Opinion | A gas tax holiday won’t fix Trump’s high gas prices
A gas tax holiday won’t fix Trump’s high gas prices
Pausing the 18-cents-per-gallon federal gas tax will barely make a dent in the surge in costs since the war in Iran began.
The national average price for gas remained above $4.50 per gallon Monday, according to AAA, with little relief on the horizon as the war with Iran remains locked in a stalemate. President Donald Trump said Monday that he would be open to suspending the national gas tax to help with the soaring costs — but it’s a proposal that would do more harm than good in the long term, while providing little immediate help for Americans draining their wallets at the pump.
Trump told CBS News on Monday that a pause on the gas tax is “a great idea” and that when the price of gas does go down, “we’ll let it phase back in.” Later that day, the president told reporters in the Oval Office that the tax would ideally be suspended until “it’s appropriate.” His comments echoed those of Energy Secretary Chris Wright, who told NBC News on Sunday that “all measures that can be taken to lower the price at the pump and lower the prices for Americans, this administration is in support of.”
At present, the federal gas tax adds on 18.4 cents per gallon of regular gasoline, 19.3 cents per gallon for planes and jet fuel and 24.4 cents per gallon on diesel fuel. The money collected goes directly to the Highway Trust Fund, a pool of funding used to pay for federal highway construction and maintenance. But however much Trump would like to temporarily wipe out this tax, only an act of Congress can alter the federal gas tax rate, even to temporarily pause its collection.
Notably, Trump isn’t the first person to think that pausing the tax is a potential political win — and it’s a policy proposal that has crossed political lines. Former Sens. Hillary Clinton, D-N.Y., and John McCain, R-Ariz., proposed a “gas tax holiday” during their presidential nomination bids back in 2008. Former President Joe Biden also called on Congress to pass a suspension back in 2022, as soaring inflation threatened Democrats ahead of the midterms.
The last time a gas tax suspension was under consideration, it was Republicans who were against the pause, mostly to deny any political cover for Biden. This time around, Trump’s backing might shift the dynamic. Senate Democrats already introduced a bill in March to suspend the gas tax until Oct. 1. After Trump’s comments, Rep. Anna Paulina Luna, R-Fla., jumped on board Monday to say that she would be introducing her own proposal as well.
But just because an idea is bipartisan doesn’t make it a good one.
‘Irrational’: House Democrat sounds off on Trump amid soaring gas prices May 10, 2026 / 11:24
Consider that the original proposal from Clinton and McCain was panned, in part because, as Reuters reported at the time, “since refineries cannot increase their supply of gasoline in the space of a few summer months, lower prices will just boost demand and the benefits will flow to oil companies, not consumers.” If put into place today, one economist suggested that a gas tax holiday would only save drivers roughly 60 cents total per trip to the pump, a drop in the tank compared to the $1.50 per gallon leap we’ve seen since Trump launched the Iran war more than two months ago.
If anything, the federal gas tax is already too low. As the Bipartisan Policy Center recently noted, funding for the HTF is already lagging. The fixed amount was last raised since 1993 and hasn’t changed with rising inflation or increased fuel efficiency from cars requiring less gas to fill up a tank. Last year, the fund ran a deficit of nearly $13 billion, according to the Congressional Research Service, with the fund likely to run out entirely by 2028.
The average price for gas in Georgia was $4.03 Monday, lower than in most of the country. That’s due in part to a law signed by Gov. Brian Kemp pausing the state’s gas tax for 60 days. Georgia’s pause ends Friday, and drivers there are already worried about what happens if the 33-cents-per-gallon tax is allowed to snap back into place.
Meanwhile, the funds diverted from the HTF wouldn’t all flow directly back into consumers’ pockets. A 2022 estimate from the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton School found that pauses in state fuel taxes that year only partially went to consumers, with the rest going to corporations. The same is likely true at the federal level, given that gas wholesalers pay the tax up front and gas stations aren’t reaping the same benefits as the major oil companies, leaving them less likely to slash prices by too much.
