The Great American Freak Show: How P.T. Barnum Became Donald Trump’s Ghost

The con, the crowd, and the uncomfortable truth about why some people still buy tickets.

The Great American Freak Show: How P.T. Barnum Became Donald Trump’s Ghost

The con, the crowd, and the uncomfortable truth about why some people still buy tickets.

The Jack Hopkins Now Newsletter #604: Friday, October 17th, 2025

You don’t sell truth to the masses.
You sell tickets.

That’s what Barnum knew.
And that’s what Trump mastered.

This isn’t a political essay. It’s a look behind the tent flap…where sawdust meets illusion…and showmanship becomes control.

If you’ve ever wondered how we got here… and why millions keep cheering the same recycled act… tonight…you’ll see the machinery.

And you’ll understand why the world’s greatest show on earth isn’t playing in Vegas…it’s playing on cable news.

The Original Ringmaster

Long before cable networks and social media algorithms…there was Phineas Taylor Barnum.

The man who turned deception into entertainment and skepticism into applause.

He built an empire not on what he sold, but how he sold it.

Barnum didn’t discover fools. He discovered the art of giving people a reason to enjoy being fooled.

He called it “humbug”…the good-natured con. The promise of wonder…wrapped in exaggeration.

“The people like to be humbugged,” he said.
“If you can’t make them see, make them curious.”

And in that single sentence…he planted the seed for the 21st century’s most effective political marketing campaign.

From Tent to Tower

Barnum’s genius was spectacle.
Trump’s genius was scale.

Barnum filled tents.
Trump filled timelines.

Barnum paraded elephants through Manhattan.
Trump paraded outrage through every screen in America.

Both understood the same law of attention: In the absence of substance…noise will do.

In a world of sameness, the loudest voice wins…until the smarter voice arrives.

The problem is…the smarter voices often whisper.
And in an era of outrage…whispers get buried beneath the roar.

So the Ringmaster returned…reincarnated in a red tie and microphone…turning politics into reality TV and reality into suggestion.

Selling the Invisible Elephant

Barnum once exhibited a “Feejee Mermaid”…a grotesque fusion of fish and monkey parts stitched together. People lined up around the block to see it.

He never said it was real.
He just never said it wasn’t.

Sound familiar?

Trump sold invisible accomplishments the same way Barnum sold invisible creatures: through confident repetition…theatrical outrage…and borrowed credibility.

“Look at my crowds!”
“Look at my deals!”
“Look at the media…they hate me, so I must be telling the truth!”

Every Barnum act had two halves: the promise and the defense.
Trump’s act followed the same formula.

Promise: “I alone can fix it.”
Defense: “If they attack me, it’s because I’m winning.”

You don’t need proof when you’ve hypnotized the crowd into cheering the noise.

And the crowd loves it.
Because the crowd isn’t there to learn.
They’re there to feel.

The Emotional Currency of Spectacle

There’s an old saying:

“You don’t sell steak. You sell sizzle.”

Barnum understood that in 1850.
Trump understood it in 2016.

Both knew that fear and fascination are the same currency…spendable in any economy of attention.

The trick wasn’t inventing the con.
It was making the audience complicit.

When people cheer for the showman…they defend the illusion.
They need to believe the act was worth the ticket.

That’s why you can’t “fact-check” a cult of emotion.
It’s not a battle of information. It’s a battle of identity.

When Barnum displayed his curiosities…deformed animals…exotic “giants,” bearded ladies…he didn’t just sell shock.

He sold membership in a shared experience: You’re one of us, the insiders who’ve seen the show.

Trump’s rallies did the same.
Spectacle. Belonging. A dash of danger.

People didn’t attend to learn policy. They attended to feel alive in a culture that made them feel invisible.

Barnum’s crowds bought tickets.
Trump’s crowds bought identity.

The Genius of the Gatekeeper

Barnum’s ticket booth was more than a place to pay…it was a psychological filter.

