A roar floated up from the crowd. There he was, on the jumbotron: Donald Trump, emerging from some chamber in the arena like Bill Goldberg getting ready for a fight, the camera tracking his path through the hallway and out into the stadium as Lee Greenwood belted out “God Bless the USA” — just one of what felt like dozens of renditions of that song throughout the week. The entire convention center stood. Delegates, guests, nearby ushers, all crowded into the entrances to see him for themselves. An attendee later described the scene as “electric.” She was right.

No one had expected him to show up so early. It had, after all, been only two days since someone had shot Trump in Pennsylvania, the bandage on his ear — which some attendees started wearing on their own ears like they were experiencing stigmata — a lingering reminder of how it had all nearly ended. The attempt on Trump’s life had sent a jolt of panic and despair through his supporters. They, and the man they had poured their hope into, had looked death in the face, really felt it for a moment; yet here they all were, two days later, miraculously resurrected.

Surveying the scene, and having spent the day talking to his followers, I realized I had seen and felt this before. Their devotion to Trump, their emotional investment in his victory, their sense of serving as foot soldiers for something bigger, the rapturous response to his return — it all called to mind something else. It called to mind that crisp fall day in 2019 when Bernie Sanders, fresh from a heart attack, stepped onto a podium in a park in Queens and announced he was back.