The Blank Canvas of Trump
Understanding a Subconscious Phenomenon Inside the Trump Movement
Hello! My name is Ben. I’m 34 years old, an American patriot, a traditional conservative, and a software engineer living in the great state of Virginia. Recently, I’ve felt a strong pull to write down my thoughts, so I decided to launch this Substack. I’m not certain anyone will read these, but I’d like to archive some reflections for myself, if nothing else. Before diving in, I want to mention that I supported Trump pre-2021, and what follows is a small slice of my personal experience, and key takeaways, that I hope might give others a clearer view of our current political landscape.
When I first hopped on the Trump train, it felt like an expression of my own love for country: a straightforward, no-nonsense patriotism that resonated with my values. But with time, I came to see something else at play, a phenomenon creeping its way into the mainstream. I noticed that Trump himself was becoming a sort of “blank canvas.” People weren’t responding to Trump the person as much as they were responding to the idea of Trump, filling him with the ideals and visions they already held dear, ideals that they felt had gone unheard or unrepresented for a long time. And because he rarely offered detailed policy positions, this projection process was not only easy, it was almost encouraged.
Here’s the basic premise: His core message, “Make America Great Again”, is patriotic yet deliberately vague. It allows supporters to interpret “greatness” however they see fit. Some might focus on stronger borders; others might emphasize national pride in manufacturing or cultural traditions. Whatever specific aspirations you have for the country, you can find some angle that makes Trump the supposed champion of it. He becomes an avatar for your personal beliefs. Trump is famously noted saying
“In the end, they're not coming after me. They're coming after you, and I'm just standing in their way,”
this was one of the most effective messaging strategies that drove in this idea, that him and his ideas are a projection of you.
Of course, this deep emotional investment triggers a powerful immune response whenever he’s criticized. For someone who sees Trump as the vessel of their own political identity, mocking or attacking him feels like a direct insult rather than a critique of a political figure. It isn’t just Trump’s character that’s on trial, it’s yours. So, naturally, defenses go up quickly, often shutting down any real conversation before it can begin.
The trouble is that the man and the myth rarely align perfectly. I’ve come to see that his snapshot of America is sort of frozen in time. He often speaks of an America that may not accurately reflect the complexity of today’s world. It’s like he yearns for a return to a golden era without fully grappling with the checks and balances of our Republic or the global partnerships that actually sustain our influence that we designed to benefit us on the world stage. If we try to integrate the specifics of our Constitution, our judicial system, our role in international affairs, none of that detail tends to show up in his stump speeches. They’re generally focused on broad-stroke patriotism, the kind that makes you proud to be an American but doesn’t clarify what you’d do differently to solve real problems.
I say all this not just as a casual observer but from personal experience. I was in the pro-Trump camp before the 2020 election. I believed in the version of Trump I had painted for myself, a guy who stood for certain constitutional values, someone who spoke for the everyday American. But as we moved into the election and beyond, I realized that the version in my head didn’t line up with what he was actually doing or saying. Over time, I watched more and more people lock into their own personal “Trumps.” It’s almost like each of us had our own custom build of him, a reflection of what we longed for in a president.
Over the years leading up to Trump’s reelection at the end of 2024, there was a striking surge in populist support, fueled by what many perceived as politically motivated legal challenges and multiple assassination attempts, one of which came perilously close to ending his life. In the eyes of his supporters, these were not simply attacks on Trump but on all of them. When the President raised his fist in defiance, many saw it as a reflection of their own resilience, driving a renewed wave of patriotic fervor. As more people paid closer attention, often for the first time at this level of political engagement, they encountered the same blank canvas, ready to absorb whatever ideals they projected onto it.
Another layer to this issue, which I’ve observed, is how easily this blank-canvas dynamic can be exploited by foreign propaganda, particularly from Russian sources. Because supporters have embedded themselves so heavily into the avatar of Trump, their loyalty to his vague ideas becomes an incredibly easy tool for manipulation. Many new media influencers who spread pro-Russian narratives often tie those narratives directly to Trump, effectively implanting them in his followers’ belief systems. All it takes is a kernel of truth that resonates with MAGA ideals, and suddenly the propaganda becomes part of the broader MAGA zeitgeist. These information streams often paint America as irredeemably corrupt or in desperate need of a singular strongman. In this environment, what starts as “unfiltered, independent news” can quickly become a vehicle for sowing distrust in our own institutions.
It’s a problem for everyone, regardless of where you stand politically, because when foreign actors spot that emotional investment, they lean in, driving wedges between Americans, stirring up fear and anger. And suddenly it’s not just about Trump anymore. It’s about whose America is “authentic” and whose is “fake,” whose voice is valued and whose is dismissed as propaganda.
So here we are, with a segment of the population seeing Trump as the champion of their most cherished ideals, while the reality, his words, his policies, the ripple effects of his influence, doesn’t always match that lofty vision. The conversation gets polarized, and we stop hearing each other.
To me, all of this underscores why it’s so important to stay engaged with real, detailed political discourse. If we’re not careful, the blank-canvas approach allows leaders, or outside forces, to manipulate us into fighting one another instead of solving problems together. My hope is that by talking openly about it, we might peel back some of the emotional layers, engage in respectful debate, and remain vigilant about where we get our information.
I’m still proud to be an American with conservative ideals. But I’ve learned to keep my eyes wide open, to separate who I think a leader might be from who they truly are. If a movement is essentially about us, our ideals, our dreams for the country, we should stay attuned to whether the figurehead for that movement aligns with or distorts those principles. Because if we let the canvas stay blank for too long, anyone can paint whatever they want on it, and the design may look nothing like the America we believe in.
