This week saw an unexpected twist in the Supreme Court when Amy Coney Barrett teamed up with Chief Justice John Roberts and the court’s liberal justices to uphold a lower court’s decision. This ruling mandates the Trump administration to shell out close to $2 billion for foreign aid contracts that had already been completed but were at risk of being rescinded by the White House. This move sparked a wave of disapproval from some conservative media figures, with accusations like “D.E.I. hire” being tossed around in their critique of Barrett.
On the populist right, there’s been a growing skepticism towards Barrett. While she has been a reliable conservative voice in major cases—particularly those involving abortion and affirmative action—she has also shown a tendency to break ranks on less high-profile issues, enough to notice a pattern. Interestingly, data show she’s slightly more predictable compared to Brett Kavanaugh, though.
In this instance, as noted by Harvard Law’s Jack Goldsmith, the Supreme Court’s ruling serves more as a temporary pause rather than a direct challenge to the Trump administration. Nonetheless, it delivered a setback for the White House and underscored potential vulnerabilities in more critical cases. Many of Barrett’s critics speculate that her unique background—being a mother of seven, having adopted children from Haiti, and her ties to charismatic Catholicism—may have influenced her decision, particularly in light of the president’s cuts to foreign aid.
If we take this perspective seriously, it points to an argument I’ve made before regarding how the Trump administration might jeopardize America’s gradual rightward shift by disconnecting from individuals who could otherwise be integral to a right-leaning elite.
Trump’s reductions in foreign aid don’t necessarily threaten his broad electoral base—few voters prioritize foreign aid, notably for issues like combating AIDS in Africa. Plus, given the widespread misconception about U.S. foreign aid spending, trimming the aid budget is generally popular.
However, foreign aid does hold significant importance for certain elite groups—a mix of traditional conservatives and right-leaning former liberals who cherish the idea of the U.S. as a compassionate global leader. Not to mention, it matters considerably to Catholic and evangelical thinkers for whom domestic pro-life efforts are closely connected to international humanitarian work. These groups once saw benefits in charitable government collaborations, a hallmark of George W. Bush’s governance.
When engaging with New Right advocates, they often express two main points. First, they see these former liberals—sometimes labeled neo-neoconservatives—as outsiders who, while supportive, shouldn’t dominate the Trump administration’s agenda. “Bari Weiss is not a conservative and never will be” sums up one side of this conversation.
Second, there’s a view that compassionate conservatives, like John Paul II Catholics and well-meaning evangelicals, are either outdated or covert liberals who don’t grasp the current political challenges or the deep state’s impact on charity work—or they suggest these individuals should join other anti-Trump Christians outside the right-wing sphere.
I believe both arguments miss the mark on what it takes to form a cohesive political movement. Those leaning on pro-life internationalism and former liberals have already demonstrated their willingness to partner with the populist right by aligning with or joining the rightward shift under Trump. This sets them apart from NeverTrump Republicans who have gravitated toward the Democrats. Unlike certain corporate elites who find their ideological footing only when power shifts, these allies have genuine ideological reasons to stand against progressive views. They represent the kind of expertise necessary to lead a nation as vast as ours, and figures like Amy Coney Barrett are already in key power positions.
In a thought-provoking piece, evangelical writer Aaron Renn reflected on how the right has learned that to influence cultural institutions effectively, it must do so from the top down—think Elon Musk’s acquisition of Twitter or Ron DeSantis’s efforts to nudge Florida’s education system toward conservative values. The Federalist Society’s strategy of installing justices such as Barrett exemplifies this approach; although it worked through the legal education system, it ultimately depended on high-level appointments to achieve its aims.
Renn posits that a “capture or replace” strategy for American institutions is generally more effective than trying to reform or start anew. He argues that “capture” works well alongside strategies aiming to “destroy or delegitimize”—as some institutions may be too entrenched in liberal ideology to adjust easily for conservative reform.
From my vantage point, the idea of “capture or replace” diverges significantly from “destroy or delegitimize,” and I worry that the right may be leaning too often towards destruction, even when capturing holds practical value. This could stem from doubts about whether they can manage the institutions they’ve targeted, or hesitation over compromises needed to work collaboratively within them.
If you’re curious about these discussions, I recommend a podcast episode I recorded with Christopher Rufo, a prominent anti-woke activist. Rufo stands as a proponent for the “capture or replace” approach; as a board member of New College of Florida, he is deeply involved in the efforts to establish it as a conservative-model public liberal arts college.
Simultaneously, Rufo advocates dismantling the Department of Education, relocating its major functions while eliminating its progressive initiatives. This mirrors a “destroy or delegitimize” stance, representing a rejection, rather than an embrace, of institutional power.
During our conversation, I asked him why dismantling appeared preferable to reshaping educational frameworks that would align with conservative teachings. His candid response was that the right lacks the workforce to lead such a takeover—you have to take systems apart because there aren’t enough conservative educators available to sustain capture and control.
This personnel issue is real, but it seems like a prediction fulfilling itself. I know individuals in education circles who wouldn’t necessarily identify as hard-right but would be open to collaborating with a right-leaning administration committed to educational benchmarks, testing, and a revival of liberal arts. And I’m fairly confident that staffing a conservative grant-making operation could draw from the burgeoning classical education movement.
If you declare these collaborations unfeasible or ill-advised, you’re essentially signaling potential allies that you’re not open to working with them.
Currently, the Trump administration might be inadvertently conveying this message to too many of its allies. Its goal should be to instigate substantial regime change, steering clear of merely populating a fundamentally liberal bureaucracy with Republican figureheads, instead establishing a counter-elite in charge.
Effective regime change demands forming partnerships, persuading key players, and building alliances. It’s about recognizing not just the moment but who stands with you. It also involves avoiding prematurely turning potential allies into adversaries, especially when that ally is a pivotal vote on the Supreme Court.
