My day-in-the-life take of a (Jan. 6) Trump rioter...you know, the person celebrated by would-be rioters on Sept. 18
The banality of Trump's evil
In anticipation of starting up the CMary:The Resistant Grandmother column in Substack, I thought about the Jan. 6 rally and the kind of people who took part. And then as Sept. 18 loomed, I thought it might be useful to create the image of a composite rioter, based on information of those being indicted and prosecuted as of this date.
Who were (are) the Jan. 6 rioters?
It turns out that most were males under the age of 65, unlike the image many of us had before that data was available that they’d be 60 years or older. The majority were employed--either self or otherwise. And most were “freelance” rioters not associated with groups like the Oath Keepers or Proud Boys, although they were influenced by those groups’ postings on social media.
The two top states sending the rioters were Florida and Texas. But rioters came from as many as 29 states including “Blue” Massachusetts and California. The majority were married, or had been, and had children. Almost all had a predilection for guns.
They also came predominantly from areas that were changing demographically, quickly, and this threatened them personally and what they considered the Ameri-can way of life.
The rioter in the following piece fits the criteria of the many Jan. 6 rioters in terms of personal lifestyle, biases, motives, and frenzied loyalties to Trump in spite of consequences to them and their families.
Banality of Evil: the thoughtlessness of “followers”
Also, I especially hoped to bring home the notion of the “banality of evil” --a phrase coined by philosopher Hannah Arendt while watching the trial in Israel of Nazi SS Officer Adolf Eichmann. It describes how evil can be performed out of “thoughtlessness,” a “disengagement from the reality of evil acts,” and “inability to think from the standpoint of somebody else.” It is often found more in “joiners” rather than leaders. But the joiners are powerful in that they are the ones who allow evil to take root and grow.
A day in the life of a Trump rioter
The following imagined day-in-the-life of one such man on Jan. 6. contains profanity and racial slurs—the kind Capitol police officers testified was common among the rioters. So if that would offend you, it’s best not to read on. It is also written using the kind of conversational colloquialisms and inattention to grammar that many of us—not just rioters— use in every day speech.
It picks up at shortly after noon, as some rioters leave the Trump Rally to begin their way to the Capitol, having been egged on by Trump.
🌀
In “Rick’s” voice…
I’m Rick and our small group of me and two others leave Trump’s longass speech on the Ellipse about 50 minutes early, at 12:20 p.m., to begin our two-mile slog down Pennsylvania Avenue toward the Capitol. By now, Trump has said enough for us to know what’s expected: a takeover of Congress to keep it from making Biden president. So I’m here to have Trump’s back.
Earlier on the way to the rally, I was glad I’d worn the wool MAGA hat I’d borrowed from a Proud Boy guy from one of those coldass Northern states staying at the motel, and that I didn’t wear my MAGA baseball cap.
Thank God the 30-something-degree weather just doesn’t happen where I come from in Central Texas. But the walk to the Capitol wouldn’t take long, and then me and the others would be inside.
As we walked, I couldn’t forget Trump’s words just before we left the rally. They burned into me like a branding iron on a Texas steer: “You’ll never take back our country with weakness. You have to show strength and you have to be strong.”
Right! I thought to himself. Take it back. This country’s goin’ to hell. It used to be I could walk down the street without seeing a spic or a nigger in 15, 20 minutes. Now, there are more of them than whites. This has gone too far. I’ve got to make sure Trump stays President so we can keep them out--or in their place. With Biden, they’ll be taking over the whole fuckin’ county...hell, the whole fuckin’ country.
And damn it, that’s what the Second Amendment is all about--isn’t it? No one can take away your guns because you might need them some day to rise up against the government. If the government does something wrong or encroaches on your rights, your guns are there to right the wrong. I didn’t bring a gun to Washington, although a lot of people did. But the principle applies: thinking people, like the white guys who founded our government, could break the law to right a wrong. But this privilege does not apply to your typical Black rioter. He’s just gonna tear the place up. That’s not fair to the rest of us. We get to decide what laws to break.
