A riot is the language of the unheard.

So said Martin Luther King, Jr.

I moved to Washington DC in September, partly because I had to choose a place in the country to ride out the pandemic for a while and partly because I found my attention and focus dominated by the political events unfolding in our time, so why not experience some of that up close?

What follows is a bit of what I’ve experienced and perceived at Black Lives Matter protests and pro-Trump rallies that culminated in the events at the Capitol building on January 6th.

September 23, 2020: Protest after the Kentucky Attorney General announces no significant charges in the killing of Breonna Taylor

I looked up at St. John’s church, fenced off and immortalized as the setting for the President’s photo op holding a bible in June. As I looked at the group gathered before me- Black, Hispanic, and Caucasian, some in street clothes, some in amateur tactical gear, most in black- I couldn’t avoid the sense that the tear gas from that June day still hung in the air for these protesters. Many had bandanas, gas masks and milk or baking soda ready to combat chemical irritants; there was a team of helmeted medics on hand with supplies, and a squadron of bicyclists that functioned like a cavalry unit, scouting ahead and providing a buffer between the group and an opposing squadron of police bicyclists. They somehow had the feel of both a small army unit and a caring community full of people there to protect and support one another however they could; there was even a man in hippie pants riding an electric skateboard using a trash picker to clean the streets along the way. There were also a few who had umbrellas and would attempt to block the view of photographers, fearful of police using published images to trump up charges.

Most everyone was angry; a few seemed there either to take the instagram shot or because they just wanted to feel dangerous. But those who spoke were full of wearied fury; they had been making these speeches for too long now, about too many victims. The fence to the White House was covered with memorials to black victims of police violence, civil rights icons, and rage at the President and system they feel so betrayed by. One woman says she doesn’t know who to say in response to “Say her name”- there are so many victims she knows. Police stood guard, and received a little personal excoriation from some protesters; but most all of the chanting and derision seemed more abstract, directed to an entire system of which these few in uniform were just a part.

We moved together, and constantly adjusted our pace to keep the column from being too spread out- and vulnerable to police. Bicycles maneuvered back and forth, with one constant line at the back; lines of police were always behind them, all on bicycles themselves. The chants were recycled, each of them well-rehearsed: “Black Lives Matter”, “Say Her Name”, “Breonna Taylor”, “Whose Streets? Our Streets!”, “No Justice, No Peace”, longer rhythmic cheers and call and response; “Fuck 12” was repeated often, which I took to mean a reference to cops. There were a few who drummed on different implements, and a rolling DJ or two. We were told we were here to help ‘wake people up to what’s going on’, and went on a path by upscale condos, town-homes and apartments in the Dupont Circle and Adams Morgan neighborhoods.

Near the beginning, a tall man joined carrying a baseball bat with something metal on the end; he and some others hit a few random street signs along the way, and then when we got to Dupont Circle he cracked a window to a Starbucks and a PNC Bank. I was completely depressed at the sight; what good was this doing? I felt the anger here, made worse by this sense of helplessness against a vast system; but practically, all a smashed window does is inconvenience those franchise owners, or worse. And it only strengthens the stance of the people who oppose or deny this movement for justice. I stopped as the group continued on past the circle, and stared at the broken windows. You can both claim that corporations like this are part of the problem and make your point without smashing a window, right? It all seemed so pointless, and maybe even selfish.

I re-joined after a little while; I still wanted to see what would happen, what was going to come of all this. I saw some of the leaders of the march take the baseball bat man aside, and then saw him leave the march. I can’t say what was said between them, but they repeated to the crowd that we didn’t want violence; from there on a couple individuals flipped over chairs at a Philz coffee (??) and tossed aside a stray road barricade, but there was no other damage done. Police in riot gear greeted us, and things got a little heated when some police would try to run to the side and ahead of the group; it all seemed unnecessary, as there were always police ahead of us blocking certain routes. They even gathered at a McDonalds in Adams Morgan for some reason to keep it out of our grasp- I’m not sure if there was a plan or anything. There were rumors that they had arrested someone and taken them away from the back of the group, but I never heard for sure.

