Equal Justice for Violent Protesters: Jan. 6 vs. L.A. Immigration Protests
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In a Capitol Hill hearing room eighteen months after the January 6, 2021 riot, Stephen Ayres sat before lawmakers, looking nothing like the zealous protester who once stormed the halls of Congress. Ayres was not a hardened extremist but, by his own account, an average American from Ohio who had been a loyal follower of Donald Trump and felt compelled to heed the president’s call to the “Stop the Steal” rally in Washington. On the day of the attack, he truly believed he was defending democracy from a stolen election. “I felt like I had like horse blinders on. I was locked in the whole time,” Ayres admitted in testimony, describing how completely he had been swept up by Trump’s bogus claims. The consequences of that day, he said, “changed my life… And not for the good.” Ayres lost his 20-year job at an Ohio cabinet company and even had to sell his home in the fallout. His voice wavered as he urged others to “take the blinders off… make sure you step back and see what’s going on before it’s too late.”
After delivering his remorseful account, Ayres stepped down from the witness table and did something unexpected: he approached the four police officers in the hearing room – the same officers who had battled the mob he joined – to apologize in person. He told them he was sorry for what they had endured because of people like him. It was a dramatic, emotionally charged gesture from a man who once chanted outside the Capitol and now stood humbly before those he had helped to put in danger. For a moment, a hush fell as Ayres extended his hand to Capitol Police Sgt. Aquilino Gonell, Officer Harry Dunn, DC Metropolitan Police Officer Daniel Hodges, and former Officer Michael Fanone – men hailed as heroes for resisting the insurrection.
The officers’ responses to Ayres’ apology revealed a spectrum of raw emotions. Former officer Fanone, who had been dragged into the crowd and beaten unconscious on Jan. 6, made no attempt to hide his bitterness. He later told reporters that Ayres’ apology “doesn’t do s--- for me” – the wounds, physical and mental, ran too deep for words of contrition to matter. Officer Dunn, who had endured racist taunts and trauma during the riot, stayed seated and refused to even shake Ayres’ hand, quietly indicating he did not accept the apology. But Officer Hodges, seen in viral videos being crushed in a doorway by rioters, did reach out to grasp the repentant rioter’s hand. He acknowledged Ayres’ remorse and publicly accepted the apology, explaining that “you have to believe that there are people out there who can change.” Standing beside him, Sgt. Gonell – forced into early retirement by injuries he sustained defending the Capitol – also nodded at Ayres’ words, saying he accepted the sentiment but warned it “doesn’t amount to much” in the face of so much damage. Gonell emphasized that Ayres would still “have to answer for what he did, legally… and to his God”.
This brief, tense exchange between a contrite rioter and the officers he once opposed encapsulated the moral complexities America grapples with when judging violent protests. In the span of minutes, Ayres encountered both cold anger and forgiving empathy – a reflection of a divided society’s struggle to balance accountability and understanding. His story is a poignant reminder that behind the clashes and headlines are human beings caught in turbulent currents, some convinced they were fighting for democracy even as they harmed others, and others torn between their duty to enforce the law and their capacity for compassion. As Ayres’ trembling apology hung in the air and the officers responded each in their own way, the room witnessed a microcosm of the debate over how we should view those who resort to violence in the name of politics – with condemnation for their actions, but also with an awareness of the very human frailties and fervor that led them there.
