{"id":943170,"date":"2023-01-03T14:33:11","date_gmt":"2023-01-03T14:33:11","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/theintercept.com\/?p=417878"},"modified":"2023-01-03T14:33:11","modified_gmt":"2023-01-03T14:33:11","slug":"how-jan-6-brought-frontier-violence-to-the-heart-of-u-s-power","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/radiofree.asia\/2023\/01\/03\/how-jan-6-brought-frontier-violence-to-the-heart-of-u-s-power\/","title":{"rendered":"How Jan. 6 Brought Frontier Violence to the Heart of U.S. Power"},"content":{"rendered":"
\u201cThe battle between good and evil has come now.\u201d In the Cormac McCarthy novel \u201cBlood Meridian,\u201d a man called Captain White leads a mounted company of American irregulars into northern Mexico on a mission to plunder and lay the groundwork for further U.S. expansion. \u201cWe are to be the instruments of liberation in a dark and troubled land,\u201d he tells his men. As they ride, White notices dust clouds on the horizon. Through his spyglass, he sees a massive herd of cattle, mules, and horses being driven toward the company by what he takes for a band of stock thieves. They seem to pay his men no mind as the herd rumbles past. Then, suddenly, hundreds of mounted Comanche lancers and archers appear:<\/p>\n A legion of horribles \u2026 wardrobed out of a fevered dream with the skins of animals and silk finery and pieces of uniform still tracked with the blood of prior owners \u2026 one in a stovepipe hat and one with an umbrella and one in white stockings and a bloodstained wedding veil and some in headgear of cranefeathers or rawhide helmets that bore the horns of bull or buffalo and one in a pigeontailed coat worn backwards and otherwise naked and one in the armor of a Spanish conquistador.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n I first read those lines 14 years ago, in a hostel bunk bed amid the wanderings of my early 20s. I was in Naples, where my great-grandfather had boarded a ship to America, and though faces on the streets looked eerily familiar, I felt only a tenuous connection to the city. The novel\u2019s lines about a distant frontier, in contrast, instantly resonated, though I struggled to understand why. There was shocking clarity in the violence: The attackers butcher the Americans, \u201cpassing their blades about the skulls of the living and the dead alike and snatching aloft the bloody wigs and hacking and chopping at the naked bodies, ripping off limbs, heads.\u201d The description of their garish attire, with its funhouse mockery of the would-be conquerors, left me with a lingering sense of vulnerability.<\/p>\n These lines resurfaced in my mind after the January 6 attack on the U.S. Capitol, an event whose meaning I\u2019ve found myself continuing to interrogate as we approach its two-year anniversary. At the start of 2021, I was married, with one small child and another on the way, and living in a brick-house suburb of Washington, D.C. I\u2019d covered conflicts in Syria, Iraq, and Ukraine, then returned, in 2017, to report on the sort of militant-minded Americans who ended up storming Congress. I had traveled to pre-election meetings with Stewart Rhodes, the Oath Keepers leader later convicted of seditious conspiracy for his role that day, and I\u2019d been at a previous \u201cStop the Steal\u201d rally, in November 2020, watching pot-bellied Proud Boys march around like Catholic school kids in matching polo shirts. On the morning of January 6, however, I stayed home. I was sick of it all: the crowds, the Covid risk, the threats of violence. I\u2019d seen my share of real war at the margins of the U.S. sphere of influence and couldn\u2019t stand another day of listening to comfortable Americans talk about inflicting such violence at home. It wasn\u2019t just them, though. It was also me. In the interludes between my trips around the country, contemplating America\u2019s breakdown from the desk in my sunroom, I\u2019d found I no longer understood what my role was supposed to be.<\/p>\n Then the riot commenced. The Capitol was breached. I thought, if this is something that will overturn the republic \u2014 if it\u2019s a real revolution \u2014 then my path is clear again, and there will be time to get to the Capitol tonight, tomorrow, and probably for days.<\/p>\n I was right and wrong. The riot was over in a matter of hours. Congress reconvened to certify the election result that night. But I thought the attack had struck a deeper, psychological blow whose impact was hard to see clearly. I felt it in the reactions from friends and neighbors, in the hysteria in the news, and in my own unease. The answer seemed to lurk behind the nature of the freakout. Turning back to the passage from \u201cBlood Meridian,\u201d I reconsidered what was so unnerving about it and wondered if the rioters, perhaps without realizing it, had tapped into the same anxiety the scene had animated in me years earlier. It conjures a fear about the edge of empire that has always lurked in the American mind, in which the frontier is the place where the violence and suffering the nation has inflicted as the terms of its expansion and sustainment bend back on us, and we encounter our demons. There\u2019s an air of reckoning as the legion descends on Captain White\u2019s company. The first weapons they brandish against the Americans are \u201cshields bedight with bits of broken mirrorglass.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey came dressed for chaos,\u201d read<\/a> the New York Times the day after the Capitol was attacked, \u201cin red, white and blue face paint and star-spangled superhero outfits, in flag capes (American, yes, but also Confederate and Trumpian) and flag jackets and Donald Trump bobble hats. One man came as a patriotic duck; another as a bald eagle; another as a cross between a knight-errant and Captain America; another as Abraham Lincoln. They came in all sorts of camouflage, in animal pelts and flak jackets, in tactical gear.\u201d Other writers noted the \u201cseditionist frontiersmen\u201d and\u00a0\u201crevolutionary cosplayers\u201d and \u201cConfederate revivalists.\u201d The ghosts were rising up from across the American centuries. Solemn-eyed Christians with their wooden cross. The gallows with its noose. Militants dressed like our modern Forever War soldiers. Some of them, indeed, had been those soldiers, and here they were in their battle attire. A writer for The Atlantic described<\/a> spending time among a group of protesters that included two men in camouflage and Kevlar vests, along with a woman in a full-body cat suit. He was confronted by a sense of mystery. The event, he wrote, was \u201cnot something that can be explained adequately through the prism of politics.\u201d No \u2014 the meaning lay in the subliminal. What these people were describing were their nightmares about the edge of empire, come to life, and massing in the heart of Washington, D.C.<\/p>\n The legion advanced holding up a mirror, and I looked at my reflection. It clarified the unease that had been troubling me at my desk. If that side had the aspect of barbarians ready to sack the Capitol, then my side might be manning the imperial gates.<\/p>\n
\n\u2014 Senior staff member in the U.S. Senate<\/em><\/p>\n
\n