The Day Democracy Died

As my mom keeps talking about what an opportunity this is, I can’t help thinking how boring it is! So far, visiting Washington, D.C. during the pre-inauguration days has been slow and full of speeches. I get it. A woman Vice-President. Not only a woman, but a woman of diverse background. It’s a first. Historical. Opens doors for women everywhere, as my both of my grandmas put it. 

BUT...it’s the middle of winter, it’s freezing outside, and the days have been long and gray. Since Covid-19, we haven't traveled. My mom’s uncle lives in Maryland, though, and works for the government. So my grandma set up all of these tours and trips around D.C. through him. Somehow he got our family into a special White House tour.

Which means hours of walking around dusty, dark hallways full of old books, listening to some intern drone on about everything from history to policies to people I don’t know to more policies.  The most exciting thing so far has been the other people on the tour. While my parents are a pretty moderate version of Democrats, the rest of my family is rather split. There were definitely some people in our tour group who would have fit in with my extremely Republican Michigan or Illinois farming relatives. 

One tall guy had a T-shirt on that read Stop the Steal. He had really shaggy blonde hair and was loud. My mom would have called him opinionated. He kept asking questions, which made the intern take even longer to move around. 

Another lady wore a shirt with an American flag on it and a MAGA hat, which my parents had explained meant “Make America Great Again.” It sounds to me like the only America he wants to be great through is the one for rich, white men. I know my mom can’t understand how women can support him, and although I don’t understand everything he’s said, I know enough to realize it isn’t complimentary to women. 

I yawn as Shaggy asks another question, something about the layout of the offices, and the group continues on down a hallway as the tour guide answers. My mom and I walk behind my dad, who is carrying my younger sister Evelyn.

“So, what do you think?” she asks, excitedly. I struggle to hide my next yawn. 

“It’s fascinating,” I mumble, trying not to hurt her feelings.

She sighs. “I know you’re not impressed, but someday you’ll realize how important this event is.” She takes my hand, which isn’t something she does very often. 

I look at her, surprised. My mom isn’t overly affectionate, but I know she loves me. I also know she’s proud of me and has my back always and forever. 

“I just want you to know that although this hasn’t been the greatest vacation, it has opened my eyes to the fact that you can be anything you want to be, including president,” she says with a grin, squeezing my hand. 

“Mom,” I object, rolling my eyes at her. 

I hear MAGA lady ask where the restrooms are and the intern tells her she has to wait until we get back to the public restrooms in the lobby. I sigh as we continue walking and listening to the intern do her thing. 

When the tour is finally over and we are back at my Great Uncle James’ house, I go to dig through my purse and realize I can’t find my phone. 

“Mom? Have you seen my phone?” I ask, trying not to panic. 

She looks up from the couch where she is talking with her uncle and sighs. 

“No Penelope. Where was the last place you saw it?” she answers with vague annoyance in her voice. We had argued about the idea of me taking it on vacation. My track record with electronics isn’t the best, and since I was going to be  with them the entire time there wasn’t much point in having it. I’d won the argument by saying I wanted to take pictures of historic events from the perspective of a young woman. I had taken about two pictures so far and we’d been there three days.

“Ummm…” I think back to the day before as I continue to rummage around my purse. I’d sent a message in the morning to Sofia asking what was up. She hadn’t responded before we’d started the tour, and I’d had to turn my phone off before it had started. I hadn’t seen it since then.

“Before the tour. I think I slid it in the front pocket of my purse before we locked stuff in the lockers, but it’s not there,” I realize why, starting to panic. As I dig further into the little pocket, my fingertips eventually come out the other side of my purse, revealing the hole that my phone had probably fallen out of. 

“Penelope Angelina,” my mom starts, “I highly doubt the White House has a lost and found for cell phones. Seriously? It’s not in your pocket, or a different bag, or maybe check Uncle James’ car.” 

I’m already shaking my head. Just then my dad walks in with my little sister. 

“What’s going on?” he asks as he looks at our faces. My mom looks at me to tell him. 

“I lost my phone somewhere,” I admit, looking down. And with that an argument ensues about whether or not it’s worth retracing our steps to try and find it. 

“Of course it is! I need it! How am I supposed to take pictures or keep in touch with my friends... or research interesting historical facts,” I add quickly. My mom rolls her eyes and I’m pretty sure my dad nearly laughs out loud. 

“I’ll see if one of my friends can stop at the restaurant we ate at earlier and check there,” Great Uncle James says, trying to help. 

