They Still Won’t Clap
The Democrats Are Starting To Look Anti-America, Not Anti-Trump
POLITICS: By Walter Curt
July 3rd closes with the Capitol dome glowing like a pre‑Independence‑Day sparkler, because the “One Big Beautiful Bill” just roared out of conference and onto the President’s desk exactly when Donald Trump said it would. Six months ago he dared Congress to hand him a transformational package by July 4th, and the scoffers on MSNBC laughed through their panel breaks; tonight they’re reduced to murmuring about “process concerns” while Republicans high‑five in the cloakroom.
Tomorrow’s signing ceremony will double as an early fireworks show: an Independence Day encore that rewrites the playbook on immigration, abortion funding, and the deep‑state payroll all at once. Democrats filibustered, law‑fared, and filibustered again, yet Trump’s deadline held, and their unified “No” melted into a July 3rd “Oh, no” the moment the final gavel cracked.
The bill caps a streak that would make Vince Lombardi blush. Only days ago the Supreme Court, in a crisp 6‑3 ruling by Justice Amy Coney Barrett, reminded ambitious district judges that nationwide edicts are above their pay grade. The left’s favorite tactic—find a friendly robe in Hawaii and freeze policy coast‑to‑coast—evaporated overnight. Republican strategists call it the judicial backstop; Democrats call their donors to apologize for yet another letter‑head fundraiser gone bust.
Even academia felt the tremor. Education Secretary Linda McMahon told the University of Pennsylvania to restore female records and block biological men from women’s events, and—miracle of miracles—the Ivy League complied without a lawsuit in sight. Cable anchors framed the move as “controversial,” but girls everywhere finally exhaled, and parents who still believe in XX and XY quietly penciled a check mark beside Republicans for 2026.
Abroad, the “warmonger” did what Peace Prize winners could not: he made Iran fold a bad poker hand before anyone reached the nuclear table. Two weeks of missiles and airstrikes ended when Tehran realized Fordow, Natanz, and Isfahan were one misstep from becoming smoldering footnotes. Israel holstered its jets, the ayatollahs holstered their rhetoric, and CNN begrudgingly ran ten seconds of B‑roll before pivoting to weather.
The aftershock rattled Brussels as well; suddenly NATO finance ministers discovered an extra two percent here, three percent there, cobbling together a fresh commitment to spend five percent of GDP on defense. Funny what backbone—a credible threat and a little American strength—can buy.
Back home, markets sprinted like it was 2019. The S&P and Nasdaq kissed record highs the morning after tariffs supposedly designed to sink capitalism instead carved $2.8 trillion off the deficit and halved the trade gap. Gas hovers comfortably south of three dollars, eggs cost what they did before TikTok was invented, and the Army hit its recruiting target for the first time since Obama was bragging about shovel‑ready jobs. Somewhere in a Brooklyn coffee shop, a progressive economist stares into a turmeric latte, wondering why the apocalypse keeps delaying its arrival.
Energy producers, at least, shrug and keep drilling. Trump opened thirteen million new acres, and rigs are sprouting faster than fact‑check columns insisting the oil boom is imaginary. Over at the Department of Government Efficiency—originally spearheaded by Elon Musk—slashed $9.4 billion in bureaucratic fat without breaking a sweat and continues to spread throughout the government. Union bosses cried, taxpayers cheered, and the Washington rental market braced for a flood of newly former middle managers suddenly discovering real America on Zillow.
None of this came easy. Democrats hurled every parliamentary wrench they could find: delay votes, motion to recommit, weekend quorum calls that turned the Capitol into a sleepless mausoleum. Yet each stall tactic merely highlighted their underlying problem: they can’t clap when the country wins.
The bill secures the border; they cry xenophobia. It routes taxpayer dollars away from late‑term abortion; they shriek “Handmaid’s Tale.” It fast‑tracks permits so bridges and pipelines get built before they rust; they warn of environmental Armageddon moments before driving home across a sixty‑year‑old bridge in dire need of, well, a fast‑tracked permit.
Meanwhile, rank‑and‑file Americans see results. Deportations resumed after the Court blessed tougher removals. The Council on Environmental Quality gutted Obama‑era NEPA roadblocks, igniting thousands of shovel‑ready projects without the ten‑year paper chase. Law enforcement? The Fraternal Order of Police endorsed the bill before the ink dried and thanked the administration for letting officers enforce the law instead of social‑experiment guidelines. When success piles up this naturally, refusing to celebrate feels less like principled opposition and more like disdain for the flag over the celebration.
And that is the Democrats’ new optical dilemma. Every MAGA win forces a choice: applaud with the nation or glower in the corner. They keep choosing the corner, insisting the scoreboard must be rigged because Trump can’t possibly keep his promises. Yet there he is, marker in hand, ticking off boxes. The public notices. They’re tired of promises by consultants, dismayed by permanent‑crisis theatrics, and frankly amused that the man who tweets in all caps also negotiates cease‑fires and stock‑market highs before lunch.
Tomorrow, on Independence Day, Trump will scrawl his signature across the bill that Democrats swore would never see daylight. Pens will be handed out, Marines will snap salutes, and somewhere in back a reporter will ask whether the administration regrets “dividing the country.” The President will grin, maybe quip about covfefe, and remind everyone that a united America is one that wins—on the border, in the stadium, at the pump, and on the factory floor. If unity requires surrendering those wins, count him out.
For six months the left framed this deadline as hubris. Tonight it stands stamped on parchment, ready for fireworks. Patriotic crowds will chant, Democrats will frown, and the republic will roll on, freshly reminded that optimism, not outrage, built this country. Trump just keeps winning; they just keep scowling. And the more victories pile up, the clearer it becomes: the problem isn’t that they hate Donald Trump—he’s merely an avatar—it’s that they can’t bring themselves to cheer when their own homeland succeeds. In America, that’s not opposition; that’s malpractice.