Personal Invitation
On our way to the Capitol, I looked back over my shoulder and saw that Trump was nowhere near finished with that gasbag speech of his. It’s funny he’s talking so long, I thought, because Trump said he’d walk down to the Capitol with us. You’d think that the “You’ll never take back our country with weakness” part would be the cue to start moving. Oh well, we’ll just have to get the party started on our own…”
Because of the growing crowd, I stayed close to the two Texas guys I drove up with. A few weeks ago, I’d found them by posting a message on Parler saying I needed a ride to the Trump rally. Just before Christmas, I seen Trump’s Tweet saying, “Big protest in D.C. on January 6th. Be there, will be wild!” Pretty cool, I thought. Practically a personal invitation from the President. I thought of driving by myself, but I couldn’t leave my wife and kids without a car, and didn’t want to take the roofing truck with the business name plastered on both sides.
As we got closer to the front of the Capitol, it looked like the hundreds, maybe even thousands, had gotten the same idea of not waiting around for Trump. It looked like what began as a loose combination of mostly men but some women was quickly forming into organized wedges of people preparing for a fight. Many seemed to know each other and have military-style training, clothes, and equipment. A few of us carried almost no equipment, while others were decked out with walkie talkies, helmets, shields, zip ties, and Kevlar vests.
I could see by the printing--gun outlines--on their jackets and pants that more than just a few of them were packing. As everyone was starting to form up, I saw the Proud Boy who had loaned me the wool MAGA hat. This time he introduced himself as “Dave” and admitted loudly he didn’t have faith that Trump would show up here. “Trump’s too weak. He’s never coming. It’s all up to us.”
Fuckin’ warzone
Knowing the two riders and me were not attached to a larger group, he asked if we wanted to join his Proud Boys friends who were leading the charge up the steps of the Capitol. I could see he was packing by looking into his open jacket; a gun was tucked into his waistband. So I turned down the invitation. Rioting was one thing; gun battles were another. But one of the two guys I was with said yes, and took off with Dave. The Proud Boys made their way up to the top of the Capitol stairs and began to take a leadership position. They and some others stoked the crowd by waving their arms and yelling, “D.C.’s a mother fuckin’ warzone!” and “Take the fuckin’ Capitol!” The crowd went wild.
A few minutes later, I lost track of the remaining guy I drove up with as the crowd came together into one even larger, angrier wedge and began surging toward the entrance. Whether I wanted to or not, I was now caught up in the Proud Boys group pulsing its way in. Again, I was surprised to see only a few police there. This would be a fuckin’ piece of cake, I thought. The crowd immediately took advantage of our much bigger numbers by at first screaming insults at the cops and then quickly engaging in aggressive hand-to-hand combat. We were in it to win it, and believed our larger numbers meant victory would be a sure thing.
Into the Swing
Everyone including me began using anything they brought or could find on the premises as weapons--American flags, Trump flags, Q’Anon flags, Confederate flags, Blue Lives Matter flags, Fuck Biden signs, bear spray, Mace, metal piping, fire extinguishers, torn up fencing, and parts of dismembered bike racks--whatever was around. So when someone dropped a fire extinguisher in order to begin tasering one of the poor cop bastards, I picked it up and threw it at the cop about 10 feet away. The blow threw him to the ground, and I don’t really know what happened after that.
I hadn’t thought it would become violent so quickly or that I would join in. I don’t know what I was thinking or what I expected. But here we were--everybody yelling and screaming, throwing things, pushing, spraying, and stripping weapons from any cop in our way.
This went on for hours, despite or because of the small police presence. As cops on the outside were fighting hand-to-hand, Braveheart style, others on the inside were trying to calm the crowd in order to stall us off or sending us on wild goose chases. But by about 2:30 we had made our way to just outside the House of Representatives. Peering in through the shattered windows we broke, there were still a lot of people inside the Chamber because some gasbag Congressman had to finish his gasbag speech. People in the crowd were breaking glass with their fists or with ripped off police riot shields. Eventually, though, people in Congress started evacuating while some stayed behind to stack the biggest furniture they could find to shore up
the door.
