Quick Take
Six of the men convicted then pardoned for crimes involving the Jan. 6, 2021, events at the U.S. Capitol came to Salinas on Thursday, to a small band of supporters and a loud chorus of detractors.
It was just an ordinary chain-link fence in front of the Portuguese Hall in downtown Salinas. But it represented a chasm, a distinctively American chasm, as vast as sea to shining sea.
On one side of that fence Thursday evening, inside the Portuguese Hall, was about three dozen people who had gathered at the invitation of the Association of Monterey Bay Conservatives to hear the stories and testimony of six men convicted and sentenced in connection with the events of Jan. 6, 2021, in Washington, D.C., and since pardoned by President Donald Trump.
On the other side was a slightly smaller group of protesters who viewed the men as insurrectionists and, thus, traitors.
You want to believe that the stereotypes about both sides of the political divide are simplistic and unfair, that people don’t actually behave like the cartoons they’re depicted as by the other side. But after the six men had spoken and the evening’s program was over, someone inside rolled out a giant speaker into the parking lot and began playing at loud volume Lee Greenwood’s creaky old “God Bless the U.S.A.” A couple mockingly began to dance to the tune, while on the other side of the fence, protesters, having waited two hours for their chance, were hurling f-bombs and Nazi epithets almost as loudly. Nobody was interested in understanding or empathy for the other side of that fence. God bless the USA … please?
Inside the hall, the six men had been invited to stand before the assembled crowd, each to tell their stories of what they did and/or did not do the day that the 2020 presidential election was to be certified by Congress, as well as the grave injustices they suffered at the hands of the “criminals with badges” of the D.C. police.
Even if the desserts were atrocious — brownies sprinkled with marshmallows and M&Ms, guys? really? — it must be said that the people inside the event seemed all generally very nice, warm, welcoming. The whole event almost didn’t happen at all. Since it was announced a few weeks ago, the event was canceled at no fewer than three other venues in Monterey County before landing at the last moment at the Portuguese Hall. The stigma of the J6 insurrectionists is so strong that the three venues canceled the event as soon as they learned the J6ers were involved. The most recent cancellation was the Native Sons of the Golden West hall across town in Salinas, which responded to inquiries about the event with an email reading, “Thank you for bringing this to our attention. As soon as it was brought to our attention, we canceled the event.” (The Native Sons got absolutely torched on Yelp anyway.)
As a result, the event’s organizers set up a bit of a cloak-and-dagger stunt in an attempt to outwit protesters. Ticket holders — I was one of those — were asked to meet in the parking lot of a popular Salinas restaurant (which I won’t name, given that it seems it had nothing to do with this controversy). It was there that we were informed individually of the address of the Portuguese Hall.
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As for the men’s stories, they were delivered with skill and conviction. What you believe about what happened on 1/6/21 is very much a stark fault line in today’s political divide. At least for the 30 to 40 people in the Portuguese Hall, the narrative was harmonious — that these fine young men were victims of a brutal system of political terror. David Dempsey, sentenced for 20 years for assaulting two police officers, tearfully thanked the audience: “I don’t know any of you, but I owe you a great debt,” for voting for Trump in 2024.
The stories were harrowing as the men painted themselves as victims of circumstances. Mothers, brothers and young daughters were all mentioned as traumatized victims. The word “patriot” was flung around with abandon. One man thought of himself as both a patriot and an insurrectionist, which made my head hurt. Certainly, I don’t know what these men went through. I don’t know their culpability in the crimes of which they were convicted. But they made no allowance for the ambiguities and uncertainties of their situations, describing stark and outrageous injustices that, in another context, sound much like what the Trump administration is accused of now doing with its Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agency to visa-holding doctoral students who write antagonistic op-eds, and even U.S. citizens.
J6er James McGrew said, “The [D.C] Metropolitan Police are the real gangsters,” while Sean McHugh called Jan. 6 “one of the most beautiful days of my life.” None expressed regret or remorse for anything they might have done, and more than one of them said that, given the chance to do it all over again, they would.
I was among the first to leave the event and, as a result, I got a jarring, even unpleasant taste of what it feels like on either side of that political chasm. As I emerged from the hall, I came face to face with the snarling wrath of the protesters, which was deeply unsettling. Later, on the other side of the fence, I witnessed the mocking disdain of the conservatives looking out at the protesters.
Having experienced at least some degree of sympathy on both sides as well made me feel a bit upside down. How long can a country survive if the chasm at its center just keeps growing?
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