An Open Letter from Ronald Reagan to Donald Trump

From the Gipper to the Grifter: Trump’s Surrender to Russia, Economic Ruin, and Betrayal of America—Plus, a Brutal Reality Check for the MAGA Dead-Enders

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Dear Donald,

Well, I never figured I’d be writing a letter from beyond the grave, but considering the state of things, I thought I’d take a little break from haunting the White House and set the record straight.

Now, I won’t pretend I was perfect—Lord knows I had my share of missteps. Some folks say I was anti-intellectual, that I let Wall Street run wild, that I didn’t do nearly enough about AIDS. And you know what? Fair criticism. I had my blind spots. I let the Christian Right sink their claws a little too deep into the party, I told folks government was the problem while running up deficits big enough to make a banker blush, and let’s not even get into my little CIA-backed adventures. I mean, I called ketchup a vegetable for school lunches—so yeah, I had my moments.

But for all that, at least I had principles. At least I stood for something bigger than myself. And when I spoke, people didn’t have to wonder whether I’d finish the sentence—or if I even knew what the sentence was supposed to be. They called me The Great Communicator not because I was the smartest man in the room, but because I could bring people together, make them believe in something, make them hope. And you? Well, son, you can’t string two thoughts together without getting lost in your own nonsense, griping about your enemies, or passing the hat for another handout.

And that, my friend, is where you and I part ways.

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Capitulation to Putin and Betrayal of Ukraine

Now, let’s start with the big one—your little love affair with Vladimir Putin.

You see, Don, I spent years staring down the Soviet Union, making sure the world knew that America wasn’t about to roll over for authoritarian thugs. I built NATO into the strongest military alliance in history, not just to keep the peace, but to make sure the Soviet bear stayed in its cage. When I sat down with Gorbachev, I didn’t bow and scrape—I negotiated from a position of strength, because that’s the only way you deal with a dictator. You? Well, you practically get the giggles every time Putin walks into the room. Just the other day, you stood up and called Zelenskyy a dictator while cozying up to the actual one in Moscow. That’s not just bad foreign policy, Don—that’s selling out your own country.

There you go again, Don—putting on your best performance for a dictator, all while abandoning our allies and ignoring the values America has stood for. You’ve turned my party—the party that once stood firm against communism—into a pack of Putin puppets. If I had pulled that kind of stunt in the ‘80s, I’d have been run out of Washington faster than you can say "Mr. Gobachev, tear down this wall." But you? You’re not tearing down walls—you’re out here gleefully mixing the concrete for Putin.

Now, let me tell you something, Don. When I called the Soviet Union an “evil empire,” I meant it. I didn’t wink and nod at them. I didn’t throw our friends under the bus while rolling out the red carpet for Moscow. And don’t get me started on NATO—the alliance that kept the Cold War cold, the one that ensures we don’t have to fight another world war. I sure as hell didn’t go around trying to tear it apart like I was auditioning to be Putin’s next press secretary. You stood on a stage and bragged about how you’d let Russia do “whatever they want” to our NATO allies if they didn’t pay up like some two-bit extortion racket. That’s not foreign policy, Don—that’s a mob shakedown.

And what happened next? The moment you sent up the signal that America was open for Putin’s imperialist ambitions, he started bombing Ukraine. Thousands dead. Millions displaced. And instead of standing by our allies, you stood in front of your cheering MAGA crowd and called Putin “a strong leader,” “savvy,” “smart,” and a “genius” (Did you notice he never returned the compliments?). You grin and preen that you “get along with him very well,” like a schoolboy desperate for the approval of a the class bully—oblivious to the fact that he’s already stolen your lunch and taped a “kick me” sign on your back.

Don, about Russia, I used to say “Trust, but verify.” But you? You say to Putin, “Please like me, I’ll do whatever you want!"

You haven’t just been weak on Russia—you’ve actively helped them. And your little MAGA cult? They’re cheering for it. The same folks who used to chant “Better dead than red” while stockpiling canned food in their bunkers are now applauding as you carry Putin’s water. That’s not just a disgrace to the Republican Party—that’s a disgrace to the free world. And come to think of it, son, those MAGA caps of yours look an awful lot like Russian red.

Because here’s the thing, Don: the world is watching. And right now, they see an America that doesn’t lead—it grovels.

Well now, Don, I’ll give you this—you sure do love yourself a strongman. You’ve swooned over China’s Xi Jinping and his “iron fist,” tipped your hat to Hungary’s Viktor Orbán for keeping democracy on a short leash, and even found something to admire in Iraq’s Saddam Hussein for his “efficiency” at killing people. You called Egypt’s el-Sisi “my favorite dictator” like it was a badge of honor, and after Turkey’s coup, you cheered on Erdoğan’s brutal crackdown. And let’s not forget North Korea’s Kim Jong Un and those “love letters,” the glowing reviews of the Philippines’ Duterte and his murderous drug war, and, of course, your starry-eyed devotion to Russia’s Vladimir Putin. This isn’t leadership, Don—it’s an infatuation with the world’s worst tyrants, and everyone sees it.

