COLUMN: Trump Abandoned by His Last Line of Defense: When the Base Rebels

When Rhetoric Is No Longer Enough

Immigration has always been Trump’s pet issue. “They’re invading us. They’re taking your jobs. They’re raping your daughters.” This rhetoric had appealed to a segment of white voters without college degrees, who were convinced that immigrants were to blame for their misfortunes. Yet today, even this line of argument no longer holds water. Why? Because these voters can clearly see that Trump, once in power, has not solved the “problem.” Illegal crossings at the Mexican border have not decreased. Asylum seekers continue to pour in. And above all, they realize that Trump is using immigration as a scare tactic—to divert attention, to avoid talking about the economy, To avoid talking about their real problems. The result: according to a Pew Research Center study, support for Trump on the immigration issue has dropped by 15 points among those without a high school diploma since 2024. Because they finally understand that words are no longer enough. That action is needed. And that Trump, for his part, hasn’t delivered.

I remember those rallies, where Trump raged against immigrants. Where he promised to “clean up” the country. Where he swore that, thanks to him, America would finally be “safe.” And I used to think to myself: just how far will these voters go to believe these lies? Because they were lies. Shameless lies. Lies that served a single purpose: to divert anger. To divert it away from those truly responsible—the elites, the corporate bosses, the politicians—and direct it toward the most vulnerable. Toward those who have no voice. Toward those who cannot defend themselves. But today, these voters are beginning to open their eyes. They can clearly see that immigrants aren’t responsible for their misfortunes. That they aren’t responsible for factory closures. That they aren’t responsible for stagnant wages. So they’re turning away. Not out of love for immigrants. Not out of compassion. But out of weariness. Because they’re fed up with being taken for fools. Because they’re fed up with being fed a line of nonsense. Because they want, at last, for their real problems to be addressed.

When the Party Abandons Its Base

The worst part for these voters isn’t just that Trump isn’t keeping his promises. It’s that the entire Republican Party seems to have abandoned them. For years, Republicans capitalized on their anger—on their feeling of being America’s forgotten people. Yet once in power, what did they do for them? Nothing. Or almost nothing. Tax cuts? They mainly benefited the wealthiest. Deregulation? It mainly enriched big corporations. Supreme Court appointments? They’ve mainly served to restrict the rights of women and minorities—not to improve the daily lives of white working-class people. The result: according to a University of Michigan survey, only 38% of white voters without a college degree now believe that the Republican Party “really cares about people like them.” A figure in free fall. And yet another betrayal.

There is something deeply cynical about seeing the Republican Party use these voters as nothing more than a reservoir of votes—as a mass that can be manipulated at will. A mass that can be stirred up with rhetoric about immigration. Calmed with economic promises. Mobilized through fear. But one that they never really intend to help. Because, deep down, these voters aren’t rich enough. Not powerful enough. Not influential enough. So they’re used. They’re exploited. They’re discarded. And today, they’re starting to understand this. They’re starting to realize that they’re just a means to an end. A means to gain power. A means to stay in power. And that’s a painful realization. Because when you realize that no one really cares about you, then you no longer want to vote. You no longer want to believe. You no longer want to hope.

When the Trumpist Coalition Cracks

While white voters without a college degree are turning away from Trump, they are not alone. Young people (ages 18–29) and Latinos—two groups that Trump had managed to win over to some extent in 2024—are also abandoning him. According to the latest New York Times polls, Trump’s support among Latinos has dropped from 45% in 2024 to 30% in February 2026. This is a dramatic decline, largely due to his immigration policies, which are seen as too harsh, but also to his inability to improve their economic situation. As for young people, 70% disapprove of his handling of the country. Why? Because they see Trump as a man of the past. A man who divides. A man who offers nothing for the future. The result: the coalition that enabled Trump to win in 2024 is cracking on all sides. And without these voters, it will be impossible for him to win in 2026.

I often think about these young people. About these Latinos. About all those who, in 2024, believed that Trump could change. That he could bring something new. That he could, perhaps, break the mold. But today, they can clearly see that he hasn’t. That he’s just an old politician. That he’s just a divider. That he’s just a man who thinks only of himself. So they’re turning away. Not toward the Democrats, necessarily. Not toward another party. But toward abstention. Toward disengagement. Toward the bitter certainty that, perhaps, politics is nothing but a big circus. A circus where the same old shenanigans keep repeating themselves. Where the same lies are repeated. Where the same promises are broken. And that, perhaps, is Trump’s worst defeat: realizing that young people—who embody the future—no longer believe in him.

November 2026: The Moment of Truth

The November 2026 midterm elections are shaping up to be a litmus test. A test for Trump. A test for the Republicans. If white voters without college degrees, young people, and Latinos turn out against him—or, worse, stay home—then the Republican Party risks losing control of Congress. Such a defeat would be a slap in the face for Trump. Proof that his magic no longer works. Proof that his rhetoric no longer convinces. Proof that America has moved on. Yet Trump himself refuses to face reality. He continues to cry “fraud.” He continues to promise “landslide victories.” He continues to play the victor. But the numbers don’t lie. And they say one thing: his time is running out.

I often wonder what Trump is really feeling deep down. Whether he realizes, even for just a moment, that his empire is crumbling. That his base is rebelling. That young people are rejecting him. That Latinos are turning away from him. Whether he understands, even for just a moment, that he is no longer the one calling the shots. That he is no longer the king. That he’s nothing more than a man, just like everyone else. A man who believed he could control everything. Dominate everything. Possess everything. But who now realizes that power must be earned. That loyalty must be earned. That trust must be built. And that you can’t spend your life betraying people without them eventually rebelling. So yes, November 2026 will be a test. Not just for Trump. But for America. To see if it has finally understood that saviors don’t exist. That miracles don’t exist. That change is built. Not with tweets. Not with lies. But with hard work. With honesty. With respect.

