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Floor Speech
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Mr. KAINE. Mr. President, I rise with my colleagues and thank them for gathering to talk about this most important anniversary. I think all of us are used to giving speeches on the Senate floor to an empty Chamber.
When you grow up and you learn about the Senate, you generally think people are here listening to one another, but when you come to the Senate, you find that is usually not the case.
One of the things about January 6, 2021, that was very memorable in my mind was that we were all together. We were all here in the midst of a most momentous occasion--the certification of the 2020 election result--looking each other in the eye. And we all experienced the confusion of the Vice President being ushered away and those doors shutting--first the glass doors, and then the wooden doors--as the Sergeant at Arms told us that the Senate was under attack. We remember sheltering here for 45 minutes to an hour before a path had been cleared where we could go elsewhere to be safe.
We remember the brave Senate staff as we were exiting remembering to pick up the wooden boxes that contained the certifications from the various States so that we could actually complete the work of that day and not see those boxes burned by the rioters out on the grounds of the Capitol.
We were all together.
It somehow seems fitting that as we gather 5 years later, it is an empty Chamber again because many want to forget or pretend or ignore what happened that day.
I express my thanks to my colleague from Washington and others to make sure that even if we stand in this Chamber virtually alone, we are not going to forget, and we won't be silent about what occurred.
I want to mention three things as I think about those days. Only one is a memory that I have, but I want to begin with just telling you the names of the five police officers who lost their life defending this Capitol. All five were residents of Virginia.
Brian Sicknick was a member of the Capitol Police, from Springfield, VA. He was 42 years old. He had served with the Capitol Police for 13 years. He was attacked directly by that mob on January 6, and 1 day later, on January 7, he died from multiple strokes that occurred just hours after that attack.
Brian Sicknick, 42 years old.
It is a little painful to say that the other four names that I am going to now read to you and describe were four police officers who lost their lives by suicide--who were here defending this Capitol, defending us, defending me--and were so traumatized by this seat of democracy being attacked by a mob that they lost their lives by suicide in the days and weeks after the attack.
The first was a friend of mine--and I suspect a friend of many--who were here: Howie Liebengood, a Capitol Police officer who grew up in Vienna, VA. He was 51 years old. He was a 15-year veteran of the U.S. Capitol Police.
Howie was an interesting guy because of his tie to the Senate. His father had worked for the Senate during Howie's entire life. This was his family. It wasn't just his job. He grew up coming to work with his dad. He grew up knowing the Halls of this Capitol as if it was his backyard.
When he graduated from college, he actually tried to break into being a NASCAR driver, which was his passion and his dad's passion. But after a few years of finding that that was hard to do, he went into the family business; he came to the family office, which was the U.S. Capitol.
Most of us remember Howie because he usually worked at the Delaware door into the Russell Building where folks come in, that door that staff and Senate visitors come in too. And I would see Howie every morning. My office is in the Russell Building, one floor up from that door where he would be every morning.
He would be this cheerful guy, greeting you, greeting your staff, making a joke, and always quick with a smile and quick with some funny quip. Howie just seemed like that kind of classic definition of just the hail fellow well met. He didn't ever meet a stranger. He loved this place as if it were his home.
He was here protecting the Capitol on January 6. He saw this place that had been his home under attack. This home of democracy, his personal home for him, everything in his life--his dad's career, his own career, his love for this institution, his love for the people in the institution--he saw it under attack by those trying to disrupt our democracy.
His wife Serena, who has also gotten to be a friend, said that Howie went into a deep depression. After this, a few days later, he came back to work and he actually was in an accident in one of the Capitol Police vehicles because his attention was elsewhere.
One day shortly after that accident, he came home and Serena said he seemed to be in a very distant mood, and he went upstairs and, a few minutes later, died by suicide.
I worked with Serena and other Senators, and I do thank Senators for this because there was a provision in the benefit for Capitol Police officers that, frankly, was a national provision for most that you could receive a benefit if your death was in the line of duty. You had to prove that it was in the line of duty. If it was during a traffic accident or summer vacation, you didn't get a line-of-duty death benefit, but there was an exclusion if you died by suicide.
You weren't even allowed to prove that the mental health or depression or the pressure that drove you to die by suicide was connected to the line of duty, and that was a bar that was common in law enforcement agency benefits packages all over the United States, including the Capitol Police.
I worked with Senator Duckworth and Senate colleagues, and we got that law changed, so that law enforcement officers who died by suicide after a traumatic event, such as that attack, at least tried to make their case that that death was not in vain, but it was a death that was connected to your law enforcement career.
And I worked with Serena on that, and we were able to get the law changed in a way that affects Capitol Police and others, that corrects an arcane or old-timey view of what suicide is. I think of Howie every time I walk in that door. That is the door I come into work every day. I have been here for 13 years now. It has been 5 years since January 6, 2021. But when I walk in that door, and Howie Leavengood is not there, I think of him.
Jeffrey Smith was a Metropolitan Police Officer and lived in Fairfax. He was 35 years old. He was a 12-year patrolman with the Metropolitan Police Department. Like Howie, he died shortly after the attack by suicide.
Kyle DeFreytag was a Metropolitan Police officer from Alexandria, VA. He was 26 years old, had his whole life before him. He was a 5-year veteran of the Metropolitan Police Department. He died after the attack--after defending this Capitol, after defending us--by suicide.
