In the days leading up to the State of the Union address, President Trump has once again placed himself at the center of a familiar storm — one fueled less by policy than by rhetoric, spectacle and an unrelenting focus on grievance.
Over the past week, in a series of speeches and social media posts, the president has repeatedly mused about his mortality, questioned whether he would “make it,” and suggested that unnamed forces were “gunning” for him. At a rally in Rome, Ga., he told supporters, “I don’t think I’m going to make it to heaven,” adding that he was “not worthy.” At another event, he remarked, “I don’t know how long I’ll be around.”
Such comments are not entirely new in Trump’s political lexicon. He has long framed himself as a figure under siege — beset by political enemies, prosecutors and what he calls a corrupt establishment. But the frequency and tone of these remarks have intensified as he approaches one of the most visible moments of his presidency.
The State of the Union, already set against a backdrop of partisan boycotts and alternative programming by some Democrats, is typically an occasion for presidents to project steadiness and command. Trump, instead, has spent recent days amplifying claims that the 2020 election was “rigged,” asserting that courts are unfairly targeting his economic policies, and revisiting long-running grievances against political adversaries.
In one speech, he described men who, he said, were so grateful for his economic policies that they wanted to “kiss” him. In another, he touted his reading comprehension while defending his interpretation of a Supreme Court ruling. He returned again to the subject of tariffs, shouting the word repeatedly before pivoting to complaints about voter identification laws and transgender athletes.
All presidents blend performance and policy, but Trump’s style remains singular in its improvisational drift. At a recent appearance, he veered from immigration enforcement to a digression about snow removal in New York, then to a personal anecdote about paying for a woman’s cataract surgery. The transitions were abrupt; the audience appeared unsure when applause was expected.
On social media, Trump posted a series of claims that prompted confusion. He suggested that Gov. Gavin Newsom of California had dropped out of a presidential race that does not currently exist. He shared images depicting himself in stylized or altered scenarios, including digitally manipulated sports footage. He also claimed that the United States was dispatching a hospital ship to Greenland, a statement that Defense Department officials, speaking anonymously, said did not correspond with any known orders.
To Trump’s supporters, such moments are proof of authenticity — evidence of a president who speaks off the cuff and rejects scripted orthodoxy. To critics, they raise questions about discipline, coherence and the strategic purpose behind the message.
Even some allies have signaled unease. Representative Nancy Mace of South Carolina wrote on social media, “Please pray for President Trump,” after one of his more meandering speeches. While she later pivoted to criticism of the Justice Department and longstanding conspiracy theories surrounding Jeffrey Epstein, her initial remark underscored a broader dynamic: Republican officials often find themselves navigating between loyalty to the president and the unpredictable nature of his public statements.
Medical experts caution against diagnosing public figures from afar, and there is no public evidence that Trump is experiencing a health crisis. The White House has not indicated any change in the president’s schedule or capacity to carry out his duties. Still, presidential rhetoric carries weight, and repeated references to not “making it” inevitably invite speculation.
For Trump, the language of persecution has always been politically useful. It reinforces a narrative in which he alone stands between his supporters and a hostile establishment. By casting himself as embattled — even existentially threatened — he deepens the emotional bond with a base that sees politics not as negotiation but as combat.
Yet the presidency also demands reassurance. At moments of uncertainty, Americans traditionally look to the office for clarity and steadiness. As the State of the Union approaches, the contrast between ritual and rhetoric is stark: a constitutional ceremony designed to affirm institutional continuity, delivered by a president who increasingly frames his own tenure in apocalyptic terms.
What unfolds on the House floor will be closely watched, not only for policy proposals but for tone. Will Trump adopt the teleprompter discipline he has occasionally demonstrated on formal occasions? Or will he continue the improvisational style that has defined his recent appearances?
The answer may shape more than a single news cycle. It will offer a window into how Trump intends to navigate the remainder of his term: as a president seeking to broaden his coalition, or as a combatant doubling down on grievance and spectacle.
