Where Are Our Brutuses and Cassiuses When We Need Them?
By Tom Kagy | 23 Jan, 2026

We're now well short of the five dozen senators who ended Caesar's tyrannical hold over Rome, but a baker's dozen of promising prospects with spine may step up to provide the votes.

Back in 44 B.C. Julius Caesar was the big shot general who basically turned the Roman Republic into his personal playground.

He had covered himself in power—dictator for life, packing the Senate with his cronies, strutting around like a god-king. The old-school senators were fuming because the whole system's supposed to be about shared power, not one man calling all the shots.  

So, on the Ides of March in 44 B.C., a crew of about 60 of them, led by Marcus Brutus (Caesar's adopted kid, no less) and Gaius Cassius, decided enough is enough.  They cornered him in the Senate and did their thing.  That's when Caesar gasped the famous, "Et tu, Brute?" to which the assassins screamed, "Sic semper tyrannis!"—thus always to tyrants—figuring the Republic to have been saved.

Instead a decade of civil war ensued, ironically giving birth to Augustus Caesar and the Roman Empire.  

I didn't say the analogy was perfect.

It's January 2026 and it feels like we're living a remix.  

Donald Trump's back in the White House for round two.   Like Caesar ignoring the Senate and doing his own thing, Trump has been a bull in a china shop—only spreading mayhem on a global scale.  

Take the Federal Reserve drama.  On January 11, Fed Chair Jerome Powell dropped a bombshell statement saying the Department of Justice—under Trump's AG, no doubt—slapped the Fed with grand jury subpoenas, threatening criminal indictments.  The Fed's supposed to be independent, keeping the economy from going off the rails without political meddling.  But after griping about interest rates since day one, Trump seems bent on kneecapping the central bank.  If he pulls it off, he ends checks and balances and gives himself even more raw power.

And Trump's been rattling sabers abroad like Caesar eyeing new conquests.  Just this month, he's been pushing aggressive moves on Venezuela—talk of military intervention without Congressional approval.  Five Republican senators broke ranks and voted with Dems to rein in his war powers there.  

Then there's the insane Greenland saga. Trump's floated seizing the island by force from Denmark.  Even Senate Republicans called it "appalling."  Trump snapped back, taking away endorsements.  

In Rome, it took 60 senators to band together and literally end Caesar's grip. Here in the U.S. we're fortunately a bit too civilized for daggers but we do need votes.  Specifically, in our 100-member Senate, it often takes 60 votes to invoke cloture and end a filibuster—basically, to force a vote on big stuff without endless stalling.

Right now, Republicans hold a 53-47 edge (counting those two independents who caucus with Dems). If we want to pass bills to check Trump's power—like protecting the Fed's independence, curbing unauthorized military adventures, or even overriding a veto on key legislation—we need 60 yes votes.  Dems and indies can muster 47 on a good day, so we're talking 13 GOP defectors to hit that magic number.

We're still a few short, but there are promising prospects stepping up, showing some real spine.  These are our modern Brutus and Cassius types who have criticized Trump before and might do it again for the sake of the republic.

Remember his second impeachment trial back in 2021, after January 6?  Seven Republicans voted to convict him: Richard Burr, Bill Cassidy, Susan Collins, Lisa Murkowski, Mitt Romney, Ben Sasse, and Pat Toomey.  A bunch have retired or bounced—Burr, Romney (who hung it up in 2024), Sasse (resigned), Toomey.  But three are still in the game, and they're prime candidates.

First up, Susan Collins from Maine. She's the queen of moderation in a purple state. Collins voted to convict in 2021, saying Trump "incited an insurrection."  She's broken with him on healthcare, judges, you name it.  This month, she's one of the GOP leaders Trump snubbed on endorsements, per reports.  With Maine's voters not exactly MAGA-central, she's got incentive to play independent. If a Fed protection bill comes up, you can count on her.

Then Lisa Murkowski of Alaska, another 2021 convictor who survived Trump-backed primary challenges by going her own way.  Murkowski's all about bipartisanship— she's worked with Dems on infrastructure and Native American issues. She's vocal against Trump's Greenland threats, calling them reckless. Alaska's got that ranked-choice voting now, which rewards moderates.  She's not up for reelection till 2029, but that doesn't stop her from leading the charge.

Bill Cassidy from Louisiana rounds out the trio. He flipped on impeachment, citing Trump's role in the riot.  Louisiana's red, but Cassidy's a doctor who's pushed for healthcare tweaks and isn't afraid to buck party lines.  Trump's been mad at him, lumping him with other "RINOs" in recent rants.  Cassidy was one of the five who voted against Trump on Venezuela war powers just weeks ago. Solid prospect.

But we need more than three. Enter John Cornyn from Texas. He's a former GOP whip, up for reelection in 2026, and Trump's been ignoring his endorsement pleas. Cornyn's criticized Trump's rhetoric as "divisive" and pushed gun safety laws post-Uvalde.  Texas is shifting purple-ish; he might need crossover votes. If shutdown talks heat up—like the looming one this weekend due to that snowstorm canceling votes—Cornyn could defect to keep government open against hardline MAGA demands.

Rand Paul from Kentucky's another wildcard.  He's a libertarian at heart, descendant of Ron Paul, and he's clashed with Trump on foreign policy forever. Paul's against endless wars, so Venezuela and Greenland?  He's probably nay. He voted against Trump on war powers in the past and is "sick of stupid" stuff, as one retiring senator put it.  Paul's not up till 2029, but he's vocal.

Thom Tillis of North Carolina—up in 2026, vulnerable in a swing state.  He's broken with Trump on immigration and January 6 probes. Tillis backed the bipartisan infrastructure bill Trump hated. With Dems gunning for his seat, he might court moderates by standing against Fed meddling.

John Thune from South Dakota, the current Senate GOP leader after McConnell stepped back. Trump's blown him off too, and Thune's hinted at unease with Trump's style.  He's up in 2028, but as leader, if he wants to hold the caucus together, he might allow defections or even join on big votes.

Mike Rounds, also South Dakota, called January 6 a "riot" and Trump's claims "baseless."  He's low-key but could follow Thune.

Joni Ernst from Iowa—up in 2026, she's military vet who's pushed back on Trump's vet insults and foreign isolationism. Iowa's competitive; she might bolt on war powers.

Shelley Moore Capito from West Virginia. She's worked across the aisle on environment and opioids, criticized Trump's tariffs.

That's 10 promising ones: Collins, Murkowski, Cassidy, Cornyn, Paul, Tillis, Thune, Rounds, Ernst, Capito. We've seen five defect on Venezuela already, maybe more on Greenland. Add the reliable Dem 47, and we're at 57—still three short of 60. But Mitch McConnell's still around till his term ends in 2027.  He's no Trump fan anymore, having blamed him for January 6, so could be number 11.  And what about Todd Young from Indiana or Jerry Moran from Kansas? They're quieter moderates who've occasionally shown actual thought.

Just to be clear, this isn't about literal knives, just votes desperately needed to preserve our democracy.  Trump's Caesar act is ramping up with weird grabs for power and publicity.  The Senate's our last bulwark.  If these prospects step up, we might just cloture the hell out of tyranny before it's too late!