“America First” or Endless War? How Republicans Are Betraying Their Own Base Over Iran
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The war with Iran is not merely another crisis in the Middle East. It has become a mirror reflecting a deeper crisis inside the United States itself: the collapse of the boundary between populist rhetoric and the realities of power in Washington. For years, Republicans—especially the Trumpist wing of the party—presented themselves as opponents of “endless wars.” During his campaigns, Donald Trump repeatedly attacked the Iraq War, blamed neoconservatives for destroying America’s credibility abroad, and promised that American wealth would no longer be wasted in Middle Eastern deserts but invested at home. Millions of working-class voters, exhausted by the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, believed him precisely because of that message. Yet today, the same political movement overwhelmingly supports military escalation against Iran while rejecting efforts to legally restrict presidential war powers. The contradiction is impossible to ignore. “America First” increasingly looks less like a doctrine and more like a slogan designed to mobilize frustrated voters before quietly surrendering to the permanent logic of Washington’s security state.
The repeated failure of congressional efforts to limit Trump’s military authority is not just a procedural or constitutional issue. It reveals how deeply incapable the American political system remains when confronted with the temptation of war. Every time lawmakers attempt to restrain presidential military powers, Republicans who routinely speak about “small government” and limiting federal authority suddenly transform into defenders of concentrated executive power. The contradiction sits at the heart of modern conservatism in America: a movement that claims to fear centralized government becomes entirely comfortable with massive state power when that power is directed toward military force.
Iran is only the latest stage in a much older pattern. The United States is slowly returning to the same political mentality that led to Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, and countless other interventions. The faces may have changed, but the structure of power has not. Military force continues to function as Washington’s preferred instrument for managing global instability. The difference today is that war no longer even requires genuine national consensus. Partisan media ecosystems, defense industry lobbying, national security networks, and electoral polarization have created a climate where opposing military escalation can quickly be framed as weakness—or even betrayal.
This is where Republicans are betraying their own voters most clearly. A large segment of Trump’s base consisted of Americans who believed Washington elites were sacrificing working-class families in wars that had little to do with actual national security. They supported Trump because they thought he would break the cycle of endless interventionism. Instead, many now watch Republican leaders refuse not only to resist escalation with Iran, but even to support basic congressional oversight over the president’s ability to wage war. The political establishment Trump once claimed to oppose has not been dismantled; it has simply been repackaged.
The role of the military-industrial economy cannot be ignored here. For decades, the United States has built a form of security capitalism in which foreign crises become domestic economic opportunities. War is not only a geopolitical strategy; it is part of America’s political economy. Weapons manufacturers, defense contractors, surveillance companies, and even major media institutions all benefit from a permanent atmosphere of crisis. Peace, by contrast, rarely has powerful lobbyists. A congressman financed by defense industry money is unlikely to support meaningful restrictions on presidential military authority.
But the issue is not only economic. It is also cultural and ideological. The Republican Party has become increasingly dependent on fear-driven politics. In this narrative, Iran is not simply a rival state or regional adversary; it is transformed into a permanent enemy whose existence helps sustain the party’s security discourse. The larger and more frightening the threat appears, the easier it becomes to justify expanded military powers, higher defense spending, and the marginalization of dissenting voices at home.
Another irony has become impossible to miss. Trumpism was supposed to represent a rebellion against the traditional foreign policy elite in Washington. Yet on matters of war and national security, it has gradually become almost indistinguishable from the establishment it once condemned. The primary difference now is style rather than substance. The same interventionist instincts are simply repackaged in populist and nationalist language. Conservative voters are effectively being asked to hold two contradictory beliefs at once: to oppose endless wars while simultaneously supporting yet another military confrontation.
This dynamic is dangerous not only for the Middle East but also for American democracy itself. When Congress repeatedly proves unable or unwilling to restrain presidential war powers, one of the central mechanisms of democratic accountability begins to collapse. The U.S. Constitution was designed to prevent the concentration of unchecked authority, yet modern national security politics consistently erodes those safeguards. Decisions with global consequences increasingly emerge from a narrow circle of military, intelligence, and political institutions operating with minimal democratic restraint.
Republican support for defeating war powers limitations also exposes the flexibility—and hypocrisy—of anti-establishment rhetoric in modern American conservatism. When discussing immigration, taxation, or cultural issues, Republican leaders constantly warn about the dangers of an overreaching federal government. But when the issue becomes military action, the same government suddenly deserves nearly unlimited authority. This contradiction is not merely political inconsistency; it contributes to a broader erosion of public trust.
Ultimately, the confrontation with Iran is not only about Iran. It is about the future trajectory of the United States itself. It raises the question of whether America is once again entering the same cycle that followed September 11—a cycle that consumed trillions of dollars, destabilized entire regions, and cost countless lives while leaving the United States more polarized and exhausted. What is most alarming is that large parts of the American political establishment appear to have learned almost nothing from that history. The same language of existential threats, the same exaggerations about enemies, and the same pressure to silence opposition are all returning once again.
Perhaps the greatest failure of today’s Republicans is that they are reproducing precisely the system they once promised to destroy: an expansive national security state dependent on permanent confrontation and perpetual war. And perhaps the greatest victims of this transformation will not only be the people of the Middle East, but also the American voters who believed they were electing a movement that would end endless wars—not lead the country back into them once again.
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