Eliza Cheney #3

The Stand for Democracy

The morning of January 6, 2021, began like any other day in Washington, D.C., but Eliza Cheney could feel the tension in the air. She had known for weeks that something terrible was coming. The president’s repeated lies about a "stolen election" had built a fever pitch among his supporters, and his call for them to gather in the capital on the day of the certification was more than a rally—it was a provocation.

As Eliza arrived at the Capitol, the usual buzz of the building was muted by an unspoken anxiety. Representatives and staff moved through the marble halls with forced normalcy, but everyone was aware of the crowds gathering nearby. The president had just finished speaking, urging the crowd to march to the Capitol and "fight like hell."

Eliza sat in the House chamber as the session began, determined to do her duty despite the noise outside. But within minutes, the chaos became undeniable. Protesters had breached the outer barricades. Then came reports of broken windows, armed rioters entering the Capitol, and security guards frantically locking doors and escorting lawmakers to safety. The chants from outside—“Stop the steal!”—grew deafening.

Eliza was ushered to a secure location with other members of Congress. The scene was surreal—elected officials crouching under desks, staffers whispering prayers, and law enforcement officers rushing past with hands on their holsters. Eliza’s phone buzzed with incoming messages. Some were from friends and family checking on her safety. Others came from Republican operatives, already trying to spin the unfolding nightmare.

As she watched the horror unfold—men in tactical gear scaling the walls of the Capitol, Confederate flags being paraded through the rotunda—her shock gave way to anger. This wasn’t patriotism. This was an attack on democracy itself, incited by the man who had sworn to defend it.

When the Capitol was finally cleared hours later, Eliza returned to the House floor, exhausted but resolute. She watched as her Republican colleagues resumed their objections to certifying the election, as though the chaos had been nothing more than a momentary inconvenience. Eliza’s disbelief turned into resolve. She stood at the podium and delivered a speech that would become one of the most pivotal moments of her career.

"There has never been a more significant betrayal by a president of the United States," she said, her voice steady despite the weight of the moment. "If we do not speak the truth, we will perpetuate this lie. And this lie has already cost lives."

The speech sent shockwaves through the chamber. Many Democrats nodded in approval, but her Republican colleagues sat in stunned silence. The party she had served loyally for years was fracturing before her eyes.

In the days that followed, the fallout was swift. Eliza became one of only ten Republicans in the House to vote to impeach Trump for inciting the insurrection. While some praised her courage, the backlash within her own party was brutal. Her phone was inundated with threats, her social media accounts flooded with hate. Protesters gathered outside her Wyoming office, calling for her resignation.

Yet, despite the pressure, Eliza didn’t waver. She spoke to the press and constituents with the same unwavering conviction: “I will not be silent while democracy is under attack. History is watching us.”

Her defiance came at a cost. Republican leaders, eager to appease Trump’s base, called a vote to remove her from her leadership role as Chair of the House Republican Conference. At the meeting, Eliza stood before her colleagues and made her case. She spoke about the importance of truth, honor, and duty. She reminded them that the party’s legacy was built by leaders who had the courage to do what was right, even when it was unpopular.

But the vote was a foregone conclusion. The gavel fell, and Eliza was ousted from her position. She stood tall as she walked out of the meeting room, refusing to let the cameras capture any sign of weakness. "This is temporary," she thought to herself. "But history will remember what we did here."

Her removal from leadership only strengthened her resolve. Weeks later, when she was asked to serve on the House Select Committee investigating the January 6th attack, she accepted without hesitation. She knew the risks—the committee was viewed as partisan by many Republicans, and serving on it would further isolate her. But to Eliza, the investigation wasn’t about politics; it was about accountability and the survival of American democracy.

The hearings were tense and often emotional. Survivors of the attack testified about their trauma, while witnesses revealed chilling details about the president’s refusal to act as the chaos unfolded. Eliza’s questions during the hearings were direct, her tone measured but fierce. She demanded answers from those who had remained silent and called out the dangers of letting political violence go unpunished.

One of the most powerful moments came during her closing statement in a primetime hearing. "We cannot be loyal to one man," she said. "We must be loyal to the Constitution. If we do not hold those responsible accountable, January 6th will not be the end—it will be the beginning of something far worse."

Her words reverberated across the nation. The headlines the next morning were a mix of praise and condemnation, but Eliza had expected that. She wasn’t fighting for popularity—she was fighting for the truth.

In the summer of 2022, Eliza announced that she would not seek re-election. The decision was both practical and principled. She knew that her stance had alienated a significant portion of her constituency, and she didn’t want the people of Wyoming to endure another divisive election. But her departure wasn’t a retreat—it was a declaration of independence. "My work isn’t finished," she told supporters at her final campaign event. "It’s only just begun."

Eliza left Congress with her head held high, knowing that she had kept her oath. As she packed up her office, she glanced at a framed copy of the Constitution that hung on the wall. For her, it wasn’t just a symbol—it was the foundation of everything she had fought to protect.