How Gettysburg Emerged as a Haven for Conservatives Affected by Strife During the Trump Era
A simulated battlefield may be the key to addressing America’s political divisions.
TroibNews 
At the 161st annual reenactment of the Battle of Gettysburg, temperatures soar above 90 degrees by 10 a.m., and the sound of cannons echoes in the distance. The parking lot, just outside the mock battlefield, is a mix of reenactors bearing Confederate flags and tourists donning MAGA caps, creating an atmosphere reminiscent of January 6 — menacing yet charged. However, as I get closer, I discover a friendlier vibe among the reenactors, regardless of which side they represent, as they greet one another warmly.
These performers brave the oppressive heat in tight, uncomfortable wool, just as the original soldiers did during the sweltering July of 1863 when one soldier noted observing “hundreds of men gasping for breath, and lolling out their tongues like madmen.” He reflected that “flesh and blood cannot sustain such heat and fatigue as we have undergone this day.”
Having attended the Gettysburg reenactment previously as a tourist with my then 10-year-old son Ben in 2016, where we engaged in musket training and tasted hardtack, I now seek to delve deeper into the historical context of this event.
The nation remains caught in a bitter tribal standoff, stemming from grievances that aren't easily defined, but trace back at least to Donald Trump’s initial campaign—a conflict that shows little sign of resolution, intensifying both online and offline. Tension is palpable in various social settings, from baby showers to street fights; there’s no respite, no retreat.
Like many others, I strive to avoid political confrontations, steering clear of friends eager to engage in debates on climate change, immigration, or vaccines. Or perhaps it's me who seeks to avoid such conversations, wary of revealing a contentious side of myself.
Contrary to my instincts, the attendees here at Gettysburg seem to embrace conflict. Their commitment to reenacting this bloody chapter of American history illustrates an intriguing obsession with reliving trauma in hopes of mastering it—an idea rooted in psychology known as repetition compulsion.
Several men at a booth representing The Sons of Confederate Veterans share their motivations with me, albeit cautiously. Most refuse to provide their names, but Bill speaks up, offering this perspective: “The best answer I can give you is that it’s not that we're celebrating wins or losses. We’re celebrating our family heritage. This is what our ancestors did.”
I probe further into whether Americans continue to fight the Civil War, and the response is a clear yes. Yet, as some reenactors explain, this struggle primarily unfolds beyond the boundaries of the reenactment, particularly on social media, where views about the Confederacy can be contentious. One reenactor confides, “When I post on Facebook about my Confederate ancestor, I get flak from friends.”
This setting, despite the pungent smell of gunpowder, provides a safe space for these reenactors. Here, they don't critique each other's ancestors or political beliefs. While many express support for Trump, they largely steer clear of current political events.
Discussions tend to shift away from ideology to address the interpersonal disputes many face in their social circles, with issues arising from stark political divides replacing simpler disagreements about personal matters. The conflicts shared here reflect broader red versus blue dynamics.
As I wander through the heat, I feel like I've stumbled into an unspoken group therapy session among predominantly white, MAGA-aligned participants who play out historical tensions to address modern familial and community conflicts. The act of mock fighting, adorned in period regalia, offers a license for catharsis.
In this space, a striking contrast emerges: while reenactors engage in representations of conflict, these portrayals lead to moments of reconciliation. Abraham Lincoln’s words resonate—“Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection.” Here at Gettysburg, they enact trauma but also strive for reunion, honoring those on the losing side, making contemporary societal rifts seem slightly more manageable.
In a brief respite from conflict, attendees share meals together after engaging in play battles. Individuals like Paul and Tawnya Wells, adorned in Union attire, reflect the complexity of modern political affiliations. Paul supports Trump, citing economic success, while Tawnya expresses her disdain for his leadership, stating, “I'm making plans to move to a different country.” They recount their decision to attend reenactments as a way to reconnect with simpler times amidst their political discord.
Conversations flow through various stands, such as that of a bonneted Trump supporter selling Confederate-flagged jams, who expresses a longing for fewer disagreements with friends at home. “People are just at each other’s throats,” she laments, detailing a poignant falling out with her once-close friend over political divides.
Most attendees I encounter are white, a demographic that wouldn’t be unfamiliar with family conflicts arising from the Civil War. Studies indicate white populations are among the most affected by today’s political divides, evidenced by voting trends.
Interestingly, the reenactment illustrates how historical family dynamics persist; many solders fought in opposing ranks during the Civil War, as highlighted by an enthusiastic reenactor reciting names from the era, including the Crittendens and the Taylors.
In exploring these connections, I am reminded of the societal themes that replay themselves with uncanny similarity today. For example, some family members of those involved in the January 6 insurrection reported witnessing friends and relatives develop troubling political ideologies, mirroring the Civil War divide.
