His reputation for being “Trump’s Holy Warrior” during the 45th president’s first term didn’t stop him. His intimate involvement with the Project 2025 agenda for Trump’s second administration, which became so controversial that the Trump campaign all but disavowed it, didn’t stop him. His espousal of radical ideas about presidential power during his confirmation hearings didn’t stop him. His suspected association with a wildly unpopular federal funding freeze imposed by the agency he was nominated to run didn’t stop him. And Senate Democrats, who belatedly mobilized a boycott of the a committee’s vote endorsing him and then launched an all-night “talk-a-thon” on the Senate floor to warn of his malevolent designs, couldn’t stop him. And so on Thursday night, with a vote along party lines, Russell Vought was confirmed to return to the directorship of the Office of Management and Budget, which he has described as the “nerve center” of the federal government.
With this vote a very important piece of the Trump 2.0 machinery was snapped into place. Other Cabinet-rank appointees are much flashier and get more attention. Their departments do things that everyone understands and that touch millions of lives directly. But far beyond his specific responsibilities (preparing the president’s budget and reviewing fiscal and regulatory decisions), the new OMB director is a particularly valuable player in the planned MAGA transformation of the federal government. To borrow a sports term, Vought is a “glue guy.” He’s the team member who lifts the performance of everyone around him without necessarily being the big star himself. And if you are alarmed by the counter-revolutionary ambitions of this administration, that should make him a very scary man for real.
In the shake-up of the federal government that MAGA folk generally call an assault on the “deep state,” there are three main forces. One is a Congress controlled by a Republican Party that has sworn an unusually intense allegiance to Trump, and that has its own ideological reasons (mostly related to the need to pay for tax cuts and Trump’s mass deportation program, while making at least a stab at reducing deficits and debt) for taking a sledgehammer to the parts of the federal government that don’t involve GOP sacred cows like Social Security and defense. Another is DOGE, Elon Musk’s pseudo-agency that is already wreaking havoc in agency after agency as he applies his radical corporate-takeover methods to the public sector with a giant social-media troll army at his back. Each is engaged in demolition work that could be at least temporarily stopped by federal court orders (in Musk’s case) or by internal wrangling (in Congress’s). Vought’s OMB is the third force that will make sure Trump’s agenda moves forward one way or the other. And he is perfectly equipped to coordinate these disparate forces and supply blows to the bureaucracy if and when others fall short.
The funding freeze showed us what a single memo from OMB can do, spawning nationwide chaos and panic. A more sustained effort, and one that relies less on “pauses” and more on a true freeze of grants and contracts backed up by explicit presidential executive orders, can do a lot more damage to the programs and services that MAGA folk don’t like anyway. Meanwhile OMB can exchange intel with DOGE on potential targets in the bureaucracy, while OMB will definitely guide congressional Republicans as they put together massive budget-reconciliation and appropriations bills.
Vought’s personality, worldview, and experience make him a lot more pivotal than his job description, believe it or not. He’s in sync with deep wellsprings of the conservative infrastructure as a committed Christian nationalist (he is a graduate of the old-school fundamentalist Wheaton College, and is closely associated with the theocratic neo-Calvinist wing of the Southern Baptist Convention), a think-tank veteran (at the Heritage Foundation and his own Center for Renewing America), an heir of the budget-slashing tea-party movement, and as someone who perfectly synthesizes the hardcore right of both the pre-Trump and Trump eras.
Just as importantly, Vought is the one person other than Trump himself who may be able to keep his budget-cutting allies working together and not fighting for power. He spent many years working on Capitol Hill and knows the House GOP culture particularly well; he is a natural ally of the fiscal radicals of the House Freedom Caucus, who currently have enormous influence (and perhaps even control) of 2025 budget decisions thanks to their willingness to blow up things if they don’t get their way. But he’s also as radical as Musk in his antipathy to the deep state, as the chief apostle of the idea the president should have vast powers to usurp congressional spending decisions if he deems it necessary. And unlike Musk and his team of software engineers, he knows every nook and cranny of the enemy territory from his earlier stint at OMB. Vought has also forged personal links with the turbulent tech bro, according to The Wall Street Journal:
“A senior administration official said Vought and Musk have been building a partnership since just after Trump’s victory in November.
