GOP Identity Crisis: ‘America First’ Doctrine Fractures Republican Unity

Paul Riverbank, 12/11/2025Republicans face an identity crisis as "America First" doctrine divides the party's foreign policy vision.

By Monday, you could sense Washington running on caffeine and rumor. The Twitterverse, ever eager for a fracas, broke cleanly along ideological seams. Left-leaning commentators latched onto the soundbite, rolling out familiar alarms about isolationism, echoing worries the U.S. might turn its back on alliances forged in harder times. The right, however, was anything but of one mind.

Switch channels: Glenn Beck was in rare form that morning. Before eight, he'd already dismissed the unease, spinning the debate into familiar territory, fields he'd walked dozens of times. "Why are folks nervous about focusing on home for a change? That old story of America holding the world’s coat while everyone brawls — we’ve seen how that movie ends," he opined, a pointed jab at the legacy of interventionism. His listeners—some no strangers to disappointment in foreign ventures—seemed to echo his mood. Not so much isolated as exasperated.

This wasn’t just about troop movements. For Beck, and a host of voices like his, the conversation had shifted: borders back on the agenda, family and manufacturing elevated, pride bundled up in new language that sounded more like the old populism than the free-market sermons of, say, Reagan-era conservatives. He drew a line in the sand, invoking the National Security Strategy: a "course correction so sweeping," he said, "honestly it reads like a rediscovery of the American civilization itself." It's hard to say whether that's rhetoric or prophecy—but the sentiment resonates in a country tired from decades of nation-building abroad.

And yet, the pushback is neither timid nor toothless. In certain circles—think, the council rooms of old-school think tanks or the second-floor offices of senators long past their first re-election—the recollection of why America waded into global affairs in the first place still holds weight. Talk to them and you hear a repeated refrain: projection of power keeps peace at home. Step back, and the world rushes in, unpredictable as ever. A Republican Party once unified by hawkish resolve now finds itself at a crossroads, with more questions than consensus.

Cultural tremors haven't spared the media, either. Brian Glenn, for years a White House fixtures on Real America’s Voice, faced a rupture closer to home. His partner, Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene, split with Trump on a pair of hot-button issues—documents and health care. Trump, famously thin-skinned, didn't take it lightly, branding Greene a “traitor.” Within hours, Greene had announced her intention to leave Congress, and Glenn was packing bags, muttering to colleagues, “She’s stood by Trump through everything. So she disagrees on one issue and it’s all over?” The tenure of loyalty in the party—and in its coverage—looked unpredictable, even to the true believers.

Glenn's decision to step aside from the press corps spotlight, trailing Greene back to Georgia, wasn't just gossip fodder; it signaled how even seasoned insiders might feel the churn of shifting tides. “I’m so much more base than they are,” Glenn quipped, equal parts pride and complaint. His exit cast a spotlight on the tension: is loyalty to a cause, a person, or simply survival?

Stepping away from the headlines, you hear bigger questions circulating over coffees and at church breakfasts. Are Republicans, in 2024, the party of bold world-policing, or is the appetite now for something closer to home? Does American greatness require boots on the ground in Kiev or the retooling of auto plants in Kentucky? Glenn, sounding less like a correspondent and more like a voter, put it plainly: “Maybe the answer isn’t up to the old-guard strategists or the cable hosts. Maybe it’s time to hand it back to everyday Americans—ask them what kind of future they actually want.”

What began as a single panelist’s aside at a defense forum has, for the moment, become a proxy battle over the identity of the party. Tradition tugs in one direction, change in another. Whether Republican leaders—and those who cover them—settle the matter is less clear than ever. But the stakes aren’t lost on those paying attention. Somewhere between past doctrine and present uncertainty, voters and their leaders are renegotiating the terms of what the country stands for. And as is often the case, the journey may matter as much as the destination.

