Aquilinus Gonell #3

The Aftermath of Duty

When the last of the rioters had been cleared from the Capitol grounds, the full scope of the devastation came into focus. Windows were shattered, offices were ransacked, and the historic chambers that had once echoed with debates about the future of the nation now bore the scars of chaos and hate. But amid the wreckage, something even more profound weighed on the officers who had defended the building: the human cost.

For Aquilinus Gonell, the aftermath of January 6th wasn’t just a scene to be cleaned up—it was a reckoning. As the adrenaline began to wear off, the pain in his body became undeniable. His shoulder throbbed where a rioter had struck him with a pole, and his hands felt swollen and numb from gripping his shield for hours. When he finally removed his tactical vest, he winced as he saw the deep purple bruises that lined his ribs. His body felt like it had been put through a meat grinder, but that wasn’t what shook him the most.

It was the memories.

The mob’s shouts still echoed in his ears: "Traitor!" "You’re not one of us!" He could still see their faces—contorted with rage, unrecognizable as fellow Americans. The racial slurs that had been hurled at him felt like a wound no amount of medical treatment could heal. Aquilinus had served this country as a soldier, risking his life in Iraq to protect American values. Yet on that day, those same values had been turned into weapons by people who claimed to be patriots.

After the initial medical checks at the Capitol, Aquilinus was sent to the hospital for further evaluation. His injuries were more severe than he had realized. He had suffered multiple soft tissue injuries, a torn rotator cuff, and damage to his hands and feet. The doctors warned him that his recovery would be long and uncertain. Surgery was likely, and there was no guarantee that he’d regain full mobility.

For a man who had spent his entire life in service—to his family, to his country, and to the principles of democracy—the idea of being sidelined was devastating. But Aquilinus wasn’t just dealing with physical wounds. The emotional and psychological toll of January 6th cut just as deep. He began having nightmares—visions of the mob surging toward him, of his shield breaking under the pressure. There were nights when he woke up drenched in sweat, his heart pounding like a drum.

The Capitol Police offered counseling to officers who had been on the front lines that day, but for many, including Aquilinus, it was hard to process the trauma. Police officers were trained to endure, to be stoic in the face of danger. But this wasn’t something you could just "tough out."

Despite the pain, Aquilinus remained committed to his oath. As the weeks passed, congressional investigations began, and the country demanded answers about what had happened—and who was responsible. When he was asked to testify before Congress, Aquilinus didn’t hesitate. He knew it was important to tell the truth, not just for himself, but for every officer who had fought that day.

On the morning of his testimony, Aquilinus stood in front of his mirror, adjusting his suit. His shoulder still ached from his injuries, but he straightened his posture. This wasn’t just another day—this was his chance to make sure the truth was heard. His wife placed a hand on his uninjured shoulder and looked at him with a mix of pride and concern. "Are you ready?" she asked softly.

Aquilinus nodded. "I have to be."

The hearing room was packed with lawmakers, journalists, and cameras. The eyes of the nation were on him as he took his seat at the witness table. He placed his hands flat on the surface to steady himself and took a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice was calm but resolute.

"My name is Aquilinus Gonell. I am a United States Capitol Police officer, and I was on duty on January 6th, 2021."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the room. He described the chaos in vivid detail—the crush of the mob, the smoke in the air, the deafening noise. "It was like a war zone," he said. "Except this time, I wasn’t in Iraq. I was at the United States Capitol."

He recounted the moment a rioter had grabbed him, the flash of pain as he was struck, and the fear that he wouldn’t make it home to his wife and son. But he also spoke of the resolve that had kept him on his feet. "We held the line because that was our duty," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "But no officer should ever have to face what we faced that day."

The room was silent as he described the lasting impact of the attack—not just on him, but on his fellow officers. He spoke of the injuries, the trauma, and the friends he had lost. Some officers had taken their own lives in the months following the attack, unable to bear the weight of what they had endured. Aquilinus’s voice cracked as he spoke their names, his grief laid bare for the world to see.

When the questioning began, some lawmakers thanked him for his bravery. But others, clearly uncomfortable, tried to steer the conversation away from the actions of the rioters. One representative even suggested that the mob had been "misunderstood" and that the attack was being "politicized."

Aquilinus’s jaw tightened, but he kept his composure. "Misunderstood?" he repeated, his voice steady but sharp. "I was beaten until I could barely stand. I was called a traitor and a racial slur by people who said they were patriots. If that’s what you call misunderstood, then you need to come stand where I stood."

The room fell silent again. Aquilinus’s words left no room for doubt. He had stripped away the euphemisms and the spin, leaving only the raw, undeniable truth.

His testimony became a defining moment in the nation’s reckoning with January 6th. Clips of his statements were shared millions of times, and his name became synonymous with courage. But the attention wasn’t something he had sought—it was something he had accepted as part of his duty.

In the weeks after his testimony, Aquilinus continued his recovery. He underwent surgery on his shoulder, followed by months of physical therapy. There were days when the pain was unbearable and moments when he doubted whether he’d ever feel whole again. But he kept pushing forward, not just for himself, but for the people who had fought beside him and the memory of those who hadn’t made it home.