Christian White Nationalism is seen by many as a fringe ideology, one that calls to mind cult leaders or Nazi skinheads, at best present but largely ineffectual within mainstream politics in the USA, even as this politics has become more polarized and extreme.1 The seriousness of this ideology is crowded out by a focus on the oversized effect to which money—an oligarch class—has on politics, or to the operations of identity politics, or to the ways in which the United States, like other countries, is experiencing an authoritarian moment. Nothing in what follows is meant to discount these points. But there is a crucial sense in which Christian White Nationalism has become the de facto—implicit if sometimes not also explicit—ideology of the contemporary GOP (e.g., we should not overlook the February 7, 2025 executive order that established a White House Faith Office, nor should we ignore the way in which many GOP operatives have—and have had for decades—close ties to Russia, another government with its own version of Christian White Nationalism).2 Above all, just think of all of the ways and all of the times and all of the people who have asked: how is it that Trump supporters continue to support him, even despite… ?

Christian White Nationalism is the reason; it is the (snake) oil that makes the entire machine work.

To get a feel for these claims, note this quote: “Restrict immigration to protect employment for American workers, and to preserve the spirit, the heritage and traditional values of our nation.”3

This quote is not from Donald Trump, Stephen Miller, Steve Bannon, or any contemporary member of the GOP or their myriad supporters. It is instead from David Duke—a former grand wizard of the Knights of the Ku Klux Klan and a bona fide neo-Nazi, white nationalist, and conspiracy theorist—who ran for office on these words 38 years ago.

Seeing the congruence between Duke and contemporary GOP rhetoric suggests that the ground has fundamentally shifted, and opposition to one of the only two major parties in the United States must take on a different character. The contemporary GOP has frequently flirted with nondemocratic impulses, but there has for the most part been at least a putative commitment to upholding democratic ideals (on this point, the orbit of the John Birch society is a crucial measuring stick).4 When such a commitment is no longer shared, then there is no room for invoking a shared sense of values towards a critique of contemporary life. Christian White Nationalists have no allegiance to democracy nor to democratic life. Opposing them will thereby require much more than piecemeal interventions that focus on anti-racism or on religious de-radicalization or on a minimization of nationalism, for these all assume a shared political project that is in fact no longer shared. Opposition must then instead start with an understanding that Christian White Nationalism is a specific identity that is not a mere amalgamation or mechanical aggregate of Christianity, Whiteness, and nationalism. This latter point is the topic of this essay.

“Intersectionality” has become a controversial, but deeply misunderstood buzzword. Critics see it as shorthand for an alleged desire to assert different standards for different groups (with minorities allegedly coming out ahead of Whites),5 or simply as means to prioritize some groups while silencing others.6 Instead, though, take intersectionality as a conceptual tool: see it at an eagle’s eye view as the idea that a person’s identity needs to be understood in its deepest contexts. In 1977, the Combahee River Collective, a group of Black feminist lesbian women in Boston, introduced the idea in nascent form: they pointed out that their distinct concerns as Black feminist lesbians were not being properly understood by groups that pursued Black interests, or groups that pursued feminist interests, or groups that pursued lesbian interests. For example, they felt that many Black civil rights groups suffered from the presence of misogyny, thereby fundamentally missing the concerns of Black women, while many feminist groups suffered from the presence of racism, thereby missing the concerns of Black women.

