MAGA Unity Shatters: Groypers and Old Guard Battle for the Future

Paul Riverbank, 12/22/2025Conservative unity unravels as generational rifts and Israel debates reshape the MAGA movement’s future.

Sunday was always meant to be a highlight, but this time, the spotlight revealed as much division as strength. JD Vance, standing center stage in crisp sleeves and a brow furrowed with something more than stage nerves, voiced his exasperation: “President Trump did not build the greatest coalition in politics by running his supporters through endless, self-defeated purity tests. We have far more important work to do than canceling each other… We build by adding, by growing. Not by tearing down.” Frustrated? Absolutely. And everyone in the audience could sense who his words were aimed at, even if Vance kept things oblique.

You didn’t need to be a political junkie to pick up the subtext. Ben Shapiro—quick-witted, sharp-tongued—had been on a tear that week, publicly labeling names like Tucker Carlson and Candace Owens as frauds. It wasn’t subtle. Carlson, never one to duck a punch, shot back, stoking tempers in the hallways and online. What could’ve been a squabble among personalities bloomed into a week-long feud, dragging in podcasters, students, and even anonymous Twitter accounts with half-baked memes.

Peel back these dustups and there’s a bigger story bleeding through the seams: a generational storm over the soul of the right. Nicky Rudd, a wiry 23-year-old political science major with an ironic mullet, hung back after one of Shapiro’s sessions, voice rising as he pressed, “What do you think is going to happen when you censor any conversation about Israel?” For a moment, the crowd’s energy shifted—cheers mingled with a smattering of boos, but the boundaries were already breaking. Criticism of U.S.–Israel ties, once unthinkable in these circles, was getting serious play.

In the halls, Nick Fuentes kept popping up in conversations. His name, until recently whispered or flatly dismissed, now carried real weight among the under-25 crowd. Fuentes, 27, lives online and in the margins—streaming for hours, railing against establishment conservatism, mocking those he sees as soft or cosmopolitan. The knives are out for old-guard icons; even Charlie Kirk’s legacy gets dragged into this. Some call it a reaction, others a revolution of sorts. “He is getting way too popular,” muttered Jon Mungle, one hand stuffed in a camo jacket pocket, the other clutching an iPhone. “It is absolutely not what Charlie Kirk would have wanted.” There’s nervous laughter, then a drift into silence.

The Groypers—his loyal backers—aren’t shy. Kyler Barkley, 18, one foot perched on an overturned rental chair, shrugs: “I like his takes on guns, I like his takes on immigration, but some of the stuff he says is very out of pocket.” They’re less pearl-clutching than their elders, but they’re not blind to the provocations. The flashpoint issue? Israel. Always Israel.

Old-timers struggle to keep up. Some fret aloud about the blunt hostility—toward diversity, toward compromise, toward the “neocons” they once campaigned with. “These foreign lobbyists and the complete lack of care that American politicians have for our own citizens has led to a person like Nick Fuentes growing exponentially in size,” Jess Clark-Scott, another student, says, voice tight with a mix of admiration and alarm. “Because what’s the alternative? I mean, seriously. That’s where people are at.”

Tucker Carlson, always the rogue intellect, took to the stage and loaded both barrels. He waded into the Israel topic, well aware of the minefield he was entering. “Obviously it isn’t [America First] to take money from a foreign lobby so you’ll send taxpayer dollars to that country,” Carlson said. There was a sharp intake of breath before the applause. He didn’t stumble into overt antisemitism but kept the audience guessing: how far can you go in criticizing a pillar of GOP foreign policy before you’re pushed out yourself?

Then there was Erika Kirk—Charlie’s widow—announcing that Turning Point USA planned to support Vance for the presidency. The gesture felt less like an endorsement than a desperate effort to anchor some part of the movement in familiar waters, to restore coherence if not harmony.

Now, the path ahead shudders with uncertainty. Who’s in charge? The answer changes by the week. As the party braces for a marathon of primaries and digital skirmishes, the real test won’t be who wins the next news cycle—it’ll be whether the right can fuse these disparate energies into a coalition that lasts beyond the blare of Trump rallies and Kirk’s memory.

Vance, for his part, laid down the line: “Would you rather lead a movement of free thinkers who sometimes disagree than a bunch of drones who take their orders from George Soros?” It’s both a rallying cry and a warning.

Those rifts on display at AmericaFest are unlikely to close soon. How—and whether—they’re managed will not only shape the Republican Party but could define the next era of American conservatism. One hesitates to predict. But this much is clear: the mirror AmericaFest held up to itself this year didn’t flatter, but it did reflect something real at last.

