The mezzanine floor of the Tampa Convention Center is a whirlwind of right-wing energy — a feverish mix of conspiracy theories, grievance politics, and Christian nationalism. Everywhere you look, someone is under bright lights, creating content, drawing crowds, and pushing narratives.
Straight ahead, Russell Brand lounges on a white sofa, live-streaming on Rumble, the conservative video platform. His guest? Alt-right influencer Jack Posobiec. Just down a corridor flanked by mini broadcast booths, Roger Stone — longtime Donald Trump ally and self-proclaimed “dirty trickster” — holds court on a podcast. In the back, atop a steel scaffold, Steve Bannon’s War Room studio switches between live protest footage and flashy ads for Trump-themed merchandise.
This chaotic spectacle feels like a live-action version of Bannon’s infamous media strategy: “flood the zone with shit.” Welcome to the Turning Point Student Action Summit — an annual event aimed at Gen Z conservatives that attracts thousands from across the country. It’s a key piece of Trump’s success with young male voters.
Inside the adjacent arena, a parade of MAGA celebrities take the stage, hyped by flame throwers, blaring dubstep, strobe lights, and lasers. Brand unleashes a rambling performance — part stand-up, part preacher — about his recent Christian rebirth, laced with alliteration and absurdities. Notably, there’s no mention of the multiple rape and sexual assault charges he faces in the UK, to which he’s pleaded not guilty.
He’s followed by Tom Homan, Trump’s former border enforcement chief, who roars into the microphone as the crowd chants “USA, USA!” — referring to himself in the third person: “Tom Homan is running one of the biggest deportation operations this country has ever seen!” The vibe is a relentless blend of fear-mongering, self-praise, and hardline rhetoric — a distilled version of Trump’s America.
My colleague Tom Silverstone and I began our journey here, the first stop on a trek across Southern Florida. Once a classic swing state, Florida is now firmly Republican territory and home to some of Trump’s wealthiest properties — including the infamous Mar-a-Lago — and the epicenter of his mass deportation agenda.
It’s no accident that the dizzying pace of Turning Point mirrors the chaos of Trump’s second term, marked by scandal, radical policy shifts, and blatant profiteering — from accepting a $400 million jet from Qatar to his family opening a private D.C. club charging $500,000 a year.
At the heart of this presidential profiteering is Trump’s foray into cryptocurrency. Just three days before taking office, he launched the $TRUMP memecoin. These coins, infamous for their instability and lack of real-world utility, have made the Trump family an estimated $315 million, while countless investors have taken losses. It’s a glaring example of how Trump’s return may signal a Second Gilded Age — an era of rampant corruption, tech dominance, and deep inequality, reminiscent of the post-Civil War U.S.
In May, major $TRUMP coin investors were treated to dinner with Trump at his Virginia golf resort, followed by a VIP White House tour. Many saw it as a clear pay-to-play scheme, though White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt insists Trump follows all conflict of interest laws “applicable to the president.”
At the summit, few seem concerned about these alleged grifts. Anthony Watson, a speaker and contributor, stands near booths selling limited-edition gold Trump golf shoes for $500. Asked about the Qatar jet, he shrugs.
“What’s the problem?” he asks. “Unless you know what was exchanged for it, it’s all just speculation.”
I eventually catch up with Roger Stone and ask how the Founding Fathers, who wrote the foreign emoluments clause to prevent foreign influence and corruption, would view Trump’s crypto play. He dodges: “I don’t think they could’ve imagined cryptocurrency or today’s tech.”
But the contradictions in the MAGA movement are impossible to ignore. While preaching America First, the biggest $TRUMP coin backers include foreign nationals, even one linked to the Chinese Communist Party.
So I bring this up with Bannon. He greets me with a grin, calls us “fucking commies from England,” yet admits some discomfort — especially about the Chinese links. Still, he brushes it off, saying the White House VIP event was just “entrepreneurial capitalism.”
“I’m swamped,” he says. “I don’t even focus on the memecoins.” In contrast to his earlier enthusiasm, Bannon now claims crypto isn’t “that big a deal.”
Yet back in 2019, Bannon was bullish on crypto, calling it a game-changer for global populist revolutions. And as reported, he even co-managed an anti-Biden memecoin, $FJB (a not-so-subtle dig: “F**k Joe Biden”) with GOP strategist Boris Epshteyn. That project allegedly failed to deliver promised charity donations, had funds go missing, and may have attracted scrutiny from the Department of Justice in 2023.
Bannon tells me he invested $500,000 in it. Did he lose it? “Yeah, I think I lost it all,” he says. As for the DoJ investigation? “Fake news,” he smirks.