Finally, the fifth was Gunther Hashida, who was also from the Metropolitan Police, lived in Dumfries, VA, longtime resident of Northern Virginia, 43 years old, an 18-year veteran of the Metropolitan Police Department, also took his life after the attack by suicide.
These were law enforcement officers who are tough people who see a lot of tough stuff, but they weren't prepared. They weren't prepared to deal with an attack on the Capitol motivated by the President of the United States, and that caused them to spiral into a depression. And they are no longer with us as a result.
I just felt like it was important that we tell their stories. They are Virginians. Their families are Virginians. Their names should not be forgotten. Their names should be displayed in the Capitol.
The second thing I want to say is just one memory from that day, and then I will conclude with something that motivates me.
There was only one thing that day that happened that gave me some, I don't know, glimmer of hope, I guess. And I think we all know in life that sometimes in dark moments you can get a glimmer of hope, and sometimes in really good moments there can be a worm in the apple too. It is one of the mysteries of life.
We were gathered in a room after we had been escorted from this Chamber. It was during the thick of COVID, packed full of Senators and staff. Everybody but one person, as I recall, was wearing a mask, packed together for hours and hours and hours. And we were told by Senate officials that the room had been equipped so that we could complete the electoral college count and certification in that room.
And I give some credit to my Senate colleagues because it was interesting, without even discussing it, all 100 people looked at each other and just said: We are not doing it here. You are going to get the Chamber clear. We don't care how many hours it takes, and we are going to go back. And we will complete this business in the full view of the American public. And we did. But we had to wait for hours to do that because it took hours to suppress the attack.
TV monitors were wheeled into the room so that we could watch what was happening. Here was the only thing that happened that put a smile on my face that day, and it made me reflect upon who we are as a nation and gave me a sense of hope.
As the Capitol Police, together with the Metropolitan Police, were battling to stop the attack, a few hours in, the television showed Virginia State police cruisers arriving so Virginia officers could help defend democracy.
And I went over to Senator Warner, my colleague and friend of now 46 years, and I said: Mark, the last time there was an insurrection against the government of the United States, 160 years ago, Virginia was leading it. Virginia was leading it. And here we are, and the Virginia State Police are arriving at the Capitol to save the Union from an insurrection fomented by the Commander in Chief of the United States. There was a tragedy in that statement, but there was also something positive about the arc of history in a Virginia that had led an insurrection and was now so committed to the Union that the first to respond, other than those immediately here on the campus, were the Virginia State Police.
The last thing I will say is this, a motivation, because you have got to look for motivation on days like this, and you have got to look for motivation when you think nobody really cares about what you are talking about.
Senators usually wear Senate pins. I generally don't wear mine because I lose everything, and the Senate pin that we wear is actually kind of valuable. And I was told when I got here, if you lose it, it costs $400 to get a new one. So I have it in a special place, and I don't wear it. And I hope I may be able to give it to one of my kids one day. But this year, 2026, 250 years of American democracy, I am wearing a different pin, and I have been wearing it most days. And it is the Virginia State seal.
And I will just tell you about the seal quickly. I have talked about it once or twice on the floor, but I just feel motivated to talk about it again.
Mr. President, 250 years of American democracy, July 4, 1776, we know what happened in Philadelphia, the Declaration of Independence. On July 5, 1776, now on the Fourth, there were a lot of Virginians in Philadelphia like Thomas Jefferson and others. The A team was in Philadelphia. The B team was in Williamsburg, the Virginia B team.
And on July 5, 1776, here is what they did: They wrote the Virginia bill of rights and passed it. They passed the Virginia Constitution, the first constitution. They elected Patrick Henry the first Governor of the Commonwealth, and they passed and embraced a draft of a State seal that had been designed in 3 days by a four-member committee, including George Wythe, who was the dean of the William & Mary Law School.
The seal is an interesting one. It is a woman, an Amazon, sometimes controversial because one breast is exposed--it is a figure from Roman mythology--standing on top of a deposed Monarch with his crown falling off with the motto ``Sic Semper Tyrannis,'' ``Thus be it always to tyrants.''
Of all the States, every State has a motto, but Virginia's is the only one that is kind of a warning. New York has a good one, ``Excelsior,'' ``Onward.'' Most States have great--``Ad Astra Per Aspera,'' Kansas, ``To the stars through adversity.'' Michigan is a funny one. ``If you seek a pleasant peninsula, look about you.'' I have always wondered about that one.
But Virginia's motto is the only one kind of a warning or rebuke: ``Thus be it always to tyrants,'' ``Sic Semper Tyrannis.'' And those who put this together, they used the future verb tense. They didn't say: We don't like tyrants; down with tyrants; King George is a tyrant. ``Semper'' means always. They used the future verb tense because they knew tyranny was not something that was just in the rearview mirror.
Virginia has never changed its motto. We have never changed our flag. We continue to hold out the sad reality that tyranny is a fact of human nature, not just a form of government. It is a fact of human nature. And the woman standing atop the tyrant in Roman mythology represents virtue, and virtue is a permanent factor of human nature as well.
The Founders believed we had to be on guard against tyranny. The Founders also believed, with confidence, that virtue would prevail over tyranny but not without our effort. And so standing in a nearly empty Chamber today on a day that has meaning to me, and maybe not to a whole lot of other people, I just say I am motivated by this. I am motivated by the notion that if we put our shoulders to the wheel in this great democracy, at 250, we can win out over tyranny. We can turn this year of 250 into a celebration of American democracy, not a requiem, not a wake, not a saying goodbye but a revitalization.
And with that, I thank you for your indulgence.
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