Introduction
Protests are a cornerstone of democracy, but what happens when a protest turns violent and disrupts government activity? Two recent episodes – the January 6, 2021 storming of the U.S. Capitol and the June 2025 immigration protests in Los Angeles – highlight the challenges of drawing a line between legitimate dissent and unlawful chaos. In both cases, a portion of the protesters resorted to violence against authorities in the name of fighting what they saw as a corrupt government. The Capitol rioters believed they were defending democracy from a “stolen” election, while the L.A. protesters felt they were protecting immigrant communities from unjust crackdowns. These convictions made it easy for partisans to forgive “their” side’s offenders – many MAGA supporters downplay Jan. 6, just as many liberals are excusing or rationalizing a number of L.A. protesters’ who have become violent. This raises a thorny question: How do we ensure violent protesters are treated equally under the law, regardless of political bias or echo chambers? I believe that the storming of the capital was the more serious offense because certifying the ballot is more central to the functioning of the country. Additionally, the Jan 6 protesters were conspiring to kill congresspeople, something there is no evidence of the LA protesters doing. However, I am trying to think outside my echo chamber, and it is clear that some of the LA protesters crossed a line. Three days in, the Democratic politicians in California seem to be conveying an unwillingness to crack down on protesters. That being said, I’m not expressing an opinion either way on whether the National Guard should be nationalized and sent in as Trump has done.
With these caveats in mind, I will explore each case, the legal consequences, and how a consistent framework might be applied in plain terms.
The Jan. 6 Capitol Riot and Its Aftermath
Trump supporters clash with police as they storm the U.S. Capitol on January 6, 2021.
On Jan. 6, 2021, a large crowd of pro-Trump protesters turned into an aggressive mob that attacked the U.S. Capitol in an attempt to overturn the 2020 presidential election results. As Congress met to certify President Joe Biden’s victory, rioters stormed past police lines, smashed their way into the Capitol building, and temporarily halted the certification process. Some were armed with bats, chemical spray, and even makeshift weapons, and many violently assaulted law enforcement officers guarding the Capitol. Videos later showed rioters brutally engaging police – one graphic example is a man hurling a heavy object and swinging a crutch at officers on the West Terrace, cracking an officer’s face shield. The mob roamed the halls chanting threats like “Hang Mike Pence!” and searching for officials such as House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, vividly illustrating that some intended harm to elected leaders.
Legal consequences came swiftly. Federal prosecutors launched one of the largest criminal investigations in U.S. history. As of early 2024, more than 1,260 people across nearly every state had been charged for participating in the Capitol attack, and over 460 had been sentenced to incarceration. The charges ranged from minor offenses to very serious felonies. Many defendants pleaded guilty to misdemeanors like unlawful trespass (for simply entering the restricted Capitol grounds without engaging in violence), receiving penalties such as probation or a few months in jail. But hundreds faced felony charges, including:
Assaulting police officers: Dozens of rioters were charged with attacking officers – punching, kicking, pepper-spraying, or beating them with objects. Assault on a federal officer is a serious felony; for example, one man who repeatedly struck officers with a pole and threw objects at the police line received 20 years in prison, one of the longest Jan. 6 sentences.
Obstructing an official proceeding: This charge, applied to rioters who disrupted Congress’s certification of the Electoral College vote, carries up to 20 years in prison. It has been a common felony count for Jan. 6 participants who breached the Capitol with the intent to stop the election certification.
Seditious conspiracy: A handful of organizers and extremist group members (like leaders of the Oath Keepers and Proud Boys) were convicted of this rarely used charge, which involves using force to oppose the authority of the U.S. government or disrupt the execution of its laws. It reflects the gravity of plotting to overturn the election by violence. For instance, Oath Keepers founder Stewart Rhodes was sentenced to 18 years, and Proud Boys leader Enrique Tarrio to 22 years, under this and related charges, reflecting the view that Jan. 6 was an attack on the government itself.
Federal judges have not hesitated to impose prison terms on the most violent and insidious Jan. 6 offenders. One judge called a particularly brutal rioter “political violence personified” before imposing a 20-year term. Overall, by January 2024 the Justice Department had secured over 718 guilty pleas, including 213 felonies (such as assaulting officers, obstructing Congress, and conspiracy). Meanwhile, hundreds of lower-level participants who essentially “wandered” into the Capitol or followed the crowd, without attacking anyone, have been treated more leniently. In other words, a clear line was drawn: those who engaged in overt violence or threats are facing hefty prison sentences, whereas non-violent offenders have seen lighter penalties in proportion to their actions.
Los Angeles Immigration Protests, June 2025
Immigrant-rights activists rally in Los Angeles during protests against federal immigration raids in June 2025.