Mostly, it seemed like a rough routine for what had been months of protest activity; heavy precautions taken by either side, and a sort of moving stalemate. We definitely woke a lot of people up, at least physically; some stood in the windows and watched, some cheered us on, a few were implored to join and jumped in. There were moments where it felt like- this is actually doing something, at least. Maybe someone talks to a family member about the Breonna Taylor situation, or how it is that such excessive force tends to be used against citizens who are black versus those who are white. Maybe this helps incite someone who is watching into being more active for justice.

And maybe that’s just what I want to believe. I think there many there like me; who hoped it would do some good, but also did it because we just wanted to feel like we were doing something. And there were people there who truly felt like this was life and death for them; who had lost friends and loved ones, had personally experienced things I can’t even imagine as a part of daily life in their skin- yet came here to turn that experience into positive action, to fight for what their lost loved ones will never have.

But there were also some who looked lost in their passion and certainty, who got into shouting matches with random patrons or passersby; they threw out condemnation instead of reason, dismissed anyone who wasn’t sufficiently ‘with them’, and repeated that “inaction is complicity”. That last point may be correct, but the selfishness that dominated their tone only seemed to harm their stated aims. Along with the two broken windows and scattered furniture, those shouting matches worked to temper how I felt at the end of the night. What good was done? I don’t know; my last view of the night was the diminished group of protesters walking through an empty traffic circle bathed in red and blue light, then the remaining bicycle squad, with an older white woman on a bike alone in front of the police bicycle squad, chanting “Black Lives Matter”. It could all have been kabuki theater.

Of course, I think the activists would say the equivalency I made in the above paragraph is the point; I am talking about two broken windows and a history of injustice as if they are the same in some way. We tend to demand that those advocating for justice do it in a perfectly nonviolent manner, but accept that the state must use force to ‘keep the peace’. Are we really holding those in power accountable for the violence that they use? Force may be necessary at times, but we’ve accepted pervasive violence to such a degree that our first call when we see an emergency is to agents of the state armed with deadly weapons, no matter the situation; we hope that they are all as perfect in their nonviolence as we demand our protesters to be, but they are also just as human. Throw out all the academic arguments for a moment- is this system really fair to everyone? Really what we want? And how do we change that?

I wish we had more of these conversations, and less simple accounting of the errors on either side.

The next few months had a number of protests around the election and various news events, but I didn’t join any in full. I noticed some of the same faces, and saw some of the patterns- the shared meals and gatherings they would have before they went to protest and raise awareness that night, and the way they took care of each other. But also some of the jargon that seemed dissonant to me; the warfare talk, the way ‘enemy’ could be a shifting definition; and from a few, the sense that being on a megaphone in front of the crowd was more about being on a megaphone in front of a crowd than any specific issue. But from what I could tell, there was little to no property damage or direct confrontations. “Tensions remain high” would be a common tweet alert I would see, but things seemed to continue apace- a couple black victims or two, tense but nonviolent nights with the police.

As the election neared, there was general fear of what would happen; the network of protesters was prepared to defend against white nationalist groups they thought might move in if Trump lost, and businesses throughout town boarded up in anticipation of unrest. But for the days that we watched results come in, it was eerily quiet; some of the preparation always seemed a little overly anxious, and as each day went by peacefully it all looked somewhat absurd. Then, the results were announced on a Saturday morning and the entire city exploded- in celebration.

It was spontaneous and as utterly joyful as I’ve ever seen a population in my life. Every circle in the city was full of people celebrating, with cars honking exuberantly on every open street; but it all centered on Black Lives Matter plaza, the center of so much protest and symbolic repression right in view of the White House. It felt like a giant societal release, the parting of a cloud that had been omnipresent for years now. I don’t think anyone was under the delusion that big changes, the right changes were coming; it was more that a certain era seemed to be ending. One song rang out from every corner- the rap “Fuck Donald Trump”.