Graham Platner, a candidate for the Democratic Senate nomination in Maine, has called on eliminating the current federal gas tax altogether and funding highway maintenance with increased taxes on billionaires — but that isn’t exactly likely to fly under the current GOP-controlled Congress.
While I’m all for reducing America’s overreliance on cars to get around, leaving the highways to crumble with no alternative doesn’t seem like the most sound long-term idea.
Yes, as progressives rightly point out, the gas tax is regressive and affects the poorest Americans the most harshly. But there’s already enough of a mania for slashing taxes when politically convenient regardless of the long-term effect. With gas prices likely to remain elevated until next year at the soonest without a sudden change of heart from Iran to open the Strait of Hormuz, a pause in the gas tax could easily become permanent. By treating only the symptom, the disease itself would be allowed to fester, leaving gas prices painfully high and letting politicians off the hook.
Trump is busying himself with everything except affordability ahead of the midterms
Addicted to feeding red meat to the base, Trump is ignoring the one issue that matters most.
President Donald Trump demonstrated a show of electoral force last week that gave off the appearance that he still has the juice. In Indiana’s widely watched Republican primary on Tuesday, Trump’s quest for revenge against seven incumbent state senators who dared resist his edict to gerrymander the state’s electoral maps overwhelmingly succeeded. Some Republican pollsters have said Trump’s ability to decisively oust Republicans who cross him indicates that, despite his recent breaks from some MAGA influencers, he still has a lock on his electoral base.
But looking ahead to November’s midterm elections, Trump’s performance in Indiana is hardly reason for Republican optimism. He still holds tremendous influence over his own party, no doubt. But that seems to be his sole focus these days, as he busies himself with positions designed to allay right-wing activists in policy areas, such as immigration, and provide red meat for the base in ways that are likely to cost the party soft supporters. Meanwhile, he is perpetually ignoring the one thing that could save the GOP in November: delivering on affordability.
Last week the Trump administration turned the dial up on its aggressive deportation agenda. At the Border Security Expo in Phoenix on Tuesday, White House border czar Tom Homan said, “For the people out there saying ‘President Trump’s getting weak on mass deportation,’ you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” He added, “You ain’t seen s**t yet … mass deportations are coming.” And Homeland Security Secretary Markwayne Mullin assured Newsmax viewers on Tuesday that the administration is “still on track” to hit aggressive deportation quotas. “We just are doing it in a different way by using local law enforcement to work with us,” he pointed out.
In recent months, Trump has been forced to realize he has to choose between immigration hawks — who are upset over his retreat from a maximalist posture following federal immigration agents killing Renee Good and Alex Pretti in Minneapolis this winter — and less hawkish Republicans and independents who think he has gone too far in enforcement. After a somewhat more restrained approach for a few months on immigration enforcement, Mullin and Homan’s rhetoric suggests Trump is choosing the immigration hawks. That’s the kind of maneuvering that could set Trump up for worse press in the coming months, and could hurt him with voters outside his diehard base.
Trump was reportedly expected to meet with anti-abortion activists at the White House on Friday, after reports came out that advocates in the movement were upset he has not done more to crack down on access to abortion medications. Historically, Trump has seemed to understand he risks eliciting mass backlash by pandering too much to hard-line anti-abortion activists. But his reported desire to engage with them likely will be read by reproductive rights proponents that even more extreme restrictions on abortion rights could be on the way. Trump, for his part, seems willing to take the gamble.
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‘Not a good sign’ Trump White House was ‘surprised’ by Iran’s resilience: StengelMay 8, 2026 / 08:28
Even the way Trump is handling Iran suggests his audience is far narrower than the general electorate. His comically short-lived and ineffectual “Project Freedom” operation last week was the product of a desperate search for good news to sell the base. Trump’s plan made little sense as a “humanitarian” operation to guide boats out of the Strait of Hormuz, since Iran threatened to attack boats passing through the waterway without its permission. But it did make sense as a (short-term, optics-centric) attempt to pressure Iran by controlling some portion of the strait — clearly at the risk of unraveling the already fragile ceasefire. After Iran attacked a U.S. boat-guiding attempt, Trump backed down, fortunately. But the whole episode captured how much Trump was thinking about a way to sell a micro-victory at home instead of staying focused on the critical issue of ending the war and working to end an economic crisis — and bring down gas prices that are hurting all voters.
