“They can try and try and try but the storm is here and it is descending upon DC in less than 24 hours… [we will turn] dark to light!”
Ashli Babbitt, an Air Force veteran and devout Trump supporter, gave this ominous warning just hours before she and hundreds of rioters stormed the U.S. Capitol building on Jan. 6. She and her companions intended to halt Joe Biden’s presidential confirmation and install Trump as America’s permanent ruler, in an effort to “defend the Constitution” from the Democrats who had “rigged” the 2020 presidential election.
But they failed. By the end of the day, Babbitt, three other insurrectionists and a Capitol police officer were dead, leaving over $30 million in damages in the country’s bastion of democracy and the world was reeling from the chaos in Washington. Congress validated the election results at 3:40 a.m. EST the following day, and later that month, Joe Biden was inaugurated without incident as the 46th President of the United States.
Like thousands of other Americans, Babbitt and her fellow rioters believed in QAnon—an internet conspiracy theory that maintains the U.S. government and global corporations are run by a cabal of Satan-worshipping pedophiles. Figures such as Jeffrey Epstein, Hillary Clinton, Tom Hanks and George Soros are the enemies at the center of this perverted “Deep State.” Until Jan. 20, Donald Trump was the Messiah, actively dismantling the globalist cabal and leading the western world into new glory by purging liberals after his reelection (an event known as “the storm”).
During the months leading up to the 2020 election, millions of Americans were isolated under COVID-19 lockdowns, leading to the exponential growth of QAnon’s popularity. But upon Trump’s loss on Nov. 7 and the subsequent Electoral College confirmation on Dec. 14, the group was thrown into disarray. “Q,” the self-proclaimed government official who served as the movement’s primary informant on internet-site 8kun, went silent for several weeks. Thousands of supporters took to Facebook and other internet platforms to voice their uncertainty, with one writing, “MY FAITH IS SHAKEN. I FOLLOWED THE PLAN. TRUMP LOST!!!!!!!!!!! WHAT NOW?????? WHERE IS THE PLAN???”
This “plan” had not disappeared, but like other conspiracy theories, it had adapted. First, QAnon followers looked to the Senate confirmation on Jan. 6 as a chance to reinstall Trump in office. Upon the failure of the Capitol riots, they eyed the inauguration on Jan. 21, and after its uneventful passage, they waited for March 4, the U.S.’ historic inauguration day prior to the 20th Amendment’s passage in 1933. Now, with its social media communications severely impeded after mass account deactivations and lacking a defined date of anticipation, the QAnon movement’s energy is waning.
While QAnon has lost influence in the wake of Trump’s loss, many of its followers will likely migrate to other emerging theories. This trend occurs because conspiracy theories offer three main points of security:
- They are proportional; while many important world events result from seemingly mundane occurrences, conspiracy theories provide explanations that match the scale of each event. For instance, when President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in 1963, conspiracy theories of CIA and mob-tied hits quickly circulated. The explanation that Lee Harvey Oswald, a mentally deranged man, had killed Kennedy did not align with the gravity of the situation: the death of a U.S. president amid the Cold War. By contrast, when President Ronald Reagan survived John Hinckley Jr.’s 1981 assassination attempt, virtually no conspiracy theories surfaced.
- They are self-reinforcing; their perceived inclusivity allows believers to shrug off practically any criticism or factual opposition, no matter how absurd their beliefs. QAnon’s continued support despite backpedaling on the date of the highly anticipated “storm” is a testament to this.
- They are supportive; their gravity and mission-orientation imbue conspiracy followers with a sense of identity, leading them to attract disillusioned and/or socially outcast supporters. For instance, in the 2011 Tucson shooting, which saw the death of six civilians and the severe injury of former U.S. Rep. Gabrielle Giffords, the perpetrator, Jared Lee Loughner, was a paranoid schizophrenic who had floated around schools and jobs for years. His actions were motivated in large part by his belief in the 2012 apocalypse theory, which maintained that the world would end on Dec. 21, 2012.
It is no surprise, then, that conspiracy theories have always held a place in American culture. Even QAnon itself has roots in the “New World Order” conspiracy theory popular in the 20th century, which maintained that elite bankers, industrialists and politicians were taking over the world. This theory motivated Timothy McVeigh, a white-supremacist Gulf-War veteran with severe PTSD, to bomb Oklahoma City’s Murrah Federal Building in 1995, killing 168 and injuring hundreds.
Despite its similarities to previous conspiracy movements, QAnon’s support at its height was markedly different than other alt-right theories. While characteristically vocal groups like white supremacists and militias threw their support behind the movement, the vast majority of QAnon supporters were everyday suburbanites with no previous conspiracy theory affiliations. A substantial number of QAnon proponents were also women, marking a major difference between QAnon and historically male-dominated theories like the New World Order. Most importantly, QAnon was embraced by mainstream politicians, some winning seats in 2020 state races and others allegedly providing support to the Capitol rioters on Jan. 6.
In this way, QAnon’s unprecedented popularity reveals not only the individual disillusionment of thousands of Americans, but also the larger American identity crisis that emerged leading up to, during and since the end of the Trump administration. As globalization has shifted America’s economic, ethnic and cultural demography, many white Americans have felt a deep nostalgia for the “glory days” of the middle 20th century U.S. While these working-class Americans lost their jobs to automation and outsourcing, they saw politicians on both ends of the political establishment mocking them and their “basket of deplorables” while “bailing out” the banks. They believed Donald Trump was their panacea, the voice in Washington they had long sought. But as he came under scrutiny, his most vocal supporters rationalized and conspired in his defense, ultimately creating QAnon: the absurd theory that has torn the fabric of our democracy.
How can we loosen QAnon’s grip on America? How can we stop the cycle of disinformation and step back from the precipice of insurrection? How can we relegate conspiracy theories back to the fringes of our society as opposed to letting them fester in mainstream discourse?
First and foremost, those in government who gave legitimacy to QAnon violence and/or aided its proponents during the Capitol insurrection must be held accountable. Conspiracy theories are already self-reinforcing. Validating them further, particularly from a position of influence, is never appropriate.
In addition, we must expand opportunities for civic engagement and public service in the U.S., perhaps with a mandatory year of public service added on to high school curriculum. Doing so would help foster a shared identity and purpose within our communities, leaving fewer people vulnerable to the sympathetic pull of conspiracy theories.
Finally, if we want any hope of tackling the specter of conspiracy in this country, we must forgive our family members, friends and neighbors who supported or still support QAnon. While we cannot always provide a proportional explanation for the grave happenings of our increasingly complex world, offering a merciful hand to those in our lives can help our country regain its balance and retreat from the abyss of conspiracy.