A week later, the first pro-Trump march happened: the “Million MAGA March” didn’t quite have a million people, but there were definitely more than 10,000 who came to support the President. I watched the march a while on Pennsylvania Avenue; it seemed to be a lot of fairly ordinary white people, very peaceful, with pockets of Chinese pro-democracy groups and religious groups and anti-abortion groups. I also saw the more militant-looking groups- the Proud Boys, who chanted about being proud of being white male western chauvinists, and other groups I didn’t recognize but looked familiar from news stories. As the march waned there was a lot of drinking, and a lot of chanting “Fuck-An-ti-fa”.

I also saw a familiar face- a guy in an orange vest with a Jesus Saves sign; he had shown up in the middle of the night at the Supreme Court, where hundreds were quietly honoring the sudden death of Ruth Bader Ginsburg, and repeatedly shouted “Jesus Saves” at everyone while not wearing a mask. He did this for 45 minutes straight, until everyone basically left. Here at the march he had a few friends in similar dress, carrying signs just like him.

The day had begun with a video being spread of white women tearing down the memorials that hung on the fence at Black Lives Matter; the network of protesters in town was angry, and there were multiple skirmishes on the edges of the march in which no one involved looked good- furious epitaphs, taunting, and physical violence. A few DC protesters were reportedly stabbed. It was enough to be unsettling, but the election results seemed pretty clear by that point and I think we all just wanted to get to the end of this transition period…

The next rally, though, became far more violent. I saw dueling groups of mostly black and mostly white groups provoke each other and circle around to each other; there were actual melees, and more people stabbed. The center of attention, as always, was Black Lives Matter; pro-Trump groups tried to get to the same memorials, tried to cover up the Black Lives Matter letters, and by the end of the night they roamed around the city tearing down Black Lives Matter signs and vandalizing historic Black Churches. I saw the beginnings of this, did not see the fruition, and felt very uneasy about what seemed a clear escalation of violence.

In advance of the rally the President promised would be “big and wild”, everyone in DC was warned to stay away by the police chief and the mayor. There were multiple reports of violent elements coming in, like the Proud Boys I had seen before, who had been planning this for weeks. Hotels and businesses shut down in the downtown area, including the ones that had been the home base of these groups. I went down the night before, which had its own rally, and saw some of the groups on the prowl; dressed in para-military outfits that didn’t provide camouflage in an urban city, they walked around an empty downtown chanting “Fuck-An-ti-fa”. No one was out to be provoked this time, though, so they eventually turned their attention to Black Lives Matter…and with no one else to fight, they started fighting with the police there, I assume to try to get to the same memorials.

January 6, 2021: ‘Stop the Steal’

The moment I saw the crowd gathered at the foot of the Washington Monument, I realized this was not a meager last gasp; this was the Super Bowl, and all of the fans were there for one team. Though it was cold and overcast, the mood was festive and fervent; I saw tin foil hats and revolutionary war costumes and more bizarre outfits amidst a sea of Trump merchandise. The sheer propensity of flags was bewildering; there were some of Trump as Arnold Schwarzenegger in the movie Predator, some replications of revolutionary-era American flags, some “Don’t Tread On Me”, some anti-abortion banners with pictures of fetuses, some plain “Fuck Biden” flags, many flags featuring guns, random flags from other countries (I think I saw Georgia?), a lot of flags that merged Trump and the stars and stripes in some way, and the ubiquitous Trump 2020 (or 2024) flags with either “Fuck Your Feelings” or “Make America Great”. It was a sporting event and convention all wrapped up into one; but while there were clearly some elements of pure chicanery, the vast majority seemed to be fairly ordinary people (including neighbors from my own youth) who had shown up because they thought something was going to happen, that this was a historic day- and that their team was America. The true America.

There were some who looked at me or greeted me warmly, and some who looked at me warily or yelled something about my mask; I tried to be as nonplussed and humdrum as possible, just another set of eyes in the crowd. I was walking into the crowd as Rudy Giuliani said what I thought sounded like “trial by combat” to cheers, but I couldn’t be sure. While we waited an hour for Trump to appear, I heard people meet each other and share stories or theories; there was a palpable familiar thrill, of finding people from around the country who seemed to share your convictions. I’d say it was equal parts support of Trump and disdain for Biden-Antifa-Democrats-Journalists. Through the day I heard many, many warnings that if we didn’t win the communists would win, communists broadly meaning everyone who was an enemy.