And as for history? Well, it took my two corrupt and destructive terms and dressed them up in red, white, and blue, turned me into some kind of folk hero. But you? History’s already written your chapter, and it ain’t a cowboy riding off into the sunset—it’s a sideshow hustler getting run out of town by the very rubes he swindled, pitchforks in hand.

As for fawning over despots? Well, Nancy had a slogan for fellas like you. You might remember it—"Just Say No."

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From Morning in America to Mourning in America

Now, back in my day, we Republicans had a simple playbook: talk about small government, cut taxes (for the rich), wave the flag real hard, and tell folks that if they just worked hard enough, they’d make it—even as we stacked the deck against them. But at least we had the good sense to pretend we cared! We didn't go around calling our own voters “disgusting” behind closed doors or bellyaching about how unfair it is that people expect a president to actually know things.

I may have sold people on trickle-down economics—which, let’s be honest, didn’t exactly “trickle” anywhere but the pockets of the rich—but even I knew something about how the economy worked. You, on the other hand, run deficits like a drunken sailor with a stolen credit card, while pretending that slapping tariffs on everything is some grand strategy.

Well now, Don, back in my day, we believed in free markets—you know, letting American businesses thrive by knocking down barriers, not throwing up new ones like some two-bit protectionist. I worked to open global markets, to make sure American companies could sell their goods far and wide. You? You’ve slapped a 25% tariff on Canada and Mexico, a 10% one on China, and called it “tough on trade.” But here’s the thing, Don—tariffs aren’t a penalty on other countries, they’re a tax on American businesses and consumers. Prices go up, jobs get squeezed, and suddenly, those “great deals” you promised look a whole lot like empty shelves and higher grocery bills.

And now, after realizing you might’ve overplayed your hand, you hit pause on the Canada and Mexico tariffs for 30 days—like that’s gonna calm businesses scrambling to adjust. Meanwhile, even Walmart—yes, Walmart, Don—is warning that consumers are going to start tightening their belts because of your policies. And those small businesses you claim to love? They’re the ones bearing the brunt, stuck deciding whether to raise prices on their customers or lay off workers just to stay afloat.

I starred in a movie with a chimp, and even Bonzo knew when a deal was bad. But this isn’t just a bad deal—it’s Bedtime for Democracy, and you’re tucking America in for a long, rough night.

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All Hat, No Cattle—And Not a Scrap of Character

Now, I’ll admit, we’ve got a few things in common—more than either of us might like. We both knew the power of a good performance—me in my cowboy flicks, you in that gaudy, gold-plated reality show of yours. We both knew that in America, looking the part can take you further than actual brains ever could. I could deliver a good line, sure, but I also knew how to back it up with substance. You, on the other hand, toss out empty slogans, slurred nicknames, and half-finished thoughts like confetti, and somehow your crowd calls it wisdom.

We both dyed our hair and wore too much makeup—though I at least stuck to colors found in nature. And sure, we both took a bullet, but while I turned mine into a little bipartisan humor—“I hope you’re all Republicans,” I told my doctors—you turned yours into a full-blown traveling pity party, begging for cash, selling T-shirts with your bloody ear on them, and telling folks that God Himself handpicked you, spared your life, as if you’re some divine gift to mankind, a bloated, orange prophet sent to “save” America.

Don, I hate to break it to you, but if the Almighty had a plan, I doubt it included a draft-dodging con man whining on stage about how unfair life is.

Now, let’s talk about something else, Don—character.

You see, I had my flaws. Lord knows I wasn’t perfect. But I at least tried to look like a decent man. You, on the other hand, couldn’t find moral integrity with a bloodhound and a search warrant.

Your presidency isn’t about leadership—it’s about seeing just how much corruption, self-dealing, and outright criminality your supporters will excuse. The ghost of Richard Nixon wanders the halls of the White House, shaking his head, muttering to himself, pacing in disbelief. He actually pulled me aside the other day and said, “Ron, I went down for 18 minutes of missing tape—18 minutes! This guy’s got hours of incriminating recordings—but heck, he doesn’t even need ’em! He incriminates himself on live TV every time he opens his mouth, and somehow, he’s still getting away with it! I mean, he confesses in prime time, on camera, and they just cheer louder!” (Nixon then muttered something nasty about the Jews, but that’s not really related to this topic.)

At least Tricky Dick had the good sense to be ashamed—he resigned in disgrace rather than take the whole country down with him. You? You flaunt your crimes and moral bankruptcy like trophies. Nixon tried to hide his corruption—you shove yours in America’s face.