They wanted to exhibit the distinct suffering that they experienced as Black lesbian women, i.e., that they didn’t just suffer as a Black citizen of the US, or a woman, or as a lesbian. Rather, when these three identity categories were borne by one person, a specific kind of suffering emerged. It does not require great imagination to flesh this out. Imagine that someone experiences sexualized racism: that they are targeted specifically for being a Black woman, so that the harm is racial and sexual at the same time, as in, for example, the racist who fetishizes a Black woman.7 Such a person will importantly suffer an additional harm when their suffering is dismissed or minimized by Black interest groups that may be geared primarily towards the experiences of, say, Black men.8 This is why the Combahee River Collective noted that:

The reaction of Black men to feminism has been notoriously negative. They are, of course, even more threatened than Black women by the possibility that Black feminists might organize around our own needs. They realize that they might not only lose valuable and hardworking allies in their struggles but that they might also be forced to change their habitually sexist ways of interacting with and oppressing Black women.9

The Combahee River Collective made an analogous point around lesbian organizing that aimed towards lesbian separatism; such an approach left out their experience as Black women. On such a view, intersectionality becomes a kind of tool that aims to train our vision to the full scope of someone’s experience. For the Combahee River Collective, it was important to train our vision to see how such an identity was linked to a specific kind of needless suffering (a kind of suffering that emerges from social, economic, and political conditions that could in fact be different).10 The same is true of Kimberlé Crenshaw’s eventual codification of the term: she argued that certain kinds of legal frameworks and analyses ignored how being a Black woman may lead to a distinct kind of discrimination, different in kind from the discrimination that either a Black man may face, or that a woman may face.11 The example she used was a General Motors case from the 1970s where the company pursued specific hiring practices for Black women, not for Black men or women more generally. Her analysis revolved exactly around the fact that the experience of these Black women was denied when a court ruled that “black woman” could not be a unique, protected class. I mention all of this to stress that intersectionality is a kind of conceptual tool. It need not, however, be applied only on the side of suffering and victimization.

So much of the contemporary extremist right has focused on taking such an “intersectional” approach but harnessing it for their own ends. For example, when Christian supremacists like the New Apostolic Reformation movement put on anti-trans protests, they may do so by conducting them as a liturgy, one that’s alleged to be a “mere” expression of religiosity, even as they are pursuing a manifestly political agenda aimed at destroying the rights of certain citizens (and, equally importantly, even as many other Christians disagree with their understanding of Christianity). This serves a tactical purpose because it allows them to frame any opposition to their political project as religious bigotry.12 (To highlight already the importance of what follows just note how such claims may be intuitively plausible to some exactly because of their intersectional character, allowing the NAR a tactical agility that is not allowed to other identities—say, a Black woman; this says something about power and ideology).

Christian White Nationalism is a specific identity that requires a unique analysis regarding its dangers and capacities for causing harm and needless suffering. That danger cannot be captured simply by analyzing any one of the features of this identity: either, say, Christian extremism, White supremacy, or chauvinist nationalism. Relatedly, and importantly, it is also the case that this unique combination creates an identity that is powerfully inculcated against criticism—in a way that it would otherwise not be—were the identity to be delineated by either just one of the terms, or even a mixture of two of them.

All of this is not easy to unpack. Each of these terms is highly contested, multifaceted, and admits of a variety of historical contexts and subsequent interpretations. For this reason, much of my sketch will unavoidably operate by means of a kind of “impressionistic” quality (after the impressionistic quality of a Monet painting, where things may not be exactly in sharp focus, exactly because what’s being captured is something that may be fleeting, passing all too quickly). This fleeting quality is made even more complex—and pressing—because tenets of Christian White Nationalism are guiding, whether advertently or inadvertently, features of present United States policy, which is moving at a breakneck pace.

To bring more of all of this into focus, start with a basic fact. By the Revolutionary War in 1775, which eventually led to the United States Constitution of 1789, the United States was a racial slave state, composed of a racialized system of chattel slavery where a full fifth of its population, at its first census in 1790, was enslaved. This point is important because it underwrites the construction of a notion of Whiteness in the country, so much so, that the legal scholar Cheryl Harris traces how notions of property and Whiteness develop in tandem, so that Whiteness itself may be understood as a kind of property, something that particular individuals can possess.13 If the idea that we seem able to possess something immaterial in this way sounds mysterious to you, just note that all property is really shorthand for relations between people and the various kinds of institutions of mutual recognition that arise around these relations: we take it that certain kinds of things can be possessed and develop practical ways in which people can claim possession. We also take it that certain kinds of things cannot be possessed.14 And what falls within each group may shift over time, across spaces (for example, as Karl Polanyi showed, labor, land, and money became property only in modernity, they were not always so).15 James Baldwin captures the importance of such a historical point in the US context:

