All Eyes on Me

COLUMBIA, SC - JANUARY 6: “They are eyeing you over pretty hard… Tall dude keeps mentioning you… Fat dude with American flag just took your picture… I’m listening in.” The message bubbles pop up on my phone from fellow photojournalist and friend, Crush Rush — referring to the group of dudes dressed in black and yellow. When they’re not eyeballing or following me, they watch on their phones as President Trump incites a Capitol storming mob on the morning of January 6, 2021.

“They been eyeing me since [the] beginning,” I text back, about the conspicuous group of folks who look like they should be in the stands for a Pirates game — some identifying as Proud Boys. It’s the first time I’ve seen their presence at the SC Statehouse.

Satan’s Attack

Arriving at the statehouse about 9:30 a.m. for the 10 a.m. rally start, I catch up with Pastor Brent Powell, out of Easley, SC. He represents the Black Robe Regiment, a group of preachers pushing back on Covid-19 restrictions. He tells me they aim to be self-sustainable, “Where we don't have to rely on a government system - on a pagan world system,” he says, sporting a tricorn hat and of course — a black robe.

“We are here today to protest an election that is very much fraudulent. We are here to show support for the president that is the legitimate president of the United States of America — and that's Donald J. Trump.”

Just after ten, the Proud Boys, whom The Southern Poverty Law Center identifies as a hate group, arrive at the front of the statehouse. They number more than dozen, but less than two. “That’s our protection,” says one of the protestors as the Boys walk by, one of them carrying a baseball helmet resembling a MAGA hat. Pastor Powell joins them for a prayer just before the rally’s official start.

“We are a group of ministers that understand that this is an attack of Satan on the church. This is an attack of Satan on righteousness,” says Powell, who speaks first, standing on a folding chair on the lawn in front of the statehouse. He questions the chair’s strength. Holding a microphone attached to a portable speaker bearing too much weight, his message is distorted. It’s turned up too loud, broken, or both. But the chair holds.

“This is an attack of Satan on the very word of God! And I see a father and a husband. And also a farmer. You think this is affecting everybody now? You just wait and see what comes down. Those of us in the farming community already see what’s going on with unconstitutional things that are all about control. Control! Control! Control!” the upstate pastor continues, “This thing I want to tell you, DON'T TREAD ON ME!!!”

Enemy of the People

Speakers come and go, and Powell cycles back on the mic at least once. For two hours the yellow and black shadow me like they’re playing a war game, using radios to communicate, taking turns stalking me. Like many of the hundred plus rallies I’ve covered, I bounce through the crowd, this time wondering how much effort folks will put into tailing me through the protest.

And then just before the rally wraps up, one of them asks me about Antifa.

So, I introduce myself by name, as a photojournalist living in West Columbia, and alumnus of the University of South Carolina, covering the state capital since 1997. Unsatisfied, three of them team up on their “Antifa” interrogation, lobbing doxxing accusations, attempting to insult me with slurs, and finally — threatening to smash my camera if I don’t leave. One of them claims to be doing me a favor.

Not my first rodeo, I leave the area and inform the nearest officer — who is about 15 yards away but isn’t interested in helping. Looking for the next closest officer, I walk past the group, who mocks my futility obtaining help. “No one’s got your back!” one of them jeers.

The next closest officer is Sgt. Adam Wassmuth, who recognizes me me from years covering rallies at the statehouse. He makes an effort to address my concerns.

By the time I get home, photos of the armed standoff at the US Capitol chamber door have hit the wires. Among others, University of South Carolina grad Win McNamee is inside the Capitol making photos. He shows us the Q-Anon Shaman, a rioter hanging from the Senate chamber balcony, and the man stealing the podium.

I don’t have to imagine what’s going on because my colleagues in DC are doing their jobs. Just like we all will, even if Pirates fans don’t believe in press freedom.

Sean Rayford is a photojournalist based in Columbia, South Carolina. See more at seanrayford.com