How the Trump administration co‑opts pop culture and religion for political gain

On April 15, United States Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth led a prayer session at the Pentagon. But instead of quoting from any recognised canon of sacred scripture, Hegseth’s prayer sounded unmistakably like Samuel L. Jackson’s “Jules”, a hitman character from Quentin Tarantino’s iconic 1994 film Pulp Fiction.

In his interrogation of white-collar criminal Brett, Jules delivers a heavily embellished monologue that draws from, and expands on, Ezekiel 25:17. The scene climaxes, in typical Tarantino style, with the brutal murder of Brett and his colleagues.

Hegseth’s version, which he said was recited by the Sandy 1 Combat Search and Rescue (CSAR) mission in Iran, deviates only slightly from Jackson’s monologue.

The biggest difference in this case is the symbolism. The target here is not a bunch of college kids with a briefcase they shouldn’t have, but the nation of Iran. Hegseth is the mobster and the American military are the hitmen on a violent but “divinely sanctioned” war.

The tone has changed, too. While Jackson’s monologue is highly dramatic, stylised, and imbued with more than just a little irony, Hegseth’s reframe renders it serious and devotional.

Leaving aside the cognitive dissonance of an avowedly “Christian” administration conflating Tarantino with scripture, this moment speaks to a rather unsettling relationship between Trump, pop culture and religion.

From business mogul, to Jedi, to the Pope

Trump courted pop culture prior to his politics, most notably in cameos such as Home Alone 2 (1992), The Little Rascals (1994), and as the host of The Apprentice (2004-17). He even leveraged his celebrity status to boost himself to the presidential platform.

As president, he has continued to tap into pop culture dialogues. He uses the power of social media and AI to promote his brand and policies, while weighing in on the culture wars.

On May 4 of last year (Star Wars Day), Trump posted an image on X of himself as a muscular Jedi, via the official White House account. However, he seems unaware that by brandishing a red lightsaber he is actually representing himself as a Sith Lord, the epitome of evil in the Star Wars universe.

In October, he posted an AI-generated video of himself in Top Gun mode, pouring what appeared to be faeces on protesters attending a No Kings rally.

He also took advantage of the buzz surrounding the Catholic Church’s 2025 conclave, and the popular film of same name, by posting an AI image of himself as the Pope.

By using the shared texts, cultural energy and narratives of pop culture, Trump is able to slam his opponents, take advantage of a polarised political context, and whip up support from his base.

These moments allow his administration to shape public conversation and draw attention back to them, sometimes with the explicit disapproval of the content creators involved. Responding to Trump’s Star Wars post, Mark Hamill (the actor who played Luke Skywalker) said the post was: “proof this guy is full of Sith”.

Bigger than Jesus?

Trump’s supporters have historically viewed his engagement with popular culture as humorous, cheering on their hero in the White House. But detractors sense a darker side. Each of these moments symbolically elevates the Trump administration, often at the expense of others.

The May 4 post is a case in point. The target here is the “radical Left” and Trump is raised to the rank of Jedi master (or Sith Lord). In the Top Gun video, Trump demonstrates his disdain for citizens exercising their democratic right to protest.

What connects these examples is the hubris of the administration, centred around its seemingly charismatic leader. Trump’s engagement with contemporary culture has shifted from relatively harmless cameos to putting himself at the centre of a Manichaean battle of good versus evil. Using both pop culture and religious references, he frames himself as a divine figure, fighting a cosmic war for the soul of the universe.

The most recent (and most on-the-nose example) of Trump’s hubris came earlier this month. As part of his continuing war of words with Pope Leo XIV, he posted an AI photo depicting himself as Jesus.

Here, he elevates himself beyond the union of ecclesiastical and political power to the highest possible authority figure in Christianity.

In doing so, he parallels the Ancient Roman emperors who conceived of themselves as “sons of God” and demanded allegiance and worship from their subjects (often at the tip of a blade).

The emperor cult of the Roman Empire is still very much alive in Trump’s America.

In these entanglements of pop culture, religion and politics, the MAGA movement sends a clear message to anyone with a ear to listen: this is our Master Jedi, our Maverick, our Messiah, even, and he will respond with “great vengeance and furious anger” against his enemies.