On flags, thrones, and the cult that mistakes domination for salvation.

Updated 08/06/2025 2:04PM PST

Eight months after the election and I saw someone was still wearing that hat. Not the classic red this time, but white, pristine, like it had just been unboxed. The stitching was crisp. No sun-bleach, no sweat stains. It hadn’t been worn into belief, it had been purchased like one buys a fresh Bible. Most likely made in China, but that’s never mattered. He wasn’t alone either, he was with a group. The kind that looks like they think patriotism is a big raised truck with a big American Flag flying out the back of it. You know the folks that don’t believe in growing their own food, but have allegiance to industrialized farming, and shop at big box grocery stores, unconsciously. When they left, he swapped the hat for something louder. An all-over-print tank top that made the American flag look like a tactical vest. Stars on his pecs, stripes stretching across his gut. He didn’t just wear the flag. He deployed it.

I didn’t say anything to him. I didn't need to. The outfit wasn’t meant for conversation, it was a broadcast. A wearable sermon to the faithful. Because that’s what this is now. It’s not politics. It’s postering and it lacks substance. The flag isn’t a symbol, it’s a uniform. The hat isn’t about making anything great, it’s their off the rack veil, a flyer from a pilgrimage to Mar-a-Lago, whether they’ve made the trip or not. Mr. Trump isn’t a candidate anymore. He’s a belief system. A messiah that possibly has a lifetime subscription in spray tan oil. And the people who follow him? They’re not undecided. They’re converted to the religion of Trumpanity, where faith is less about reading the Bible, or reading in general, forgiveness, and attending church, but more about followers.

They say they’re Christian. But do they question a man who campaigns not on faith, but vengeance? Who promises retribution over redemption? When was the last time they fact checked their faith? When was the last time they read a Bible? Trump could vow to outlaw Mondays or baptize his tax returns in soda, and still they’d cheer. Why? Because belief doesn’t require logic, just faith and loyalty. And somehow, Mr. Trump has turned that loyalty into something else entirely, an identity.

Erica Groshen gave the country good news, jobs increased. So Trump canned her. Not because the numbers were wrong, but because they weren’t flattering to Mr. Trumps liking. In this regime, the truth is punished. And the statisticians? They’re just the next political prisoners, sentenced for honesty.

Is it still politics when you live by a man’s tweets? When you recite his slogans more than scripture? Are they voting for a president, or submitting to a prophet? Because this no longer feels like civic duty. It feels like devotion. To a man who insists only he can save you from the world he helped set on fire. And maybe, in the end, it’s not even about saving. Maybe it’s just about who he hates. And whether that hate feels familiar.

Mr. Trump doesn’t just ask for their vote. He demands their obedience. They do so, willingly. Not because he offers them answers, but because he names their enemies. Because he hates out loud. And in a country that still hasn’t repented for its original sins, hatred passes for clarity. So they follow, not out of hope, but out of ritual. Have they traded in the gospel for grievance, scripture for slogans, and wrap the American flag so tightly around their eyes they can’t see nor comprehend who’s robbing them.

They don’t want policy. They want punishment. They don’t read platforms, they moan for retribution. Mr. Trump could staple his name to the Bible and they’d bend over and beg for chapter and verse. This isn’t about governance. It’s about submission. They want a flag they can hump, a strongman who spits when he talks and promises to make the libs cry. They don’t crave democracy, they get off on domination. Strip away the slogans, and all that’s left is a base that wants to be owned, and a man more than willing to fuck the country to prove he can.

Julian Lucas is a photographer, writer and provocateur committed to documenting what power tries to hide. Julian is the founder of The Pomonan and founder and owner of Mirrored Society, a bookshop dedicated to fine art books. His work, on the page, in the darkroom, and in the streets, documents what institutions try to forget. He publishes what others try to bury.