On This Corner, January 6 Was a Glorious Revolution

Editor’s Note: Read Hanna Rosin’s story, “The Insurrectionists Next Door”.

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In Episode 1, we learned that one of our new neighbors is Micki Witthoeft, the mother of Ashli Babbitt. In this episode, we learn more about why she moved to D.C. Every night without fail, Witthoeft and her housemates hold a vigil outside the D.C. jail where the rioters arrested for their actions on January 6 are held. We begin visiting these vigils and discover an alternate universe, where the people we know as insurrectionists are considered heroes.

We also get invited to Witthoeft’s house, which she refers to as the “Eagle’s Nest.” There we learn about how her life and the lives of her roommates were turned upside down after January 6. And Witthoeft, for the first time, tells the story of how she learned about her daughter’s death, and how it radicalized her.

This is the second episode of We Live Here Now, a six-part series about what happened when we found out that our new neighbors were supporting January 6 insurrectionists.

The following is a transcript of the episode:

Hanna Rosin: You know what I’ve always been really curious about? Why you?

Lauren Ober: Why me what?

Rosin: Like, she’s very suspicious of a lot of things. She really can turn on a dime on anybody.

Ober: She has on me.

Rosin: And yet, I do have a sense that she specifically trusts you, in some way. Do you have any guesses why?

Ober: I mean, sometimes I’ve thought, like, Maybe I remind her of her daughter. I don’t know.

Rosin: Wait. Of Ashli?

Ober: Yeah. I mean, she described Ashli as, like, basically an acquired taste. Like, people didn’t feel neutrally towards Ashli. You either loved her or you hated her.

[Music]

Rosin: I’m Hanna Rosin.

Ober: And I’m Lauren Ober. And from The Atlantic, this is: We Live Here Now.

Rosin: The “she” in that conversation is Micki Witthoeft, the mother of the only person shot and killed on January 6. We introduced you to her in the previous episode. She moved into our D.C. neighborhood to get some sort of justice for her daughter. And that quest takes the form of a vigil held outside the D.C. jail—every night, uninterrupted, for two years.

Do you remember the first time you decided to go to the vigils?

Ober: I was ramping up to go to the vigil for days. Like, I kept being like, Tonight’s the night I’m going to go to the vigil. Tonight’s the night I’m going to go to the vigil.

Rosin: How did you think they were going to treat you or talk to you?

Ober: Before I showed up there, I definitely thought that I was going to get kicked out or something. I just figured I would be met, at bare minimum, with intense skepticism. Like, Who is this person? Why are they here?

Rosin: Right. Lauren, I have a really good idea. Can you read me that script that you wrote on the notes app, please? Now. Like, right now.
Ober: (Laughs.) Okay, in my own defense, I sometimes bumble my words, so I needed a little guidance. So that’s just a caveat. It said, “Hey. I’m Lauren. I make audio documentaries, and I recently heard about your vigils and wanted to know more about what’s been going on down here.”

Rosin: That’s good. That’s good. (Laughs.) Thumbs up. Very good.

Ober: (Laughs.) Thank you. Glad you approve.

Anyway, I got out of my car. I walked towards a bunch of American flags, which were an obvious tell that I was in the right place. I passed a truck that had the words we the people stenciled on it. Then there was another one parked right next to it with a 1776 sticker in the window. So—

Rosin: Clearly, you were in the right place.

Ober: Because also, you have to understand, the physical geography of the vigil is, like, down at the end of a sidewalk, and the sidewalk starts at the top of this little hill, and you land at the end of the sidewalk where the vigil is. And so it’s like, you know, you can see the enemy coming.

[Crowd murmurs and loudspeaker announcement]

Ober: When I landed at the vigil, there’s a table set up with some speakers and a sound system, and behind that, a bunch of American flags. There’s another table for snacks and coffee, and a couple of camp chairs strewn about. And the whole of “Freedom Corner” was ringed by metal barricades set up by police.

When I arrived, I spotted Micki, gathered up my nerve, walked up to her, and delivered my script. It went about as well as you might expect. But she didn’t kick me out. She just put out her cigarette and walked back towards the various cameras livestreaming the vigil.