America became white—the people who, as they claim, “settled” the country became white—because of the necessity of denying the black presence, and justifying black subjugation … White men—from Norway, for example, where they were Norwegians—became white by slaughtering cattle, poisoning the wells, torching the houses, massacring Native Americans, raping black women.16

On such a view, Whiteness—like other property—may be something you may have in degrees (in differing contexts, as many legal proceedings show, claims to possessing something may be stronger or weaker, shifting across time and space). This is how a category like “race traitor” may become a possibility, so that someone appears to possess something in one context that they may not possess in another. This is also how the possession of Whiteness may, in some settings, garner privilege, while the lack of it in others may mean being subject to oppression or exclusion.

I mention all of this to note that when Martin Luther King, Jr. delivered his famous “I Have a Dream” speech in 1963, he used his Christian identity to undermine and limit the American notion of Whiteness, noting that other currents beyond the construction of Whiteness fed into the founding of the United States:

In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir.

This note was a promise that all men would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

His thought is buttressed by the idea that ultimately: “This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, ‘My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring.’”  

King harnessed a particular understanding of what it means to be Christian to contest and potentially correct what it means to be a citizen of the nation of the United States. Doing so, he also aimed to modify the notion of Whiteness that mediated these terms. One simplistic way to see what King excavated from the founding of the United States is a national commitment to the freedom of all, which he suggested, was buried during its founding by the presence of chattel slavery. King aimed finally to vacate this presence—which persisted in altered form even after the Civil War in the form of Jim Crow—by invoking certain shared religious commitments to universalism and social justice which he took also to be part of the history of the United States. You can see here a complex relationship between Christianity, nationalism, and Whiteness.

There are, however, other ways to inflect this relationship. I have stressed the impressionistic quality of my account exactly to note that to arrive at a point where King’s intervention was a possibility involved him and others in his movement navigating many other inflection points, notably the Civil War, Reconstruction, Jim Crow, immigration policy, Cold War developments, anti-communism, and so forth. For example, as Baldwin already suggested, who qualified as White was a point of concern over time in the United States, so that certain kinds of immigrants—Poles, Irish, Jews, for example—were not White at first but becameWhite over time.17 In the development of the United States, this meant that other tributaries were discovered, which could also be harnessed (most notably antisemitism and anti-Catholicism, each with a significant history in the United States). Equally, United States foreign policy frequently influenced domestic events, as when the brutality of the Vietnam war boomeranged back onto how citizens began to view each other and the country,18 or as when domestic problems came to be framed as the alleged effects of foreign actors (whether in the Red Scares or even with the most recent Putin mania).

The brilliant analyst of Christian nationalism in the United States, Leonard Zeskind, suggested that one way to understand this great variety of inflection points is to see currents of White supremacy morphing into currents of White nationalism, so that the ways in which these tributaries were fed and the kinds of sedimentation that occurred produced a qualitative shift. He thus highlights that, at a certain point, there emerged the idea of creating a separatist Aryan republic within a piece of the United States. Such a project, he claims, “served as a bridge between the white supremacist discourse of the past and the new white nationalism that would emerge after the end of the Cold War.”19 White nationalism—as Zeskind but also Eric Ward note20—must be distinguished from White supremacy in that it heralds and works towards a point in the future: a White nation is something to be achieved. The White supremacist, on the other hand, generally looks to the past, seeing the present nation as a failure, so that he sees a conquered nation, its past glory undermined. Take this as a heuristic, for such ideologies are not entirely stable, nor frequently kept separate, so that, for example, they may even be combined, as when, in the 1980s, certain kinds of Christian Identity zealots began to argue that they were “sovereign” citizens who were granted citizenship directly from a compact with God in distinction to “federal” citizens who only acquired citizenship through compact with the government via the fourteenth amendment.21

