TACO’d Again: Trump and the Myth of the Strongman
The psychology of leaders who dazzle from a distance and destroy up close
TL;DR
Trump (and leaders like him) thrive on swagger and false promises, looking like saviors from afar but leaving wreckage up close. Don’t waste energy on die-hards—protect the vulnerable, know your worth, and be ready to pick up the pieces. And when some finally see the truth, meet them with grace, not ridicule.
TACO: Trump Always Chickens Out
“TACO” — Trump Always Chickens Out.
It started as a joke. It’s now it seems like the truth.
This weekend? Trump TACO’d again with Putin. Remember how he promised to end the war in 24 hours? Then it turned into “ceasefire.” And now? The grand result of his trip to Moscow: another meeting. Classic Trump.
This is the man’s entire career in one word: swagger, bluster, promises that sound impossible because they are impossible. But he sells it like gospel and millions eat it up.
“I’ll end the war in 24 hours.”
“I’ll bring peace to the Middle East.”
“I’ll Make America Great Again.”
All smoke. All mirrors. And when it falls apart, he just spins the story, blames someone else, and keeps the show rolling.
I’ve Seen This Movie Before
I’ve lived under a guy like Trump.
Call him Reggie. My old church planting network leader.
Reggie strutted around like “the boss.” Some folks even joked and called him “the bishop.” Except it wasn’t funny when you worked for him. He bullied, he threatened, he played power games. Once he even hinted at firing me for disagreeing with him on a call.
He was a textbook unhealthy Enneagram Eight — swaggering, combative, dictatorial. The kind who thinks five failing projects somehow prove he should start a sixth.
From the outside? He looked like a visionary. From the inside? He was a disaster.
He called himself a “missiologist” with nothing more than a high school diploma.
His two “successful” church plants was one living off a $1.5 million lump sum and the other by a pastor working for free.
His network wasn’t even a nonprofit — money ran through his own “business” accounts.
And the fallout hit me personally.
He screwed up my paychecks.
He spent my retirement contributions.
He botched paperwork that cost me thousands when I tried to refinance my house.
He couldn’t even explain where the money had gone.
I should have seen it sooner. But like everyone else, I got pulled in. And, even though I caught on quick, by then it was already too late. Because these guys know how to put on a show.
Why People Follow Them
That’s the thing. From far away, it looks like genius. Like they’re playing 3D chess the rest of us can’t see.
Trump didn’t just look big — he looked like a savior to conservatives who felt trampled by the left. He bulldozed Democrats in ways no one else had. He said out loud what others only whispered. He made people believe he alone could fix it.
Reggie played the same role for Mainline denominational leaders. Nobody had been able to plant churches with any staying power. Then here comes Reggie, swaggering in, and it looks like he’s done it twice. To desperate denominational leaders, he was a visionary. A proof of concept. A hero who had cracked the code.
And if I’m honest, I got pulled into Reggie’s orbit because I was desperate in my own way. I had just come off a grueling 3.5-year revitalization effort, young and still idealistic about what the church could be. Reggie, like Trump, was an outside-the-box thinker who seemed willing to go against the norms and try new things. He resisted boundaries and institutional guardrails — which, at first, looked like boldness and vision.
It was only when I noticed him exploiting those same boundaries against me that I began to get concerned. He had this habit of taking people to a bar, getting them liquored up, and digging for dirt he could later use as leverage. Thankfully, I was never much of a drinker, and something about the whole setup always felt off.
I remember one time during Pride, we went to a gay bar (Reggie was gay), and there was a male dancer on stage. Me, being young and fairly naive and not exactly suave in that environment, blurted something like: “How would this be seen if it were a female dancer, scantily clad and moving like that? Wouldn’t we call that exploitation?” It wasn’t an elegant question, but it revealed something: I already sensed the power dynamics at play. What others might have brushed off as just a night out, I couldn’t help but see as another way boundaries were blurred and people were turned into props.
That same weekend, it was June 2018, we worked a booth together. He got a little tipsy and casually hinted that he’d used some of the Colorado church plant money to cover old bills elsewhere. I didn’t even know how to process it in the moment. A couple weeks later, I gently brought it up over the phone. His response? “I’ll make sure you have the money you need.” No accountability. No straight answer. Just a vague promise meant to shut me up and keep me moving forward. It was classic Reggie—swagger and assurances masking the fact that the ground underneath us was already crumbling.
That same summer (2018), the judicatory wanted him to run a local training, especially since I wouldn’t fly across the country for a week-long session. I had a family with two young kids, something he constantly lamented and held against me. For the training, they rented a house so everyone could be under one roof, and even though I lived in Denver, Reggie wanted me to stay there. Again, I lived in the metro—and with two young kids and a working spouse—a huge disruption. When I tried to push back on a phone call, he threatened my job. Later, I realized he wanted us all under one root so he could impress denominational higher-ups. I ended up sleeping there two nights, which felt completely stupid. The whole setup was absurd. He’d drink and disappear into the basement after dinner. NOTHING substantive was happening after dinner or even 5 pm—it was all about appearing as large and in charge, and as those in Trump’s orbit have found out, better play along or risk everything.