[Music]

Ober: Since that first time I went, I’ve now been to the vigil maybe a dozen times. And this is generally how it goes: The guys in the prison, which they call the “D.C. Gulag,” are in a segregated wing of the D.C. jail, which they call the “Patriot Pod.” Most of them are in there awaiting trial or sentencing for charges like assault and civil disorder relating to January 6. And every night between 7 and 9 p.m., a bunch of them call in to the vigil. But before that, there’s a roll call.

Person at microphone: Duke Wilson.

Person in crowd: Hero.

Person at microphone: Ricky Wilden.

Person in crowd: Hero.

Person at microphone: Shane Woods.

Person in crowd: Hero.

Person at microphone: Chris Worrell.

Person in crowd: Hero.

Ober: During this roll call, someone at the vigil reads off the names of people detained as a result of January 6, plus the people who died on January 6 and the folks who took their lives after the riot. There are so many names that the roll call takes a solid five, six minutes to get through. At the end of this portion of the vigil, the assembled crowd, maybe five to 10 people—maybe more—breaks into a chant.

Person at microphone: Now let’s say her name.

Crowd in unison: Ashli Babbitt! Ashli Babbitt! Ashli Babbitt! Ashli Babbitt!

Ober: Anyway, the combination of vibes is weird. On one hand, it’s like a funeral that never ends. And as such, it’s appropriately somber. A young woman died, and here on this corner, time stands still for her—and for her mother. Every night at the vigil is Ashli Babbitt night.

But then, the other vibe is like a MAGA rally or a tent revival, because after the chants, it’s time for the prisoners slash patriots to call in to the vigil and testify.

Prisoner James Strand: Hey. What’s going on?

Ober: From inside the jail, the J6ers call out to one of the vigil-goers’ phones, and then whoever fields the call broadcasts it through the speakers on Freedom Corner.

Person at microphone: Oh, just living—

Strand: This is James Strand. Yeah, go ahead.

Person at microphone: Living the American dream out here on Freedom Corner.

Crowd member: Hey, hey.

Strand: Out there on Freedom Corner, right next to the graveyards.

Person at microphone: That’s right.

Ober: They talk about all kinds of goings-on in the jail—the homemade haircuts, the rank food, the bodybuilding competitions. They send messages to their wives and solicit donations for their legal fees. And almost to a person, they use their nightly phone calls to air their grievances against the government, which are many.

That first night I went, one guy called in and said he couldn’t believe that people who love America could be made out as terrorists. Tami, one of Micki’s roommate’s, fielded that call—and commiserated.

Tami: I never thought I’d see the day that people would go to jail for thought crimes. But as I’ve been here in D.C. the last several months, I’ve seen it over and over and over again.

Ober: Another guy called in to explain that he hadn’t really committed a crime.

Prisoner: If you were there, it does not match the narrative that is being portrayed on the outside.

Ober: Then this electrician from New Jersey called in with some choice words about America.

Prisoner: In 10 years or in five years or in eight years, America’s gonna be a shithole. It doesn’t matter whether it’s 20 years from now or 10 years from now.

Ober: Basically, every vigil goes this way.

Prisoner: If we don’t win in the next year—

Crowd member: That’s over.

Tami: That’s true. He’s not lost.

Prisoner: That’s it! Who cares?

Tami: Obviously, not you.

Ober: None of the guys who call in say they did anything wrong. Most of them say they are being mistreated. And they refer to themselves as political prisoners and, more recently, hostages. The folks at the vigil, like Micki’s housemate Nicole, use this language, too.

[Music]

Nicole: At this point, he is now really a hostage. He’s no longer a political prisoner. He’s done his time. He is a hostage.

Ober: “Hostage.” “Political prisoner.” Trump himself has picked up this rhetoric.

Donald Trump: I am the political prisoner of a failing nation, but I will soon be free, on November 5, the most important day in the history of our country.

Ober: So this little homespun vigil operation organized by our neighbor has somehow transmitted this language—these ideas—from jail payphones to Freedom Corner loudspeakers to YouTube live streams to Trump’s mouth. How did that even happen?

But then, that first day I was there, something else happened, too. One of the men who called in was Jeffrey Sabol. He’s a Colorado geophysicist convicted of beating and dragging a law enforcement officer down the Capitol stairs.