When the Bubble Bursts

For years, Trump lived in a bubble. A media bubble, where his rallies were broadcast on a loop. Where his tweets made the headlines. Where his excesses were amplified. A bubble where he could believe that everyone adored him. That everyone followed him. That everyone believed in him. Yet today, that bubble is bursting. Because voters don’t live in that bubble. They live in reality—a reality where making ends meet is a struggle, where bills pile up, and where promises go unfulfilled. And today, they have access to other sources of information— To other voices. To other narratives. The result: they can clearly see that Trump isn’t the savior he claims to be. That he’s just a man. A man who lies. A man who betrays. A man who, perhaps, doesn’t deserve their trust.

I remember the days when Trump could say anything, and the media would repeat it unfiltered. When his lies became truths. When his excesses were passed off as genius. But today, things have changed. Because voters are no longer fooled. They are no longer those passive masses, ready to swallow anything. They have learned to doubt. To verify. To compare. And that is a revolution. A silent revolution. A revolution taking place far from the cameras. Far from the rallies. Far from the tweets. A revolution in which people are finally beginning to think for themselves. To see for themselves. To judge for themselves. And that is the worst possible news for Trump: realizing that the people—the very people he so despises, the very people he so manipulates—are beginning to slip through his fingers.

A Party at a Crossroads

If Trump loses the support of white voters without a college degree, the entire Republican Party is threatened. Because these voters are the ones who enabled the Republicans to win in the key Rust Belt states. They are the ones who swung Pennsylvania, Michigan, and Wisconsin. Without them, the party has no base. No foundation. No reason to exist. So today, Republicans are asking themselves: Should they continue to follow Trump, at the risk of collapsing along with him? Or should they turn the page, at the risk of enraging him? A Cornelian dilemma. A dilemma that could very well seal the party’s fate. Because if Republicans choose Trump, they risk losing everything. And if they abandon him, they risk tearing themselves apart. So today, the Republican Party faces a choice: to die with Trump. Or to be reborn without him.

I often think of those Republicans who, today, are grappling with this dilemma. Those who know that Trump is leading them to disaster. Those who can clearly see that his rhetoric no longer works. That his promises no longer convince. That his base is rebelling. But who, nevertheless, don’t dare let him go. Because they’re afraid. Afraid of his rage. Afraid of his retaliation. Afraid of his tweets. So they carry on. Following him. Supporting him. Repeating his lies. Like sleepwalkers. Like men who know they’re walking toward the precipice, but who don’t dare stop. And that is the tragedy of the Republican Party: realizing that it has become a hostage to its own monster. That it can neither move forward nor backward. That it is doomed to follow Trump to the very end. Until the collapse.

A Time for Choices

So, what’s left for Trump? What’s left for the Republicans? What’s left for those voters who, today, feel betrayed? Perhaps one thing: the time for choices. The choice, for Trump, to finally keep his promises. To finally speak the truth. To finally care about those who brought him to power. For the Republicans, the choice to free themselves from his grip. To rebuild a party that speaks to working people. To young people. To minorities. For these voters, the choice to no longer let themselves be manipulated. To no longer vote out of anger. Out of fear. Out of despair. But out of hope. Out of conviction. Out of faith in the future. Because, deep down, that’s what democracy is: the right to choose. The right to make mistakes. The right to start over. And perhaps, today, it is precisely that right that these voters are rediscovering.

I’ll end this article with a thought for these voters—for these men and women who, today, are realizing they’ve been duped. Who are realizing that Trump isn’t their savior. Who are realizing that, perhaps, no one will come to save them. But I’m also thinking of their strength—their resilience—their ability to get back on their feet. Because, at its core, that’s what America is. Not a man. Not a party. Not a speech. But people. People who, despite the betrayals, despite the lies, continue to hope. Continue to fight. Continue to believe in a better future. So today, I choose to believe in them. Not in Trump. Not in his promises. Not in his tweets. But in them. In their ability to rebel. To say no. To choose their own destiny. Because, deep down, that is the true greatness of America: not a man, but a people. A people who, despite everything, keep moving forward.

Trump, or the End of an Illusion

The collapse of support for Trump among white voters without a college degree is much more than just a number. It’s the end of a myth. The myth of the savior. The myth of the man of destiny. The myth of the one who, single-handedly, could change everything. Today, these voters realize they’ve been used. That they’ve been manipulated. That they’ve been betrayed. And that is a realization that changes everything. Because when you realize you’ve been duped, you no longer vote out of fear. You no longer vote out of anger. You vote out of conviction. Or you stop voting altogether. So today, Trump finds himself facing a choice: either he changes. Or he disappears. Or he finally understands that power isn’t something you simply declare. That it must be earned. That it must be built. That it must be shared. Or he continues on his current path, and then he’ll be swept away. Swept away by history. Swept away by those voters who, today, are turning their backs on him. Swept away by this America that is, at last, turning the page.

I don’t know what the future holds for Trump. I don’t know if he’ll manage to bounce back. But I know one thing: today, he has lost. Not just in the polls. Not just at the ballot box. But in people’s hearts. In the hearts of workers, the unemployed, and rural residents, who today realize that he never truly loved them. That he never truly stood up for them. That he never truly respected them. So yes, he can keep shouting. He can keep lying. He can keep making promises. But deep down, he knows it’s over. That the people—the very people he has so despised, the very people he has so manipulated—have slipped through his fingers. And that is a defeat from which he will never recover.

Signed, Jacques Provost