People who invested even a few cents were more likely to believe the show was worth it. The purchase itself created emotional commitment.

Modern grifters just digitized that principle.

A donation link.
A subscription box.
A red hat.

Every contribution reinforced belief: I paid to belong.

Some psychologists would call this “proof through participation.” Once a prospect invests time…money…or emotion…they’ll twist reality to protect their investment.

That’s why logic rarely converts the deceived.
Only experience does.

You can’t out-argue Barnum’s buyers.
You can only wait until the tent collapses and they finally see the sawdust.

The Crowd Psychology Barnum Built…and Trump Perfected

Barnum tested messages on posters.
Trump tests them on crowds.

Barnum printed outrageous claims to draw attention…then doubled down when critics attacked.
Trump tweets outrageous claims to draw attention…then doubles down when the press reacts.

Both understood that outrage is free advertising.

“The quickest way to get attention is to pick a fight with a bigger man.”

Every insult aimed at Barnum filled his tents.
Every headline attacking Trump filled his rallies.

The crowd wasn’t analyzing. They were energizing.

And here’s the sinister brilliance:

When you merge spectacle with grievance…you create a self-sustaining ecosystem of outrage.

The media becomes your marketing arm.
The critics become your proof.
The crowd becomes your cult.

The Three-Step Barnum Blueprint (and How It Broke America)

Step 1: Manufacture Wonder.

Sell something that feels bigger than life…whether it’s a giant…a miracle cure…or a political savior.

Step 2: Monetize Belief.

Turn curiosity into commitment through tickets…merchandise…donations…or slogans.

Step 3: Mock the Skeptics.

Frame disbelief as elitism. Make doubt the enemy of the people.

This was Barnum’s entire business model…and it’s the DNA of Trumpism.

The country became the circus.
The media became the ring.
And millions became both audience and act.

Why Smart People Still Buy Tickets

Barnum never insulted his customers. He understood them.

He knew that life for ordinary Americans was often gray…grinding…and thankless. The circus gave them color. Laughter. Escape.

Trump offered the same emotional relief.
He didn’t just sell politics. He sold revenge disguised as entertainment.

For many, it wasn’t about agreeing…it was about belonging to the noise.

When reality feels powerless…fantasy sells at a premium.

So the fantasy flourished.
The flags got bigger.
The stories got wilder.
And the truth got quieter.

You can’t hate the crowd for wanting relief.
You can only show them a better show.

The Media: Unpaid Clowns in the Ring

Barnum loved his critics.
They gave him ink.

He famously said, “I don’t care what they write about me, as long as they spell my name right.”

The modern media fell for the same trap.

They broadcast every outburst…every lie…every tantrum…thinking exposure would shame the act. Instead, it amplified it.

Because spectacle doesn’t feed on approval.
It feeds on attention.

I call this negative engagement leverage…his ability to turn opposition into oxygen.

Every condemnation became confirmation for the faithful.
Every outrage cycle…another sold-out show.

The Freak Show Becomes the Culture

Barnum eventually opened a museum filled with “wonders.”

He blended fact and fiction until even he forgot where the line was.

Today’s America lives in that same museum.

Conspiracy theories posing as “alternative facts.”
Social media influencers preaching from digital pulpits.
Politicians selling outrage like popcorn.

We built a culture addicted to dopamine hits of disbelief.
And when disbelief becomes entertainment…democracy becomes collateral damage.

“Once people prefer the story to the truth, they’ll keep paying for the story.”

That’s where we are.
Not because the con is brilliant…but because the crowd is bored…frightened…and desperate for something to feel certain about.

The Backstage View: How the Trick Works

Let’s pull back the curtain.

Here’s what every Barnum-style manipulator knows:

Confusion creates compliance.

Overload the audience with contradictions until fatigue replaces curiosity.

Repetition rewires memory.

Say something enough times, and familiarity feels like truth.

