Free Prince breaks down the Clown Show at the Capitol…
For years, I thought January 6th was overblown.
Another spectacle inflated by media hysteria. A protest that got out of hand, maybe nudged along by feds. I believed what so many in liberty circles did—that it was noise, theater, not substance.
But I was wrong. So very wrong.
I didn’t just miss a detail. I missed the forest. I missed the structure.
What happened before, during, and after that day was not just some spontaneous outburst of political frustration.
It was a coordinated attempt—deliberate and layered—to overturn a democratic election.
And the riot at the Capitol wasn’t the beginning. It was the endgame.
The last pressure point in a long campaign to subvert a peaceful transfer of power. The legal architecture was already laid out in secret meetings, obscure memos, and backchannel communications.
Alternate slates of electors were organized in battleground states, signed and sent as if they had any legitimacy. State officials were pressured, berated, even threatened, simply for affirming the clear results of their elections.
Trump and his circle overblew fabricated evidence of fraud with the fervor of evangelists selling salvation—dead voters, switched machines, truckloads of fake ballots—all of it collapsed under scrutiny, yet the lie never stopped.
Because the lie wasn’t meant to persuade the courts—it was meant to fracture belief. To prime the base.
And then there were the memos—sickly little blueprints of constitutional sabotage—openly calling for the Vice President to reject legitimate electoral votes, as if votes could simply be erased with a gavel and a smirk.
It was procedural warfare designed to provide a gloss of order while staging a democratic heist.
When these moves started to fail—when the courts said no, when the state officials said no, when Pence wouldn’t play his part—the last tool left was intimidation.
Enter the mob. Enter the spectacle.
January 6th was choreography.
A crowd groomed by months of disinformation, pumped with rage, ordered to “fight like hell.”
And then they did.
The cops didn’t just “let them in.” Many were overwhelmed, brutally attacked, some were complicit, but others fought for hours—bleeding, cornered, outnumbered.
The footage doesn’t lie: windows smashed, doors kicked in, chants of “Hang Mike Pence” echoing beneath the rotunda.
And yet somehow, we missed it. Or dismissed it. Because the perpetrators wore flags instead of uniforms.
Because they invoked liberty while trying to annul it.
Because the narrative had already been sold to us—this was just performative outrage, not sedition.
That’s the psyop. That’s the shell game.
Not government manipulation, but ideological laundering.
Wrap it in red, white, and blue, call it patriotism, and even principled liberty lovers will squint and say maybe it’s fine.
Conditioning runs deeper than we think.
When your entire framework is built around opposing state power, you develop a reflex—a kneejerk skepticism that anything condemned by the system must be subversive in the right way. But that reflex can be hijacked.
And it was.
The wolf came wearing not sheep’s clothing, but the very symbols we associate with rebellion—Don’t Tread on Me flags, Liberty caps, the Founders’ names.
This wasn’t populism. This was a power cult.
A death spiral of loyalty to a man, not a principle. A man who, when confronted with loss, decided the republic itself was disposable. And it almost worked.
A few more cowardly officials. One Vice President with a weaker spine. One rogue judge. One more procedural crack in the system—and we’d be in a constitutional crisis with tanks on standby.
This isn’t about Trump anymore.
This is about our vulnerability to bad actors who speak the language of freedom while aiming straight at its throat.
That’s not liberty. That’s not resistance.
That’s delusion weaponized by demagogues.
I didn’t think to even look for it. But now I see it.
Now I know. And so should everyone else.
Take the time.
Do the research.
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