“Thank you,” my dad says, “If it’s okay, I’ll go ahead and take Ms. Penelope with me to retrace our steps, starting with Uncle James’ car.”

I roll my eyes at him, knowing I’m not lucky enough for it to have fallen out in the car. With my luck, it fell out over a sewer hole and went down it through one of the tiny cracks in it. 

 A few hours later, we’ve checked Uncle James’ car, the parking garage outside the White House, the restaurant we’d eaten at after, and everywhere in between except the actual White House. 

“Well, Penny, I don’t know how to get into the White House again,” my dad says, driving around the same street for about the tenth time. “It’s not like you just walk up to the gate and ask to be let in to look for your phone.” 

He pulls out his phone and calls my mom. I look out the car window in frustration as they discuss what to do. The crowd outside is even more fascinating than the one on the tour with us yesterday. Dad finally hangs up the phone. “Uncle James is going to make a call and see if he can get us in there again tomorrow morning. Just to check the lockers, not to take a tour,” he says seeing the look on my face. “That’s a big deal and no small favor, so make sure you thank him. He didn’t have to do that for an 11-year-old’s cell phone.” The look he gave me made me feel about an inch tall. 

“I will, Dad. Thank you for taking me out today and looking for it,” I add. As we head home, I point out the crowd around the White House and how aggressive some of them look. 

“They look like they’re getting ready for war,” my dad observes quietly. We watch a group holding Stop the Steal signs push their way through another group holding Trump signs. 

“I have to imagine the Capitol Police and National Guard are ready for any trouble though,” he continues hopefully. He had been talking with Great Uncle James about the on-edge feeling in D.C. lately. They both seemed worried, but I wasn’t really sure about what. I was about to find out tomorrow, though. 

When I wake up the next day, I notice that both of my parents are watching the news. They don’t usually do this. My mom freely admits it’s because she’s skeptical of mainstream media, but also because it’s so depressing. Apparently though, they were watching because the big crowd outside the White House had grown this morning and they weren’t sure we should try and get my phone back just yet. 

“Mike said he’d be able to get you in right at noon for no more than a half hour to look for it. With it being the electoral vote counting day, the security is even tighter than usual. And with all the protestors on the lawn, people are very much on edge. I sent Mike your pictures so he’ll recognize you when you get to the gate. He’ll walk you in and out,” Uncle James is explaining to my dad as I come into the kitchen in the morning. 

“I’m not sure it’s really that important that we can’t wait until tomorrow,” I hear my mom yell from the living room where she’s playing with my sister. 

“Yes it is!” I chime in dramatically. “If we can’t find it, I don’t know what I’ll do!”

They don’t get that my phone has been my one consistent contact with the outside world since Covid happened. Yes, there’s school and sports, but when they cancel those because the number of Covid cases gets too high, my phone will be how I keep in touch with people. 

With my statement, the dramatic discussion of what to do begins. After much arm-waving, some crying on my part, and quite a bit of yelling, we decide that my dad and I will venture to the Capitol again in search of my phone. 

“We’re never going to find a parking space,” my dad groans. This is the twentieth time we’ve driven around the block, and we are almost out of time. 

“Dad, you can just drop me off at the gate, Mike can run me in to look for it, you keep making loops around the block, and he can run me back out once I find it or time’s up,” I suggest.

He looks at me like I’m insane, then looks back at the intimidating crowd gathered all around us. When he looks back at me, there’s something like pride in his eyes. 

“You mother would kill me, so no. But I appreciate the offer and idea and love that you’re brave enough I think you’d try to pull it off. That part also scares the crap out of me, but hey,” he trails off shrugging. Just then a car in front of us pulls out of a parking spot. 

“There!” I shriek as my dad yells, “Yes!” and pulls into the spot. We hop out, he grabs my hand, and we sprint toward the gate. My dad glances at his watch. “11:55,” he mutters. We have to shove our way through the crowd. I can hear my dad saying, “Excuse me,” so I add my voice to the mix. “Excuse me!” I begin shouting as loudly as I can. I can still barely hear myself over the roar of the crowd. Every now and then you hear a chant rise up, but I can’t really make out what they’re chanting.

We’re almost to the gate when a man with a hockey stick shoves his way between us, pulling our hands apart. 

“Stop the Steal!” he’s repeating wildly. I try to catch my balance, but am about to fall over when my dad grabs me and pulls me up against the gate next to him and an older guy that reminds me of Great Uncle James. 

