An Outsider Inside the Capitol Insurrection
By: Hank Kronick
Tags: Impeachment, Capitol Riot, House Of Representatives, Insurrection, Congress

Depression took Tommy Raskin’s life on New Years’ Eve Day — the last day of 2020. My brother-in-law’s death was a light switch turning off in an already dim year full of suffering and uncertainty. I distinctly remember that morning — in the hours before I learned of Tommy’s death — and my feelings of excitement for the new year. A new president. A chance at healing a divided country. An end to the pandemic in sight. A resurgence of hope for the human collective. That hope quickly dissipated and, over the next seven days became a mixture of grief, sadness, frustration, anger, and fear for my own life.

It was a gloomy morning on Tuesday, January 5th, 2021. I drove three of the Raskins — my partner Hannah, her sister Tabitha, and their dad Jamie — to their beloved Tommy’s burial service. On our way home from the service, Jamie was on the phone with colleagues planning the speech he would give on the House floor the following day. He was ready to fight — Tommy’s spirit was burning inside him. A faction of the Republican Party planned to protest the traditionally ceremonial congressional verification of the Electoral College vote — claiming the 2020 presidential election was fraudulent. As a constitutional law professor of 30 years, Jamie was one of the few members of Congress equipped with the skills and experience to explain how this moment fits into the history and meaning of American democracy.

That evening, I could tell Jamie was struggling with the death of his son. He told me that I was now his only son, and how much having me as a son-in-law meant to him. Despite strict visitor rules at the Capitol due to COVID, I knew I had to be there for him and support his fight to protect American democracy. His Chief of Staff, Julie, arranged for Tabitha and me to watch him speak at the Capitol in the morning.

The night before the electoral college vote verification, we checked into a four-star hotel in the Kalorama neighborhood of Washington, DC. We were greeted by three mask-less, middle-aged white men in tattered clothing — reeking of alcohol. They were harassing the young man at the reception desk while attempting to check-in for their room. Shortly after we checked in, we went back to the front desk to request towels. A six-and-a-half-foot tall DC police officer, who was black, had entered the lobby to monitor the front desk situation. The same men expressed suspicious adulation towards the police officer — knowing that all other hotels were either booked or closed for the week. Later, while waiting for the elevator, I heard them call the officer names that shall not be repeated here. I doubt the mothers of these boys would have been very proud.

The next morning, Julie gave us specific instructions on how to enter the Capitol. She warned us of protests and that it might be chaotic getting to the Capitol. We piled into the car with Hannah and Tabitha’s partner, Ryan, who would take me and Tabitha to the Capitol and continue on to watch Jamie on TV with Jamie’s wife Sarah at the Raskin’s home in Maryland. What would typically be a 15-minute drive from our hotel near Embassy Row to the Capitol took close to an hour. The thing is, the White House was in between our hotel and the Capitol building. Snowplows, guards, and barricades closed off the streets for 5–10 blocks around the White House, creating a fortress that protected Donald Trump.

After driving through mask-less mobs of red hats, camouflage, and graphic tees that (ironically) read “fuck your feelings”, Tabitha and I were dropped off two blocks from the Capitol building. Security was sparse, and tension was in the air.

Our security detail, Jason, dressed in Secret Service-like attire, met us at a cross street and escorted us inside, passing parading Trump-supporting families along the way. House Majority Leader Steny Hoyer had graciously lent Jamie his office so he could have some privacy. The office was steps from the House floor where members would confirm the presidential election results later in the day.

Tabitha and I greeted Jamie and Julie in the office, which was about five stories high, overlooking the Washington Monument and directly above the bleachers where the presidential inauguration would be held the following week. The ornate arches, mahogany furniture, and historic artifacts placed around the office made me feel like I was in a scene from House of Cards. I could feel history was about to be made. Tabitha began making final edits on a hard copy of Jamie’s speech. “Dad, this part is too divisive,” she said. Jamie agreed and crossed out the section.

Meanwhile, Julie was on high alert, peering through the bulletproof glass windows to monitor crowds of protestors beginning to gather below. She remained calm but vigilant — texting her colleagues to keep a pulse on what was going on outside.

When it was time for the members of Congress to assemble in the House Chamber, Jamie gave us hugs and left the room. Julie, Tabitha, and I stayed in the office and turned on the TV to watch the vote certification process begin. However, our attention was quickly diverted to the windows. Outside, a storm was brewing. Inch by inch, protestors worked their way towards the Capitol, breaking down barricades, one by one. Smoke started rising from the crowd. Capitol Police ran back towards the Capitol balcony to flush their eyes with water from the tear gas. Members of the mob began climbing the inauguration scaffolding — where we later learned they were attempting to replace an American flag with a Trump flag.

As the mob was heating up, Tabitha and I debated leaving the Capitol and going home. After a week of grieving, we were not well equipped to deal with fear or uncertainty. We were constantly reminded that we were in “the safest building in the country” and would be more dangerous to go outside. After all, the Vice President was right down the hall from us. This gave us peace of mind; the idea of members of the mob getting inside was unfathomable.

