ElbowsUp: This Is How Good People Justify Atrocity

An #ElbowsUp interview with the Texas pastor who supported the federal crackdown.

The last 72 hours have been a whirlwind. On Friday, I published From Speculation to Reality, a post documenting the chilling ways our current headlines were beginning to mirror the fiction of #ElbowsUp.

I wrote about the targeted assassination of lawmakers, the weaponization of the courts, and the normalization of political violence. These were no longer plot points in a story; they were breaking news alerts.

But headlines only tell you what happened. They don't tell you why. They don't explain the human heart that, out of fear or desperation, makes the choices that allow a democracy to crumble.

Pastor Billy Hawthorne's story is an answer to that question.

He is a good man trying to save his community from a real-world crisis, who finds himself justifying actions he never thought he would. He is the voice of the millions of well-intentioned people who pave the road to authoritarianism with their own desperate hopes. His perspective is essential to understanding how we got here.

(New to the story? You can start with the original fiction in Chapters 1-3 or read the real-world analysis in From Speculation to Reality.)

Photo by Arthur Edelmans on Unsplash

Pastor Billy Hawthorne

Senior Pastor, East Texas Community Baptist Church
Harrison County Faith Coalition
Interviewed: April 22, 2029
Location: Marshall, Republic of Texas

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Interviewer: Pastor Hawthorne, you were a prominent voice supporting federal intervention during the constitutional crisis. How do you reflect on that time now?

Pastor Hawthorne: With a heavy heart and a lot of prayer, I'll tell you that. Those were dark times for our community, and I believed—still believe—that desperate times require difficult decisions. Though looking back now, just four years later, I wonder if we moved too fast, if we let fear guide us more than wisdom.

You have to understand what we were facing here in East Texas in 2025. Harrison County overdose deaths had increased nearly five-fold since 2019, according to our local coroner's data. We were losing young people every week—kids I baptized, kids whose families I'd counseled, kids who sang in our church choir. The funeral home couldn't keep up. We ran out of space in the cemetery.

And we were told, repeatedly, that this crisis was being made worse by policies that prevented federal law enforcement from stopping the flow of drugs across our borders. Whether that was completely accurate or not, I don't know. But when you're watching your community die, and someone offers you hope that strong action might save lives, you listen.

Interviewer: You supported federal intervention?

Pastor Hawthorne: I supported the restoration of order, yes. Did I want to see families separated? Lord, no. Did I want to see American citizens arrested for political beliefs? Absolutely not. But the choice wasn't that simple, or at least it didn't seem that simple in the summer of 2025.

You know, when this all truly began to escalate that summer, the air was thick with it. Those "No Kings" protests... they weren't just a fringe element. We saw them on the news every night, from New York's Fifth Avenue to right there in Los Angeles, hundreds of thousands, they said, some even comparing the President's actions to a monarchy. And their signs, Lord have mercy, "No Thrones, No Crowns," some even "ICE, you're fired." At the time, with our own county drowning in fentanyl deaths, I confess, much of that felt like noise, like people who didn't understand the depth of the crisis we faced on our doorstep.

When the administration said they needed a firm hand, even using the military for detentions around federal buildings—like that incident with the veteran the Marines picked up in LA—many of us here, we just prayed it was the strong medicine the country needed. We were desperate for solutions, not constitutional debates.

The papers were full of it at the time – the President's big military parade in DC, for the Army's 250th, his birthday too. The official word was of massive crowds, a quarter-million patriots, they claimed. But then you'd see other images, reports of empty bleachers, folks leaving early even before the speeches, a "listless" feel, some said. It made a body wonder, even then, about the real mood of the country versus the picture being painted. And those "No Kings" protests, happening the very same day, drawing what sounded like millions nationwide... it suggested a deep rift, a profound disagreement that perhaps we weren't fully acknowledging, especially when folks started saying they were scared to even post on social media about their views. That sort of fear... that's a hard thing to reconcile with a healthy democracy.