The Way In
That barrier led one of the Proud Boys to scout around the Capitol, which by then the rioters had taken over completely. He came back pretty quick and said we’d have a better chance if we moved from the front of the House to the rear entrance on the other side of the Capitol. That sounded good to me and about a hundred others, so right away we took the new route around the building to the back of the House. The rear entrance door was guarded by only three cops with guns that were holstered and no riot gear. But in a few minutes, some D.C. cops with riot gear arrived to beef up protection here at the rear of the House. When they arrived the other three cops left to make room for them and that gave us the chance to move right in front of the doors and start breaking the glass. The chants “Trump, Trump, Trump!” rang out so loud and steady they helped the crowd smash through the door glass and then push against the doors to get through.
So now the only thing keeping us from taking over the Chamber with Congresspeople still flooding out was another thin line of Capitol police a little better equipped with shields, helmets, and vests, but not firmly in front of the door. The only real protection was about three or four police on the other side of the doors with guns pointed right at us. All of us in the rows right in front of what was left of the doors could see them and their guns.
A couple of people in our crowd even said, “There’s a gun!” or “Look, they've got guns!” two or three times. But that didn’t stop one of our rioters, a woman I would later come to know as Ashli Babbitt. Wearing a red backpack, Babbitt got up to vault through one of the shredded door windows and be the first person to make it into the Chamber. But as she did, one of the armed cops fired, and the woman fell backward from a blast to her upper chest. She wasn’t dead yet, and someone was calling 911...not sure who. It was all pretty sickening, but we had work to do and left her there since an ambulance would probably be on its way soon.
Our House Now!
Finally, we broke through the Capitol cops stationed behind the rear entrance and entered the House chamber. Once inside, people started celebrating, saying it was all OK because it was “our house now” and yelling, “Trump sent us!” and “Trump, Trump!” We took selfies, rifled through desks, and almost immediately began chanting for Pelosi. In addition to Mike Pence, Pelosi was the other prime target, and they kept taunting her because of what we were here to do. “Here we come, Nancy!” and “Oh, N-a-n-c-y, where are you?” and “Where are you, you fucking bitch?” they singsonged.
After finding Pelosi’s offices behind the Chamber, some of the rioters started calling one of the Proud Boys who had his feet up on a conference table, “the next Speaker.” Thinking back, it’s funny because I had called Pelosi a bitch out loud or to myself practically every day for the last 10 years or so. But unlike the taunters, I had not signed on for any murders. And yet, more and more, it seemed that this ultimate form of violence would be served up next on the crowd’s plate.
Meanwhile, hundreds more protesters were streaming into the building because of all the Capitol’s breached entrances, including the Inauguration portal that would be used in a few weeks. Later that day during the mob’s push through one of the tunnels, another rioter died, someone named Roseanne Boyland. She’d die from a drug overdose which wasn't helped by her at first getting trampled by the crowd. She was pulled out to make it easier to get medical help.
Not Since 1812
So the takeover of the Capitol was a fucking success many times over. Christ, someone said something like this hadn’t happened since the War of 1812, whatever that was. But we still didn’t achieve our main goal of stopping the Electoral count for Biden. Many of us just stayed in the building for a few more hours to soak it all in, but then began thinking about leaving. No Congress members were anywhere near the House or Senate that we could see. It turned out the cowards were whisked to safety somewhere.
And stopping the counting turned out to be impossible without members of the House and Senate around. Plus, there were rumors that the National Guard would be arriving any minute now. And going up against them would be a whole new ballgame. When the National Guard secured the building, that meant police could switch from saving the Capitol and preventing harm to themselves and lawmakers, to arresting us. Best to hightail it out of here and head back to the motel. As I was still separated from the other two drivers, I’d have to reconnect with them there.