Jeffrey Sabol: Same old stuff in here. It’s just another day.

Ober: He gave a short update on the boring goings-on in the jail: Some guys were working out, some guys were watching TV, and some guys were in need of a lesson on cleaning up.

Person at microphone: You know, Jeff always says it’s Groundhog Day in there, but it’s Hotel California for us out here.

Ober: And then Micki got on the phone and explained that there was somebody from the neighborhood in attendance tonight.

Micki: So we actually have informed the neighborhood tonight.

Sabol: One at a time. It’s one at a time.

Micki: You gotta take ’em how you get ’em.

Ober: Now, you could see this as a cute, little outreach, or you could see it as vaguely menacing. Like, Welcome to our little corner, you spy. We see you. We know you’re here. And I’m telling the guys on the inside, there’s an outsider here.

Micki sent a message that night for sure, though just what it meant, I didn’t know. But it did make me want to know more about the woman running this Groundhog Day funeral slash conspiracy-corner mini MAGA rally. Was this vigil the result of grief gone haywire? Or was it some sort of shrewd political movement?

[Music in crowd]

Ober: At the end of that first visit to the vigil, Micki offered me coffee and a slice of blueberry pie—a nice gesture, for sure. But I don’t drink coffee. And I don’t eat fruit pie. And I definitely do not eat when I’m on a very important reporting mission.

But I did appreciate the offer. It felt neighborly. So I kept returning to the vigil.

Ober: How are you?

Tami: Good. How are you?

Ober: Great. What’s going on?

Tami: Another beautiful night vigilizing. Vigilizing.

Ober: You’re vigilizing.

Tami: Vigilizing.

Ober: And I got to be pretty friendly with the folks there, including Micki’s housemate Nicole.

Nicole: God bless them, but that is not the mastermind that was taking over our government that day. The Proud Boys were not—

Ober: I know this is weird, but one day we joked about militias because, during a conversation, I got the Proud Boys and the Oath Keepers confused.

Nicole: That was the Oath Keepers.

Ober: Oh, I’m sorry. (Laughs.)

Nicole: I know. You’ve got to get your militias straight.

Ober: (Laughs.) “You’ve got to get your militias straight.”

Nicole: If you’re going to come down here, you’ve got to know your militias straight.

Ober: You know, I can’t—there are too many splinter groups and, you know.

Nicole: There’s factions. There’s levels. There’s color coding. (Laughs.)

Ober: Listen. When the gay militia happens, I’m there, okay? When that happens. Until then—

Nicole: Well, we’re a country of militias, you know. Well, the thing that I find funny about people thinking—

[Music]

Ober: Because Freedom Corner isn’t exactly a place to have an intimate conversation, what with all the roll calling and patriotizing, I wanted to visit Micki and her crew at the “Eagle’s Nest”—a white row house just down the block. So I asked if I could come over.

[Break]

Ober: Where are we right now?

Nicole: Our common space. Our living area.

Ober: Where?

Nicole: D.C.

Ober: This is the “other White House”?

Tami: Yes.

Nicole: Okay. I get it.

Ober: That’s what I’ve been calling it.

Nicole: Okay. I like “other White House.” We like that.

Ober: The Eagle’s Nest is a four-bedroom rental with an American flag hanging out front and a red-white-and-blue pinwheel in the yard.

Ober: Do you wan to call it the “real White House”?

Tami: I would say this White House is way more legitimate than the one over there.

Ober: I figured you would say that.

Ober: The first thing I noticed, right away, was how devoid the house was of MAGA anything. Bald-eagle stuffed animals? Check.

A whiteboard with the names of their enemies, including Lieutenant Michael Byrd, the guy who runs Cowboys for Trump, and quote “That bitch Judge Friedrich”? Check.

But no real Trump anything. That surprised me. I thought they were all about MAGA, but judging by their decor, it seemed like they were mostly all about the U.S. of A.

Ober: There are, like, 9,000 American flags in here.

Micki: Well, we have some.

Ober: You have so many flags in here. There’s another one. American flag. Flag. Flag comforter.

Micki: Well, it went with our motif.

