It was 1859. The analogies to the current state of American politics are not precise and even paradoxical. To begin with, John Brown, though crazy and bloodthirsty, was on the right side of history. He preferred wielding guns to scoring debating points. He had utter contempt for politicians, electoral campaigns, and the Constitution. In fact, he wrote his own to replace it. The last thing on his mind was making money off his cause. After his execution, Brown was venerated as a Christ-like martyr. He bore not the slightest resemblance to Charlie Kirk or his murderer, except in the strain of zealotry.
But the political manipulation of violence after John Brown’s raid on the federal arsenal at Harpers Ferry, Virginia (now West Virginia), on October 16, 1859, the launch of an inquisition against the fledging antislavery Republican Party, the defensive reactions of its senior figures, and the way Abraham Lincoln summed up the whole problem to emerge as the new party’s national leader may provide strikingly instructive lessons.
Consider these parallels: After a shocking act of domestic terrorism, the powers that be organized a seemingly overwhelming wave of political retribution. At the moment of the attack, their control had become shaky; their president (James Buchanan) was unpopular, and the opposition was gaining ground. At once, they seized upon the violent incident as the means to maintain power and cast blame on their opponents. Vengeance ruled the day. Paranoia was sharpened to a fine point.
The entire opposition political party was charged with responsibility for murder (17 were killed in Brown’s raid, including one U.S. Marine). The federal government conducted a dragnet to arrest those behind the conspiracy. Books were banned, schools shut down. The Supreme Court had already ruled that the opposition party’s central platform plank was unconstitutional. On the House floor, members nearly came to blows.
The opposition party reeled in retreat. On the defensive and lacking a strategy, its most prominent leaders simply professed innocence, condemned terrorism, and proclaimed moderation. Rather than confront the politics of paranoia, they hoped the excitement would dissolve through emollient words that would somehow restore a modicum of normalcy to American politics. The radicals, meanwhile, celebrated the terrorist as a hero, giving easy material with which to smear the party politicians. It turned out that some of the most eminent radicals were, in fact, not only encouraging but providing the funds for arming the violent conspiracy.
As hysteria and repression rose, no one had emerged to articulate arguments that broke through the atmosphere and that stated the opposition’s position in moral terms. Almost everyone in the opposition seemed flustered, apologetic, or intimidated. Leadership was a vacuum.