The Hollow Stage by John Reid

It’s one of the strangest paradoxes of our time: a man as divisive as Donald Trump, as theatrically polarizing, as endlessly exhausting, still manages to dominate the American stage. He is despised not only by Democrats, independents, and disaffected conservatives, but even by the minor acolytes who parade under the banner of Make America Great Again yet whisper their doubts in private. And yet, despite the contempt that surrounds him, Trump remains the gravitational force at the center of politics. Why? Because there is no one of comparable size to rival him.

America has had its giants of charisma and presence. Barack Obama was one of them, a figure who could electrify a room before speaking a word, a politician who fused intellect and empathy into an image of something larger than life. He wasn’t flawless, but he was a star in the true sense: someone who could bend attention, command silence, and leave both allies and adversaries spellbound. Against him, Trump looks small, petty, loud, but he still plays the main character because there is no Obama-like figure on the stage today.

That absence is everything. In politics, contempt alone does not dethrone someone. Loathing creates energy, yes, but without a champion to channel it, without a singular voice to capture the exasperation of millions, disdain becomes background noise. What Trump understands what he thrives on, is that the vacuum of personality is his greatest ally. He doesn’t need to be admired; he only needs to be unavoidable.

Even the challengers who do exist, whether within the Republican field or from the Democratic side, struggle to scale the mountain of presence that Trump inhabits. They debate policy, they present reason, they issue their critiques. But politics, especially in this era of endless screens and shortened attention spans, is not primarily about reason. It is about story. It is about magnetism. It is about making people believe that in following you, they become part of something larger than themselves.

Obama had it. Trump, in his twisted, chaotic, and destructive way, has it. And yet no one else seems to. The rest are either too careful, too rehearsed, too forgettable or worse, they mistake competence for charisma, assuming that people will vote for a résumé rather than a spectacle.

And then there are those who seem promising, the “Newtons” of our era, the thinkers, the reformers, the serious leaders. They may bring intellect or moral clarity, but intellect alone cannot eclipse a showman. Newton might explain the laws of motion, but Trump throws the apple at your head and dares you not to look. The spectacle wins every time.

This imbalance is not just a quirk of media culture. It is a genuine threat to democracy. Democracies require counterweights, figures who can rise to meet demagogues and pull the public imagination toward something higher. When no such figure exists, the demagogue thrives unopposed, not in policy, not in morality, but in aura. And aura matters. It matters more than most of us want to admit.

Trump’s staying power is not a testament to his genius; it is a testament to the emptiness around him. Imagine a boxing ring where one fighter is hated by the entire crowd, yet still wins because no worthy opponent enters. The audience boos, hurls insults, demands his exit but when the bell rings, he is the only one standing. That is the American political stage right now.

The tragedy is that contempt is plentiful but courage is rare. Everyone is willing to criticize Trump in vague terms. Everyone is willing to point out his absurdities, his contradictions, his failures. But few are willing to risk stepping into the gladiator’s pit where the fight is not about facts but about fire. To challenge Trump is to challenge the machinery of spectacle itself. It is to risk humiliation, ridicule, and the endless churn of headlines designed to destroy anyone who dares to stand tall. Most politicians, cautious by nature, shrink from that test.

What the country aches for is not just a policy alternative but a personality alternative, a presence who can absorb the fear, the anger, the hope, and redirect it toward something that feels less toxic and more durable. Someone who can cut through the noise with a voice that is not only critical but commanding. Without that, Trump doesn’t just survive; he thrives, precisely because everyone despises him but no one can eclipse him.

It is easy to forget that politics, for all its machinery of polling, legislation, and strategy, is still a human drama. It is theater. And theater requires leading roles. Right now, Trump has taken the spotlight, not because he deserves it, not because his message elevates anyone, but because his opposition has failed to produce a protagonist of equal scale. Until one emerges, the stage will remain his, even as the audience groans.

The uncomfortable truth is that America doesn’t need another policy white paper or another carefully rehearsed debate line. It needs a voice that can seize the imagination, someone whose very presence makes Trump seem suddenly small. That figure has not yet arrived. Until then, contempt will echo in empty halls, and Trump, loathed, mocked, and yet unchallenged in stature, will continue to rule the narrative.