I also saw the same groups of men I had seen from earlier rallies; in paramilitary gear of varying professionalism, often with walkie talkies and some element of camouflage. They perturbed me, but it seemed the crowd accepted that they were all 'patriots’ gathered for the same cause. There was also the familiar sight of Chinese people, handing out leaflets against the Chinese Communist Party- which it was clear was to be equated with the incoming Biden administration. Everyone around me seemed to truly believe that they were here for free speech, for the soul of the nation, and that only Donald J. Trump truly represented this.

As we waited, I thought he was perhaps watching the Georgia Senate results go against him and maybe he would decline to come out; as I gather later, this was more about increasing the anticipatory energy in the crowd. His speech was themed around a constant refrain- “they are stealing this election”, with the ‘they’ always a vague amalgamation of everyone who wasn’t there at the moment…Radical Left Democrats, Weak Republicans, The Media, Silicon Valley…and, Mike Pence, if he didn’t do the right thing. At one point he started listing off enemies he beat- Oprah Winfrey, Stacey Abrams, Michelle Obama and Barack Hussein Obama- and I thought perhaps this is not the most subtle sentiment I’ve heard. He also promised the crowd that if they lost, the Washington Monument would be gone, and Jefferson, and Lincoln. He bragged a lot about his political acumen and what he thought his accomplishments were, and he made it clear that all of us in the crowd had to fight, and not be weak. That we would never concede the election.

It was an odd, dis-associative experience for me; I could feel the emotions of the crowd, and my heart raced sympathetically with them as they responded to the exhortations and grievances they wanted to hear. But at the same time, I knew that most of what he said simply did not describe reality. On some level every politician makes speeches that inflate their own accomplishments and heighten the danger posed by the opposition; but what he did in his speech was far less camouflaged, and more extreme in its intimations- and when it came to the numbers he related from what he claimed was election fraud, they were simply lies and mis-characterizations. He said that Pennsylvania had 205,000 more ballots than voters, though the reality was there were 2 million less; he said that 60,000 under-age voters filled in ballots in Georgia, when the reality was 0; he said there were 11,600 more ballots than voters in Arizona, when in reality they only had 80% voter participation; he said thousands of dead people voted in Pennsylvania and Georgia, then the reality is there have only been 3 cases found.

And none of this was up to ‘opinion’ or ‘different perspectives’; the election officials in those states, along with DHS officials hand-picked by Trump, along with non-partial foreign observers all have refuted his claims of widespread fraud. But for everyone around me, that did not matter; it mattered only what Trump- and some voices online- had said. It never stopped being surreal for me; most of the people around me looked like decent, caring family members or churchgoers. Even in the glimpses I had observed on the mall, it seemed to me that if I showed up at their door in desperate need, they would help. That I could find multiple people in their lives who would attest to their love and support in many situations. The things they were claiming to stand for, I wanted to stand for, too- but the enemy that he was describing was, well, me; a person who voted for the Democrats.

There were individuals who at various times shouted far more threatening ideas; that it was time to hang them all for treason, that we needed to set up guillotines, that they should be lynched. It was only individuals, but no one voiced any displeasure; and the entire crowd got behind chants of “Lock them up” and “Stop the steal”, along with “USA” and “We want Trump”. I had heard these things were often chanted or expressed at Trump rallies, and figured that it was still all talk. I could understand the spirit of the moment, but it still felt strange to hear a crowd chant for all Democrats to be locked up; at one point a large white man in a black helmet and vest strode through the crowd on his way to the capitol, yelling “What are you going to do about it?” to all of us; a surprising number of people started to flow in the same direction, even though the President had not quite finished his speech.