Indeed, the economy appears to be far from Trump’s mind and policy agenda. The GOP’s affordable housing legislation is gathering moss in Congress. And Bloomberg reported, “Two executive orders, one aimed at easing access to mortgage credit and another that seeks to streamline regulations for builders, are not yet fully implemented and experts say they would only help marginally.” Meanwhile, Trump remains fixated on a potentially $1 billion ballroom project renovation and rarely carries out messaging on the handful of nominally affordability-focused policies he has passed.
It’s strange watching Trump clobber his own party so thoroughly. Even as his approval ratings plummet and consumer sentiment craters, he remains unable to focus on the cost-of-living grievances that have defined American politics for years now. Instead, out of habit (and maybe out of a desire for reliable affirmation), he goes back to the well of feeding his base instead of taking a broader perspective on Americans. The one thing Trump has going for him going into the midterms at this rate is the Democrats remain deeply unpopular. But Trump is making the lesser of two evils calculation easy for most voters.
The Boy Who Walked Into the Wedding. The Girl Who Stood Up for the Truth.
At first, everyone thought the boy was there to steal something.
He appeared at the entrance of the grand wedding hall like a shadow that had wandered into the wrong dream.
The ballroom glittered with crystal chandeliers, golden curtains, towers of white roses, and guests dressed in silk, satin, and diamonds. Waiters moved between tables carrying trays of champagne. A pianist played softly near the marble dance floor. Everything looked perfect.
And then he walked in.
A skinny teenage boy in dirty white sneakers, an oversized black jacket, and a gray hoodie stained with dust.
The laughter faded.
Heads turned.
Someone whispered, “Is he homeless?”
Another voice muttered, “Security.”
The boy ignored them all.
His dark hair fell over his forehead. His face was pale, smudged with dirt, but his eyes were strangely calm. He walked through the crowd as if he already knew exactly where he belonged.
And then he stopped.
Not in front of the bride.
Not in front of the groom.
But in front of the girl in the wheelchair.
Her name was Clara.
She was sixteen, dressed in a pale-blue gown that shimmered under the chandeliers. Her long brown hair was pinned back with a pearl clip, but her hands were folded tightly in her lap, as if she were trying to disappear.
All evening, people had smiled at her with pity.
They told her she looked beautiful.
They told her she was brave.
But no one asked her to dance.
The boy looked at her and said, “I’ll dance with you.”
The room went silent.
Clara’s eyes widened.
Her mother, standing near the head table, gasped. The groom frowned. The bride placed a hand over her mouth.
Clara looked down at her useless legs.
“I can’t dance,” she whispered.
The boy did not move.
“I can’t walk.”
A painful stillness spread across the ballroom.
The boy slowly held out his hand.
Then he said the words that made every guest stop breathing.
“I’ll make you walk.”
Someone laughed nervously.
Someone else said, “That’s cruel.”
A security guard stepped forward, but Clara raised one trembling hand.
“Wait,” she said.
Her voice was barely audible, but everyone heard it.
The boy crouched in front of her.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Eli.”
“Do you know me?”
His jaw tightened.
“I know enough.”
Clara frowned.
Something about his voice made her heart beat faster. It was not the voice of a stranger. It carried pain. It carried memory.
Her mother rushed toward them.
“Clara, don’t listen to him. He’s confused.”
Eli turned his head slowly.
“No,” he said. “I’m the only one here who isn’t.”
A murmur rippled through the guests.
Clara’s father, Richard Vale, stood from the front table. He was the owner of half the hotels in the city, a man whose smile appeared on charity posters and business magazines.
His voice was cold.
“Remove him.”
Two guards moved in.
Eli didn’t resist. He simply reached into his jacket and pulled out a small silver key.
The moment Clara saw it, her breath caught.
It was shaped like a tiny bird.
Her pendant.
The one she had lost on the night of the accident.
The night everything changed.
Clara’s voice shook.
“Where did you get that?”
Eli looked at her.
