The weight of the oath sits heavy under the shadow of the Capitol. Five years later, the broken glass is gone, but the cracks in our foundation remain visible.
In 2010, I was deployed to Baquba, Iraq, during the parliamentary elections. By dawn, the city was already shaking. Insurgents were striking polling stations and election offices, using mortars, suicide vests, and gunfire, trying to make the simple act of voting look weak, dangerous, and ungovernable.
Four years later, in Afghanistan, I watched the same script play out. The Taliban called the election a âWestern sham.â They bombed schools used as polling places and assassinated officials to prove that democracy could not protect you.
I remember watching villagers line up anyway, terrified but resolute, their ink-stained fingers trembling as they cast their votes. That was courage. That was the defiance of free people against the tyranny of force.
So, on January 6, 2021, when I watched Americans storm our own Capitol to stop a peaceful transfer of power, I didnât feel shock. I felt a sickening familiarity. I had seen this playbook before. The flags were different, and the accents were familiar, but the intent, to seize power through fear, was identical.
Today marks five years since that breach. And while the broken glass has been swept away, the ideology that shattered it has not only survived but has also been emboldened.
The Myth of the âMobâ
For years, we were told that January 6 was a riot, a chaotic spasm of anger that got out of hand. But the data tells a different story, and nowhere is that story clearer than right here in North Carolina.
I have spent the last few years poring over the court documents of the 53 North Carolinians charged in the attack. These werenât just confused tourists. They were what we in the military call âForce Multipliers.â
We saw veterans, active-duty personnel, and individuals with specialized tactical training leading the charge. We saw the âStackâ, a military formation where a unit moves single-file, hands on shoulders, to breach a perimeter with focused kinetic energy. You donât do that by accident. You do that because you trained for it.
We saw Quick Reaction Forces (QRFs) staged in Virginia hotels, stocked with arsenals, waiting for the order to escalate from riot to war. This wasnât a protest; it was an operation.
The Betrayal of the Oath
As a veteran, I swore an oath to support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic. The veterans who participated in January 6 didnât just break the law; they desecrated that oath.
They took the skills, the training, and the lethality that the American taxpayer gave them to defend this nation, and they weaponized it against the very heart of our Republic.
There is no âstatute of limitationsâ on treason of the spirit. I believe firmly that any veteran convicted of participating in the violent breach of our Capitol should be stripped of every benefit, pension, and title they hold. You cannot draw a check from the government you tried to overthrow. You cannot have the title of âpatriotâ when you act as a domestic enemy.
The Pardons and the Permission Slip
But instead of accountability, we got the âFinal Betrayalâ in 2025.
When the pardons came down last year, erasing the convictions of key insurrectionists, it sent a catastrophic message. It told every militia member, every extremist, and every âaccelerationistâ in the dark corners of the internet that violence is acceptable as long as you have the right political cover.
We are now living in a world where the deterrents are gone. The âcostâ of insurrection has been reduced to zero. In North Carolina, we are seeing individuals who assaulted police officers return to our communities not as felons, but as martyrs.
The mob has left the Capitol steps and gone local.
Itâs Happening Here
Some will say, âMove on. Itâs been five years.â But you donât move past an open wound; you clean it, or it festers.
If you think this is just history, look at Wake Forest. The screens that glow in our living rooms are carrying the same localized storms. We see it in the âwhisper campaignsâ against neighbors, the xenophobia in our local elections, and the smearing of candidates based on their religious faith or ethnicity.
Iâve seen this in Iraq. Iâve seen it in Afghanistan. Itâs the authoritarian reflex, the instinct to control through fear and to weaponize belonging. Democracy doesnât usually die in a single explosion; it decays through habit. It dies when we start accepting that fear is a regular part of politics.
A Warning
Five years ago, the signs were there, but we called them âfree speechâ until they became âsedition.â
Today, the signs are here again. The camps are quieter, the chatter is on encrypted apps, and the âsoldiersâ have been pardoned. We are not in a period of peace; we are in a period of latency.
Wake Forest isnât Washington. But the patterns rhyme. If we learned anything from that day, it is that the next attack on democracy wonât need barricades or bayonets, just our silence.
We must be the ones to draw the line. We must be the ones to say that the Oath still matters. Because if we donât, the next time the breach comes, it wonât be a test. It will be the end.
Tom Baker IV is the publisher of Wake Forest Matters, Wake Forest’s only independent local newsroom. A Wake Forest native, Navy veteran, and intelligence professional, Tom launched Wake Forest Matters to bring serious accountability journalism to his hometown. Tips and story ideas: publisher@wakeforestmatters.com