Ober: At the time of my first visit, Micki lived in the house with two other women: Nicole Reffitt, whose husband, Guy, was the first personto be tried and sentenced for January 6–related crimes, and Tami Perryman, whose partner, Brian Jackson, had been held in the D.C. Jail for more than a year as his J6 case made its way through the court.

The three women spend their days going to court for trials and sentencing hearings, making jail visits, and meeting with politicians on Capitol Hill.

Micki: And then we come home, and then we make coffee and go to the vigil.

Tami: We do like to be home around three.

Micki: And then we come home, and then we have a pretty late dinner, and then we go to bed, and then we get up and do it all over again.

Ober: In the two years that the trio have been in D.C., they’ve become almost like Washington insiders. They know their way around the D.C. federal court docket and congressional buildings way better than I do, and I’ve been a reporter here for more than a decade.

Ober: None of you had ever been to a congressional hearing before.

Tami: No. I didn’t even know you could go to a congressional hearing. And I thought that the people that were running the country were supposed to be smarter than the average, everyday citizen, and they’re not.

Ober: What about you, Micki? Were you this invested in the news and politics?

Micki: No. I lived in blissful ignorance.

Ober: What does that mean?

Micki: That means I was lucky enough to live in the same house for 24 years and raise my children. And then my husband and I moved on to a boat, and we lived in, you know, in the San Diego Bay, and my life was good. I was happy.

[Music]

Ober: Micki describes her life before Ashli’s death as uncomplicated. She worked in a daycare and read a million books. She gardened, and she hung out with her family. She didn’t have a lot of money, and sometimes things were tight. But she liked her life, even through the pandemic. Her peace was only slightly interrupted by her daughter coming over and going on about mask mandates or missing ballots or whatever.

Micki: Ashli would talk to me about politics, and I’m like, You know what, baby? You know, go get them. But not me. I’m gonna go sit on my boat. I’m gonna read my book. I’m gonna eat my popcorn. I’m gonna pet my dog. I’m gonna stick my feet in the water. I’m gonna go work my couple hours in the morning with my little, teeny baby lovables, and then I’m gonna go home, and I’m gonna love my life and live my life.

And that is truly what I did. You know, I had no patience for politics. And I kind of had the attitude where, I can’t fix it. You’re kind of stuck in the status quo. Your life’s good. What’s the problem? But then: It’s not anymore.

Ober: Micki and her daughter, Ashli, lived about 12 minutes from each other in San Diego—Micki on her boat and Ashli in an old-school hippie surf neighborhood called Ocean Beach. But at the time of Ashli’s death, the pair weren’t really speaking, and they hadn’t seen much of each other in months—the result of a family spat that Micki didn’t want to get into with me. So Micki had no idea Ashli was planning to go to Trump’s “Stop The Steal” rally on January 6. She didn’t really know anything about the event.

Micki: I didn’t even realize what was going on in D.C. was going to be such a big frickin’ deal. You know, I was very much removed from that.

Ober: Ashli traveled to D.C. by herself. She texted her husband a selfie and wrote, “Tons of Trump supporters on my plane!!!” After Trump’s speech, Ashli walked to the Capitol and made her way inside the building. At some point that afternoon, Micki remembers getting a call from her daughter-in-law telling her that Ashli was hurt.

[Music]

Ober: The details about what happened next are cloudy for Micki. But in the days that followed January 6, Ashli’s remains were cremated and brought back to San Diego by a family friend. The family grieved and had a memorial, and a debate raged in the country about whether Micki’s daughter was a hero or a monster. It was all too much for Micki.

Micki: I spent quite a few months, literally, underwater. It’s a very intense time, Lauren. You know, it can, like, blur one day into another, and next thing you know, you’ve been underwater for six months.

Ober: Micki could barely get up to bathe or eat.

Micki: I had not watched any television, couldn’t listen to music, couldn’t turn on the radio. But in the process, I had a dream about Ashli.

It was about political prisoners. She had been arrested for shooting a red-white-and-blue rocket around the moon. And she said they’re gonna execute her. And she was like, I’m a goner. And I was like, Get in my purse, and let’s go. And she was like no. I said, Well, then just tell them you didn’t do it. And she said, I won’t tell them I didn’t do it. And I’d do it again. And I’m a goner. These are the people you need to worry about. We were in a cell full of people. It was more like a cage—more like a chain-link cage with just a whole bunch of people and her fresh out of the shower, talking about how they were going to kill her.