“You gave it to me.”
The ballroom erupted in whispers.
Clara’s mind flashed backward.
Rain on glass.
Headlights.
Her father yelling.
A boy screaming her name.
Then darkness.
For three years, Clara had believed the accident was her fault.
She had been told she ran into the road.
She had been told a strange boy tried to help her.
She had been told he disappeared.
But Eli was standing in front of her now.
Alive.
Broken.
Forgotten.
Her father’s face had gone pale.
“Clara,” he said carefully, “this boy is lying.”
Eli stood.
“No. You lied.”
The bride whispered, “What is happening?”
Eli pointed at Richard.
“That night, Clara didn’t run into the road. You did. You were drunk. You hit us both.”
A shocked gasp tore through the ballroom.
Clara’s mother covered her mouth.
Richard’s expression hardened.
“That is insane.”
Eli’s voice cracked, but he kept going.
“You paid people to erase everything. You told the hospital I was a runaway. You told Clara I was nobody.”
Clara stared at her father.
“Dad?”
Richard stepped toward her.
“Sweetheart, don’t let him upset you.”
But Clara was no longer looking at him.
She was looking at Eli.
At the scar near his eyebrow.
At the way his hand trembled.
At the silver bird key in his palm.
A memory struck her so hard she nearly cried out.
She remembered holding that same hand.
She remembered a boy pushing her away from headlights.
She remembered him whispering, “Don’t be scared. I’ve got you.”
Clara’s tears spilled over.
“You saved me.”
Eli swallowed.
“I tried.”
The room fell into a stunned silence.
Then Richard said, “Enough.”
He grabbed Clara’s wheelchair handles.
But Eli moved faster.
“Don’t touch her.”
Richard’s mask cracked.
“You filthy little street rat.”
The words echoed.
Every guest heard them.
Phones rose.
Cameras recorded.
Richard realized too late what he had done.
Clara’s hands tightened on the wheels of her chair.
For the first time in three years, she looked at her father not with dependence, but with horror.
“You knew him,” she whispered. “You knew who he was.”
Richard said nothing.
Eli stepped closer to Clara.
“Your legs were injured, yes. But not destroyed.”
Clara froze.
“What?”
Eli looked toward her mother.
“The doctors said she might walk again with treatment. But he stopped it.”
Clara’s mother began to sob.
Richard shouted, “Shut up!”
But it was too late.
Eli pulled a folded envelope from his jacket.
“I found the medical report. The real one.”
Clara’s mother stumbled backward.
Richard lunged for the envelope, but the groom stepped between them.
“Don’t,” he said.
Eli handed the envelope to Clara.
Her fingers trembled as she opened it.
The words blurred through tears.
Partial spinal trauma. High recovery potential. Intensive therapy recommended.
Clara’s lips parted.
High recovery potential.
Not impossible.
Not hopeless.
Her whole world tilted.
For three years, her father had told her walking again would never happen.
For three years, he had kept her weak, dependent, silent.
Why?
Then she looked across the room at the wedding decorations. At the cameras. At the reporters invited to capture Richard Vale’s “charity wedding donation” announcement later that night.
And she understood.
Her wheelchair had made him look noble.
Her suffering had become his brand.
Her pain had sold his kindness to the world.
Clara let out a broken sound.
“You used me.”
Richard’s face twisted.
“I protected you.”
“No,” she whispered. “You buried me alive.”
Eli knelt again.
His voice softened.
“Clara, I don’t know if you can walk far. I don’t know if it will hurt. But I know this.”
He held out his hand.
“You were never as broken as he made you believe.”
Every eye in the ballroom fixed on Clara.
Her heart pounded.
Her body shook.
Fear screamed inside her.
What if she fell?
What if Eli was wrong?
What if everyone watched her fail?
Then she looked at her father.
And suddenly, falling didn’t scare her as much as staying seated forever.
She placed her hand in Eli’s.
A gasp spread through the room.
“Clara, don’t,” Richard warned.
She ignored him.
Eli gently placed one arm around her shoulders.
“On three,” he whispered.
She closed her eyes.
“One.”
