What I can tell you, NOW, about January 6th..
Looking back..
As many of you know, I was in Washington, DC on January 6th, 2021, along with two other members of my family. If you have followed me for any length of time, you know that none of us entered the capitol itself, nor did we engage in altercations with law enforcement – even though we endured bursts of unprovoked pepper spray. We did not destroy property, break windows, or remove barricades. We were, however, very close to the building–on the western steps, near the inauguration scaffolding– which means we were close enough to witness the line between law enforcement and the First Amendment protesters. To me, it looked like any other protest I had ever attended: a crowd expressing itself and law enforcement officers “keeping the peace.”
What you might not know is this: I felt spiritually called to be there. Like millions of other “J6ers,” it was a common motivation. Even if you don’t believe–contrary to the historical record–that elections can be rigged, you have to understand there is value in citizens making sure their votes are really counted. In a year with mail-in ballots, no voter ID, and a confused Joe Biden sliding headlong into dementia, it seemed reasonable for congress to investigate. Even if they certified a compromised election, it was important to sound a warning: “we are watching.”
As it turns out, on that day, we were standing on restricted ground. We didn’t know it at the time, because the barricades had been stripped away an hour before, but merely for being there, Nancy Pelosi, Joe Biden, and the entire Democratic establishment wanted us arrested, prosecuted, and left to rot in federal prisons. I found this out a few days after returning home, when a fellow named Derek Kinnison visited us on the farm. Like us, he never entered the building, but he had a HAM radio, and he was talking to friends inside the capitol. He was also offering first aid to people who had been beaten by Capitol Police. In the weeks after January 6th, he was visited by a FBI SWAT team. He endured laser gunsights on his chest, and he was forced to sit on a curb while his daughter was left alone inside with FBI agents. He was then profanely threatened for trying to remember a safe combination under gunpoint. It was the standard “shock and awe” treatment, meant to keep the peasants properly fearful.
During this time, a local newspaper falsely reported that I had been arrested. Our lawyers got the story spiked, because it was clearly defamatory, and the writer apologized, but all of us here at the farm began to sniff our own blood in the air. The wolves were howling. A high school friend took to Facebook and expressed surprise at my turning into a “thug.” Someone visited our website chat and wished us all death. A relative who is married to a retired law enforcement chief kept worrying, on family occasions, that we would soon be arrested. Whenever Mary and I flew, we were subjected to what Tulsi Gabbard was subjected to — the TSA Watch list “Quad-S” treatment. Canine units, checking all of our belongings for explosive residue, etc. The TSA, to their credit, looked embarrassed having to do the bidding of the Biden police state.
Perhaps the most annoying thing about all of this? Friends actually believing the lie that police officers were killed. No police officers died that day. (Officer Sicknick died the next day from a stroke unrelated to anything that happened the day before.) On the other hand, four protestors died–one of them shot by a capitol hill police officer.
I have never confessed this publicly before, but during the last four years, not a morning has gone by without wondering: is this my day? Will this be the morning where federal agents, “following orders,” show up and start to grind me through the process of threatening a DC jury—most of them on the federal dole–with a 100% conviction rate? Our family has FBI connections, and we were told, repeatedly, they were keeping an eye on us. My nephew was informed that his Google accounts had been subpoenaed.
Lord in Heaven. We run a LIVING HISTORY FARM, people. We didn’t take guns to Washington. We wanted a discussion. We actually believe in the First Amendment. If any of you think we were planning an insurrection, you really are morons.
Yesterday, we hosted an inauguration party for the Golden State Republican women. It was bitterly cold. There were red flag warnings and threats that SCE would turn off the power. We rolled up the farm generators and prayed for the best, but the packing shed heaters were barely keeping up with the temperature. I kept praying. “Lord, don’t let this celebration be blemished.”
Well, these women, and their families, were the best. They didn’t mind the cold. They thanked us, profusely. They, like us, had been through four years of utter chaos. They wanted to celebrate, and that’s what they did. Our friend, Derek, is back with his family, out of prison. The federal government is going to face a cleansing, God willing. Donald Trump – whether you like him or hate him – delivers.
I still look out my back window in the morning, but mostly what I see is Sycamore trees.
God is good.