After the feds came in, they also brought resources we'd been begging for for years. Operation Lone Star got a billion-dollar boost. They set up a new federal drug task force right here in Harrison County. Within six months, the fentanyl deaths dropped by half. So you tell me—was that authoritarianism? Or was it a government finally doing its job and saving lives, even if the methods were hard to watch?

But sometimes surgery is necessary to save the patient. Sometimes you have to cut out infected tissue to preserve the healthy body. I believed that's what we were doing—saving America by removing the parts that were killing it.

Interviewer: How did your congregation respond to your position?

Pastor Hawthorne: Division. Pure and simple. About half my congregation agreed with me—they'd lost children, grandchildren, neighbors to drugs and violence. They wanted someone, anyone, to take strong action to protect their families.

The other half were horrified. They saw federal agents arresting mayors and governors, and they saw tyranny. They heard my sermons about supporting law and order, and they heard justification for oppression.

I lost about thirty families from my congregation during that time. Good people, faithful people, who couldn't reconcile their pastor supporting what they saw as constitutional breakdown. I don't blame them. Leadership during crisis means making choices that alienate people you love.

And frankly, the speed of it all made everything worse. We went from normal politics to military deployment to constitutional crisis in a matter of months. There wasn't time to process, to pray, to really think through what we were supporting. Events just kept cascading, one crisis leading to another.

Interviewer: When did you start having doubts?

Pastor Hawthorne: Well, the images started getting harder to ignore. And it wasn't just words, was it? We saw the images. Marines on the streets of an American city, Los Angeles. That first detention they made, an Army veteran no less, held with zip ties, handed over to DHS. Now, they said it was just "temporary detainment" to protect federal property, that they had to turn folks over to civilian authorities. But seeing uniformed soldiers, our soldiers, involved in holding civilians... it's a stark image. The administration said it was to support ICE, to restore order. But many folks, not just the ones shouting in the streets, but good, church-going people in my own pews, they started asking: "Pastor, is this what order looks like? Is this still America?" Especially when you heard that even governors were mobilizing their own Guard units because of the tension. It was a confusing, frightening time for those of us trying to hold onto faith and principle.

But the real breaking point came in June 2025. I'll never forget that Saturday morning when the news broke about Minnesota. Two Democratic lawmakers, shot in their own homes by a man posing as a police officer. Representative Melissa Hortman, the House Democratic leader, and her husband Mark—killed in cold blood. Senator John Hoffman and his wife, shot multiple times but thank God they survived surgery.

The killer had a hit list, they said. Dozens of names of Democratic politicians and folks who supported abortion rights. Governor Walz called it what it was—"politically motivated assassination." And this was happening on the same day as those "No Kings" protests, the same day as the President's military parade in Washington. The whole country felt like it was tearing apart at the seams.

I was watching the coverage, and I realized something terrible: part of me had been expecting this. The rhetoric, the militarization, the way we'd been talking about our political opponents as enemies of the state... we'd created an atmosphere where this kind of violence felt almost inevitable.

That night, I went to my office and got on my knees. I prayed for hours, asking God for wisdom, for clarity, and for forgiveness if I'd led my people astray. And I felt... emptiness. Like God was asking me the same question I was afraid to ask myself: "Billy, what have you become? What kind of America are you helping to build?"

Interviewer: How did you navigate the Partition?

Pastor Hawthorne: With difficulty, and with the knowledge that it was all happening so fast we could barely keep up. When the constitutional crisis reached its peak in late 2025 and the partition became reality in early 2026, it felt like we were living through history at breakneck speed. States were seceding, new governments forming, and we had to decide almost overnight where our loyalties lay.

When Texas chose to remain with the federal government, I supported that decision. Texas has always been independent-minded, and we believed we could be a voice for constitutional governance within the remaining United States.

But I also understood why other states left. If you believe your government has become tyrannical, then the Declaration of Independence—our founding document—says you have not just the right but the duty to alter or abolish that government.

