Wednesday
I got to start the day slowly and at my leisure. I made myself breakfast, got the coffee ready, and turned on the PBS Newshour. I absolutely love that I’ve been able to watch it recently. It’s my favorite way to unwind and get the day started. They discussed the verification ceremony that would take place later that day in Congress. They mentioned the controversy already brewing over the confirmation and featured interviews with folks on both sides. There was little mention of the crowd growing outside the capital.
On Monday, I purchased a set of paints and was looking for a project that I could throw myself into. I decided I would make a canister for my flour that would match the one I bought for my sugar. I put “Bridgerton” on in the background, just to figure out what all the buzz was about. I ended up finishing almost all the episodes! Whoops! We love a good period drama.
Just as I sat down to finish the last pages of “The Help,” my phone began to light up. I read for a few minutes, at first able to ignore the notifications that were pouring in at such a strange time, but then was unable to resist. I was astonished by what I saw. A mob breached the barriers in front of the capital building. They were breaking windows and pushing back the guards. I thought I was hallucinating at first. I couldn’t believe that this was happening. Nothing that this had happened in my lifetime. I could hear my heart thudding in my ears.
I sent a flurry of messages to my friends in DC to make sure they were safe. I scrambled to find a live news stream that I could access online. Sure enough, it was real. A mob was breaking into the capital. A coup was taking place before my eyes. Strange that the Insurrection Act I studied just months ago was suddenly becoming relevant.
I wondered, where were the police? I remember their overwhelming presence throughout the summer at all of the Black Lives Matter protests I attended in Michigan. I remember helicopters circling overheard and the heavy arms that they carried. Yet in our nation’s capital, they did nothing to hold back the tide. I watched videos of officers opening the gates for protesters, some officers seemingly waving them inside. I knew that if it were people of color and their allies storming the steps, dozens more would be dead or seriously injured. The hypocrisy was especially glaring as I watched footage of officers gently taking some of the protests by the hand to walk them back down the building’s steps.
I went to bed late and with a sour taste in my mouth. I watched Tr•mp fan the flames of a dangerous insurrection and watched his allies defend him. I felt sick. Still, I could not bring myself to agree with the politicians tweeting “this is not who we are.” Because if we’re honest, this is America. We have long been too tolerant and forgiving of far-right ideologies. We have a racist history and present that many refuse to reckon with. We are the America that has allowed people with hateful ideologies and harmful policy agendas come to power. As I watch the liberals fall over themselves in their attempt to distance our nation from the actions of the white supremacists, I hope that they will come to realize that this is indeed part of America and it is time we did the radical social justice work that is necessary to change that fact.
Mary-Est-En-France 