As I survey the scene, I reflect on the potentially paradoxical nature of unity and division among participants. Frequently, individuals express a desire for reconciliation, yearning for a time when political engagements didn’t drive wedges between loved ones.
Interaction themes echo an attempt to find common ground: “There’s no North or South here,” remarks one Confederate Son, hesitant to disclose his name. He shares an aspiration of collaboration, contrary to the image of opposing factions clashing mere feet away. “We’re not enemies. We’ve been talking about getting the two camps together to do stuff."
This sense of openness extends to reenactors who freely switch allegiances—a rarity in current American society. Bill reveals that, in some events, participants wear both Union and Confederate gear, swapping roles depending on the need and the crowd composition.
Even those identifying as “Sons of Both,” with lineages from both sides of the conflict, share stories of familial connections, blending history and modern narratives in unique ways.
The reenactment strives to nurture these broader themes of empathy and historical understanding. Naomi Sutton, a fellow reenactor, affirms, “It gives you more empathy for both sides and what people go through on a daily basis.”
As reenactors engage in the mock battles, a key psychological aspect emerges: experiencing these conflicts in a playful manner dissipates some of their agonizing weight. Many hope for a contemporary leader akin to Lincoln, one who could mend rifts and restore unity.
Matthew Dellinger of the 14th Brooklyn Living History Association recalls the 1913 reenactment, where veterans shook hands rather than fought. “They’re on the battlefield and shaking hands, instead of charging the wall and being shot down,” he details, evoking a powerful image of reconciliation.
Yet, this sense of togetherness isn’t universally attainable in today’s divided America. As I navigate between individuals in Confederate uniforms and MAGA caps, the absence of Black reenactors stands out, highlighting a troubling element of exclusivity in these gatherings.
Despite their attempts to distance themselves from associations with white nationalism, discussions abruptly cease whenever the topic is broached. The denial of shared histories regarding slavery becomes evident, though they do make efforts to express a clear rejection of hate groups.
Dellinger emphasizes the love for history that unites reenactors—allowing them to escape the toxicity of contemporary political squabbles. “This is our Thanksgiving,” he quips, evoking the spirit of family gatherings that foster remembrance and potential for unity.
Through the reenactment, participants strive to achieve a resolution congruent with Lincoln's vision that transcends mere historical retelling but seeks to bridge divides in a nearly fractured national family.
In closing, I appreciate the complex narratives painted here, where attendees echo longing for peace and reconciliation, and a hope that one day, despite entrenched conflicts, a true unification may yet be achieved.
Frederick R Cook contributed to this report for TROIB News
These performers brave the oppressive heat in tight, uncomfortable wool, just as the original soldiers did during the sweltering July of 1863 when one soldier noted observing “hundreds of men gasping for breath, and lolling out their tongues like madmen.” He reflected that “flesh and blood cannot sustain such heat and fatigue as we have undergone this day.”
Having attended the Gettysburg reenactment previously as a tourist with my then 10-year-old son Ben in 2016, where we engaged in musket training and tasted hardtack, I now seek to delve deeper into the historical context of this event.
The nation remains caught in a bitter tribal standoff, stemming from grievances that aren't easily defined, but trace back at least to Donald Trump’s initial campaign—a conflict that shows little sign of resolution, intensifying both online and offline. Tension is palpable in various social settings, from baby showers to street fights; there’s no respite, no retreat.
Like many others, I strive to avoid political confrontations, steering clear of friends eager to engage in debates on climate change, immigration, or vaccines. Or perhaps it's me who seeks to avoid such conversations, wary of revealing a contentious side of myself.
Contrary to my instincts, the attendees here at Gettysburg seem to embrace conflict. Their commitment to reenacting this bloody chapter of American history illustrates an intriguing obsession with reliving trauma in hopes of mastering it—an idea rooted in psychology known as repetition compulsion.
Several men at a booth representing The Sons of Confederate Veterans share their motivations with me, albeit cautiously. Most refuse to provide their names, but Bill speaks up, offering this perspective: “The best answer I can give you is that it’s not that we're celebrating wins or losses. We’re celebrating our family heritage. This is what our ancestors did.”
I probe further into whether Americans continue to fight the Civil War, and the response is a clear yes. Yet, as some reenactors explain, this struggle primarily unfolds beyond the boundaries of the reenactment, particularly on social media, where views about the Confederacy can be contentious. One reenactor confides, “When I post on Facebook about my Confederate ancestor, I get flak from friends.”
This setting, despite the pungent smell of gunpowder, provides a safe space for these reenactors. Here, they don't critique each other's ancestors or political beliefs. While many express support for Trump, they largely steer clear of current political events.