“This is Mike and he’s going to get us in and out of this craziness,’ my dad says by way of introduction.

 Mike gives me a friendly smile, looks around behind us a bit nervously, then leads us in through a smaller gate that most people probably don’t realize exists. He flashes his security badge and pauses briefly to explain to a guard at a door into the actual building. He motions for us to follow him in and we enter the White House through a very different door than yesterday. 

We go up some stairs and down a hallway to another security check. Although the woman here looks at us like we’re nuts, she lets us through after checking that we were on a tour yesterday. We continue to wind our way up and down hallways, where I do recognize some things from the tour yesterday. After a while of walking and turning and walking and turning, though,  I have no idea where we are. 

We come up to another security checkpoint. This time, there is a bit of a heated discussion. The security guard points to the television, then a piece of paper he has, then to the outer door. I’m pretty sure he’s referencing the crowd which I can hear getting even louder. The television is covering what looks like a bomb threat at several locations in the area, and I begin to realize maybe my phone could have waited. 

“They’ll be quick,” I hear Mike say, trying to convince him. I check my watch and it’s already 12:45. We’ve been walking the White House for nearly 45 minutes! 

“If this is a bad idea, we can come back tomorrow,” my dad interjects, taking a step forward. 

Mike looks at him, then back to the other security guard, then shrugs. 

“At this point, it’s too late,” Mike says. I hear the officer’s radio click, then a voice comes on, sounding panicked. 

“Rioters have overwhelmed the first barricades! We’re going to need all officers...” then static. 

“Come on,” Mike says, turning and starting to jog down the hallway. We follow him quickly, through some more hallways and turns, then suddenly we’re at the locker area. I quickly walk over to the locker we’d used and can’t believe my luck when I shove my hand inside the open locker and find my phone all the way in the back. 

“No way!” I say in excitement and relief. I hold it up and my dad and Mike both smile, then look at each other in concern as Mike’s radio goes off with another panicked voice.

“Rioters have breached the barricades and are heading toward the Capitol. Reinforcements are needed…”

“Come with me. I think we’re just going to stay inside until this mess is cleaned up,” Mike says, leading us out of the locker area, down a set of stairs, through another hallway, and into a side door that matched the wall paneling. 

The small room was unoccupied and had a desk, chair, window, couch, and TV. Mike grabbed the remote and clicked the TV on. 

“Thank you,” my dad started to say to Mike, but the radio cut him off again. “Rioters have breached the capitol! I repeat, rioters have entered the building and are making their way to…” Static cuts off the radio again. 

“Stay here. I have to go check in,” Mike says. “Here’s a radio,” he continued quickly, grabbing one off one of the desks and turning it to the right channel. “Lock the door and don’t open it until you know what’s going on!”

He turned and ran out, throwing the door shut behind him. My dad quickly locks it, then turns to me with a stunned look on his face. “Not what I expected when I came to get your phone today.” He walks over and turns up the television. 

We plop down on the couch together to watch. The news doesn't look comforting, and every channel has on some version of the news. Channels are reporting on Trump’s actions that led up to the riot. Some are showing videos of rioters breaking windows to enter the Capitol. Trump continues to Tweet about the election being stolen from him. Outside looks like something from the international news; not something that would happen on our home soil. My dad pulls me closer as we continue to watch the chaos. 

Suddenly my dad turns down the TV and I can hear yelling in the hallway. The radio buzzes and we can hear panicked voices and more yelling. There are running footsteps that go by our door, then it sounds like someone slams a door shut. 

I look at my dad, suddenly realizing we may not be as safe as we think. He has the radio in his hand and is watching the television intently once again. I can feel how tense he is and slowly begin to understand the gravity of the situation. If he is afraid, I should definitely worry.

Protesting is one thing - voicing your opinion in a forceful, yet respectful way in order to force social change. Rioting like this because you didn’t get your way? This makes it seem like our Democratic way of life doesn’t mean anything. We are literally watching politicians being taken into safe rooms to protect them from their own citizens. 

After what feels like an eternity, Trump finally Tweets that his followers should leave. The television anchor draws a shaky breath and announces that things look to be under control again. Rioters have left the Capitol and the National Guard has come to the rescue. It sounds like people were actually hurt, and even died in this. 

“This kind of terror and fear wouldn’t take place on my watch,” I promise my dad. “I think I may join student government when I get into middle school.”

He looks at me sadly, knowing I’ve grown up more today than I had in the past year altogether. 

“With your determination, loyalty, and intelligence, I would vote for you,” he promises back.