Her fingers dug into his sleeve.
“Two.”
The wheelchair creaked beneath her.
“Three.”
Clara pushed down with everything she had.
Pain shot through her legs.
Her knees buckled.
The crowd gasped.
Eli held her tighter.
“Look at me,” he said.
“I’m scared,” she cried.
“I know.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
Her legs trembled violently. Sweat gathered at her temples. Her breath came in sharp, broken bursts.
Then, slowly—
impossibly—
Clara stood.
For one second, no one moved.
No one spoke.
The entire ballroom seemed frozen inside that single miracle.
Then Clara took one tiny step.
Her mother screamed.
Not in fear.
In joy.
The guests erupted. Some cried. Some clapped. Some simply stared as if they had witnessed the world split open.
Clara collapsed into Eli’s arms, sobbing.
“I walked,” she whispered.
Eli’s eyes filled with tears.
“You did.”
Richard turned to leave.
But the doors opened.
Two police officers stepped in.
Behind them stood an older woman in a nurse’s uniform.
Clara recognized her immediately.
Nurse Helen.
The woman who had disappeared from the hospital after Clara’s accident.
Helen pointed at Richard.
“That’s him,” she said. “He paid me to switch the records.”
Richard’s face drained of color.
The officers moved toward him.
“This is absurd!” he shouted. “Do you know who I am?”
Eli answered quietly.
“A man who thought money could erase the truth.”
Richard was handcuffed in front of everyone.
The cameras captured it all.
The perfect wedding had become a public trial.
But the twist was not finished.
As Richard was dragged away, he suddenly laughed.
Cold.
Ugly.
Desperate.
“You think he came back for justice?” he spat at Clara. “Ask him why he really came.”
Clara turned to Eli.
Eli went still.
Richard smiled like a dying snake.
“Tell her, boy.”
The room grew quiet again.
Clara’s voice trembled.
“Eli?”
He looked down.
For the first time all night, he looked afraid.
“I didn’t just come because of the accident.”
Clara’s heart sank.
“What does that mean?”
Eli reached into his jacket one final time.
This time, he pulled out a faded hospital bracelet.
Clara stared at it.
Her name was on it.
But beside it was another name.
Twin: Male.
Clara stopped breathing.
Her mother let out a strangled cry.
“No,” Clara whispered.
Eli’s eyes shone with tears.
“I was in the car too,” he said. “Not as a stranger.”
Clara’s world went silent.
Eli’s voice broke.
“I was your brother.”
The ballroom disappeared.
The guests vanished.
There was only Eli, holding the bracelet between them.
Her twin brother.
The boy she had forgotten.
The boy her father had abandoned because two injured children would ruin the story.
One disabled daughter made Richard look tragic and heroic.
A homeless son proved he was a monster.
Clara covered her mouth.
Memories returned like lightning.
A little boy laughing beside her.
Two children sharing cake with their fingers.
A silver bird pendant split into two keys.
A voice in the dark saying, “Don’t be scared. I’ve got you.”
Clara reached toward Eli.
“You were my brother?”
Eli nodded, tears slipping down his dirty cheeks.
“I waited for you to remember me.”
Clara sobbed and pulled him into her arms.
This time, the room did not clap.
No one dared.
Because this was not a performance.
This was a family being resurrected from a grave built by lies.
Her mother fell to her knees beside them, crying harder than either of them had ever heard.
“I thought you were dead,” she whispered to Eli. “He told me you died.”
Eli closed his eyes.
“I almost did.”
Clara held him tighter.
The reporters lowered their cameras.
Even the bride cried.
Outside, police lights flashed against the golden windows.
Inside, Clara stood once more—not perfectly, not steadily, but with Eli’s arm around her and her mother holding her other hand.
Together, they faced the crowd.
The girl who had been used as a symbol of weakness had just exposed the empire built on her silence.
The homeless boy who had been thrown away had returned as the only person brave enough to tell the truth.
And Richard Vale, the man everyone had admired, was remembered forever not for his wealth, his charity, or his grand wedding hall—
but for the night his daughter stood up, his son came home, and every lie he had buried finally learned how to walk.
