The Cageside Emperor

Jean-Léon Gérôme’s 1872 painting Pollice Verso depicting the passing of judgement on a fallen gladiator through the downturned thumb. Note that this painting is subject to great historical debate, with some scholars claiming that the closed fist signalled life and an upward thumb death. Beyond specifics, the policy remains true—and imagery powerful.

In ancient Rome, as the triumphant gladiator towered over his defeated opponent, the colosseum would turn its gaze to the emperor and his outstretched hand—its contortion spelling the vanquished’s fate. This policy of imperial deference serves as an important illustration of both the pomp and circumstance that emperors expect and the historical ties between bloodsport and political power. 

Today’s climate is less bread and circuses and more tax cuts and Ultimate Fighting Championship (UFC). The Roman strategy of social control through spectacle echoes down to our contemporary moment, as last July, Trump and UFC CEO Dana White announced plans to host a fight at the White House. The announcement came at a rally in Iowa, where Trump said, “Does anybody watch UFC? The great Dana White…We’re going to have a UFC fight, think of this, on the grounds of the White House.” Set for June 2026 as part of the nation’s 250th birthday celebration, the event marks the climax of a long-developing alliance between Trump and the UFC.

Over the past several years, it has become nearly impossible to watch a major UFC event without an appearance from Trump or one of his vassals. During his 2024 campaign, Trump attended multiple events, and since returning to office, he has made appearances at UFC 314 and 316. Attending these events provides Trump with a level of worship that outstrips the champions themselves—walking out to blasting rock music, standing ovations, and cheers of “USA.” UFC fighters are also increasingly ingratiating themselves with Trump: kneeling before him, presenting him with championship belts, and even mimicking his iconic fist dance after delivering a technical knockout. Alongside the president, Marco Rubio, Kash Patel, Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., and Tulsi Gabbard have all become regular fixtures octagon-side.

Let’s not confuse motives. These are not real combat sports fans but political chameleons who enjoy the political theatre and social clout of their partnership with the UFC. Trump’s strongman image takes a wrecking ball to the establishment and etiquette, finding a perfect home in the UFC—a celebration ground of machismo, violence, and power. The zero-sum game of combat sports is symbolic of Trump’s regime of confrontational politics. It creates a binary world of winners and losers that is evocative of the classic in-group/out-group psychology of fascist regimes. The ideological drilling of Hitler Youth and Mussolini’s “New Man” used sports, especially combat sports, to form young boys into a warrior archetype that shaped masculinity into a nationalist fervor. Seeing this political strategy replicating itself on the American right should be a frightening parallel. 

The UFC has enjoyed ballooning viewership, with its first 2026 event earning 4.96 million views, largely attributable to recent gains in popularity among Gen-Z men. While the UFC is unabashedly a right-wing organization, many fans remain detached from politics, interested solely in the sport of fighting. In a savvy cultural bid, Trump leveraged his appearances at UFC events and went on Joe Rogan’s podcast to chop it up about the UFC greats, looking to create an intimate connection with Gen-Z men through their common interests and successfully capturing large swaths of this demographic. Trump’s magnetic cultural appeal remains something that his opponents have had no answer for. When the 2024 election rolled around, this affinity translated into political loyalty as Gen-Z turned out in droves, voting for their man.  

The partnership is mutually beneficial. After Trump’s victory, Dana White joined him on stage to speak—an appearance both symbolic and transactional. Their friendship stretches back to the early 2000s, when Trump’s casinos hosted and financially supported the fledgling UFC. Two decades later, the quid pro quo is clear: Trump gains cultural influence and populist energy, and White receives unrivaled political legitimacy and visibility.

As someone who has practiced combat sports for close to half my life, I find this perversion of the sport deeply upsetting. At its best, fighting teaches humility, discipline, and personal integrity. It is a craft of respect and betterment—a fundamental rejection of hatred and oppression. Yet its aesthetics of power and physicality make it vulnerable to political co-optation. No sport, combat, or otherwise, should be drawn into the political arena. Athletic competition plays a vital role as a social glue, and combat sports provide an unsettling example of what happens when that boundary collapses. I believe in the beauty and morality of fighting; it’s not a position that I ask non-practitioners to adopt, or even understand. But, as the White House card approaches, the sport faces its final metamorphosis into a propagandistic tool of division. The emperor’s hand contorts again.  

Image Credit

Jean-Léon Gérôme, Pollice Verso, 1872.