What made Reggie so compelling, and was part of his genius is that he knew how to speak to the hopes of people like me, while always keeping power tilted in his direction. Trump has mastered the same trick with many poor and working-class Americans: he taps into their desperation, convinces them he understands, then uses them as pawns to build his own power.
Except neither story held up under scrutiny. Trump’s “wins” were mostly bluster. Reggie’s “success” was built on free labor, massive piles of cash, and a Ponzi-scheme type accounting. But from the outside, they looked like saviors. And when you’ve convinced yourself you’ve finally found a savior, you don’t want to hear the truth.
That’s why people defended them. That’s why critics got scapegoated. That’s why the myth lasted longer than it ever should have.
The Fallout and the Lesson I Had to Learn
In my case, I became the scapegoat — “Loren, the failed church planter.” I still wear that scarlet letter in parts of my denomination.
For Trump, it’s always “the deep state” or Democrats or whoever else is convenient. It’s never him.
And here’s the worst part: many people will never see through it. They’ve staked too much of their identity on the myth. They’d rather go down with the ship than admit they were conned.
By late 2020, I finally had smoking-gun evidence that Reggie was embezzling. He accidentally wired $5,000 from my church’s account into his own. I think he meant to do it from another account he managed. Again, who really knows. A month later, he proudly announced he’d bought an investment property. Earnest money, no doubt. Even when I presented the evidence to my superiors, nothing happened. They had grown tired of the drama. They were worn thin. They stopped caring.
And that is the real danger with Trump too. He is so brazen, so endlessly corrupt, that people eventually become numb. They get tired of being outraged. They tune it out. His very excess becomes his shield.
So here’s what I’ve had to learn:
You can’t convince the die-hards. Stop trying.
Protect the vulnerable. That’s where your energy belongs.
Take care of yourself, because these kinds of leaders will eat you alive.
Be ready to pick up the pieces when the crash comes — because it will.
And when some finally wake up, meet them with empathy, not scorn. It takes real pain and humility to admit you were wrong about a “savior” you trusted.
Reggie eventually (I think) lost his credentials in another state after enough people finally spoke up. But in my context, the narrative never really changed. I was still the “failure.”
And Trump? He’ll TACO again, and again, and again. Some folks will follow him to the grave. Others of us already know the truth: he’s been naked the whole time.
So don’t waste your soul trying to fix what people refuse to see. Do what you can. Stay on your feet. And when the smoke clears, still be standing. And when the repentant finally stagger out of the wreckage, meet them with grace.
It’s REALLY easy right now to blame this whole Trump experiment on Evangelicals—some influencers seem to be making a career out of it; reality is much more complicated. No doubt, many Evangelicals have made their bed with an absolutely corrupt politician. But, and this is the point where it again ties into my story—it is far easier to scapegoat and blame Evangelicals for this whole mess rather than to acknowledge our own culpability in this mess, something my friend and colleague Dennis Sanders has pointed out again and again. When I first crafted this blog, I wasn’t in the emotional space to add this paragraph, but upon reflection, it feels essential. I could be stuck with all the blame of the failed church plant because it was the easiest and simplest thing to do. I had the least power and privilege.
Evangelicals and the white, working poor bear some blame, no doubt—but as Dennis says, we all must accept some share of responsibility in this; a Democratic party that is increasingly out of touch with the working class, the assumption that a highly-flawed Hillary Clinton was simply “next” and should be forced upon the American people, … I won’t belabor the point. Again, as I’m writing this last bit, Jason Micheli has a compelling substack about an American family getting sucked into a “demonic” influence, eventually moving to Russia, the husband drafted into the battle against Ukraine, him being sent to the front lines, and then who knows, perhaps dead—the family with no news or updates on his health or location.
No doubt, actions have consequences, and I’m not of the type to say that people shouldn’t be held accountable, but I don’t think shaming and belittling people will get them to change their minds or win them over once the doubts have creeped in. I believe forgiveness is a requirement of following the way of Jesus, not an optional request, whether or not someone has confessed. In my situation, I’ve found myself in an attitude of forgiveness, even as much as I understand the necessity of Jesus’ “seventy times seven,” forgiveness is perhaps a lifelong commitment.
Sources
Melina Khan, “What Does ‘TACO’ Mean? Trump Always Chickens Out, and Other Viral Acronyms Explained,” USA Today, June 23, 2025, https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/politics/2025/06/23/what-does-taco-mean-trump/84315870007/.
“Type Eight: The Challenger,” The Enneagram Institute, accessed August 16, 2025, https://www.enneagraminstitute.com/type-8/.
Trump’s 100 Days: What He Promised — and What He Delivered,” Politico, April 29, 2025, https://www.politico.com/news/2025/04/29/trump-100-days-promises-list-00309434.
Very well said!
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