Fast-forward to June 6–8, 2025, and the streets of Los Angeles became another flashpoint of protest and violence – this time from the opposite end of the political spectrum. The trigger was a series of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) raids ordered in Los Angeles. Federal agents, backed by the Trump administration, executed warrants at workplaces and businesses across the city to round up undocumented immigrants. The operation swept up dozens of people – at least 44 immigrants were arrested in a single day – and sparked outrage among community members and local leaders. Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass condemned the raids as an assault on a “proud city of immigrants” and vowed “we will not stand for this”. Immigrant-rights groups mobilized rapidly, urging the community to protest and resist what they viewed as unlawful, terrorizing tactics. By that evening, hundreds of protesters had assembled outside a federal detention center downtown, demanding that detainees be released.
While much of the crowd was peaceful – chanting, holding signs, and exercising their First Amendment rights – there were several intense standoffs between activists and law enforcement. One major confrontation occurred at an apparel warehouse in the Fashion District, one of the raid targets. For several hours, activists surrounded the building where ICE agents were making arrests, effectively blocking the exits. They even parked a flatbed truck in the street to halt traffic and prevent detainees from being taken away. Protesters shouted legal advice to the workers inside (“Do not sign anything! Don’t tell them where you are from!”) and yelled insults at the agents (“Pigs!” “Fascists!”) in a volatile scene. At one point, when an ICE van tried to enter the building’s parking lot, agents had to physically shove protesters out of the way. Eventually, a phalanx of federal officers in riot gear arrived – described as a “legion” – along with armored vehicles and blaring sirens. The reinforcements formed a perimeter to clear the gates that protesters had tried to block. Some in the crowd responded by throwing objects (various debris, possibly bottles or rocks) at the armed agents. Officers then deployed pepper spray and smoke grenades to disperse the crowd. Amid the chaos, the agents inside the warehouse escorted out at least a dozen detained workers, got them into vans, and left the area as the protesters were pushed back.
Later that evening, tensions flared again downtown. By around 7 p.m. on June 6, roughly 200 protesters remained outside the federal Metropolitan Detention Center, the facility where ICE was holding the arrestees. The demonstration there was mostly peaceful initially, but as night fell a smaller faction grew more aggressive. According to Los Angeles police, a group of “violent individuals” began throwing large pieces of concrete and other projectiles at officers on the scene. In response, the LAPD declared an unlawful assembly and issued orders to disperse the crowd. By 8 p.m., after reports of continued projectiles, police authorized the use of “less-lethal” munitions (such as rubber bullets and tear gas) to clear the area. Tear gas filled the streets as riot gear-clad officers moved in, and most protesters fled or were pushed back without further incident.
One particularly chaotic moment widely reported involved federal agents attempting to leave a raid site while an angry crowd swarmed around their vehicles. Protesters surrounded several black ICE SUVs and tactical vehicles, shouting and even standing in front of them to prevent them from driving off. For a time, the agents were effectively trapped in their vehicles by the mob, reminiscent in some ways of how the Capitol rioters trapped outnumbered officers inside doorways. In Los Angeles, the agents resorted to throwing flash-bang grenades out of their vehicles to startle and scatter the crowd. One demonstrator tried to physically block a moving vehicle and was struck by it – he was knocked to the ground as the ICE convoy sped away. (That protester survived, receiving medical attention after the incident, but the scene underscored how dangerous the situation became for both sides.) City officials also called in reinforcements: by the next day, National Guard troops were ordered to Los Angeles to help quell the unrest as federal raids continued, marking an escalation in the government response.
