If history is written by the victors, then January 6th is now being rewritten by the very people who lost the election, lost the courts, lost the recounts, and somehow still insist they won. According to the latest Republican remix—executive produced by Donald J. Trump—January 6th was not an attack on democracy, but a spirited self-guided Capitol tour led by deeply patriotic sightseers who just happened to break windows, assault police officers, and chant about hanging the vice president.
In this new cinematic universe, the rioters were “hostages,” the police were “provocateurs,” and Trump himself was a passive bystander heroically watching cable news while heroically doing absolutely nothing.
Once upon a time (that time being January 6, 2021), Republicans were briefly horrified. They called it an “insurrection,” a “violent mob,” even—gasp—an attack on the Constitution. Some wept. Some condemned. A few even suggested consequences. But that phase passed quickly, like a New Year’s resolution or a promise to release tax returns.
Now, with the benefit of distance—and polling data—the story has matured into something far more comfortable.
The mob didn’t storm the Capitol; they were welcomed. The gallows outside weren’t threatening; they were rustic décor. The chants about “Stop the Steal” weren’t meant to overturn an election; they were just very aggressive affirmations. And the beatings of police officers? Well, those were hugs that got a little out of hand.
Trump, of course, plays the role of the misunderstood monarch. He didn’t incite anything—he merely spoke. Repeatedly. For months. With increasing specificity. On the very day Congress was certifying his loss. After telling the crowd to march to the Capitol. But words, we’re told, have consequences only when spoken by librarians or college professors.
In the revised script, Trump tried desperately to stop the violence—except for the part where he didn’t call in help for hours, didn’t tell the crowd to leave until it was politically safe, and later described the event as “beautiful.” Details, details.
Republican lawmakers now insist we must move on, mostly because moving on requires not talking about what happened, who caused it, or why many of the same people now calling the rioters “political prisoners” once begged Trump for pardons.
The real villains, we are told, are the January 6th Committee, video editors, and—naturally—the FBI. Because nothing screams “peaceful protest” like needing a federal law enforcement conspiracy to explain away your supporters’ behavior.
Meanwhile, footage showing broken doors, bloodied officers, and lawmakers fleeing is dismissed as “out of context.” Which raises the obvious question: What context makes smashing your way into Congress during an election certification okay? A coupon? A vibe? A deeply held belief that losing is unfair?
The most impressive part of the rewrite is its moral flexibility. Violence against police is bad—unless the police are defending Congress from your voters. Law and order is sacred—unless the law says you lost. Patriotism means respecting institutions—unless those institutions tell you no.
In this version of history, January 6th wasn’t a warning sign. It was a misunderstanding. A rowdy family reunion. A rehearsal dinner that got a little out of control.
And perhaps that’s the point. If you repeat the fairy tale often enough, you don’t have to explain why the same people who claim to revere the Constitution watched it be trampled and decided the real problem was the people who noticed.
The new Republican message is clear: Believe your eyes less. Trust the narrator more. And whatever you do, don’t call it what it was—because once you admit January 6th was an attack on democracy, you might have to explain why you’re still cheering for the guy who lit the match.
History may not be rewritten by the victors this time—but it’s certainly being edited by the defendants.
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