In what they rationalize as a noble effort to save democracy, any means justify those ends. The only problem with this story is practically everything about it.
Fortunately, opposition organizers tipped their hand early enough for a savvy local chief of police and his extraordinarily professional team to have a few surprises in store for the would-be anarchists descending on Cottonwood Heights.
Now aware that scheming was under way to disrupt the event, the Cottonwood Heights Police Department (CHPD) went to work. They obtained a copy of the Indivisible Guide so they could be prepared for the planned disruptions. Working with my security team, they performed threat assessments, did a site survey of the venue, and put contingency plans in place. I credit them with the fact that we saw no violence that night.
I won’t lie—the conclusions of the initial threat assessment were disconcerting. But police assured us that the department had the training and personnel to control access to the venue, to calm the crowd, and to get me out safely when the event concluded. They were right.
“This one felt like a legitimate threat,” said Detective Brent Jex, a West Jordan City police officer who headed my private security team and warned my wife to stay away from the event. “Let’s be honest,” Jex said. “Sometimes security stuff is window dressing—the appearance of security versus the actual need. When it came to this one, I knew early on it was something that Julie Chaffetz shouldn’t attend. From a security standpoint, we didn’t want her there. Our hands were going to be full enough protecting Jason.”
Since this was not the first time left-wing groups had used the Indivisible Guide to disrupt a town hall, Chief Russo called around to police departments in other states to find out what tactics to expect. One department told him their biggest mistake at an event the previous week was opting to have too visual a SWAT team presence, which only provoked the crowd.
Instead, Chief Russo wisely planned to deploy a mixture of uniformed and plainclothes officers to keep the police presence from feeling overwhelming, even though some thirty officers would work the event with more available if needed.
“We did not have a visual presence,” Russo said. “We had snipers out there. We had all the tools. But we didn’t make it obvious.” Russo had even arranged with the Salt Lake County sheriff’s office to have transport in place (but not visible) in case mass arrests became necessary. They ran bomb dogs through the venue before seating anyone and kept dogs nearby in case they were needed. To take such precautions for a simple town hall was unprecedented and something none of us wished to see.
On the day of the event, we learned national news crews planned to be on-site. That should have been the first hint that something didn’t add up. I was one of 435 members of Congress. I had just won my reelection with a convincing victory. My Democrat opponent had momentarily caught fire among social media progressives sufficient to raise a quick half-million online campaign dollars, which constituted her fifteen minutes of fame.
After her fifteen minutes were over, I won with 73 percent in a “contested” race. Why would national and cable news show up at my humble little town hall? What made cable assignment editors think this particular event would be sufficiently newsworthy to scramble camera crews all the way out in Utah?
With a 7:00 start time, most of my constituents expected to be able to show up at 6:30 or 6:45—as at town halls past. But this time was different. We received a report from the high school that people were hanging around in the parking lot and trying to get into the school during the lunch hour—while school was still in session! Some were upset that neither the school nor the police would allow them to choose a seat in the auditorium hours ahead of the event. By 5:30, the line wound around the building, taking on the aspect of a somewhat malevolent festival.
We later learned that the opposition groups had instructed their people to show up at least two hours early. That tactic successfully crowded out genuine constituents unaware that the seats would all be filled by those in line two hours or more ahead of time. It was an effective way to silence opposing views without having to shout them down. It worked. The auditorium was packed with hard-left progressives, many from outside my district, while constituents not aligned with progressive groups were left outside at the back of the line.
What was the point of crowding out opposing voices? Presumably, they were there because they thought we had elected a fascist tyrant who would threaten their rights and suppress their speech. Yet here they were, conspiring to pack the venue with a united voice of opposition. Did they believe I would be hoodwinked into believing my district had taken a hard-left turn overnight?
As the opposition groups arrived at the venue, the CHPD began to execute their carefully developed plans. Officers began cordially greeting early arrivals and quickly ascertained that many were not local residents. “We made it a point to walk through the crowd and shake people’s hands, introducing ourselves,” Russo explained. “I talked to them, introduced myself. I asked each of them where they were from. And they would tell me. They weren’t locals. I remember some from Washington State, Portland, lots of different places.”
The interactions seemed to follow a pattern. They would ask if police were IDing people before they could go in and if anyone would be stopped. My staff and the police officers all reported talking to people who had come from Colorado, Arizona, Nevada, California, and one group reportedly saying they had flown in from New York. Even the ones who were from Utah often reported coming from areas I did not represent. Liberal bastions outside my district, such as the ski resort community of Park City and deep Blue Salt Lake City, were reportedly well represented that night.
As planned, the officers simply welcomed people and let them know police were available if they needed anything. They were friendly, welcoming, and nonconfrontational. They educated people about what was acceptable behavior and what would not be tolerated. I believe the professional and friendly demeanor of the CHPD was disarming and was instrumental in diffusing the worst of the tension that night.
At one point, a uniformed officer reported seeing a group in black bandannas openly carrying weapons. They were not local, according to Russo. Utah is an open-carry state, so there was nothing illegal in simply possessing weapons. Police did not approach them.
All in all, the crowd outside, while disappointed not to have been admitted, was better behaved than the cohort inside the venue.
Inside, as the meeting began, things were less settled. We kicked things off in the usual manner but to a much different response. As instructed by organizers, the audience attempted to shout me down on every question. Thanks to the manual, we knew ahead of time how the organizers had instructed attendees to take control of the meeting and prevent me from answering questions, to disrupt the dialogue and incite an incident.
Everything about the opposition was calculated. They were specifically instructed to spread out among the seats to create the illusion of consensus. The Indivisible Guide reads, “Do not all sit together. Sit by yourself or in groups of 2, and spread out throughout the room. This will help reinforce the impression of broad consensus.” They even orchestrated the applause. The guide reads, “After one member of your group asks a question, everyone should applaud to show that the feeling is shared throughout the audience. Whenever someone from your group gets the mic, they should note that they’re building on the previous questions—amplifying the fact that you’re part of a broad group.”