No one expected a gentle remark from General Dan Caine to ripple through the capital the way it did. He was a late addition to the Reagan National Defense Forum agenda, squeezed in after two generals fell ill. His comment, tossed off between a thank-you and a water break, was hardly a headline-maker—unless, of course, you'd been paying attention to the tempo of American deployments lately: "If you look back over our deployment pattern in recent years, you’ll notice a lack of American combat strength in our own neighborhood. ... I have a hunch that’s about to change."By Monday, you could sense Washington running on caffeine and rumor. The Twitterverse, ever eager for a fracas, broke cleanly along ideological seams. Left-leaning commentators latched onto the soundbite, rolling out familiar alarms about isolationism, echoing worries the U.S. might turn its back on alliances forged in harder times. The right, however, was anything but of one mind.Switch channels: Glenn Beck was in rare form that morning. Before eight, he'd already dismissed the unease, spinning the debate into familiar territory, fields he'd walked dozens of times. "Why are folks nervous about focusing on home for a change? That old story of America holding the world’s coat while everyone brawls — we’ve seen how that movie ends," he opined, a pointed jab at the legacy of interventionism. His listeners—some no strangers to disappointment in foreign ventures—seemed to echo his mood. Not so much isolated as exasperated.This wasn’t just about troop movements. For Beck, and a host of voices like his, the conversation had shifted: borders back on the agenda, family and manufacturing elevated, pride bundled up in new language that sounded more like the old populism than the free-market sermons of, say, Reagan-era conservatives. He drew a line in the sand, invoking the National Security Strategy: a "course correction so sweeping," he said, "honestly it reads like a rediscovery of the American civilization itself." It's hard to say whether that's rhetoric or prophecy—but the sentiment resonates in a country tired from decades of nation-building abroad.And yet, the pushback is neither timid nor toothless. In certain circles—think, the council rooms of old-school think tanks or the second-floor offices of senators long past their first re-election—the recollection of why America waded into global affairs in the first place still holds weight. Talk to them and you hear a repeated refrain: projection of power keeps peace at home. Step back, and the world rushes in, unpredictable as ever. A Republican Party once unified by hawkish resolve now finds itself at a crossroads, with more questions than consensus.Cultural tremors haven't spared the media, either. Brian Glenn, for years a White House fixtures on Real America’s Voice, faced a rupture closer to home. His partner, Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene, split with Trump on a pair of hot-button issues—documents and health care. Trump, famously thin-skinned, didn't take it lightly, branding Greene a “traitor.” Within hours, Greene had announced her intention to leave Congress, and Glenn was packing bags, muttering to colleagues, “She’s stood by Trump through everything. So she disagrees on one issue and it’s all over?” The tenure of loyalty in the party—and in its coverage—looked unpredictable, even to the true believers.Glenn's decision to step aside from the press corps spotlight, trailing Greene back to Georgia, wasn't just gossip fodder; it signaled how even seasoned insiders might feel the churn of shifting tides. “I’m so much more base than they are,” Glenn quipped, equal parts pride and complaint. His exit cast a spotlight on the tension: is loyalty to a cause, a person, or simply survival?Stepping away from the headlines, you hear bigger questions circulating over coffees and at church breakfasts. Are Republicans, in 2024, the party of bold world-policing, or is the appetite now for something closer to home? Does American greatness require boots on the ground in Kiev or the retooling of auto plants in Kentucky? Glenn, sounding less like a correspondent and more like a voter, put it plainly: “Maybe the answer isn’t up to the old-guard strategists or the cable hosts. Maybe it’s time to hand it back to everyday Americans—ask them what kind of future they actually want.”What began as a single panelist’s aside at a defense forum has, for the moment, become a proxy battle over the identity of the party. Tradition tugs in one direction, change in another. Whether Republican leaders—and those who cover them—settle the matter is less clear than ever. But the stakes aren’t lost on those paying attention. Somewhere between past doctrine and present uncertainty, voters and their leaders are renegotiating the terms of what the country stands for. And as is often the case, the journey may matter as much as the destination.