The Daily Fuckup

Donald Trump turned his Bedminster golf club into the latest stage for his continuing embrace of people charged in connection with the Jan. 6 attack on the U.S. Capitol, appearing at a June 23 fundraiser tied to the legal defense and family-support network that has grown up around the defendants. The event was hosted for the Patriot Freedom Project, which says it helps families of people charged in the aftermath of the riot, and Trump’s presence put him in direct contact with one of the most politically radioactive causes in modern Republican politics. A campaign official confirmed that he appeared at the gathering, and attendees included people connected to the broader post-riot support ecosystem. That alone made the event notable, but the bigger story was the decision itself: even as Trump faces an expanding tangle of legal jeopardy of his own, he chose to spend political capital on a group that remains closely linked to the attack on the Capitol. For a former president trying to widen his appeal beyond his most loyal base, it was a remarkably specific and difficult lane to choose.

The significance of the appearance was not hard to decode. By showing up at a fundraiser benefiting Jan. 6 defendants and their families, Trump was doing more than acknowledging supporters who still view him as a victim of the political system. He was reinforcing a central part of his post-White House identity, one in which the legal consequences of the Capitol riot are folded into his own political brand. That matters because it keeps the riot in the foreground not as a settled historical event, but as a continuing loyalty test. Trump has long relied on grievance as a mobilizing force, and the Bedminster event fit neatly into that pattern by offering donors and activists a way to frame Jan. 6 as persecution rather than an assault on democracy. The appearance also sharpened a message his critics have repeated since the attack: that he is not merely unwilling to distance himself from the rioters, he keeps finding new ways to validate the people who participated in the day’s violence and disorder.

That dynamic practically invited criticism, and the backlash wrote itself. Trump’s opponents have argued for years that he uses the grievances of Jan. 6 defendants as both a fundraising tool and a loyalty test, and this event gave them a fresh, concrete example. It also came at an awkward time for a former president who has spent much of this year portraying himself as the target of selective prosecution and political weaponization. Standing at a fundraiser for people facing consequences for involvement in the Capitol attack made that argument harder to sustain for anyone outside his most committed circle. The contrast was stark: Trump wants sympathy for his own legal problems while signaling solidarity with people whose cases stem from one of the most serious disruptions in recent American political life. That contradiction does not need much embellishment to become a political attack ad. It is the kind of image that opponents can use without changing a single frame.

The fallout from the Bedminster appearance may have been mostly reputational, but reputational damage is still damage, especially when it confirms a pattern voters already recognize. For Trump loyalists, the event likely fit the familiar script of defiance and persecution that has helped sustain his political movement. For everyone else, it served as another reminder that he has never really tried to create distance between himself and the riot’s aftermath. Instead, he keeps integrating Jan. 6 into the mythology of his political project, even when that means validating people who have been charged in connection with the attack. That choice has consequences beyond one fundraiser or one evening at a golf club. It reinforces a broader Democratic argument that Trump sees the rule of law as something that should protect him but can be mocked or minimized when it reaches his allies. It also leaves institutional Republicans with one more example of the former president’s instinct to choose confrontation over normalization.

The political gift to Trump’s opponents was therefore obvious. They did not have to stretch to make the case that he remains deeply entangled with the ugliest chapter of his presidency, because he made that case for them by showing up in person. The event underscored how the Trump brand still profits from grievance, especially when that grievance can be packaged as loyalty, victimhood, or punishment of enemies. It also revived a question that keeps surfacing every time Trump engages with Jan. 6-related causes: whether he sees the riot as a stain on American democracy or as another reservoir of resentment to tap for political gain. Based on this appearance, the answer looks painfully familiar. He may have wanted to reward his supporters and keep his coalition emotionally engaged, but he also handed critics a simple, clean example of how little separation he wants between himself and the insurrection’s aftermath. In a political environment where many Republicans would prefer to move on, Trump instead chose to lean in, and that decision will likely echo far beyond Bedminster.