Trump, the White House, the UFC and our history of violence

On June 14, a spectacle of violence will take place on the White House South Lawn — a spectacle bigger than anything we’ve seen since the January 6 insurrection.

UFC Freedom 250, a mixed-martial arts event produced by Ultimate Fighting Championship CEO and vocal Trump acolyte Dana White, will take over the South Lawn as part of a series of events celebrating the semiquincentennial of the United States.

At first blush, it might seem incongruent to connect a violent insurrection with a planned sporting event — notwithstanding that both events were pre-planned, sanctioned by the president and intended to be a celebration of American values — but if you dig deeper you can begin to see the connection between the glorification of brutalized violence in combat sport with a longer American tradition of glorifying violence as an expression of power and identity.

A history of violence

The United States of America is a violent nation. It was conceived in Colonial occupation that led to the genocide and displacement of the land’s Native peoples. It was birthed through a violent revolution that was itself a response to violent oppression. It was then built and sustained through a violent economy of chattel slavery that led to its own violent revolution followed by a century of systematic violence against the formerly enslaved and their descendants.

The United States has been involved in war every decade of its existence. It is subject to extremely high rates of gun violence. Family and domestic violence are common. Sexual violence is prevalent. Violence in all its myriad forms is woven into the fabric of American reality. We are, in the words of criminologist Michael Tonry, “a people of exceptional violence.”

“There’s nothing closer in sport to war than the UFC.”

Sports — the ones in which we participate and the one in which we watch — are no exception to this. Sport itself often was used historically as a way to train for war. International sporting events often are seen as safe alternatives to violent conflict.

David Papineau, a professor of philosophy at King’s College London, writes, “The modern Olympics were designed to channel dangerous nationalism into a benign and even positive form of competition.”

Sports keep the pathos of competition and conflict, evoking the imagery of war in a more controlled and sanitized environment. To quote George Orwell, sports can be viewed as “war minus the shooting.” And there’s nothing closer in sport to war than the UFC.

Selling violence

The Ultimate Fighting Championship was founded in 1993 as a no-holds-barred mixed-martial arts competition marked by minimal rules and maximum brutality. The initial event was promoted as real-life Mortal Kombat, a popular arcade fighting game so violent it sparked congressional hearings.

Public response to the violence was mixed. Sen. John McCain — a war hero who experienced years of violence as a prisoner of war — vociferously campaigned against the UFC, calling its style of fighting “too brutal” and “un-American.”

In response to McCain’s lobbying, 36 states banned mixed-martial arts both live and pay-per-view. UFC’s original owners tapped out in 2001, selling to Las Vegas casino executives Frank and Lorenzo Fertitta and UFC manager Dana White for $2 million. White was installed as president and began the work of rehabilitating UFC’s image. Part of that rehab came courtesy of Donald Trump.

“Amazingly, Trump isn’t overstating his influence.”

In Trump’s words, “They couldn’t get any arenas because it was so violent that they couldn’t get arenas. I was able to give them, I guess, the first four or five fights. And I went and I said, ‘This sport is unbelievable. They had some of the greatest fighting I’ve ever seen.’”

Amazingly, Trump isn’t overstating his influence. At the 2016 Republican National Convention, White explained that before Trump’s intervention, UFC “was basically considered a blood sport. … Nobody took us seriously, nobody … except Donald Trump!”

With Trump’s platform and a public relations campaign that sought to regulate and glamorize its violence, UFC began to take off, eventually cementing itself within mainstream culture. What the Fertitta brothers bought for $2 million in 2001, they sold for more than $4 billion in 2017.

It turns out that the American people really do like violence. Even John McCain eventually relented and said that, if he were younger, he would have tried it out. Over the past 20 years, UFC has learned how to capture and sell that violence to an increasingly willing public — young men especially.

The search for validation

If Trump’s platforming was part of its business rehab, then a purposeful targeting of young men was part of its popularity rehab. As far back as 2009, SBNation called the UFC a “juggernaut in attracting young men.” By 2014, Dana White was insisting the young male demographic was “all that matters.”

That focus had results. Sports Business Journal reports UFC’s “avid” fans are 78% male and 53% are between 18 and 34 years old.

