Politics, you will notice, has gotten extremely weird.

To some degree, of course, this is Donald Trump’s fault. No other president has seen the first part of their term defined by a fight over whether the federal government can send people living in the US to a prison in El Salvador with no due process. No other modern president has decided to ignore decades of settled economic and political wisdom and institute the biggest tariffs since the Hoover administration. No other president has waged war against the entire foundation of American science.

Some weirdness is also the fault of Covid. The pandemic introduced a slew of policies that proved divisive, from mask mandates to vaccine mandates to funding for “gain of function” research to school closures. None of these were polarizing topics in 2019 because they either had never happened before or were too obscure for most people to care. And though we’re a few years past the worst days of the pandemic, the appointment of anti-vaxxer Robert F. Kennedy Jr. as health and human services secretary shows just how central many of these topics remain.

It’s this context that has made Congress’s debate over a multitrillion-dollar reconciliation bill so fascinating. The bill’s contents are still evolving, but the broad outlines are simple: trillions in tax cuts, tilted to the wealthy; hundreds of billions in spending cuts, particularly to programs for the poor like Medicaid and food stamps; over a hundred billion dollars in increased spending for defense.

I know of no better summary of its effects than the above chart from the Urban Institute, which shows that it would make poor Americans earning less than $10,000 dramatically worse off (reducing their income by 14.9 percent) while affluent households earning over $200,000 would thrive.

So, all in all, a terrible bill. But whatever else that proposal is, it’s startlingly normal for Republican politics. It represents ideas that have defined the Republican party and its economic and budgetary priorities since 1980, and which the party has strongly held to even in the face of Trump’s total takeover. The Republican party stands for lower taxes, especially on the rich; lower spending on programs for the poor; and big spending on defense. That’s what Ronald Reagan, Newt Gingrich, Paul Ryan, and other figures who defined the party have all stood for, for nearly half a century now.

The extreme weirdness of national politics has led to a temptation to see a new Republican party just over the horizon, defined by rejecting its tax-cutting and program-slashing tradition. This is stoked by strategic leaks that Trump might be open to a higher tax rate on the richest Americans; by Sen. Josh Hawley (R-MO) condemning Medicaid cuts; by party figures like Vice President JD Vance suggesting a break from the party’s hawkish foreign policy.

But the composition of the reconciliation bill suggests that when it comes to bread-and-butter economic issues, this is mostly a mirage. The essential Republican message may become blurred around the edges, the way that George W. Bush messed with it by expanding Medicare or his father did by accepting a small tax hike. But the deviations are swamped by the continuity. It’s not, in the ludicrous phrasing of Steve Bannon, a “workers’ party.”

Congressional Republicans, led by Speaker Mike Johnson, have brought back normal politics, and for them that means one thing: redistributing income upward.

The rise and persistence of Normal Republicanism

This essential pattern of Republicans standing for across-the-board tax cuts and cuts to safety net programs has not always been the norm. Nothing in politics is truly permanent. As late as Richard Nixon, Republican presidents would propose ideas like a guaranteed minimum income and

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