I gave a sermon in early 2026 called "Two Americas, One Faith." The basic message was that Christians have obligations to justice and mercy that transcend political boundaries. Whether you live in the USC or the remaining US, your duty is to love your neighbor, protect the vulnerable, and work for justice.

Interviewer: How has the Partition affected your community?

Pastor Hawthorne: Economically, it's been challenging. We lost a lot of trade relationships with California and the Northeast. Young people leave for college and don't come back—they go to USC universities and find opportunities there that don't exist here anymore.

But spiritually, it's been clarifying. We've had to confront what we actually believe about justice, mercy, and political authority. We've had to ask ourselves: did we support strong government because we believed in law and order, or because we wanted to use government power against people we disagreed with?

That's an uncomfortable question for a lot of folks, myself included. And it's one we're still wrestling with, just three years after everything fell apart.

Interviewer: What's your relationship with USC churches?

Pastor Hawthorne: Stronger than you might expect. We do joint missions work, share resources for disaster relief, and coordinate on social justice initiatives. The political division between our countries doesn't erase our Christian unity.

I visit USC churches regularly, and their pastors come here. We disagree about politics, but we agree about the gospel. And honestly, some of their approaches to economic justice and environmental stewardship challenge me to think more deeply about what Christian witness looks like in practice.

Interviewer: Any regrets about your stance during the crisis?

Pastor Hawthorne: Many. I regret that I didn't ask harder questions about the intelligence we were being shown. I regret that I let my legitimate concern about drug trafficking cloud my judgment about constitutional principles. I regret that I may have provided religious justification for policies that separated families and undermined democratic institutions.

Most of all, I regret the speed with which we all moved. Looking back, everything happened so fast—from the first military deployments in early 2025 to the actual partition by early 2026. We went from supporting emergency measures to watching the country split apart in less than eighteen months. Maybe if we'd slowed down, taken more time to pray and think, we could have found another way.

But I don't regret trying to save lives in my community. I don't regret supporting law enforcement efforts that actually reduced drug deaths. I don't regret believing that government has a responsibility to protect citizens from criminal organizations.

The question I wrestle with is whether there was a way to save lives without abandoning constitutional principles. Whether we could have addressed the drug crisis without giving up on democratic governance.

Interviewer: How do you counsel other faith leaders facing similar choices?

Pastor Hawthorne: Pray first. Act second. And remember that your ultimate loyalty is to God's kingdom, not to any earthly political system.

When government offers to solve problems that are killing your community, it's natural to want to support that government. But you have to ask: what are the long-term costs? What precedents are being set? What kind of society are you creating for your children?

And for God's sake, slow down. Don't let the urgency of crisis push you into supporting things you'll regret when the immediate danger passes. The speed of our constitutional breakdown was part of what made it so dangerous—nobody had time to think, only time to react.

I supported policies that may have saved lives in the short term but that undermined the constitutional system that protects all of us in the long term. That's a trade-off I'm still wrestling with.

Interviewer: What's your hope for the future?

Pastor Hawthorne: Reconciliation. Not political reunification—that ship has sailed. But spiritual reconciliation between Americans who made different choices during an impossible time.

Both countries are struggling with the consequences of the Partition. Both are trying to build societies based on their understanding of justice and mercy. Both are imperfect and need the witness of faithful Christians who are willing to speak truth to power.

My prayer is that Christians in both countries will focus more on being faithful witnesses to God's kingdom than on being loyal partisans of earthly kingdoms. Because ultimately, every political system will fail. Our job is to be salt and light regardless of what political system we live under.

The Partition broke America, but it doesn't have to break the church. Maybe that's where healing begins. And maybe, given some time—more time than we gave ourselves during the crisis—we can learn to be neighbors again, even if we can't be one nation. Sometimes the most important healing happens when you finally have enough distance from trauma to process what really happened. Eighteen months of crisis created wounds that will take years to heal.

The wounds are still fresh. It's only been three years since everything changed, barely eighteen months from crisis to partition. But I have to believe that God can bring something good out of even our worst mistakes.