You know, I couldn’t help her, but it fostered my concern for other people that were affected by the situation.

[Music]

Ober: Even in her haze, Micki was inching towards a different version of herself. This woman who had never cared about politics committed to a task: She would get out of bed and make one phone call every day.

Micki: That’s really all I could do. I would get up, and I’d make calls to Nancy Pelosi’s office, Dianne Feinstein’s office, Tad DiBiase, Congressman Issa. Although he’ll argue the point that I didn’t, I know I did. It’s in my death notebook.

Ober: Your what, now?

Micki: My death notebook. That’s what I call it. Like, after Ashli died, I had notes every time I talked to somebody. I know it’s kind of a morbid thing to say, but that’s what it is.

Ober: Micki didn’t get anywhere with those folks, and that’s not surprising. But something else happened.

Micki: Probably about three months in, my friend Wilma came over and said, You have got to get up, get in the shower, and get the fuck outside. Get some sunlight. Get some—whatever you need to do, you need to start with the shower, and let’s go. And she would walk with me and listen to me, you know—a true blessing.

Ober: Her friend Wilma figured Micki needed to do more than just her one phone call a day, so she suggested an outing.

Micki: She decided to take me on a Mother’s Day healing trip. So she has a camper, and off to Sacramento we went. We were going to talk to some people.

Ober: You were going there because it’s the capital.

Micki: We were.

Ober: Not because it’s a cool place to hang out.

Micki: Right. But it was actually an amazing trip. The Capitol was closed down, fenced off. But we had little flyers that we handed out and some bracelets. And the city did not receive us well.

Ober: People didn’t want the bracelets or the flyers, and they definitely didn’t want to hear about January 6. But then, on the way home—

Micki: We were in a campsite, and I heard Paul Gosar had said something about Ashli.

Paul Gosar: Was Ashli Babbitt armed?

Ober: That’s Republican Congressman Paul Gosar of Arizona.

Jeff Rosen: Again, Congressman, I mean to be respectful of your observations, but I just don’t want to talk about individual situations.

Gosar: Mr. Rosen, I declare reclaiming my time. Mr. Rosen. No, she wasn’t. She was wrapped in a U.S. flag.

Ober: What Micki heard was Congressman Gosar questioning Acting Attorney General Jeff Rosen during a House Oversight Committee hearing on May 12, 2021—just after Mother’s Day.

Gosar: Was the death of Ashli Babbitt a homicide?

Rosen: Congressman, I’m not trying to be unhelpful here, but I just cannot comment.

Gosar: I understand. But I mean—reclaiming my time—as the death certificate says, it was a homicide.

Micki: And it was my first glimmer of hope that somebody is paying attention.

[Music]

Ober: Talking about Ashli this way, Gosar seemed to be trying to tell a different story about January 6. And Hanna was interested in how this retelling evolved.

Rosin: At the very beginning, a lot of Republicans, including Trump loyalists, condemned the riots. For example, on January 7, Republican Senator Markwayne Mullin of Oklahoma said he had witnessed Ashli’s shooting, and the officer who shot her “didn’t have a choice.” Mullin talked about him with great sympathy, and he called the Capitol Police officers “the real heroes.”

Markwayne Mullin: And his actions may be judged in a lot of different ways moving forward. But his actions, I believe, saved people’s lives even more.

Rosin: On Tucker Carlson’s show, Representative Jim Banks, a Republican from Indiana, called for the rioters to be prosecuted.

Jim Banks: Well, Tucker, this was an absolutely wrenching—heart-wrenching, gut-wrenching—day on Capitol Hill today. As someone who’s worn the uniform and served our country abroad in Afghanistan and now serving my country on Capitol Hill, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing unfold right before my eyes here, in our nation’s capital.

Rosin: Even Trump weighed in.

Trump: The demonstrators who infiltrated the Capitol have defiled the seat of American democracy. To those who engaged in the acts of violence and destruction, you do not represent our country. And to those who broke the law, you will pay.