AmericaFest rolled around this year with all the fanfare expected of a major conservative showcase, its banners promising unity and shared purpose. But by the end of the weekend in Phoenix, those promises felt more like an echo. There was a chronic tension in the air—not just the usual hum of disagreements, but visible rifts running through the heart of the MAGA movement.Sunday was always meant to be a highlight, but this time, the spotlight revealed as much division as strength. JD Vance, standing center stage in crisp sleeves and a brow furrowed with something more than stage nerves, voiced his exasperation: “President Trump did not build the greatest coalition in politics by running his supporters through endless, self-defeated purity tests. We have far more important work to do than canceling each other… We build by adding, by growing. Not by tearing down.” Frustrated? Absolutely. And everyone in the audience could sense who his words were aimed at, even if Vance kept things oblique.You didn’t need to be a political junkie to pick up the subtext. Ben Shapiro—quick-witted, sharp-tongued—had been on a tear that week, publicly labeling names like Tucker Carlson and Candace Owens as frauds. It wasn’t subtle. Carlson, never one to duck a punch, shot back, stoking tempers in the hallways and online. What could’ve been a squabble among personalities bloomed into a week-long feud, dragging in podcasters, students, and even anonymous Twitter accounts with half-baked memes.Peel back these dustups and there’s a bigger story bleeding through the seams: a generational storm over the soul of the right. Nicky Rudd, a wiry 23-year-old political science major with an ironic mullet, hung back after one of Shapiro’s sessions, voice rising as he pressed, “What do you think is going to happen when you censor any conversation about Israel?” For a moment, the crowd’s energy shifted—cheers mingled with a smattering of boos, but the boundaries were already breaking. Criticism of U.S.–Israel ties, once unthinkable in these circles, was getting serious play.In the halls, Nick Fuentes kept popping up in conversations. His name, until recently whispered or flatly dismissed, now carried real weight among the under-25 crowd. Fuentes, 27, lives online and in the margins—streaming for hours, railing against establishment conservatism, mocking those he sees as soft or cosmopolitan. The knives are out for old-guard icons; even Charlie Kirk’s legacy gets dragged into this. Some call it a reaction, others a revolution of sorts. “He is getting way too popular,” muttered Jon Mungle, one hand stuffed in a camo jacket pocket, the other clutching an iPhone. “It is absolutely not what Charlie Kirk would have wanted.” There’s nervous laughter, then a drift into silence.The Groypers—his loyal backers—aren’t shy. Kyler Barkley, 18, one foot perched on an overturned rental chair, shrugs: “I like his takes on guns, I like his takes on immigration, but some of the stuff he says is very out of pocket.” They’re less pearl-clutching than their elders, but they’re not blind to the provocations. The flashpoint issue? Israel. Always Israel.Old-timers struggle to keep up. Some fret aloud about the blunt hostility—toward diversity, toward compromise, toward the “neocons” they once campaigned with. “These foreign lobbyists and the complete lack of care that American politicians have for our own citizens has led to a person like Nick Fuentes growing exponentially in size,” Jess Clark-Scott, another student, says, voice tight with a mix of admiration and alarm. “Because what’s the alternative? I mean, seriously. That’s where people are at.”Tucker Carlson, always the rogue intellect, took to the stage and loaded both barrels. He waded into the Israel topic, well aware of the minefield he was entering. “Obviously it isn’t [America First] to take money from a foreign lobby so you’ll send taxpayer dollars to that country,” Carlson said. There was a sharp intake of breath before the applause. He didn’t stumble into overt antisemitism but kept the audience guessing: how far can you go in criticizing a pillar of GOP foreign policy before you’re pushed out yourself?Then there was Erika Kirk—Charlie’s widow—announcing that Turning Point USA planned to support Vance for the presidency. The gesture felt less like an endorsement than a desperate effort to anchor some part of the movement in familiar waters, to restore coherence if not harmony.Now, the path ahead shudders with uncertainty. Who’s in charge? The answer changes by the week. As the party braces for a marathon of primaries and digital skirmishes, the real test won’t be who wins the next news cycle—it’ll be whether the right can fuse these disparate energies into a coalition that lasts beyond the blare of Trump rallies and Kirk’s memory.Vance, for his part, laid down the line: “Would you rather lead a movement of free thinkers who sometimes disagree than a bunch of drones who take their orders from George Soros?” It’s both a rallying cry and a warning.Those rifts on display at AmericaFest are unlikely to close soon. How—and whether—they’re managed will not only shape the Republican Party but could define the next era of American conservatism. One hesitates to predict. But this much is clear: the mirror AmericaFest held up to itself this year didn’t flatter, but it did reflect something real at last.