GOP Civil War Erupts: Johnson Battles Betrayal as Moderates Defy Party

Paul Riverbank, 12/19/2025Moderate GOP rebellion rocks Congress as health care and policing show deep party fractures.

The health care battle took center stage, with its cast drawn from a handful of centrist Republicans. Brian Fitzpatrick, Rob Bresnahan, Ryan Mackenzie, and Mike Lawler—names not always lighting up the headlines—this time decided that crossing the aisle was their only option. Their motivation? Pressure at home, where they know any spike in health premiums could hit their constituents (and their reelection chances) directly in the pocket. Lawler, looking more exasperated than defiant, summed it up: “We were really left with no choice.” It wasn’t bluster—his signature on a discharge petition, typically a rare and heady move in the House, made sure of that. Simply put: when House leadership blocks your path, sometimes you have to light a new one.

Upstairs, Speaker Mike Johnson's grip on the situation was either steadying or slipping, depending on whom you asked. “I have not lost control of the House. These are not normal times,” Johnson offered—a statement as open to interpretation as anything uttered in the building lately. The quiet part, which nobody needed to say aloud: in a majority this narrow, even a handful of rebels can tip the whole table.

Not everyone was searching for a silver lining. Eric Burlison, representing Missouri’s 7th District, didn’t so much hide his frustration as set it on the table for all to see. He used words like “betrayal,” painting the moderates as too quick with compromises that simply wouldn’t survive back home. Still, for all the odd-couple tension, it’s clear to most observers—including some of Burlison’s colleagues—that without those same moderates, the GOP wouldn’t be defending a majority at all. If there’s a peace in the ranks, it’s one no one dares call permanent.

Before leaving, House Republicans attempted to clinch a victory: a bill aimed at letting associations—think small business groups and similar collectives—join forces to buy health insurance, presumably gaining bargaining power and driving down costs. Savings, the Congressional Budget Office estimated, could reach $36 billion. Even so, the legislation sidestepped the elephant in the room—the spike in premiums set to hit next year. Chip Roy, rarely one to sugarcoat, voiced what many in private had muttered: “Republicans will complain about it, and then they’ll offer milquetoast garbage like we’re offering this week and then go home at Christmas and say, ‘Look at what we’re doing! We’re campaigning on reducing healthcare!’ Well, congratulatufrigginlations.” His sarcasm lingered long after he’d walked off the floor.

Democrats, sensing an opening, weren’t shy either. “Pathetic, last-minute bill designed to let Republicans cover their ass before they flee town for the holidays,” Jim McGovern shot back. But perhaps it was Kevin Kiley—one of the younger Republican members—who best distilled the malaise: “What are we supposed to tell these folks? ‘Oh, don’t worry. It’s Obama’s fault?’” All too often, he suggested, the real business in Congress amounted to passing the blame instead of actual solutions.

Still, the health bill made it through, and most House Republicans will be returning to their districts with talking points about progress. Yet, buried in legislative machinery, Lawler’s discharge petition remains live—likely to bring the health care debate back as soon as the gavel falls in January.

Meanwhile, policing became the other field of contest. Pat Harrigan, a North Carolina Republican with no shortage of energy, rolled out a measure letting local police use leftover COVID funds to jumpstart specialized anti-cartel operations. $200 million could buy a lot of gear and overtime, he argued, bluntly warning that “Drug cartels and transnational criminal organizations are operating on American soil with near impunity, and our local law enforcement agencies need the resources to fight back.”

Across the aisle, Democrats recast the conversation with their own bill. Mike Quigley’s PROTECT Act would block programs that deputized local police for federal immigration enforcement. “When people believe that if they call 9-1-1, they have a risk of being scooped and taken away, they’re less likely to call, and they’re going to be less safe,” Quigley said. In the thick of a border policy debate, both sides insisted their approach was the only path back to public confidence.

Zoom out, and party fractures aren’t isolated to these policy debates. In Democratic primaries, the rift between progressives and traditionalists feels especially raw. Jasmine Crockett’s name comes up in Texas as someone making party leaders sweat, and Michigan insiders worry about bruising contests that could leave the battered side facing a tough November. Republicans haven’t missed the drama, framing Democratic disunity as an opportunity, even as they navigate divisions of their own.

Unfinished business, as always, hangs over the Capitol like a winter fog. As lawmakers eye another year of confrontations—on health care, law enforcement, and what exactly it means to hold a majority—it's hard not to liken Congress to a family holiday meal. Everybody’s at the table, but hardly anyone is hungry for more arguments. Voters, perhaps wisely, are holding out to see whether next year will offer more than leftovers.