I stayed behind afterwards; I assumed they would gather at some open space near the capitol, listen to more speakers and chant. Trump had both said it would be peaceful, but also not? He also urged everyone to go to the capitol and show strength and even mentioned at one point he would be there, but I doubted he was actually going. I looked at the ‘Save America’ branding still on display by the stage, and thought of all the fundraising the administration had done ostensibly in the name of this electoral fight that in reality looked like it funneled straight into this Trump PAC…hundreds of millions of dollars from the people around me and across the country, from some who I imagine have little to give. It still strikes me that something as blatant as a man with a dubious business history reaping hundreds of millions of dollars from his office could still not appear true to these people who clearly didn’t lack intelligence; but the fact that so many still believed he was a selfless ‘patriot’ who had sacrificed his wealth to serve the country- the same people who claimed to be skeptical of all other media, politicians and scientists- is what haunted me as I stood there.

It’s a phenomenon I think I see in many different parts of society, in new age groups and christian groups, activists and evangelists, democrat and republican; this selective skepticism that sees conspiracy in the world but decides one answer is worth their suspension of disbelief. We have so many more ways of supplementing our reality than any other humans in history, and probably face the greatest challenges in consciousness we’ve ever faced. Mystery is going to be a part of our lives no matter what we do; as much as science or religion or ideology can explain the world around us and our place in it, there will always be a gap in our knowledge and understanding. I think it was probably far easier for men and women a thousand years ago to find a way to live their lives with this Mystery than it is for us, with our seemingly endless buffet of distractions and answers to choose from- and entire worlds to explore within those distractions and answers. Perhaps it is lizard people that run everything we see; maybe Democrats and hollywood celebrities really are hiding a secret child sex ring; it might be true that all cops are trained and conditioned to be racist; how do we know CEO’s and lawmakers aren’t conspiring to maintain a cold class war against us?

I sometimes think the best answer is, maybe?? That we have to admit that there is a small chance that anything could turn out to be true…but be honest about applying that principle equally, even to the possibilities we don’t want to imagine. And then the most difficult part- find empathy for someone else’s perspective we think we disagree with, and let multiple perspectives begin to color our worldview. We’re never going to arrive at the same solution or same answer- how could we?- but the worst thing we can do is deny any doubt and lose ourselves in certainty. The challenges we face may be new, but the dangers remain the same: when we are overcome with unfounded certainty our decision-making process becomes poisoned, we lose our moral compass and act out of character…or worse. "As Voltaire said, “Those who can make you believe absurdities, can make you commit atrocities.”

The sound of the crowd didn’t dissipate like I expected. I had been lost in thought, but it slowly dawned on me: this wasn’t just talk. I had meandered to Pennsylvania Avenue, but now began to hurry. There were still rally-goers around, and a decorated truck flat with a band- or maybe just music playing? And a DJ announced- “They breached the Capitol! They breached the Capitol!” Everyone cheered. I couldn’t believe this was really happening, but I scrolled twitter and saw the updates. I began to run, and then I saw it- people draped on the walls, flags waving on the steps. It didn’t seem real; everyone around me was happy and festive, but I was looking at a mob storm our Capitol building.

I saw the Jesus Saves guy, triumph on his face amidst a sea of believers; there were people on megaphones preaching or singing gospel songs; groups of families in lawn chairs arranged on the law. They had filled all the steps on the West side, and on all the scaffolding set up for the inauguration just days away. If there would be? I was terrified for a moment; what if this was working? What if they got a hold of people inside?

After it appeared that they probably weren’t getting any further, my fear started to fade; I began to simply feel cold inside. The scene before me was somehow one of celebration and rage; I heard young women screaming at each other about which one got tear gassed more and thus braver, and a man ushering his teenage son with bloodied face away from the building, but also seemingly ordinary men and women just basking in the scene, cell phones and cameras out to record every moment. Another person in revolutionary garb played a bucket like it was a snare drum. I heard multiple people talking about Mike Pence, who 2 hours ago was their possible savior but now was revealed to be a serial pedophile. They knew for certain that he had molested 140 kids. Anywhere I found pockets of people shouting, I would find media members on the receiving end; they were always labeled CNN, though I don’t think any of them were actually CNN. At one point multiple people were screaming to cameramen that they had seen a girl get shot, and that the media was doing nothing- that it was their fault. Somehow both the enemy and the first person to go complain to. Someone yelled towards the cops “You were supposed to shoot antifa! Traitors!” Everyone had turned on the cops now, it seemed.