“’They share the same passion for making the federal government more efficient and rooting out waste, corruption and fraud, so I think they are very aligned,’ said Wesley Denton, a longtime adviser to former Sen. Jim DeMint (R., S.C.) and a Vought friend.”
So Musk may get the headlines, and Mike Johnson and John Thune may flex their muscles on Capitol Hill as they compete to turn Trump’s lawless impulses into laws. But the hand on the wheel may really belong to Russ Vought, who is trusted implicitly by a president who isn’t interested in the details of governing and appreciates a loyal subordinate who shuns the spotlight as much as his radical views allow.
Some observations on the Childers-Davis race that don’t seem to be getting much play from the relentlessly national focus of MSM coverage:
First, it’s not exactly true that this was a rock-ribbed Republican district. Until 1994 it was represented by that old seg Democratic lion Jamie Whitten; Roger Wicker won it in 1994 and held it since as much by the power of incumbency as by his party label. Secondly, as far as I can tell looking from Nashville, the voting patterns displayed some serious socio-political cleavages of the sort often missed by nonsouthern observers [Not you, of course, Ed!]. Davis is Mayor of Southaven, in De Soto County–the one county that he won really handily. De Soto is a booming middle-class suburb of Memphis, though of a lesser social stratum than tony easterly suburbs such as White Station or Germantown; it’s a product of white flight from Memphis [The suburb just north of the line is appropriately named Whitehaven], and as a result is racially pretty hard-edged. It’s hardly surprising, then, that Davis would have offered to grant political asylum, as it were, to the statues of Jeff Davis and Nate Forrest when Memphis was discussing removing them from a city park. But, perhaps more importantly for this election, the residents of De Soto are socio-economically poles apart from the rest of the district. The problems of the rural South–notably deindustrialization, which Childers addressed with an aggressive economic nationalism–are foreign to a population that’s basically tied to an urban economy, tends to take its prosperity for granted or as the reward for its own virtue, and tends to be much more hostile to government solutions than a rural and small-town region with a heritage of attachment to TVA. Outsiders [You know this, Ed] think southern Republicanism is just redneck racism shifted over bodily from the Democrats after passage of the VRA in 1965; but not only is the political story more complicated, but this stereotype misses the fact that modern southern Republicanism began in the suburbs [at least as soon as there *were* southern suburbs; in my native SC we were just beginning to see them in the 1960s]. Revisionist historians like Matt Lassiter and Joseph Crespino are beginning to rewrite this history. For present purposes, though, the important point is that the suburban character of the Republican base made it vulnerable to a challenge such as Childers’s–especially when coupled with the widespread unpopularity of Bush and [This is a bit of a surprise to me in this district] the Iraq War [but then it’s districts like this one that have borne the brunt of sacrifice]. Thus, while De Soto alone contains 20 percent of the district’s population [and growing], and Davis won it handily, he won virtually nowhere else.
The bottom line? Contrary to the Tom Schallers of the world, Democrats have never stopped being competitive in the South; with the right candidate and appeal, they can beat a Republican Party that’s so tied to a complacent base, and so wedded to the old strategies of tarring local Democrats with national [and black] associations, that it has no clue about how to counter a candidate who can’t credibly be tarred with the “Pelosi Democrat” label and who talks about issues that the Republicans ignore. Of course, the Schallers can’t really be too happy with this result, since their real complaint has never been with southern Republicans, but rather with southern *Democrats.* Childers will be one more Blue Dog, and those who want to run Blue Dogs out of the party are losers here as well. But if Democrats can neutralize the cultural issues and can exploit genuine local problems as they’ve done here [though, as a student of southern economic development, I’m not happy with Childers’s approach on policy grounds]–they’re in the game.