And these folks are in it for the violence. The Washington Post, reporting on last year’s UFC 313 in Las Vegas, interviewed two brothers — Sandro, age 21, and Arnel, age 16 — who had flown in from Chicago for the event. Why do they like the UFC? “It’s a little more savage” than other sports, Arnel says. Sandro agrees, saying he likes “seeing a motherf***er get knocked out.”

“It’s the perseverance through violence to find success and validation.”

But it’s not just the violence. It’s the perseverance through violence to find success and validation.

Justin, a 27-year-old who got into UFC after hearing about it from Joe Rogan, told the Post he admires the fighters: “You resonate with their story.” He rattles off each fighter’s lower-wage, blue-collar job before they made it big in mixed martial arts. “Like, this is the kind of person you want to be.”

Young men are coming of age in an era of increased gender equality. The patriarchal, male-dominant culture is crumbling. Gen Z women have reversed the gender wage gap, outearning their male counterparts. This is related to education, where young women are again outperforming young men in obtaining university degrees.

Compared to Millennial men, more Millennial women have a steady job, moved out of their parents’ home, and have their own car. When it comes to “adulting,” the results are in and women are, by most statistical measurements, faring better than their male counterparts.

This trend toward fairness and equality is just, but it has left many young men reeling. The Survey Center on American Life found a majority (51%) of young men ages 18 to 29 believe that was “some” or “a lot” of discrimination against men in U.S. society.

In the words of Kristen Ghodsee: “Boys and young men are very lost. The future looks bleak to them, and they’re struggling to find sources of validation.”

Make America Fight Again

This struggle for validation — for a sense of lost power and authority — also is a defining feature of the MAGA movement. Journalist Sam Eagan told the “Today, Explained” podcast: “So there’s these themes of domination and violence — and in the case of the really, really far right … they’re very easily paralleled in (mixed martial arts).”

The theme of “Make America Great Again” evokes the imagery of an idealized past with a stratified social hierarchy that placed men, particularly white men, at the unquestioned top of the social ladder. It tells young men they should be at the top of the social ladder and, if they aren’t, they should take it by force.

“It is a philosophy built around the domineering authority of violent male power.”

This is part of a larger philosophy of authoritarian control often maintained through the use of violence. MAGA has advocated for more violent policing, normalized violence against detained immigrants, celebrated violence against political opponents, engaged in violent rhetoric, justified political violence, started violent wars and, of course, attempted a violent insurrection.

It is a philosophy built around the domineering authority of violent male power.

The MAGA movement has seen this and utilized the UFC for its own political purposes.

Sam Eagan, writing for The New Republic, says, “Trump has embraced the UFC not only for its mainstream appeal, but as an extension of his own brash and violent brand.” The UFC is leveraging right-wing politics to build its brand while right-wing politics takes UFC’s audience and transforms them into votes.

Sports commentator Kieran Kelly writes that the UFC “has become an arena where traditional masculinity is openly celebrated. It’s a place where cancel culture goes to die, and where the chaotic, transformative energy of MAGA is palpable.”

The people’s cage match

The UFC White House event is a celebration of violent male power, held in honor of a country that was founded on and fueled by violent male power, promoted by a popularly elected president of the United States who has exhibited life-long dominating violence in his sexual exploits, political rhetoric and governing policy.

Donald Trump believes the glorification of violent male power is something that celebrates his life and reflects his understanding of and vision for the nation. We must admit he is right.

For all of American history, violence has functioned as a language of legitimacy. This nation was won by violence, expanded by violence, defended by violence, maintained through violence and celebrated through stories and songs of violence.

A cage fight on the White House Lawn may be shocking to our senses, but as a visual metaphor we could perhaps do no better. It is not so much a break from American tradition as it is as a break from American propriety — a blunt, almost parodical expression of one of its most persistent values.

Neither Trump nor his violence-filled birthday bash are aberrations of American history. Rather, they are its personification.

One of Trump’s qualities MAGA loves to laud is that he “tells it like it is.” His UFC fight tells a story of his vision of America — not just what it has been, but what it will be. We cannot and should not deny the former. The question we should be asking is if it is a story we wish to continue.

 

Josh Olds is a public theologian and pastor for those disillusioned with institutional church. He is the creator of the small-group video series “Year on the Mountaintop” and a featured contributor to Fostering Hope: A Prayerbook for Fostering and Adoptive Parents. Follow his work on Facebook or at JoshOlds.com.