Howling

Reading the New Yorker’s account of the Capitol insurgency (Jan. 25, 2021), I was struck by how many in the mob had no idea what to do once they had penetrated to the citadel of national power. The insurgents milled around looking for official scapegoats: enemies whose punishment could whisk away frustrations and fulfill desires. Somebody smeared excrement on the wall, as in a tantrum. No wonder those who believed in Q conspiracy theories raged against pedophiles—they felt like victimized children.

Had the leader (Trump) showed up with a plan for a coup, the mob would have perhaps carried out a coup. But the leader was half- hearted. He enjoys rousing crowds, but as with his tweeted insults, he was clever enough to push for the edge of criminality, but knows how to hold back to avoid serious punishment. He claims he was just joking, or hides behind ambiguity.

American class system represses those at the bottom, as in the Republican stonewall against the Bill to raise the minimum-wage. The anger at the bottom only comes out indirectly. If you enlist in the military, you don’t shout complaints at your officers, anymore than you risk firing by telling off your boss. One reason that cops are able to kill Blacks with near-impunity is to make Blacks afraid to demand their rights. Or justice.

In the New Yorker’s account, the Proud Boys—the insurgents most serious about a coup—met at a bar in the morning to drink beer. <>

The drinkers remind you that alcohol loosens inhibitions, and may stoke a barroom brawl. American culture associates the working poor blowing off steam with alcohol. In the Capitol, on January 6th, the mob was desperate to express themselves, trying out the seats of power, grumbling about enemies. As the morning drinkers put it, ‘We are going to own this town!’ one of them howled.’>>

One reason for Trump’s magnetism is his novel use of the presidency to express anger with impunity. Instead of being depressed, he invited working-class supporters to experience the thrill of their anger. As in the first days of World War I, the experience for working folks rushing to enlist was “freedom.”