A Funeral That Spoke Volumes

On September 1, 2018, Washington National Cathedral hosted a memorial service that became an unspoken referendum on Donald Trump’s presidency. The funeral for Senator John McCain—war hero, maverick Republican, and two-time presidential candidate—drew every living former president: the Obamas, the Bushes, and the Clintons. Conspicuously absent was the sitting president, barred by McCain’s explicit dying wish.

McCain’s daughter Meghan delivered a eulogy that resonated far beyond the cathedral walls: “America was always great.” The thinly veiled rebuke of Trump’s “Make America Great Again” slogan hung in the air. Months later, Trump would complain bitterly about the snub during an Ohio rally, unaware that this feud with a deceased senator would later cost him dearly in a critical swing state.

The Making of a Maverick

Born into military aristocracy—both his father and grandfather were four-star admirals—McCain’s path diverged sharply from Trump’s gilded upbringing. While 22-year-old Trump secured a dubious medical deferment from Vietnam (his fifth draft avoidance), 30-year-old McCain volunteered for carrier duty off Vietnam. Their 1968 divergence foreshadowed a lifetime of mutual disdain: one man embracing sacrifice, the other mastering evasion.

McCain’s defining moment came on October 26, 1967, when his A-4 Skyhawk was shot down over Hanoi. Captured and tortured, he refused early release despite shattered limbs, adhering to the POW code of “first in, first out.” His five-and-a-half-year imprisonment forged an unshakable identity that Trump would later recklessly insult.

Political Ascendancy and Unlikely Parallels

Entering politics in the 1980s, McCain cultivated an image as an anti-establishment reformer—a label Trump would later co-opt. Their similarities ended there. Where McCain championed campaign finance reform (though his second marriage to beer heiress Cindy Hensley drew scrutiny), Trump flaunted his wealth as qualification. Both men lost presidential bids before eventual nominations—McCain in 2000 and 2008, Trump in 2016—but only one viewed politics as public service rather than personal branding.

Their policy overlap was greater than either admitted. Both were China hawks, supported tax cuts, and endorsed conservative judges. Yet McCain’s visceral contempt for Trump’s character—his draft dodging, crude remarks about women, and attacks on POWs—made alliance impossible.

The Breaking Point

The feud turned nuclear in 2015 when Trump dismissed McCain’s heroism: “I like people who weren’t captured.” The remark alienated veterans and military families, a constituency Trump desperately needed. McCain retaliated by withholding endorsement until the last possible moment, then rescinding it after the “Access Hollywood” tape surfaced.

Their final confrontation came in July 2017, when McCain’s dramatic thumbs-down vote saved the Affordable Care Act from repeal. Trump never forgave what he saw as betrayal. Even McCain’s August 2018 brain cancer diagnosis didn’t temper the president’s vitriol. When a White House aide joked “he’s dying anyway,” no apology came.

The Afterlife of a Rivalry

McCain’s funeral became the Resistance’s rallying cry. Eulogies from former rivals Obama and Bush doubled as indictments of Trumpism. The president, stewing at the White House, initially refused to lower flags for the full customary period and skipped the formal proclamation of mourning.

The feud outlived McCain. In May 2019, the Navy concealed the USS John S. McCain’s name during Trump’s Japan visit—an act of pettiness that stunned even allies. More consequentially, Cindy McCain endorsed Biden in September 2020, appearing in campaign ads that targeted her husband’s beloved Arizona.

The Electoral Reckoning

In November 2020, Arizona flipped blue for only the second time in 68 years. Biden’s 10,457-vote margin (0.3%) was narrow but decisive—a swing attributable partly to suburban women and partly to McCain loyalists. Trump’s lawsuits failed, and with them, his reelection hopes.

McCain’s posthumous impact transcended one election. His funeral and family’s defiance crystallized the choice for traditional Republicans: tolerate norm-breaking for policy wins or defend institutional dignity. That this moral stand came from a man who admitted his own failings—his infidelity, his temper, his occasional demagoguery—made it all the more powerful.

In death, McCain achieved what eluded him in life: becoming the conscience of his party. The maverick’s last mission proved his most enduring.