In terms of legal fallout from the L.A. protests, the picture is still emerging. These events are very recent (June 2025), so many cases are likely still under investigation. However, at least one arrest of a protest leader has already been made beyond the immigration violations. David Huerta, the president of the SEIU California labor union, was detained while allegedly trying to interfere with the raids – he was later charged with “impeding a federal agent”, according to the U.S. Attorney’s Office. (Huerta was reportedly observing or documenting a raid when he was injured and taken into custody; his supporters claim he did nothing wrong, while authorities suggest he physically obstructed agents performing their duty.) Federal officials have been very clear in their stance: anyone who obstructs or attacks law enforcement will face prosecution. “Anyone who obstructs federal agents will face arrest and prosecution,” warned the U.S. Attorney in Los Angeles, as the raids continued. A White House spokesperson likewise condemned “attacks on ICE officers” and promised that “those who harm law enforcement officers… will be held accountable to the full extent of the law”. The Department of Homeland Security went so far as to label the violent protesters “violent rioters,” essentially equating the L.A. unrest with the kind of lawlessness seen in a riot. Police on the ground did make some crowd-control arrests for offenses like failure to disperse or assault, though the exact number of protesters arrested (apart from the immigration-related detentions) has not been fully reported as of this writing. What is clear is that officials intend to pursue charges against those who threw objects or caused injuries – throwing chunks of concrete at officers, for example, is a form of assault that could lead to felony charges similar to those faced by the Jan. 6 attackers.
Differing Perspectives and Confirmation Bias
Despite the parallels in violence, the public perception of these two events often splits along ideological lines. In both cases, the participants themselves believed they were fighting tyranny – but observers’ sympathy or outrage often depends on whether they share the protesters’ political views. This is where confirmation bias and echo chambers play a powerful role.
Consider January 6 first. Many Americans (across the political spectrum) were appalled by the assault on the Capitol and viewed it as a criminal insurrection. But a significant number of MAGA-aligned conservatives have since tried to downplay or rewrite the events of that day. In this alternate narrative, the rioters were not a violent mob attempting to subvert democracy, but patriots or concerned citizens who got a little carried away. Former President Trump himself has repeatedly praised the Jan. 6 crowd and minimized the violence. He’s claimed the mob was “agitated but not armed,” that they went to “preserve democracy, not upend it,” and he’s painted those charged not as criminals but as martyrs persecuted for their political beliefs. In fact, Trump has openly floated pardons for the convicted Jan. 6 offenders if he returns to power, and at rallies he’s played a tribute song featuring jailed rioters to cast them as heroes. Prominent voices in the right-wing media ecosystem have echoed this framing – referring to the jailed rioters as “political prisoners” or even “hostages” of a vindictive government. Some supporters insist the Capitol attackers were mostly peaceful “tourists” or that any violence was the fault of provocateurs. This sympathetic reinterpretation aligns with their worldview that the 2020 election was illegitimate and thus any action to stop its certification was, in their minds, justified. It becomes easier for them to forgive or overlook the rioters’ conduct because it confirms a broader belief about a “corrupt government” wronging the people.
Now contrast that with how many progressives and liberals view the Los Angeles immigration protests. Here, the roles are ideologically reversed. The L.A. protesters were largely left-leaning activists (including immigrant advocates, labor organizers, and community members) standing up to federal immigration authorities. Within liberal circles, there is a tendency to emphasize the noble intentions of these protesters and the harshness of the government’s actions, while playing down the instances of violence. For example, local officials in California lambasted the federal agents’ tactics more than the protesters’ response. Governor Gavin Newsom accused the Trump administration of “sowing chaos” and said deploying troops to L.A. was inflammatory. Mayor Bass and others highlighted that Los Angeles is a sanctuary for immigrants and portrayed the federal raids as an unacceptable provocation – in essence, suggesting the protesters’ anger was understandable. It could be true that Trump’s deployment was an overreaction, but it’s also clear where the sympathies of these California politicians lie. Community leaders speaking at the protests stressed that “our community is under attack and has been terrorized” by immigration enforcement, and spoke of the immigrants as hard-working mothers and fathers, not criminals. This narrative focuses on the humanitarian cause and paints the protesters as defenders of vulnerable neighbors. Consequently, when violence did break out – such as objects thrown or scuffles with officers – many on the left see it as an overreaction by a few or as provoked by the heavy-handed police response. For instance, when union leader David Huerta was arrested while documenting the raids, numerous officials rushed to his defense, asserting he had a right to protest and monitor law enforcement. They implicitly cast his arrest (and by extension, the crackdown on protesters) as an example of government overreach, rather than focusing on whether any protesters crossed a legal line.