Emotion overrides evidence.

Make people feel right…and they’ll stop caring if they are right.

Ridicule is armor.

Turn mockery into proof of persecution.

Group identity trumps moral logic.

Once people pick a side…they’ll rationalize anything to stay loyal.

That’s the entire freak show framework.
And the only thing that defeats it is awareness coupled with action.

When the Tent Catches Fire

Barnum’s museum eventually burned down…twice.

He rebuilt it each time, convinced the crowds would return.
But after the third fire…something changed.
People moved on. The illusion lost its shine.

That’s how these stories end.
Not with revolution.
With fatigue.

People eventually tire of constant chaos.
They crave peace. Predictability. Dignity.

And when that moment comes…the showman’s voice loses its magic.

The same crowd that once cheered the outrage will turn away…muttering, “I’ve seen this act.”

The question is: how much damage gets done before that happens?

The Real Lesson: How to De-Hypnotize a Nation

Barnum said, “Every crowd has a backbone…you just have to find it.”

Here’s how we find ours again.

Name the Trick Out Loud

Spectacle loses power when identified.

When you hear a lie…don’t just fact-check it…label the tactic.

Say:

“That’s the Barnum play…outrage as distraction.”

You shift the frame from argument to awareness.

Starve the Tent of Oxygen

Attention is fuel.

Every retweet…every angry share…every “can you believe this?” conversation…feeds the ringmaster.

Respond with discipline…not denial.

Silence is not surrender when it’s strategic. It’s oxygen deprivation.

Replace Outrage with Competence

People don’t abandon the circus until they see a better show.

That means modeling calm…effectiveness…and vision.

When citizens perform better than politicians…the spell breaks.

Be the quiet professional while the clowns scream.

Reward Reality

Celebrate truth-telling. Amplify decency. Fund integrity.

Make honesty profitable again.

Because propaganda wins when truth becomes a charity case.

Understand the Addict’s Mind

Spectacle is a dopamine drug. The withdrawal is painful.

Expect anger. Expect denial.

Then stay steady. Offer reality in small…digestible doses.

Healing takes time.

Build Local Rings of Sanity

The antidote to mass manipulation is small community.

Barnum sold to the masses. You restore through the few.

Start kitchen-table circles. Mentor younger voters.
Turn cynicism into competence.

That’s how you rebuild trust…from the inside out.

Remember: Every Con Ends with Regret

History is merciless to manipulators.

Barnum eventually admitted his lies. His final years were filled with remorse.

The modern version will face the same verdict.

The only question is: who rebuilds the tent afterward?

Your Job Now: Write the New Show

Stop booing the clown. Build the stage.

Support leaders who value clarity over chaos.
Reward truth with attention.
Model what a grown-up country looks like.

That’s how you end the freak show…not by tearing down the tent…but by making it irrelevant.

The Quiet Exit

One night, Barnum’s lights went out for good.

The crowds dispersed. The posters peeled. The sawdust faded into dust.

And somewhere in the distance…the next conman rehearsed his pitch.

Because the circus never truly dies…it waits for amnesia.

Your job…my friend, is to remember.

To stay awake when others drift into the music of the calliope.

To recognize that democracy isn’t the absence of showmen…it’s the vigilance that keeps them from owning the tent.

Finally

You can’t stop every con.
But you can stop being part of the audience.

And when enough people walk out…the ringmaster performs to an empty tent.

That’s the day the lights go out for good…and the real rebuilding begins.

You and I both know… the show never ends until the crowd stops clapping.

So stop clapping.

Start building.

Because one day your kids will ask:

“What did you do during the Great American Freak Show?”

And you’ll smile and say,

“I helped close the tent.”

Back soon,

-Jack

P.S. If you’ve read this far…something in you already knows.
Today is a good day to become a paid subscriber…not because the clock says so, but because your instinct does. The moment that says, “Yes, I’m ready to go deeper,” is always the right moment.