Jason knocked on the door and told us it was Jamie’s turn to speak and asked if Tabitha and I would like to enter the Chamber to watch. We were relieved to have a break from watching the chaos unfold outside.

Before he could start, Jamie received a standing ovation from his colleagues. 24 hours earlier, he buried his son. He was now in the Chamber of Congress, protecting our country. His speech was historic, to say the least.

After Jamie’s speech, we left the Chamber, and Jason told us we should use the bathroom because the building was about to be locked down. We went downstairs to use the bathroom before heading back to our office near the gallery. As we entered the office, Jason calmly said, “I’m going to lock you in here” with no additional context and promptly closed the door and left — confining Julie, Tabitha, and me to our roughly 200-square-foot room. Little did we know, we were about to experience a day on Capitol Hill that would go down in American history.

Minutes later, we heard mass chaos downstairs. The Capitol had been breached.

The voices got louder, chanting “stop the steal” and shouting combatively as the police tried to hold back the mob. The TV streaming the gallery floor went dark. Booms from tear gas canisters echoed through the marble hallways. What was happening?

My mind went into survival mode.

Do we try to escape? I checked the bulletproof glass windows and realized they were sealed shut. We were stuck with no way out.

Do we fight back? I glanced over at a fireplace poker, briefly envisioning myself as the hero taking on the mob head-on before realizing this would be a foolish fight against the hundreds of angry men and women right outside our door.

Do we hide? This seemed like our only option. Praying that if we stayed hidden and silent, the intruders would open the door and leave.

We turned off all noise-making devices and barricaded the door by placing the back of a chair underneath the door handle. Tabitha and I hid under Representative Hoyer’s desk, hugging each other, holding hands. I texted “I love you” to my Mom, Dad, and Hannah — leaving out the fact that the Capitol had been breached, hoping to prevent their anxiety. I thought there was a high chance Tabitha, Julie, and I would die. The day after burying Tommy. What would our families do without us? How would their lives go on with the added pain of our deaths? I have never felt so helpless.

If this was the safest place in the country and a mob was able to break into the Capitol, I could only assume that this was a sophisticated and organized coup attempt by an armed militia. The only thought running through my head was that they were coming inside the Capitol with assault rifles to murder members of Congress and everyone else in their way. That the protestors were just a distraction from the real event. This was their plan.

The voices were getting louder, and the mob started marching past our room. Julie heard the door shake — they were trying to get inside. Amid the terror, she grabbed the metal fire poker, turned to us, and said, “I’m not letting these motherfuckers get away with this.”

Jamie was frantically texting us to check where we were. He, along with the rest of the members on the House Floor, had been evacuated to an undisclosed location while we remained locked inside our room. We were not convinced anyone was coming to save or protect us — we were very aware only members and their staff were allowed in the building that day. Most were safe at an undisclosed location in the tunnels of the Capitol. We felt like the steerage class on the Titanic.

After 45 minutes of fearing for our lives, three Capitol police officers came banging on our door, shouting to let them inside. There was a moment of uncertainty where we were unsure if they were the mob imitating the police, and they were not sure if we were a part of the mob. It turns out, they did not have the key to unlock the door. We waited for an additional 5–10 minutes until they opened the door, and we were escorted into the tunnels of the Chamber. We finally felt safe but skeptical that the terror was over.

We were transported to a large ballroom where a few hundred members of Congress were already gathered. Many members seemed to know we were Jamie’s family and parted to the side, sad looks on their faces, making a clear aisle for us. We approached Jamie and gave each other a big hug, reunited with our fear at ease.

For the next six hours, we were locked in a conference room with hundreds of House members and their staff. Many members refused to wear a mask — even going so far as to mock staffers who offered masks to those who did not have one. Even after this insane, life-threatening event, the division in this country was alive and well. Tabitha pointed out that we were in the same room as Congressman Jim Jordan. I remember staring him down for a solid 5 minutes — I couldn’t help it. “You allowed this to happen. You denied the election was fair. You chose yourself over democracy. You caused trauma to my family” was all I could think.

The day left me terrified, saddened, and ashamed. My grief for Tommy had expanded to grief for our country. For years, we have watched our world be torn apart by social media platforms with faulty business models and politicians with incentives misaligned with serving the people. January 6th, 2021, was our wake up call.

After a few weeks of digesting the events at the Capitol, I have gained some hope that, over time, this event will help reunite us and get us back on track. Most members of the Capitol mob are not bad people. Most Trump supporters are not bad people. Most Republicans are not bad people. Sometimes good people do bad things. This does not mean we need to normalize, defend, or stand by watching behavior we disagree with. However, it does mean we all need to stand up and defend our sacred democracy when it is threatened.

“We the people are the rightful masters of both Congress and the courts, not to overthrow the Constitution but to overthrow the men who pervert the Constitution.” — Abraham Lincoln

I wound down the long day with a glass of whiskey I swiped from the Majority Leader’s closet (Steny, I owe you one!).

Please read more about my brother-in-law Tommy’s extraordinary life in this moving piece written by his parents, Sarah Bloom Raskin and Jamie Raskin. If you are interested in supporting Tommy’s life work, please consider donating to the Tommy Raskin Memorial Fund for People and Animals.