Discussions tend to shift away from ideology to address the interpersonal disputes many face in their social circles, with issues arising from stark political divides replacing simpler disagreements about personal matters. The conflicts shared here reflect broader red versus blue dynamics.
As I wander through the heat, I feel like I've stumbled into an unspoken group therapy session among predominantly white, MAGA-aligned participants who play out historical tensions to address modern familial and community conflicts. The act of mock fighting, adorned in period regalia, offers a license for catharsis.
In this space, a striking contrast emerges: while reenactors engage in representations of conflict, these portrayals lead to moments of reconciliation. Abraham Lincoln’s words resonate—“Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection.” Here at Gettysburg, they enact trauma but also strive for reunion, honoring those on the losing side, making contemporary societal rifts seem slightly more manageable.
In a brief respite from conflict, attendees share meals together after engaging in play battles. Individuals like Paul and Tawnya Wells, adorned in Union attire, reflect the complexity of modern political affiliations. Paul supports Trump, citing economic success, while Tawnya expresses her disdain for his leadership, stating, “I'm making plans to move to a different country.” They recount their decision to attend reenactments as a way to reconnect with simpler times amidst their political discord.
Conversations flow through various stands, such as that of a bonneted Trump supporter selling Confederate-flagged jams, who expresses a longing for fewer disagreements with friends at home. “People are just at each other’s throats,” she laments, detailing a poignant falling out with her once-close friend over political divides.
Most attendees I encounter are white, a demographic that wouldn’t be unfamiliar with family conflicts arising from the Civil War. Studies indicate white populations are among the most affected by today’s political divides, evidenced by voting trends.
Interestingly, the reenactment illustrates how historical family dynamics persist; many solders fought in opposing ranks during the Civil War, as highlighted by an enthusiastic reenactor reciting names from the era, including the Crittendens and the Taylors.
In exploring these connections, I am reminded of the societal themes that replay themselves with uncanny similarity today. For example, some family members of those involved in the January 6 insurrection reported witnessing friends and relatives develop troubling political ideologies, mirroring the Civil War divide.
As I survey the scene, I reflect on the potentially paradoxical nature of unity and division among participants. Frequently, individuals express a desire for reconciliation, yearning for a time when political engagements didn’t drive wedges between loved ones.
Interaction themes echo an attempt to find common ground: “There’s no North or South here,” remarks one Confederate Son, hesitant to disclose his name. He shares an aspiration of collaboration, contrary to the image of opposing factions clashing mere feet away. “We’re not enemies. We’ve been talking about getting the two camps together to do stuff."
This sense of openness extends to reenactors who freely switch allegiances—a rarity in current American society. Bill reveals that, in some events, participants wear both Union and Confederate gear, swapping roles depending on the need and the crowd composition.
Even those identifying as “Sons of Both,” with lineages from both sides of the conflict, share stories of familial connections, blending history and modern narratives in unique ways.
The reenactment strives to nurture these broader themes of empathy and historical understanding. Naomi Sutton, a fellow reenactor, affirms, “It gives you more empathy for both sides and what people go through on a daily basis.”
As reenactors engage in the mock battles, a key psychological aspect emerges: experiencing these conflicts in a playful manner dissipates some of their agonizing weight. Many hope for a contemporary leader akin to Lincoln, one who could mend rifts and restore unity.
Matthew Dellinger of the 14th Brooklyn Living History Association recalls the 1913 reenactment, where veterans shook hands rather than fought. “They’re on the battlefield and shaking hands, instead of charging the wall and being shot down,” he details, evoking a powerful image of reconciliation.
Yet, this sense of togetherness isn’t universally attainable in today’s divided America. As I navigate between individuals in Confederate uniforms and MAGA caps, the absence of Black reenactors stands out, highlighting a troubling element of exclusivity in these gatherings.
Despite their attempts to distance themselves from associations with white nationalism, discussions abruptly cease whenever the topic is broached. The denial of shared histories regarding slavery becomes evident, though they do make efforts to express a clear rejection of hate groups.
Dellinger emphasizes the love for history that unites reenactors—allowing them to escape the toxicity of contemporary political squabbles. “This is our Thanksgiving,” he quips, evoking the spirit of family gatherings that foster remembrance and potential for unity.
Through the reenactment, participants strive to achieve a resolution congruent with Lincoln's vision that transcends mere historical retelling but seeks to bridge divides in a nearly fractured national family.
In closing, I appreciate the complex narratives painted here, where attendees echo longing for peace and reconciliation, and a hope that one day, despite entrenched conflicts, a true unification may yet be achieved.
Frederick R Cook contributed to this report for TROIB News
