David McElroy

The rioting at the U.S. Capitol a year ago is an ink blot. Most people look at it and see what they expect to see — and what they see seems to line up with their political views. Shocking, huh?

The mainstream progressive left seems to think there was a serious attempt at a coup launched by conservatives. Many of them seem to believe that we came just a whisker from having the federal government overthrown by this motley collection of misfits.

Those in the populist Trump camp believe the rioters were simply “patriots” who were protesting against what they were told was a stolen election. Many of them might agree today that the protest got a little out of control, but they’re convinced it was nothing. (And some genuine conservatives take this view, too, not because they love Trump, but simply because they hate the left.)

The truth is simpler but less dramatic. A pathetic bunch of misguided losers believed a pack of political lies from a narcissist who lost an election. They went to a protest that was a bit like a Trumpified version of Woodstock without the music. A mob of about 10,000 then entered the Capitol grounds and around 2,000 of them broke into the building.

The rioters apparently saw themselves as Mel Gibson in “Braveheart,” but they were really more like the losers from “Revenge of the Nerds” — but without the fantasy Hollywood ending.

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I’ve always wanted to be the hero. Even more than that, though, I wanted to be her hero.

It’s the oldest fantasy in my childhood memory. I have no idea how it started. I don’t remember what could have put the idea into my thoughts, but I was still a very small child when it became an obsession for me.

The girl was always in trouble of some kind. I made up all sorts of stories each night as I went to sleep. The specific dangers changed, but the pattern was always the same. The girl I loved was in trouble. She needed to be rescued. I came to her rescue in her moment of need — and she adored me as her hero and rescuer.

As an adult, this sort of story comes with all sorts of baggage, of course. Mature adults aren’t supposed to take such stories seriously. Some even claim that this historical and mythological imagery is sexist — that a woman shouldn’t need to be rescued and that a man shouldn’t want to be her hero.

But I don’t care. At my core, I still want to be her hero. When my princess is deepest in distress, she calls out for help and I rescue her. It’s a need that’s deeply embedded in culture and possibly genetics. And even though it’s ridiculous imagery from a child’s fairy tales, I still want to rescue my princess.

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