The Unprecedented Double Endorsement
Early in the American election cycle, headlines usually amplify the drama of crowded primaries and split allegiances, but rarely do we witness an endorsement from a former president that defies political logic. Yet, this week, Donald Trump’s move to endorse both leading Republican candidates in Arizona’s 2026 governor race did exactly that, sending shockwaves through the state’s already volatile political landscape. In a characteristic Truth Social post, Trump declared his support for both Rep. Andy Biggs and businesswoman Karrin Taylor Robson, describing each as a “fantastic” contender ready to carry the MAGA mantle.
What prompted this rare maneuver? Robson had locked in Trump’s backing back in December, months before Biggs—himself a prominent chair of the House Freedom Caucus and longtime Trump loyalist—launched his campaign in January. Trump’s dual blessing, while unusual, mirrors a broader truth about the contemporary Republican Party: Trump’s gravitational pull remains the defining force even in races where his own ideological heirs are increasingly at odds.
A closer look reveals a tangle of loyalty tests and personal branding. Robson’s campaign wasted no time showcasing a video of Trump’s endorsement in Arizona, signaling her alignment from the start. Andy Biggs, meanwhile, surprised political observers with his late entry. According to Trump, Biggs’ decision came “quite unexpectedly,” mirroring the persistent instability in GOP primary contests where new entrants regularly upset the pecking order. Both rapidly received the former president’s approval, seizing the Trump brand as the ultimate credential in a state he lost only narrowly in 2020.
Factions, Fractures, and the New Arizona GOP
The drama now playing out isn’t just about candidate personalities—it’s a referendum on the Republican Party’s future and the health of Arizona’s democracy. Trump’s bid to underwrite unity with a double endorsement may appear conciliatory on the surface, but the deeper reality is a party controlled by internal rivalry, skepticism of traditional norms, and a relentless loyalty test to one man above all others.
How did we get here? The answer stretches back more than a decade. Arizona, once a bastion of Goldwater conservatism and bipartisan pragmatism, has been engulfed by the same ideological currents that have remade the national GOP. The radicalization deepened during the Trump presidency, as state Republicans purged moderates and embraced conspiracy theories about election fraud—efforts openly supported by figures like Andy Biggs. Political scientist Samara Klar of the University of Arizona points out, “The post-2020 Republican party here is, in many ways, a litmus test for how much control the far-right base can exert over a state apparatus.”
Governor Katie Hobbs’ narrow win in 2022, powered by urban and suburban voters weary of extremism, demonstrates that while Trump’s grip on the GOP remains ironclad, independent and Democratic backlash is potent. She’s governed with a steady, if unspectacular, hand, maintaining her approval rating despite persistent rightwing attacks. That context makes the 2026 contest even more critical. Unlike in swing states where party elites still exercise vetting power, in Arizona, the primary is now an open audition for Trumpian fidelity.
“This isn’t about Arizona’s future. It’s about who can prove their loyalty to one man and his personalized brand of politics, even at the cost of alienating the moderate voters who decide our elections.”
Behind closed doors, traditional Republicans in the state fret about a replay of 2022, when Trump-backed Kari Lake’s polarizing campaign cost the GOP the governor’s mansion. Harvard historian Alex Keyssar notes that party schisms like these are not unprecedented—looking back to the Democratic Party of 1968, he observes, “Winning the base at all costs can ignite short-term energy but risks long-term viability in an increasingly diverse electorate.”
Implications: Political Power, Policy, and the Cost of Loyalty
It’s tempting to reduce Trump’s double endorsement to a mere gambit for personal influence. Still, the greater concern is its impact on Arizona’s voters and the substantive issues they face. Neither Robson nor Biggs has staked out bold, independent policy solutions—their platforms, so far, center on allegiance to Trumpian orthodoxy: immigration crackdowns, suspicion of federal oversight, and, disturbingly, continued skepticism about the legitimacy of recent elections. Missing from the debate are nuanced proposals on water security, wildfire prevention, healthcare access, or support for rural communities—priorities that Arizona’s diverse electorate desperately needs addressed.
Beyond that, Trump’s calculated refusal to force a choice may foster political amnesia. Memories of the last gubernatorial race are still fresh: Kari Lake refused to concede, fueling statewide disinformation and legal chaos. If Republicans value victory over principle, they may overlook the cost paid by democracy itself. According to a 2024 Pew Research study, voter trust in elections dropped nearly 8 percentage points in Arizona between 2020 and 2023—most sharply among Republicans.
So what’s at stake as Arizona stares down another high-stakes election? At risk is what Yale political scientist Jacob Hacker calls “democratic responsiveness”—a government’s ability to address practical issues while respecting the will of its people. If the GOP primary devolves into a battle of MAGA soundbites, Arizona’s next governor, regardless of party, may be less capable, not more, of governing responsively. Voters will once again be left to choose between the politics of spectacle and the business of stewardship.
As Arizonans prepare for 2026, the state faces a familiar crossroads. The question is not merely who Trump endorses, but whether citizens will demand substance over spectacle, and whether the Republican Party will serve its voters—or just its most famous member.