These distinct conceptions of Whiteness illustrate not only how it can modulate notions of Christianity and nationhood, but also how such conceptions and modulations determine what’s seen in the historical past. And this can be true not only of Whiteness but of any of the three terms under discussion. When King claims that he and others aim to cash a promissory note, he hearkens to the idea that he—like the Founders of the United States—holds certain truths to be self-evident, “that all men are created equal.” He also alludes to a certain kind of religious sentiment for, as the Declaration also notes, all are created equal and “endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights.” This is a kind of Christian sentiment that prioritizes universalism, eschewing supremacist notions of Whiteness; it also affects how we see the past. But other kinds of Christian possibilities may be deployed, so that even these seeming declarations of universalism are taken in fact to be mere reflections of Whiteness, meant to be applicable only to the (Christian) White men who wrote them and those like them, descendants (whether actual or spiritual).

There is much more that might be said here, especially considering what we may call the deep context of the United States, especially around the changing landscape of conservatism. It is impossible to capture in a short essay. What I want to sketch instead is a sense of the marked identity that Christian White Nationalism offers, whether intentionally (as in avowed Christian White Nationalists), or unintentionally (as those who share features of this world-view without perhaps even recognizing it). My sense is that this is crucial because the dominant ideology that the second Trump administration is harnessing is Christian White Nationalism. Let me pause here to note that this does not need imply that Trump himself subscribes to this identity, or even that supporters like Musk or other billionaires or all the members of the GOP subscribe to it (though certainly many now do). There are people of color and minorities who support—and work for—the current administration. I am claiming instead that Christian White Nationalism is the central organizing feature of the policies Trump is pursuing and the ways in which those policies are framed and justified. What is under the discussion is a kind of ideological carapace, central to organizing large swathes of the population, even as Trump’s own subjective desires—or those of his billionaire supporters or party sycophants or even certain followers—may be distinct (though this too may admit of caveats).

To bring this into focus, do not overlook or minimize the January 6 insurrection as an expression of Christian White Nationalism. As the religion scholar Bradley Onishi puts it, “the January 6 insurrection was a religious ritual carried out by Americans who believe they have a God-given right to rule the country.”22 To note this is to prioritize the extent to which January 6 was populated by—it would not be too much to say defined by—religious language, imagery, and practice. It is not by accident, for example, that January 6 was preceded by a series of “Jericho marches,” styled as a religious stratagem no different than what’s described in the Biblical Book of Joshua, where, to secure victory, the ancient Israelites marched around the walls of Jericho prior to their battle with the Canaanites. This is why it was crucial that one of Trump’s first actions was to issue a blanket pardon to all the insurrectionists, regardless of their (often quite violent) crimes. It is also why the GOP has closed ranks around the manifestly false—and, given the ample video evidence, quite easily disprovable—claim that this wasn’t an insurrection (one only made more absurd by the fact that more than $3 million dollars was budgeted by groups connected to Trump for the insurrection). Denial is pragmatic for Trump, but ideological for his supporters: what is a religious battle for the true soul of the United States cannot be an insurrection. All of this also helps makes sense of both (1) the continuing Evangelical Christian support for Trump, who is otherwise the least popular president in American history (less popular than even Trump was in his first term), and of (2) how any self-avowed Christian can support a scoundrel like Trump in the first place, given that his life is a road-map of sin, lust, greed, and carnality in opposition to spirituality (cue here just as easily Trump with his upside down Bible as Trump’s recent Great Gatsby themed Mar-a-Logo Halloween party, where scantily clad women writhed inside giant Martini glasses).23 To ignore these points is to miss something deeply important about what the second Trump presidency is, what it’s doing, and why: it is to use the wrong tools to arrive at certain measurements or assessments, as if one aimed to take the aftermath of a nuclear event by bringing to bear upon the environment a barometer rather than a Geiger counter.

