Who is the January 6 committee talking to? Over the past week, the committee has held three public hearings that offer a lucid, convincing and thorough account of Donald Trump’s attempts to overturn the 2020 election and the events leading up to the violent insurrection at the Capitol. The hearings have been choreographed and precise, scripted down to the word, building a clear case that Trump intentionally broke the law in the pursuit of perpetual power. The hearings, compelling as argument and surprisingly successful as television, betray a vision and discipline that is rare in congressional proceedings, and which would have been impossible if it were not for the absence of nearly all Republicans on the panel.
And yet, over the course of the committee’s three hearings to date, viewers have heard almost exclusively from Republicans. The public presentation of the committee’s findings relies heavily on videotaped depositions from members of the Trump campaign and the Trump administration. During the hearings’ opening night, last week, we heard from a montage of Trump-world figures, who testified under oath that they knew the 2020 election had been fairly conducted even as Trump told the public that it was stolen. It was two on-the-ground witnesses to the violence, a Capitol police officer and a British documentarian, who spoke about how brutal and chaotic the scene at the Capitol was. When it was the committee’s turn to characterize their findings, it was Liz Cheney – a rightwing ideologue from Wyoming – who did most of the talking.
On Tuesday, the committee’s presentation focused on how Trump loyalists searched for evidence of election fraud, with campaign attorneys and justice department staff investigating every implausible account of irregularity that crossed the president’s desk – from fairy tales of a leaking pipe and mysterious suitcases in Atlanta – to darker conspiracies about nefarious functionaries in Philadelphia. These allegations were all investigated with surprising seriousness, and they were all found to be baseless, even by inquisitors who were sympathetic to Trump’s authoritarian cause. Trump and his allies pressed the false fraud claims anyway. Here, too, the committee used only Republicans’ testimony, giving Trump and his insurrectionist faction just enough rope to hang themselves.
In the story the January 6 committee is telling about the attempted coup and its violent climax, Republicans are the bad guys and Republicans are also the good guys. The Republicans are the ones who plotted a coup, searched for a legal rationale, invented lies about fraud and wasted taxpayer money investigating them, and then descended on the Capitol in a mob. But it was also Republicans who privately said the election was fair, who told the president the election fraud claims were lies, and who frantically texted the White House as violence erupted and people started getting killed, asking Trump to call the whole thing off.
It’s not a plausible story: the idea that the Republican party are both the heroes and the villains of January 6; that their private, whispered discomfort and hasty condemnations of violence should excuse their cooperation and complicity all the way up to 5 January. It’s particularly implausible now, a year and a half after the attack, as Republicans who once distanced themselves from the January 6 mob have moved to embrace it. But that’s the story that the committee is telling.
They kept on telling it on Thursday, as they presented extensive and disturbing evidence about the increasingly threatening attempts by Trump and his fringe campaign lawyer, John Eastman, to persuade Pence to refuse to certify the election results. The Committee heard from two rightwing legal experts: Pence’s in-house legal advisor, Greg Jacob, who was with the vice-president at the Capitol on January 6 and counseled him in the weeks proceeding; and the former federal judge John Michael Luttig, a jurist with considerable respect in rightwing legal circles, for whom John Eastman once worked as a clerk.
The two men clearly enjoyed hearing themselves talk, and their testimony featured some tedious and indulgent bickering over the supposed “inartfulness” or “perfection” of the 12th amendment’s language. But together, they told a story of an alarming campaign of pressure on the vice-president to either reject electoral votes for Biden outright, or to suspend Congress’ joint session in order to allow time for the votes to be “re-certified” (ie, changed) by state legislatures.
It was Eastman who invented this cockamamie scheme, claiming without precedent or any legal support that the vice-president had the authority to change the results of an election unilaterally. The Pence camp searched desperately for some way that the plan could be legal, only to find none. For weeks, Pence and his advisors were caught in a pickle – not wanting to concede the election or disappoint Trump, but also too scared to get implicated in a treasonously hairbrained scheme. The Pence camp told Trump and Eastman that the plan was illegal. According to testimony, so did the White House counsel. So did everyone. At certain points, according to Jacob, both Eastman and Giuliani admitted that the scheme had no legal basis. They kept pushing it anyway.
Things escalated. Trump began to make public attacks on Pence on Twitter. The vice-president’s office talked to the Secret Service before January 6, concerned that Trump’s hostility would mean that Pence would need more security. On a phone call the morning of the attack, Trump called Pence a “wimp” and a “pussy.” Members of the White House staff testified that even after Trump had been made aware of violence at the Capitol, he sent out another tweet attacking Pence. This prompted a surge of intensity and passion among the angry crowd, who pushed through into the Capitol building chanting “Hang Mike Pence.” After the crowds had been cleared, as members of Congress filed back into the ransacked Capitol to complete their work, Eastman sent another email: would Pence consider overturning the election now?
A person of conscience and integrity would never have found himself in the position that Mike Pence was in on January 6. A man with courage would have stood up to Trump sooner; a man of moral commitment would never have worked for him in the first place. Still, the committee’s argument that Pence did something honorable when he refused to carry through the illegal plan put forth by Eastman might carry some weight, in the sense that Pence was under enormous, life-threatening pressure to do the wrong thing, and he did not. But perhaps this is the real indictment of the American system of government: if we were a functioning democracy, the rule of law wouldn’t be dependent on something so flimsy as Mike Pence’s honor.
But as a symbol for a good Republican, Pence hardly seems to fit the image of uprightness and dignity that the committee is trying to assign him. The members of the January 6 committee clearly want to address these “good” Republicans, to show them that their party need not be defined by Trump, to bring them back to the light. But the people they are talking to don’t exist anymore.
Moira Donegan is a Guardian US columnist