Headin’ Home
Traffic was blocked off all around Capitol Hill, so the only way to get to where we were staying was to hoof it the three miles back. One of the two guys I drove up with was already there. But the third wasn’t--he’d stayed with his new friends and got word to us he’d make it back to Texas with the Proud Boy Lone Star State contingent. The remaining Texan and me decided to start driving back that night, before things got hotter in D.C.
During the car ride home to Texas, I wondered what the reaction would be once I got there. I looked forward to my wife’s warm welcome, and the heroic status I’d have gained in my mid-sized Central Texas town that generally backed Trump 100 percent. I’d heard on the car radio how the FBI was drilling down hard on identifying the rioters through any means possible--high tech and otherwise. But I also liked to think that Trump was sure to take care of us. Hell, as long as he’s president he could still pardon everyone who had his back that day. Just as he’s done for everyone else who’s broken the law and could help him out.
All’s Quiet on the Western Front—in Texas, (for now)
Just as I expected, when I got back home my wife was still all OK with the trip. No hassles. But I did notice some changes with the kids and uppity neighbors. My 10-year-old boy wanted to hear all about the riot, over and over. The violence on TV excited him, so this is now pretty much the only way he wants to connect with me. Tell me some more stories, dad.
My five-year-old daughter, usually a fun little gal, has now turned shy and frightened, hiding behind her mother whenever I walk in the room. She doesn’t want me to tickle her anymore. She hasn’t begged for a horsey-back ride since I came back.
That’s different.
The uncertain road ahead
Beginning with my arrest, my wife is also now giving me the cold shoulder. It started when two federal marshals showed up a couple weeks later and arrested me for obstructing an official proceeding of Congress, assaulting a police officer, and illegally breaking into federal property. The Feds were tipped off by the December “need a ride” post on Parler…that and a picture taken of me by a plain-clothes FBI agent who was in the crowd and saw me throwing the fire extinguisher at the cop.
Facing almost 30 years in prison means hugeass legal bills--all at a time when my roofing business has pretty much collapsed. Not because of going to Washington--there are plenty of people in town who support Trump and wouldn’t hold the riot against me or my business. But it’s more because of the stigma of getting caught and then being on the hook for all these lawyer bills. Specially since my lawyers are two Jew boys and one Black guy. When I’m walking around town, the usual greeting is, “Oh, how great you went there to support our President.” But then I can hear the snickering behind my back. Or worse, they speak the Southern code phrase, “Oh, dear. Well, bless your heart!” which, translated, means “What a loser, you poor sap.”
So now I’m going through some sort of reckoning I hadn’t quite figured on. I ask myself if I am, bottom line, sorry for being part of it. To be honest, the answer is, Hell, yes. For one thing, we didn’t accomplish much beyond making a lot of noise and stinking up the place: Congress still accepted the Electoral College votes, Biden was sworn in as president, and Trump is out. And don’t it beat all that those scumbags Pelosi and McConnell got the Electoral College results certified and that Vice President Scumbag didn’t object in spite of all our trouble. And they did it by making everyone stay somewhere in the Capitol past midnight to finish the job.
The Coward
I’ve also gone through a reckoning about Trump himself. First of all, I’ve lost a lot of respect for him. I haven’t said so out loud because he’s still so damn popular in my state. But he’s lost points with his lie about walking to the Capitol with the protesters and then not doing it. Instead, he goes back to watch everything on TV in the nice, warm White House. Coward. He hustles us into trouble, and then waltzes off scot-free to Florida and lives like a king. And no pardons before he leaves. How do you
like that?
And now it’s also clear he’s been lying about a lot of other things, like not having to wear masks to keep us from getting the virus. Yeah, one of my other D.C. souvenirs was getting Covid, from being around people all day yelling and screaming in everybody’s face.
Wearing a mask would have gotten me laughed at, beaten up, and left for dead before I even got to the Capitol, so that’s why I passed. But maybe not getting there wouldn’t have been such a bad thing after all, given the fuckin’ mess I’m in now. Funny thing, though, I still think Trump should be president. And I’ll help him get back in office any way I can. If I ever get through this mess, that is.