Trump dynasty's ducks by Robert Perez

Donald J. Trump is US President and beyond the theatrics and tired chants of “Make America Great Again, Again,” there is an unmistakable plan forming in the shadows of Mar-a-Lago: not just to rule, but to reign, hereditary-style. Royal style. Yes, the Trump family is building its very own political dynasty, brick by nepotistic brick.

Forget “House of Cards.” We’re watching “House of Trump” a reality-turned-republic where the Constitution is a flexible guideline and democracy is a family affair. It begins with Trump’s iron grip on the Republican base. Like a franchise, the Trump brand sells. And not just steaks and ties this time but seats in Congress, positions in state governments, and, perhaps most telling, whispers of a future President Barron Trump. The boy once hidden behind velvet ropes is being slowly, carefully brought into the limelight, like a royal heir learning to wave on cue.

This isn’t new, of course. America has dabbled in dynasties before, Bushes, Clintons, even Kennedys. But the Trumps? They don’t even pretend it’s about public service. The playbook here is pure branding, power consolidation, and, let’s be frank, cash flow management. Ivanka tested the waters. Don Jr. roams the red-state rally circuit like a stand-up comic on tour, and Eric... well, he tries.

It’s hard to ignore the pattern: wherever Trump’s name goes, the campaign donations follow. It’s like buying stock in authoritarian nostalgia. Each family member planted in the House or Senate is not just a vote, they’re a walking, tweeting billboard for the Trump empire. Policy is secondary to performance, and legislation takes a backseat to loyalty.

Now that Donald Trump is back in the Oval Office, the second act of his plan begins: turn Congress into an extension of the family office. With gerrymandering, primary threats, and the MAGA base still humming, Trump has the machinery. Candidates bearing the family name or the family’s blessing, will step forward. Perhaps even more alarming: they’ll win. Not because they’re qualified, but because Trump voters believe in the myth of the name. America, meet your new monarchs, not crowned, but voted in with glee.

Forget impartial governance. Congress becomes Thanksgiving dinner at Trump Tower, with personal grudges passed like cranberry sauce and national interest buried under a gold-plated gravy boat.

And then, Barron. He’s the wild card. Barely heard, seldom seen, and yet... the whispers grow. After all, if Kim Jong-un can follow Kim Jong-il, and Justin Trudeau can inherit the stylish socks of Pierre, why not Barron Trump, child of a model and a mogul, ushered into power by a cult of personality?

Give it a decade or so, some prep school rebellion, and a stint on a conservative talk show, and you’ve got the launch pad. In a country exhausted by complexity, the simple familiarity of the Trump brand becomes its own twisted comfort. They’ll say: “At least we know what we’re getting.” And maybe they will, grievances, gold decor, and government as entertainment.

What we’re witnessing is not just the persistence of Trump in politics, but the mutation of democratic norms into dynastic habits. The name never dies, because it’s no longer tied to one man, it’s a logo, a movement, a legacy carefully staged with all the theatricality of a Vegas act. It’s not about making America great. It’s about making Trump eternal.

And the rest of us? We're left clinging to the remnants of a republic, watching the credits roll on a democracy that now feels more like reality TV than reality itself.

Because in the end, if Donald Trump gets to write the sequel and cast the family, then maybe it’s not America First anymore.

Because in the end, the House of Trump wasn’t built for democracy. It was built for business. And business is booming.