A preacher on a megaphone nearby was equating Jesus and Donald Trump, and I guess that triggered something in my brain; it felt like I was hearing priests in the Crusades preaching that to kill an infidel was not a sin, ordaining violence as a righteous act. There was no doubt in my mind that everyone here thought they were engaged in a righteous act, that this was akin to a revolution. They thought they were fighting a vast conspiracy, a nebulous cloud of evil that had no substance when seen up close yet hovered with pervasive doom nonetheless. This was exactly what fascism looked like, I thought; but I could only feel heartbreak for everyone there. And for everything they could have done for society if they channeled this energy and passion into their own lives, into their own communities.

I knew they would be demonized, and that they had to account for their agency in what was happening; but I also knew that those who had manipulated them would never face the consequences. The people who gained large online followings, who worked behind the scenes to propagate the lie, who used their platform to spread addictive conspiracy rather than boring truth, who cynically seek political power through false division instead of positive values. While I watched a mob try to overturn democracy in the name of “democracy”, Senators Ted Cruz and Josh Hawley had fundraising messages sent out. It never stops.

I walked around the perimeter for a long time, until curfew approached. On the northern side of the building, they were still pretty violently trying to enter the building hours after the initial breach; they pounded on windows, struggled with cops in the doorway, and seemed to exchange tear gas or pepper spray back and forth. Riot police finally started clearing the steps of Capitol, and I joined a slow and steady stream away from the capitol. I noticed a few people picking up trash at the edge of the grounds, like the BLM protest before…but it didn’t feel like these few could clean up what just happened here. I didn’t hear any regret expressed among those around me on the streets; everyone seemed victorious, even if the accomplishments were vague. Some more people mocked me for wearing a mask alone; I heard scattered chants of “Fuck-An-ti-fa” in the air.

By the end of the night, it became clear what the explanation would be: the nebulous evil “antifa” had in fact led the riots, that it was a false flag operation to make everyone look bad. To which I guess I would say, maybe?? I didn’t personally check everyone in the crowd. Of course there is the possibility that out of the 15-20,000, there were a couple people who had opposite intentions. But it’s also likely that it was the same violent militia-like groups that I had seen around the city in two previous rallies and the very night before; that all the chatter reported from parler and message boards about storming the capitol was real and not made up; that thousands of people wrapped up in certainty that this election was being stolen from them, egged on by their leader, found themselves doing things they would not do on a normal day. When you put together all the reporting, and all the perspectives of people actually there, I think you end up with a very, very low likelihood that all of this can be blamed on a loosely-organized collective of which only a couple dozen have been seen at previous rallies here. All I can say is, it did not at all seem like the crowd around me that day was hesitant to do anything they were doing; they were joyful.

In the end, I think every protester I’ve seen is driven in some part by the same problem: we live in a system that is predicated on us never being content, on our desire to get ‘more’- but much of what we are offered is a distraction, a fantasy, or a scapegoat for all of our problems. What ails us most is not a political party, or media institution, or private company; it is our own sense of self, apart from the system. Our ability to see ourselves clearly, and in turn see the world around us more clearly. Our ability to accept that we have no control over the outcome of our actions, that we will never be able to comprehend all that is; and the extent to which we can use doubt and belief together, acknowledge the validity of other perspectives to strengthen our own and temper our own selfish passions.

But while I think some of the actions and attitudes from the Black Lives Matter protest were selfish and destructive, the protest itself was intended to open eyes and stir action against a system that has treated a minority with repression and injustice. It was not planned to be as big as it became due to the Breonna Taylor announcement; yet when it began there was still at least one police officer present for every 2 protestors, on bicycles or in riot gear. The ‘March to Save America’ rally was advertised for weeks, with significant reporting on threats found online, and yet there was not even enough police presence to keep a 90% white mob from breaching the Capitol while Congress was in session. They didn’t breach it to raise awareness or cry out for justice; they did it because of the message of one man in ignorance of demonstrable fact. This was a terrorist attack, and I think we have to call it that even though it was carried out by people I think I would mostly find decent if they were my neighbor. This was a vivid warning of what can happen when we make ourselves believe absurdities.