Rosin: Here and there, a Trump supporter—like Congressman Matt Gaetz—would drop a hint that maybe Antifa was involved. But it wasn’t until spring, just as Micki was poking out of her grief hole, that a new line about January 6 started to coalesce. It came, at first, from the fringe—but the powerful fringe. Gosar is a far-right congressman known for his association with white supremacists and his efforts to overturn the 2020 election.

If you remember, Micki told us that prior to January 6, she wasn’t at all political. So at the time, she didn’t know Paul Gosar. What she did know was that he’d tweeted a photo of Ashli in her Air Force uniform with the caption, “They took her life. They could not take her pride,” a paraphrase of a U2 lyric, which is actually about Martin Luther King Jr.

And then in July 2021, Gosar invited Micki to be his guest at the Turning Point USA Student Action conference in Phoenix, which is a group that trains student leaders to combat liberalism on campus. So Micki and Wilma hopped in the RV and drove to Arizona. And when they arrived, they were escorted to Gosar’s VIP seats.

Gosar: On my wrist is a memory wristband: “Who killed Ashli Babbitt?”

[Applause]

Rosin: Micki had no idea what to expect. But then—

Gosar: I want you to hold your applause for one second. I want you to hold your applause for one second. Because that lightning struck again. In our midst, who came all the way over here to tell you thank you, is Ashli Babbitt’s mom, Mick Wilbur.

[Music]

Rosin: In case you didn’t catch that, he called her Mick Wilbur. Anyway, the point is: After all that time trying to talk to congresspeople, one of them was finally talking back.

Gosar: What has she given? She has given everything: her daughter. We need answers. Things weren’t right that day.

Rosin: Gosar then walked down to the end of the stage and stopped where Micki and Wilma were seated. The pair stood and held up two huge, homemade signs. The crowd cheered. Someone gave Micki a hug.

Afterwards, Gosar followed up with her.

Micki: But he made no promises, other than the fact that he was going to go to the jail.

Rosin: It was just one thing, but it meant a huge amount to Micki.

Micki: I had hopes for some justice for my daughter and for people to have some righteous indignation about her murder and the way that she died, and I felt like people were becoming aware of that. It did feel like there was momentum.

[Break]

Rosin: After the rally, Micki went back home, to San Diego. And then Trump sent Ashli’s family a video tribute on what would have been her 36th birthday.

Trump: It is my great honor to address each of you gathered today, to cherish the memory of Ashli Babbitt, a truly incredible person.

Together we grieve her terrible loss. There was no reason Ashli should have lost her life that day. We must all demand justice for Ashli and her family. So on this solemn occasion, as we celebrate her life, we renew our call for a fair and nonpartisan investigation into the death of Ashli Babbitt.

Rosin: And in Washington, the momentum continued. In November of 2021, Marjorie Taylor Greene and Louie Gohmert visited the D.C. jail. They soon issued a report called “Unusually Cruel.”

Marjorie Taylor Greene: “Unusually Cruel.” That’s the title that we gave this report because this is the treatment that we found of the pretrial January 6 defendants being held right here in Washington, D.C., in the jail.

Rosin: The report, the jail visit, the press conference—it was all starting to paint a picture to match what Micki felt and what Gosar had said at the rally: Something was wrong that day.

Greene: Right now, what we have happening in America is a two-tiered justice system.

Rosin: They mentioned the conspiracy that it was government plants who started the violence—

Speaker: If they were gonna charge someone with insurrection, it’s beginning to sound more and more like those would be agents for the federal government that were there stirring things up.

Rosin: —and that the defendants were not so much criminals but victims of government overreach.

Gosar: My question is this: Mr. Biden, Attorney General Garland, why are you so interested in ruining the lives of these folks instead of equal justice? Why won’t you publicly release the hours and hours of video surveillance taken on January 6? What are you hiding?

Rosin: As this alternate reality of January 6 was getting colored in, it wasn’t as hard for Micki to get people to say Ashli’s name. January 6, Ashli Babbitt—these terms were no longer political liabilities.

