Hard to imagine a small but vocal group of Americans rooting for a declaration of martial law ahead of last Wednesday’s inauguration, but they were, nonetheless.
Some followers of QAnon, the focal point for a series of baseless conspiracy theories positioning Donald Trump as a valiant defender of the American dream against an alleged “deep-state” and a coven of Democratic pedophiles, hoped for President Joe Biden in handcuffs and a second term for the 45th president on Inauguration Day.
All by noon, apparently. (The afternoon and evening would have a lot to live up to.)
NBC News and the New York Times both reported on QAnon followers and their real-time disillusionment. “Wake up. We’ve been had,” wrote one in a QAnon chat group after the inauguration went off without the expected political parousia. “Anyone else feeling beyond let down?” moped another.
It didn’t take long for some to shift their prophecies to an unspecified date in the future. Those nominally in charge of prophesying for the movement have apparently learned their lesson: In the world of conspiracy, being too specific is a liability.
Scoffing at crazy stories of nefarious deeds in the basements of D.C. pizza parlors would be easy if we were talking about just a few lost souls howling in the wilderness. But one central QAnon influencer has more than 100,000 followers, a not-insignificant number of people.
How dedicated these adherents are to the cause is a matter of some speculation, of course. They may well pick and choose among the more outre theories espoused by their leaders, who trade in memes and innuendo, sharing and amplifying the same cyber screeds.
Like grazing through an all-you-can-eat-buffet, some followers may support only QAnon positions about election fraud. Call them the My Pillow faction, after CEO Mike Lindell, photographed leaving the White House last week with a document that referred cryptically — or not-so-cryptically — to the invocation of martial law.
These same followers may not subscribe to the Satanism and cannibalism charges. Or maybe they do. It’s hard to say.
At any rate, their disappointment would be funny if it weren’t so tragic. Anybody who’s ever had their heart broken by unrequited love, been passed over for a big promotion or new job, or realized they were just one number away from winning the lottery knows what QAnon folks are feeling this week.
Like those deluded warriors who stormed the Capitol building, believing they would be seated at the right hand of the Trump father that night and basking in his reflected glory but instead found themselves on no-fly lists and/or in custody, these poor QAnon expats must now return to sepia-toned reality after a brief, haunting glimpse at a Technicolor Oz.
Shades of the Ancient Mariner, they rejoin their lives “sadder and wiser” for the experience.
Unless they don’t and aren’t.
An ongoing concern is whether some of these lost folks will be recruited by groups of white supremacists, who will feed off this disillusionment and radicalize them within an even more dangerous and violent cause.
The best antidote to all this is decisive action by the Biden administration, not to deal specifically with QAnon or white supremacists, but rather to move with alacrity in bringing the pandemic under control, providing further financial relief to those who need it, and working diligently to prove the new president will be a leader for all Americans, not just those who voted for him.
Some money in the bank and a sense of purpose are the best bulwarks against disillusionment. And not just for QAnon followers, but for all of us.
chris.schillig@yahoo.com
@cschillig on Twitter
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