There's a French theory from Roland Barthes that addresses the symbolic meaning of what he describes as the "spectacle of excess." That's exactly what President Donald Trump's birthday blood sport was, writes The Atlantic's Gal Beckerman.
Beckerman calls it "pure, distilled Trump. No previous American leader could plausibly have presided over the scene of a tattooed Brazilian fighter in a black cowboy hat and Lycra shorts running out of the White House, saluted by honor guards, with the intent of pulverizing another human being."
Political influencer Jennifer Welch commented on Monday in her "I've Had It" podcast, comparing it to gladiator matches. In many ways, it is representative of the MAGA movement as a whole, Welch argued.
"It's so disturbing when I look at that, when I see that, when I see the White House depicted like this demented loser's dream Make-A-Wish birthday party. And of course, the UFC fight was disgusting," said Welch. "I feel like it's so regressive and I keep seeing it compared to the gladiators in the Roman Empire. And it's hard to disagree. It was just — it shows just the lack of humanity and that Americans, particularly the right-wing — they love to watch someone get beat up. They only feel good about themselves when somebody is less than. And I just thought the whole thing was repulsive."
Welch, who grew up in Oklahoma, where all 77 counties voted for Trump in 2024, noted "a lot of people punch down like this. And, I guess, it makes them feel bigger or better."
When Barthes wrote his past argument, he was describing professional wrestling and Hulk Hogan ripping off his shirt at the Republican convention.
The other philosophical comments quoted in relation to the fight come from the Ancient Roman poet Juvenal (circa 100 AD), who wrote about "Bread and circuses." The thought has become a political metaphor for the idea that if people are fed and entertained, they'll never revolt.
"What struck me about the UFC fights was the anticipation of blood, the waiting for the final moment, when one man would be at the complete mercy of another, and only the referee’s call would stand between the loser and death," writes Beckerman. "Even though the action is revoltingly real, the fighters seem almost interchangeable, cookie-cutter and therefore even more archetypal."
He calls the fights almost formulaic, where each knockout moment seemed the "same climactic scramble of life and death: slipping around in sweat and blood, grappling with each other on the ground like two creatures fighting over the last crust of bread in the world."
The full night, he closes, boils down to one "man's rage and another man’s pain and humiliation. That was the whole story — the only one that mattered to the 80-year-old man taking it all in from the edge of the ring."