To do so is to make it almost impossible to respond effectively.

To give these thoughts more flesh, take these two recent claims by Trump supporters. Here’s pastor Shane Vaughn:

Donald Trump was prophesied, or predicted rather, by the Founding Fathers of our nation … in fact, they wanted a strong man like Donald Trump … someone that would bring salvation to a nation. […] There is a reason that the Founders created institutional gridlock … because they knew if they created these institutional gridlocks, it would force Americans to choose a king, a strong man, when the system broke down and they would all get what they secretly wanted from the beginning: a monarchy.24

Compare this to Steve Bannon:

Trump ’28. Trump is going to president in 2028. […] We had longer odds in ’16 and longer odds in ’24 than we got in ’28. ... the country needs him to be president of the United States. We have to finish what we started. Trump is a vehicle. […] He’s a vehicle of divine providence. He’s an instrument. He’s very imperfect, he’s not church-y, not particularly religious, but he’s an instrument of divine will and you can tell this because of how he’s pulled this off.25

There’s no need to pretend these two views are entirely compatible, but they are of a kind in that they both attribute some divine hand to Trump’s success. They both also explicitly cast off any pretense towards democracy. What we have here is not the “God bless(ed) America” that every president has signed off with, but rather a Christian view that no longer has any use for democracy. Vaughn claims that the men who fought a war against monarchy in fact secretly prophesied (and desired) monarchy, while Bannon explicitly rejects the twenty-second amendment of the United States constitution (an amendment that mandates no president can serve a third term). Such statements rest in the odd space of being taken as either not seriously enough or too seriously. Each strategy fails to do draw out the commitments that underwrite them. When the reporter interviewing Bannon, Zanny Minton Beddoes, begins to debate Bannon on the legal plausibility of his suggestion, she has already ceded the game, for she has failed both to locate and to question the Christian White Nationalist ideology that vivifies his claims. These claims can then circulate unimpeded, causing potentially metastatic changes—again, a kind of radioactive air whose full danger remains unregistered. Whether Bannon or others even believe these claims is irrelevant. Their function is instead to serve—akin to a kind of nod and wink—as a signal to the most loyal. They say: you’re right, we’re with you. Stand by. Be steadfast.

The failure to acknowledge the ideological basis of what’s happening is compounded by the fact that Christian White Nationalism is impervious to many kinds of argument. For example, an extremely conservative Christian may nonetheless be beholden to the rule of law and to the maintenance and continuation of American democracy. After all, Matthew 22 stresses: “Give therefore to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s.” This calculus changes quite a bit when Caesar and God are of a kind. Relatedly, a Christian nationalist may be open to arguments about human equality. Christianity, as may Christians have argued, is a universal religion, open to anyone. Galatians 3 points out: “There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ.” This, too, changes when an exclusionary notion of Whiteness is added to formula.26 There may be no distinctions between White people, but perhaps they’re the only ones who count when Jesus himself is understood as White. Relatedly, even if one is an avowed White supremacist, Christian or otherwise, one may be suspicious of the federal government, seeing it—as it has been seen for decades in many of these communities—as a Zionist Occupied Government (the one that perpetrated Ruby Ridge and Waco). This is no longer the case when nationalism is thrown into the mix.

The complex ways in which the elements of the Christian White Nationalist identity are interlaced—its intersectional qualities—means that the identity ultimately has a chameleon-like property. In different contexts, it may appear only from the vantage point of Whiteness, or nationalism, or Christianity, so that it can, for example, appeal to Jewish or Hispanic nationalists, to conservative Catholics, or to disaffected or resentful Whites. It may attract people who subscribe to one or two of its features while entirely missing—perhaps even actively eschewing—either of the others, or even both. This is also why any sketch must be impressionistic. That this may be the case is exactly made available by the tool of intersectional analysis: although bureaucratic forms may suggest otherwise, identities are in fact not mere boxes that we check off. They are never static or just about beliefs. They are just as much—if not more—about practices, about what we do, and how.

