My Kinsman

In the 1830s Nathaniel Hawthorne published a short story titled "My Kinsman, Major Molineux." It told the story of a Robin, a young man who journeys to Boston to take a job offered by his kinsman. He doesn't have Molineux's address, and as Robin wanders around Boston, no one will tell him where to find his kinsman. At the end he is standing on a corner when a mob rushes wildly by, some in costumes.  

"A mighty stream of people now emptied into the street, and came rolling slowly towards the church. . . .Then a redder light disturbed the moonbeams, and a dense multitude of torches shone along the street, concealing, by their glare, whatever object they illuminated. The single horseman, clad in a military dress, and bearing a drawn sword, rode onward as the leader, and, by his fierce and variegated countenance, appeared like war personified: the red of one cheek was an emblem of fire and sword; the blackness of the other betokened the mourning that attends them. In his train were wild figures in the Indian dress, and many fantastic shapes without a model, giving the whole march a visionary air, as if a dream had broken forth from some feverish brain, and were sweeping visibly through the midnight streets. A mass of people, inactive, except as applauding spectators, hemmed the procession in, and several women ran along the side-walk, piercing the confusion of heavier sounds, with their shrill voices of mirth or terror."

In the midst of this lynch mob Robin sees a  tarred-and-feathered man in a cart, and Robin starts to laugh and then recognizes Molineux, who recognizes him.

In our day the house and senate were breached by a costumed  lynch mob. Seven people died. Some in the mob wore horns. Many were wearing Trump hats and waving Trump flags and shouting that Trump had sent them. But had he? We may never know. It's a fucking mystery. 

Amidst them is a man they have tarred and feathered. 

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