Christmas in Washington rarely makes for a Norman Rockwell painting, but this year, even the smell of holiday pies seemed to vanish from Capitol Hill. The scene as lawmakers hurried out the doors for the recess was grittier than festive—no ceremonial ribbons, just a last-minute standoff over health care and policing, and not much sweet in the air.The health care battle took center stage, with its cast drawn from a handful of centrist Republicans. Brian Fitzpatrick, Rob Bresnahan, Ryan Mackenzie, and Mike Lawler—names not always lighting up the headlines—this time decided that crossing the aisle was their only option. Their motivation? Pressure at home, where they know any spike in health premiums could hit their constituents (and their reelection chances) directly in the pocket. Lawler, looking more exasperated than defiant, summed it up: “We were really left with no choice.” It wasn’t bluster—his signature on a discharge petition, typically a rare and heady move in the House, made sure of that. Simply put: when House leadership blocks your path, sometimes you have to light a new one.Upstairs, Speaker Mike Johnson's grip on the situation was either steadying or slipping, depending on whom you asked. “I have not lost control of the House. These are not normal times,” Johnson offered—a statement as open to interpretation as anything uttered in the building lately. The quiet part, which nobody needed to say aloud: in a majority this narrow, even a handful of rebels can tip the whole table.Not everyone was searching for a silver lining. Eric Burlison, representing Missouri’s 7th District, didn’t so much hide his frustration as set it on the table for all to see. He used words like “betrayal,” painting the moderates as too quick with compromises that simply wouldn’t survive back home. Still, for all the odd-couple tension, it’s clear to most observers—including some of Burlison’s colleagues—that without those same moderates, the GOP wouldn’t be defending a majority at all. If there’s a peace in the ranks, it’s one no one dares call permanent.Before leaving, House Republicans attempted to clinch a victory: a bill aimed at letting associations—think small business groups and similar collectives—join forces to buy health insurance, presumably gaining bargaining power and driving down costs. Savings, the Congressional Budget Office estimated, could reach $36 billion. Even so, the legislation sidestepped the elephant in the room—the spike in premiums set to hit next year. Chip Roy, rarely one to sugarcoat, voiced what many in private had muttered: “Republicans will complain about it, and then they’ll offer milquetoast garbage like we’re offering this week and then go home at Christmas and say, ‘Look at what we’re doing! We’re campaigning on reducing healthcare!’ Well, congratulatufrigginlations.” His sarcasm lingered long after he’d walked off the floor.Democrats, sensing an opening, weren’t shy either. “Pathetic, last-minute bill designed to let Republicans cover their ass before they flee town for the holidays,” Jim McGovern shot back. But perhaps it was Kevin Kiley—one of the younger Republican members—who best distilled the malaise: “What are we supposed to tell these folks? ‘Oh, don’t worry. It’s Obama’s fault?’” All too often, he suggested, the real business in Congress amounted to passing the blame instead of actual solutions.Still, the health bill made it through, and most House Republicans will be returning to their districts with talking points about progress. Yet, buried in legislative machinery, Lawler’s discharge petition remains live—likely to bring the health care debate back as soon as the gavel falls in January.Meanwhile, policing became the other field of contest. Pat Harrigan, a North Carolina Republican with no shortage of energy, rolled out a measure letting local police use leftover COVID funds to jumpstart specialized anti-cartel operations. $200 million could buy a lot of gear and overtime, he argued, bluntly warning that “Drug cartels and transnational criminal organizations are operating on American soil with near impunity, and our local law enforcement agencies need the resources to fight back.”Across the aisle, Democrats recast the conversation with their own bill. Mike Quigley’s PROTECT Act would block programs that deputized local police for federal immigration enforcement. “When people believe that if they call 9-1-1, they have a risk of being scooped and taken away, they’re less likely to call, and they’re going to be less safe,” Quigley said. In the thick of a border policy debate, both sides insisted their approach was the only path back to public confidence.Zoom out, and party fractures aren’t isolated to these policy debates. In Democratic primaries, the rift between progressives and traditionalists feels especially raw. Jasmine Crockett’s name comes up in Texas as someone making party leaders sweat, and Michigan insiders worry about bruising contests that could leave the battered side facing a tough November. Republicans haven’t missed the drama, framing Democratic disunity as an opportunity, even as they navigate divisions of their own.Unfinished business, as always, hangs over the Capitol like a winter fog. As lawmakers eye another year of confrontations—on health care, law enforcement, and what exactly it means to hold a majority—it's hard not to liken Congress to a family holiday meal. Everybody’s at the table, but hardly anyone is hungry for more arguments. Voters, perhaps wisely, are holding out to see whether next year will offer more than leftovers.