January 6, 2021
I try to refrain from writing political essays. Touting my particular social or political beliefs doesn’t really change anyone’s mind. Sharing of such sentiment only adds to the deep polarizations that until last week were merely stumbling blocks to compassionate conversations. The mission of my writing is to connect via the heart.
And then January 6, 2021 happened. This will be a day that rests in infamy. I watched in real time with disbelief and disgust as an angry mob stormed and attacked with vengeance our Capitol. Whether or not you agree with the current occupants of congressional offices, this is our government. This is our Capitol. This is our Democracy. Outrage fills my aching heart.
The images and videos of that afternoon are having a cumulative response. Everything revered within our American tradition of governing has been defaced. Prior to January 6, the ascension of the Stars and Stripes along any flag pole stilled us with pride. Looking up as the flag sways amidst the breeze comforts us and reminds us of the challenge to be better stewards of freedom and opportunity and respect for one another. I watched as that same American flag was used to beat Capitol police officers and shatter windows and doors. The images still make me sick. Photos of lawmaker’s offices trashed and property destroyed leave me utterly baffled. Terrorist-induced fear left Americans hiding beneath desks for hours while fellow Americans sought ways to manifest their fanaticism. And then there’s the still picture of an insurrectionist standing beneath the hallowed Capitol dome waving a giant confederate flag. I was absolutely blown away at the hate that drew such a vast crowd. The images, sadly, are now part of our history.
The fallout of Jan 6 is sobering. The questions are many. Where did this hate come from? I get disagreement and passion, but how someone can justify beating a Capitol police officer to death with a fire extinguisher is incomprehensible. Mob psychologists will be studying the progression of this event for a long time.
Trying to move forward in the aftermath of this profound mutiny is hard. We need to heal and move on, some say. I get those that wish to skip from injury to scar. But the fact is, while the shards of glass and blood stains still remain in the heart space of our Democracy, we need to acknowledge the truth and rest in the pain. This was wrong, so wrong. Our wound is gaping, and at least for me, bleeding is ongoing. For every person who was involved, for everyone with a media megaphone who perpetuated mistruth, and for every lawmaker who, through their silence gave permission for January 6 to happen, I hope soul searching will be embraced. My deep, deep prayer is that truth and compassion will provide the stitch that allows us to heal. This is not about ideology; this is about the fabric of our humanity, what is right and good and life-giving. How can hate be so justifiable?
Scars, a byproduct of trauma, are proof that a body figured out a way to heal from within. Life giving blood flow is channeled in order to bring new growth to the hurt. Truth is the only way through this heartbreak. We can only hope the quest for truth will penetrate the need to be self-righteous. The armor of stubbornness has cloaked far too many of our fellow Americans for far too long. Let us heal so that our grandchildren will know we were unafraid to reexamine ourselves, seek truth, rebuke hatred, and commit to a renewed step towards good and decent unity.
Anne Marie Romer is a Dayton Daily News Community Contributor and the author of the book, Just Give Me the Road.