For many, our 250th anniversary is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to celebrate America’s declaration that a free society is not governed by a king but by a government that affirms the rights of man given to him by the Creator and the Laws of Nature. This was the promise of the Revolution, and decent people should keep their promises. And, despite a long and winding path, we have kept them. An anniversary is a moment to reflect on such things.
Sunday Night was UFC Freedom 250 on the South Lawn, one of many events commemorating the Founding. It was yet another reminder that the original No Kings movement featured brave men in combat, whether on the battlefield or in The Octagon. I anticipated the event with an essay at the end of May, Manly Arts at the White House, providing readers with a historical note about President Teddy Roosevelt and his love for boxing and Jiu-Jitsu. Amid the hysteria over the pending Trump birthday event, triggered by the erection of the Claw, I thought it useful to provide context. Boxing is one of America’s great pastimes.
Trump honored this tradition with a celebration of excellence and masculinity. Justin Gaethje won the main event by handing Ilia Topuria his first UFC defeat to claim the undisputed lightweight championship. After receiving a frightful beating, Topuria retired on his stool, hiding his battered face from the camera. Trump also honored America’s soldiers and first responders. The walks, Gaethje’s starting his from the Oval Office after staring for a while at a copy of the Declaration of Independence, flanked by these mighty public servants, punctuated the spirit of 1776.
But Americans were to not spend a moment thinking about the greatness of their nation. Instead, they were to be filled with ressentiment. How dare jets fly over Washington, DC, when the public is paying higher prices for the sake of ZOG’s Greater Israel project! Many social media accounts were upset because tens of millions of dollars were being spent on gladiatorial sports when that money should be spent instead on “free” health care and a bunch of other “free” stuff. (For the record, the event was, for the most part, privately funded. And the stuff being bitched for is never free.)
I was fortunate to be alive in 1976 when we celebrated our 200th anniversary as a country. I was fourteen years of age. For a young person, it was a significant moment to pause and reflect on our greatness. I had no idea then how much money the government spent commemorating the Bicentennial. I now know that it was a massive, multi-year public program involving federal, state, and local funding. The federal government alone spent on the order of hundreds of millions of dollars in 1970s dollars, with total nationwide Bicentennial-related spending (public and private) reaching into the billions. In today’s dollars, the costs of the 1976 celebrations were somewhere in the neighbourhood of 15-20 billion dollars.
To address another complaint from the progressive crowd, this was at a time when the inflation and unemployment rates were much higher than they are today. Inflation in 1976 was roughly 5–6 percent. Unemployment was around 7–8 percent. Today, both figures are just over 4 percent. To be sure, there was criticism then—about cost, fairness, and priorities—but it was eclipsed by widespread public enthusiasm. The Bicentennial was not seen as a scandal or fiscal failure; by and large, it was well received by Americans proud of their country. I still have some bicentennial coins. Unlike his predecessor, Richard Nixon, who had resigned from office less than two years earlier, the president at the time, Gerald Ford, was hardly a figure who provoked vitriol.
Perhaps those complaining about the costs of last night’s event are ignorant of this. Or perhaps they had forgotten. The media wasn’t going to remind them. Not with Donald Trump as president. If a Democrat were president, we’d be grandly celebrating the 250th anniversary, only not with motorcycles and prize fights, but with rainbows and unicorns. We wouldn’t see men in combat sports in displays of masculinity with Old Glory waving at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, but autogynephilic men with fake tits out twerking on the South Lawn in front of a White House festooned in Pride Progress colors.
I was with my two sons Sunday evening when I plopped down the nine bucks to see the event on Paramount+. However much they appreciated it (I know one of them did), I was proud to share this moment with them. I wore one of my many USA T-shirts. The motorcycles jumping from ramps, the jets screaming overhead during the National Anthem, the bloody spectacle of Mixed Martial Arts—it was exciting. I thought of Evel Knievel at Ceasar’s Palace, the SR-71 Blackbird, and the Thrilla in Manila. Americana and the delights of the working class. One had to work hard to not appreciate it.
Meanwhile, progressives were in a frenzy on social media, madly posting about tackiness and white trash, expressions of elitism from those who think themselves an aristocracy while decrying billionaires and kings. Flanked by the construction site for the Grand Ballroom, the Claw made the White House grounds a trailer park.
I confess: I monitored the moral panic in real time, pleased to see so many snobs triggered. Yet another accurate prediction. But an easy one. How could they not work so hard? I even intervened to taunt a few of them about what a strange place it must be to not want to feel good about America. For days, people had been twisting themselves into knots trying to rationalize their dislike for the country and gathering energy for outrage. Why not just say it straightforwardly? Why try to portray seething over American greatness as patriotism itself?
To cap off an evening of patriotic obnoxiousness, with Trump and his extended family in The Octagon standing alongside the victorious Gaethje, who had just profusely honored the troops and first responders, the event let fly a truly massive fireworks display at 2:00 AM. I delighted in imagining the outrage of DC residents who had spent their evening grumbling about the damage to the South Lawn and the destruction of the East Wing. “Oh my God, they let MMA fights march to the Octocon from the Oval Office! They defiled our sacred White House.” Looks like they plopped down their nine bucks, too.
You’d think that the excesses of Andrew Jackson—a Democrat!—would have tugged at their hearts. Alas, they probably never learned that when Jackson took office in 1829, he invited the public to an open house-style inauguration celebration at the White House. Thousands of ordinary citizens were allowed inside. Crowds rampaged through the mansion. Furniture and curtains were damaged. Food and drinks were spilled everywhere. Reports had Jackson escaping through a window to avoid the chaos. Now that was a party!
One of my sons has always expressed nostalgia for a time he could not live through—the 1970s, the zenith of American culture. Art. Music. Fashion. Crumb. Led Zeppelin. Hip huggers and halter tops. He got a taste of that spirit last night. All for measly nine bucks. You can’t watch a retreaded DEI-coopted movie or cheer on one of your favorite bands for that price.
freedom and reason 