[Music]

Ober: Back in San Diego, Micki was getting restless. People around her just wanted her to move on, to move through her grief and come out the other side. They would tell her that the forces she was up against to try to get justice for Ashli were just too big to fight. But she just couldn’t let it go.

Micki: Obviously, I just was lost. I was lost. And I’ve never been an extremely religious person, but I do believe in a higher power. And I did need something. So I did go home and pray about it. And then, it was clear to me that I needed to be here in D.C., but I’m not a woman of means, so I had to, you know, get organized and funded to get here.

Ober: By August 2022, Micki had raised enough money for a flight and a one-month stay. She didn’t have a plan, but she figured being in the belly of the beast was better than sitting on the sidelines in San Diego, waiting for change. On August 1, she landed in D.C. and drove straight to the federal courthouse.

Inside was the first sentencing for a J6er convicted by a jury. Nicole Reffitt’s husband, Guy, had come to the Capitol that day with a handgun in his pocket and an AR-15 stashed in his hotel room. He’d told his fellow Three Percenters that he intended to drag Nancy Pelosi out of the building by her ankles. His then-18-year-old son, Jackson, turned him into the FBI.

Nicole had no idea what kind of sentence her husband would get. Would it be a slap-on-the-wrist type of sentence? Or a hard-bitten-felon kind of sentence? Turns out: It was somewhere in the middle—a little more than seven years in federal prison. Nicole’s family was the J6 test case. And Micki wanted to be there to support her, just like Ashli told her to do in that dream.

And that’s when the mother of the martyr and the wife of political prisoner #376789 first laid eyes on each other.

Micki: She was standing out there with her two girls, and I went like, Are you Nicole Reffitt? She’s like, Yeah, and kind of apprehensive because usually there’s a reason for, Hey. I know you, you know.

Nicole: We had never met prior to that. And she came, and it always chokes me because Guy being the first trial and everything was very polarizing, because nobody wanted to touch it in any direction. So we were very alone. And then here comes Micki.

Ober: Call it a kinship or a trauma bonding, but whatever their connection was, it was immediate.

Nicole: When I met Micki, I knew she was grieving, and I felt that grief. I think Micki and I saw a lot of that in each other—that we weren’t alone, but we felt very alone.

Micki: When I first saw Nicole, I knew instantly who she was, and she just had this defiant, “strong-ass woman” look on her face, and I just knew she was somebody I could be friends with.

Ober: After Guy’s sentencing, Nicole walked toward a scrum of reporters. Micki watched from the side, shouting support as Nicole told the assembled media.

Nicole: All I can say—

Micki: Tell them, Nicole.

Nicole: —is that y’all can all go to hell, and I’m going back to Texas.

Micki: Amen.

Ober: Then, Micki and Nicole—complete strangers up to this point—have a sort of ride-off-into-the-sunset moment together. They walk away from the courthouse hand in hand. The online trolls had a field day with the photos that later circulated. But it didn’t matter. They weren’t alone anymore.

Nicole: She just looked at me, and I looked at her, and it was just like, Let’s go. They can’t do anything else to us.

Ober: On the next episode, Trump really leans in and picks up the cause as his own.

Trump: The person that shotAshli Babbitt—boom, right through the head. Just boom. There was no reason for that. And why isn’t that person being opened up? And why isn’t that being studied? They’ve already written it off. They said, That case is closed. If that were the opposite, that case would be going on for years and years, and it would not be pretty.

Ober: So it’s time to ask the big question: Did these two hand-holding, strong ass-women divert the course of history?

Rosin: That’s next on We Live Here Now.

[Music]

Ober: We Live Here Now is a production of The Atlantic. The show was reported, written, and executive produced by me, Lauren Ober. Hanna Rosin reported, wrote, and edited the series. Our senior producer is Rider Alsop. Our producer is Ethan Brooks. Original scoring, sound design, and mix engineering by Brendan Baker.

This series was edited by Scott Stossel and Claudine Ebeid. Fact-checking by Michelle Ciarrocca. Art direction by Colin Hunter. Project management by Nancy DeVille.

Claudine Ebeid is the executive producer of Atlantic audio, and Andrea Valdez is our managing editor. The Atlantic’s executive editor is Adrienne LaFrance. Jeffrey Goldberg is The Atlantic’s editor in chief.