In simpler terms, people tend to have more tolerance for lawbreaking when it’s done by “their side.” If you believed the 2020 election was stolen, you’re more inclined to rationalize the Capitol attack as a legitimate protest (or at least not a serious crime). If you strongly oppose Trump’s immigration policies, you might view even the rowdy L.A. protesters as freedom fighters taking a stand against injustice. This human bias is natural, but it’s problematic for the rule of law. It can lead to a situation where the same behavior – say, throwing a projectile at an officer – is condemned as terrorism by one group, but excused as activism by another, depending on who did it. Such double standards erode trust and make it harder to have a consistent approach to political violence.
Equal Treatment Under the Law: Drawing the Line on Violence
From a legal and ethical standpoint, the solution to this conundrum is straightforward in principle but challenging in practice: hold everyone to the same standard of non-violence, regardless of their cause. In the United States, the right to protest is protected by the First Amendment, but that protection stops where violence begins. There is no right to assault police, destroy property, or physically interfere with government operations, no matter how righteous one believes the cause is. Authorities, therefore, must draw a clear line: peaceful protest – yes; violent disruption – no.
What does this mean in practical terms? It means that the actions of protesters should be judged, not their beliefs. If someone breaks the law by committing violence or endangering others at a protest, they should face consequences in line with those actions. It shouldn’t matter if they were wearing a MAGA hat or a Black Lives Matter shirt, or if they were chanting about election fraud or immigrant rights. The law has a variety of tools to address violent protest behavior even-handedly. Key offenses that apply to both Jan. 6 rioters and any violent L.A. protesters include:
Assaulting officers or officials: It is a felony to assault, resist, or impede law enforcement officers engaged in their duties. Jan. 6 rioters who struck Capitol Police were charged under this law, and likewise an L.A. protester who hurled a piece of concrete at an ICE agent could be charged for assaulting a federal officer. These charges carry serious penalties (often up to 8 or even 20 years if weapons are involved).
Obstruction of justice or government operations: Broadly, it’s illegal to interfere with government functions. In D.C., rioters were charged with obstructing an official proceeding of Congress. In Los Angeles, protesters who physically blocked ICE agents from making arrests or leaving a site could be charged with impeding federal officers or obstructing justice. In fact, the SEIU leader arrested in L.A. is being charged for exactly that – impeding a federal agent.
Civil disorder or rioting: When protests cross into widespread violence or property destruction, participants can face rioting charges. Federal law punishes engaging in or inciting a civil disorder that obstructs government or commerce. Prosecutors have used this for some Jan. 6 defendants and could apply it if, say, a group of L.A. protesters actively coordinated to battle law enforcement.
Threats, conspiracy, and sedition: If protesters organize or conspire to use violence for political ends, additional charges can come into play. Jan. 6 saw seditious conspiracy charges because groups planned to stop the peaceful transfer of power by force. In theory, if an extremist faction in Los Angeles had plotted to, for example, attack a government building or harm officials as part of the protest, similar serious charges could be brought. (There is no indication that the L.A. protests rose to that level of organized insurrection – the violence there, while unlawful, appeared more spontaneous and limited to scuffles with officers.)
Applying these laws consistently means that for the sake of fairness, yes, the violent L.A. protesters should face consequences, just as the Jan. 6 rioters have. The scale and context of the two events differ – Jan. 6 was an attack on the seat of national government during a pivotal constitutional process, whereas the L.A. protests were largely local confrontations over law enforcement actions. Those differences can be reflected in the severity of charges and sentences (for instance, no one in L.A. tried to storm Congress or hunt down lawmakers, so charges like “obstructing Congress” or “seditious conspiracy” don’t apply). But where the conduct is similar – assaulting officers, vandalism, illegal blockade of government activity – the legal response should be similar as well.