Practices—what we do, our actions—in turn, are also never static, as if they could be read off from a discrete snapshot of a particular event, without an understanding of the deep contexts—personal, social, and otherwise—that inform these events. When I stand on the street and raise my arm, I am not merely raising my arm, I am hailing a cab. And when I am hailing a cab, I am not merely hailing a cab but rather getting a ride to the lecture I’ve agreed to give. When I get a ride to the lecture I’ve agreed to give, I am not merely giving a lecture but rather educating this group of people because I’ve decided that it’s important for them to know what I have to say. When I decide it’s important for this group to know what I’ve got to say, I am not merely deciding that this is important for them to know, I am rather living out a certain kind of commitment about the world, about myself, about my life. And so forth. The philosopher G.E.M. Anscombe suggested that this is why we ought to see actions as having a certain kind of structure, as always nested. The reason Christian White Nationalism can draw a variety of actors to its cause is thereby not surprising: people may share one element of the nested structure but not others, ignoring them or failing to notice the others. They may enter upstream or downstream from a particular point. This is why from its earliest days, the movement could even attract, for example, even people like the Hasidic Orthodox rabbi Mayer Schiller, who amazingly participated in meetings that involved Holocaust deniers and neo-Nazis.27

Christian White Nationalism is a distinct practical identity that is nested within a broader stance towards history, time, and the world: the imminent moment of apocalypse. The Christian White nation that is to emerge in the future is not just a White nation or a Christian nation, but a Christian White nation that is right now—this moment—besieged everywhere by Satan, whose minions are all those who do not identify with this view. What hangs in the balance is the fate of the entire world, and thereby the possibility of any action altogether. As Onishi puts it, here “an evangelical emphasis on the end of the world is transposed into a crisis narrative that envisions the country as on the precipice of a catastrophic decline. If real Americans don’t take decisive action, the story goes, they will not simply lose their majority in the houses of Congress or see a political opponent in the White house; the country as they know it will be gone forever.”28 This is why political opponents are frequently cast literally as demons or demonic.29

When the stakes are so extreme, democracy is a minor thing, easily to be discarded, a trifle. This is why, in addition to offering a robust political alternative to such a vision, it’s crucial to make explicit the full dimensions of the Christian White Nationalist ideology now underwriting so much domestic and foreign policy. For example, attacks on trans and queer people are not really about sports, but rather about a certain draconian conception of the ideal family, one that is underwritten by a distinct reading of Christianity, and one that is meant itself to point to a notion of the future White nation, which will have precise, fixed roles for all. The exact number of supporters for these policies remains to be seen, but there’s no doubt that some of them have only been drawn into the orbit of Christian White Nationalism exactly due to its chameleon-like character, and the inability or incapacity of the media and others to call out such policies for what they are. Equally, there are here potential routes of tension that might be exploited given this unique identity (for example, sometimes Christian supremacist policies overwhelm Christian nationalist commitments, as when, say, Trump bombs Nigeria as a “present” to the Christians there). Given all of this, we would do well to remember the original meaning of apocalypse in Greek: revelation or disclosure. Switching out the conceptual tools we use to reveal or disclose our current environment, would then now be the true apocalypse, one that would in fact move us further away from—making far less likely—the very hells-cape envisioned by Christian White Nationalists.

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Martin Shuster is Professor of Philosophy and the Isaac Swift Distinguished Professor of Jewish Studies at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte, where he also founded the Philosophy and Critical Theory (PaCT) Lab. His most recent book is Critical Theory: The Basics.

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