Enough

by Cassidy Hutchinson

I take a deep breath and feel relief wash over me. I think of the Capitol Police officers sitting in the back row. I had done right by them, the first victims of the catastrophe Trump had caused. Maybe I haven’t always done the right thing, but I’m doing it now.

Liz asks me to describe his reaction on December 1 to Bill Barr’s statement to the Associated Press that the Department of Justice had found no evidence of widespread election fraud. I describe the loud noise coming from the Oval dining room, the ketchup dripping down the wall, helping his valet clean up the mess. “Was this the only incident you’re aware of where the president threw dishes?” Liz asks. “It’s not,”

others had getting an adamant Trump to call off his supporters ransacking the Capitol and threatening the lives of members of Congress and the vice president. I acknowledge again how reluctant Mark was to confront the boss’s anger and get him to see reason. I recount overhearing him tell Pat that Trump “thinks Mike deserves it. He doesn’t think they’re doing anything wrong.” Liz briefly interjects to make sure everyone realizes what I had just attested to: the president of the United States had told his chief of staff and legal counsel that he was fine with an armed mob trying to kill the vice president of the United States.

“I remember feeling frustrated and disappointed, and really it felt personal. I was really sad. As an American, I was disgusted. It was unpatriotic. It was un-American. We were watching the Capitol building get defaced over a lie, and it was something that was really hard in that moment to digest, knowing what I’ve been hearing down the hall and the conversations that were happening. Seeing that tweet come up and knowing what was happening on the Hill, and it’s something that I—it’s still—I still struggle to work through the emotions of that.”

plays of Rep. Mike Gallagher, a House Republican from Wisconsin and an exemplary public servant, imploring Trump to call off the mob. He pleads to the camera, targeting an audience of one, the president of the United States. “This is bigger than you… It’s about the United States of America, which is more important than any politician.”

I’m gratified that there are people for whom my testimony meant something; listeners whose eyes were opened to the fragility of our democracy. And I’m proud of bringing parts of my story from my New Jersey childhood to that hearing room. I did what was expected of me, what should be expected of an American. I did my civic duty, no more than that. I felt like an American, and I didn’t require or deserve anything more than a “thank you for your testimony.”

Whatever I accomplished in that hearing is as much a testament to her patriotism as it is to mine.

In an animated tone, Eric says to Jody, “That’s my fucking handwriting. Law enforcement is going to back me up. I’ve talked to Bill Barr about it. My family knows that’s my handwriting. She needs to put out a statement right now that says that’s my handwriting. She knows that’s my handwriting.” He repeats himself several times and then adds, “I’m sixty-one, and I’m a lawyer. Cassidy was a young staffer. If she doesn’t put out a statement, I’ll be forced to put one out myself.”

I tried to mentally prepare for breaking with Trump World. I know how they curate vile attacks on their detractors. I was once part of that process.

“Ms. Hutchinson believes that January 6 was a horrific day for the country, and it is vital to the future of our democracy that it not be repeated.”

Trump doesn’t care if you dispute him or call him a liar. Only silence bothers him. Being ignored drives him mad.

Alyssa Farah calls constantly. She is leading my media defense, going head-to-head with Trump and his cronies. Alyssa is as courageous as she is patriotic, and her friendship grounds me. Mick Mulvaney, Mark’s predecessor, checks in and defends my testimony in the press.

Motorcades are unremarkable to me. I’ve been in hundreds before. But this one is strange. Because this time it’s me who needs protection. My life is in danger.

I learn that one of the officers in my car is assigned to Senate majority leader Chuck Schumer and another is from Liz Cheney’s detail. I learn, too, that I’m the first nonelected official under Capitol Police protection.

I was waiting for enough time to pass to create my new normal.

Bill and Jody were now more than just my attorneys. They were becoming my dear friends, confidants, and guardians. They advised, defended, and encouraged me, and saw to it that I had the time and security to determine how and when I’d emerge from seclusion, who I would be, and where home would be. I was used to being self-sufficient. I trusted Bill and Jody,

In the wake of the most vicious political battles, Liz emerged with her principles and integrity unscathed.

And then, there was only one thing left to do: move forward. In the throes of love and loss, bravery and fear, I found freedom. I am finally free.

Yet on January 6, 2021, President Trump’s lies about the 2020 election, and the proliferation of poisonous conspiracy theories he and some of my former colleagues amplified, exposed the fragility of American democracy.

in my heart I wanted the truth to be known. I had seen how fragile democracy is, and my conscience recognized our duty as citizens to attend to it for its survival.

fortuitous discovery of someone whose name I had never heard before—Alex Butterfield—made all the difference. He had come forward to testify honestly about the Nixon White House. I would find myself in a similar position fifty years later. The account of Alex’s integrity in Bob Woodward’s The Last of the President’s Men inspired my moral reckoning.

“People were lying right and left.” And those people, except for the president they had served, had gone to jail. “They were ensnared by the glitter of the presidency,”

I denounce the tribalism that produced the outlandish conspiracy theories and violence that some party leaders not only failed to condemn but even excused in their pursuit of power. If we do not restore responsible governing, respect for our democratic practices, and accountability for our leaders as core Republican values, I fear not only for the future of our party, but for our nation.

I bury my face in his chest. “It’s okay,” he comforts me. “It’s okay, you’re home now.”