Dwain Northey (Gen X)

January Sixth has become one of those dates that doesn’t age—it just ferments. Like milk left on the counter, or a democracy left unattended with a sharpie and a grievance.

It is now the fifth anniversary of Donald Trump’s first very sincere, very peaceful, very tourist-friendly attempt to overthrow the government so he could stay in power. Five years. Traditionally, anniversaries are for reflection, growth, maybe a tasteful plaque. Instead, we got the sequel nobody asked for: Somehow, He Returned.

There is a special kind of terror reserved for moments when you realize history didn’t repeat itself because we failed to learn—it repeated itself because we shrugged and said, “Eh, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Many of us are still dumbfounded. Not the “how did my keys end up in the freezer?” dumbfounded. The existential, staring-at-the-wall, whispering are you kidding me dumbfounded. After the lies, the coup attempt, the indictments, the public admiration for autocrats, the casual suggestion that laws are more like vibes—after all that—he got back into office. Again. Four years later. On purpose.

And yet, those of us who actually saw who he was the first time are not surprised. Exhausted? Yes. Terrified? Constantly. Surprised? Not even a little.

Because this is what happens when accountability is treated like a suggestion box that everyone agrees to ignore.

Now here we are in 2026, lighting our grim little anniversary candles while watching the same man test the limits of power like a toddler repeatedly touching a hot stove—not because he doesn’t know it burns, but because he enjoys watching everyone else panic. Venezuela first. Who’s next? Greenland? Canada? Nigeria? Whoever happens to have oil, minerals, water, rare earths, or just the audacity to exist with resources he wants.

It’s less foreign policy and more estate sale logic: Look at all this stuff. Be a shame if someone liberated it.

And the justification, as always, is flexible. Drugs. Terror. Christianity. Freedom. National security. Spin the wheel, pick a reason. The goal isn’t coherence—it’s permanence.

Which brings us to the quiet part that keeps people up at night: is this the plan? Escalate. Provoke. Expand. Because history tells us there’s nothing quite like a big, scary, endless conflict to justify staying in power. You can’t change leadership during a world war, after all. That would be irresponsible. Unpatriotic. Dangerous. Please ignore the fact that the war may have been entirely optional.

It’s a neat trick. Set the house on fire, then announce that you alone must remain in charge of the hose.

What’s most chilling isn’t even the damage itself—though the damage is vast, measurable, and generational. It’s the normalization. The way the unthinkable keeps becoming the Tuesday headline. The way words like “coup,” “authoritarian,” and “political violence” have been folded into casual conversation, as if this were all just another quirky phase of American self-discovery.

Five years after January Sixth, we are still arguing about what we all watched with our own eyes. Still debating whether an attack on democracy counts as an attack if it fails the first time. Still pretending that intent doesn’t matter if incompetence intervenes.

So yes, some people are shocked. Others are confused. A few are still insisting this is all totally fine and actually very strong leadership.

But those of us who paid attention back then? We’re not shocked at all. We’re watching the same story continue, louder and more dangerous, and wondering how many anniversaries it will take before “never again” stops meaning “see you next time.”

Happy January Sixth. Blow out the candles carefully. The house is already full of gas.