In fact, federal officials have explicitly made this point during the L.A. unrest. The U.S. Attorney in Los Angeles and even the White House (under President Trump in 2025) warned that any violence against ICE or border agents would be prosecuted to the fullest extent. This mirrors the DOJ’s approach to Jan. 6, where Attorney General Merrick Garland emphasized that every perpetrator of violence that day would be brought to justice. The principle of consistency demands that neither political pressure nor public sympathy should shield someone who commits a crime at a protest. If throwing a fire extinguisher at a Capitol Police officer is punishable, then throwing a chunk of concrete at an LAPD officer or a federal agent should be equally punishable. And indeed, initial steps in L.A. – such as arresting a prominent protester for impeding agents – indicate that line is being enforced.
At the same time, treating protesters equally under the law also means recognizing the rights of the peaceful majority in any demonstration. Just as on Jan. 6 not everyone in the crowd was violent (some were genuinely peaceful protestors who stayed outside), in Los Angeles many protesters did nothing more than chant and hold signs. These individuals should not be lumped together with the violent few. The challenge for law enforcement is to identify and charge the actual perpetrators of violence, rather than casting a broad net over everyone present. By doing so, authorities reinforce the idea that peaceful protest is welcome and protected, but violent behavior is prosecuted. This balance is crucial to avoid chilling legitimate dissent: people need to feel they can protest without fear of guilt by association with others’ bad acts.
For the average American observing these events, a consistent approach is not about equating the two causes – it’s about upholding a neutral principle: No matter your grievance, you cannot use violence to get your way. One useful mental exercise is to flip the scenarios: If you were outraged by the Capitol riot, ask yourself, how would you feel if similar tactics (attacking officers, besieging a building) were used by protesters for a cause you sympathize with? Conversely, if you find yourself excusing the L.A. protesters because you empathize with immigrant communities, imagine a scenario where an anti-immigration group trapped federal employees in a building and threw rocks – would you call that acceptable protest? In the end, most Americans would agree that beating police officers or vandalizing government property crosses a line, regardless of who does it or why.
Conclusion
Both the Jan. 6 Capitol attack and the June 2025 Los Angeles immigration protests underscore the fine line between passionate protest and unlawful violence. In each case, the vast majority of demonstrators did not engage in violence – many were peacefully exercising their right to speak out, whether it was to question an election or to oppose immigration raids. Yet in each case, a subset of protesters crossed the line, turning a political rally into a dangerous riot. The key to justice is ensuring that those individuals – the ones who smashed windows, threw punches or projectiles, injured officers, or truly put lives at risk – are held accountable, no matter what their politics are. That means imprisoning the most violent offenders from both events, in proportion to their crimes, after fair trials. A person who assaulted a police officer on Jan. 6 should face similar legal consequences to a person who assaulted an ICE agent on June 6, period. By the same token, someone who merely stood in the Capitol rotunda taking selfies or shouted slogans outside the L.A. federal building without hurting anyone might justly receive a lighter penalty (or no jail at all), regardless of the divergent causes they were advocating.
Achieving this parity is not just a legal necessity but a moral one. Equal treatment under the law is a bedrock American value; if we start excusing political violence on “our side” while harshly condemning it on the “other side,” we undermine the rule of law and feed the cycle of polarization. The justice system’s handling of Jan. 6 – over a thousand prosecutions, scaled by each person’s actions – and its response to the L.A. protests – early signs of pursuing those who turned a protest into a riot – together can set a precedent: America will defend your right to protest, but it will not tolerate violence in the guise of protest. By drawing that line clearly, and applying it without double standards, we reinforce a crucial norm for our democracy: political disputes must be fought with ballots, speeches, and peaceful demonstrations, not with bear spray, bricks, or fists. Whether one is a disenchanted conservative or a passionate progressive, the message should be the same: if you attack the government’s workers or institutions through violent protest, be prepared to face prison – because in a civil society, the ends do not justify the means when those means are violent.
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