Trump has uttered—yet refuses to withdraw his endorsement—he has become part of the structure that keeps wavering Republicans from leaving Trump.
Where does Ryan go from here? He is out of step with his party’s base on the issue that matters most to them (immigration). He’s also out of step with the base on the issue that matters most to him (entitlement reform). He has toadied to Trump, yet is reviled in return—both by Trump’s supporters, who see him as a craven member of the globalist elite, and by Trump’s critics, who see him as weak.
But the truth is worse than either of those verdicts. Like Pétain, Paul Ryan is an honorable man who made a terrible error in judgment. And like Pétain, when this war is over, he will be a man without a country.
Jonathan V. Last is a senior writer at The Weekly Standard.