And look, I’ll even own up to this—I spent a good part of my career in B-movies. I played cowboys, football heroes, even a guy whose best friend was a chimpanzee. But here’s the difference, Don—I knew they were movies. I knew I was playing a part. Now, I always believed in the idea that when your time’s up, you step aside and let the next act begin. But you? You just keep barging back onto the stage, desperate for more applause—no matter how dim-witted and slack-jawed the audience has to be to keep clapping.

And that, Don, is the real tragedy—not just that your presidency is a pathetic excuse for a show, but that you force the rest of us to suffer through your circus act, day after day.

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To My So-Called "Fans" in MAGA Who Worship Me While Supporting Trump

Alright, folks, I’ve got something I need to get off my chest—especially to the ones who wave my picture around, call me your hero, then turn around and cheer for Donald Trump. Now, let me ask you: Do you honestly think I’d stand behind this guy? Or are you just so lost in the noise that you can’t see what’s right in front of you?

Let’s set the record straight. I wasn’t a man who bowed to dictators. I didn’t incite violence, encourage lawlessness, or tell the American people to riot and disrespect their elections. I believed in democracy. I believed in leading by example. I never imagined we’d end up here—where people cheer for someone who spits on everything this country stands for.

I worked to make America a land of opportunity. I believed in optimism, in lifting people up, and making sure every American had a chance to succeed. But now? You’ve followed a man who’s tearing it all down, brick by brick, until there’s nothing left but rubble—and then he stands on top of it, calling it a victory. You can’t claim that’s the legacy we fought for.

Now, really think about this: Do you honestly believe I’d back a man who insults our troops, mocks the disabled, and talks about gutting Social Security while pretending to care about the working class? Do you think I’d support someone who lets Putin roll across Europe while claiming it’s part of a grand plan?

Here’s the truth, folks: You don’t get to claim my legacy while backing this. You don’t get to call yourselves patriots while supporting a man who spends like a liberal and governs like a mob boss. You don’t get to say I won the Cold War while standing behind a guy writing love letters to Putin.

You’ve sold out everything the GOP used to stand for—all to follow a washed-up reality TV star who’s only good at convincing you to open your wallets. And don’t act surprised. The GOP’s always known how to keep voters dumb—how to keep you fighting against your own best interests while the rich get richer. But I never thought it would go this far. I didn’t think it could get this hateful, this divisive. I never imagined a day would come when people would willingly vote to destroy everything this country was built on—just to make some conman feel like a king.

This isn’t a revolution—it’s a sham, and you’ve bought it hook, line, and sinker.

You’re getting what you deserve, but America sure as hell isn’t.

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In Closing…

Now look, Don, I understand—power is intoxicating. I won’t pretend I didn’t enjoy playing the cowboy-president. But when the cameras stopped rolling, I knew the difference between the part and the job. Because at the end of the day, the presidency isn’t about you. It’s about something bigger than all of us.

You were supposed to stand for America. Instead, you turned the office into a personal grift, a constant pity party where nothing’s ever your fault and everyone else is to blame for your failures. The presidency used to be a symbol of strength and dignity.

Now, when I left office, not everyone liked my policies—fair enough. But at least people could respect the institution. You? You’re making it a disgrace. And when history looks back, it won’t see a leader, or a patriot, or even much of a Republican.

Thanks for reading this letter (or having it read to you), Don. Historians and scholars rank me as the 18th best president, and you? Well, you’re dead last. And that was based on your first term—not even considering the absolute disaster of your second. So, I’m writing to you not just as your elder, but as someone who’s seen this movie before and knows exactly how it ends.

So, here’s my advice, Don—if you want to be remembered as anything more than the worst president in our nation’s nearly 250-year history, the best thing you could do for America is resign.

And when you finally pass on and start haunting the hallowed halls of the White House, you can swap stories with the ghost of Nixon. You’ll compare Enemies Lists, trade tales about going down in flames—and hopefully, that’s before America’s left in ashes too.

Till the next scene,
Ron

P.S. – A Message from Nancy

You know how Nancy swore by astrology—I never made a big decision without her checking the stars first. Well, she had your chart read, and let’s just say the forecast isn’t looking too good. The stars have spoken: your second term is less “historic comeback” and more cosmic disaster. Better start practicing your exit speech, Don.

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If you liked this article, please share it, subscribe—a paid subscription would be incredible!—and tap the "Buy Me a Coffee" button. Your support keeps me fueled to call out the corrupt and complicit.

Next, enjoy this companion piece:

CLASSIFIED: An Open Letter from Vladimir Putin to Donald Trump

Trump, Russia, and the Greatest Intelligence Coup in History: "You Serve Me, Donald. You Always Have. You Always Will."