LaMalfa's ambiguity on Charlottesville

At Charlottesville in August 2017, white-supremacist organizations didn’t hide behind euphemism—they marched under swastikas and Confederate battle flags, led by marquee figures of the racist right, and produced lethal violence (Fausset & Feuer, 2017; U.S. Department of Justice, 2019). When the moment demanded moral clarity and explicit naming of the threat, Representative Doug LaMalfa chose caution and vagueness. In a comprehensive analysis of 327 same-day statements from members of Congress, researchers found that Republicans were markedly less likely than Democrats to name white nationalists; for LaMalfa, analysts “couldn’t find anything” on that day at all (Schuman, 2017). That is not neutrality—it’s permissive ambiguity.

Silence and euphemism are not harmless rhetorical ticks. Political communication and social norms research show that ambiguity from authority figures lowers social costs for extremists, allows audiences to misperceive the boundaries of acceptable behavior, and slows the stigmatization that deters recruitment and violence (Mernyk et al., 2022; Smith, 2017). Naming is a psychological bright line—it signals moral boundaries and institutional readiness to respond. When lawmakers avoid the words neo-Nazi, Ku Klux Klan, or the specific organizations that organized Charlottesville, they preserve a fog of “both sides” framing that extremists exploit (Schuman, 2017).

LaMalfa’s record since Charlottesville reinforces that pattern. He voted against removing Confederate statues and busts from the U.S. Capitol—iconography long weaponized by white-supremacist movements—when the House passed H.R. 3005 in June 2021; the official roll shows LaMalfa in the Nay column (Office of the Clerk, 2021). A year later, with federal law enforcement warning about violent white supremacy, he voted against the Domestic Terrorism Prevention Act (H.R. 350), a bill designed to strengthen DOJ, DHS, and FBI coordination against domestic extremist violence; again, the House roll call lists LaMalfa as Nay (Office of the Clerk, 2022). And on January 6–7, 2021—hours after a mob animated by an extremist lie sacked the Capitol—LaMalfa joined objections to certifying lawful electoral votes, helping launder a narrative that energized militant networks (Griswold, 2021). This is a throughline: avoid direct stigmatization when it counts, then vote in ways that minimize institutional pushback.

The stakes are not abstract. Charlottesville’s killer pleaded guilty to 29 federal hate-crime counts; the Justice Department was unambiguous about the white-supremacist motive (U.S. Department of Justice, 2019). Many of the groups visible in Charlottesville—Vanguard America, Identity Evropa (later American Identity Movement), the National Socialist Movement, and Klan contingents—were not incidental; they were the organizing core (Fausset & Feuer, 2017). Post-Charlottesville, the white-supremacist ecosystem mutated rather than vanished. Patriot Front, an offshoot of Vanguard America, became the country’s most prolific propaganda machine, responsible for the vast majority of white-supremacist leafleting incidents documented by the Anti-Defamation League and major outlets (Crenshaw & Robinson, 2025; Boorstein, 2022; Yang, 2022) and in this environment, elected officials’ explicit condemnation—and legislative support for counter-extremism capacity—matters even more.

LaMalfa failed those tests. On the communications side, he defaulted to delay and generic bromides precisely when naming would have increased moral costs for extremists (Schuman, 2017). On the policy side, he opposed removing Capitol honors for the Confederacy (Office of the Clerk, 2021). He voted against a bill to coordinate the federal response to domestic terrorism (Office of the Clerk, 2022). And in a moment of maximum danger for democratic stability, he amplified a lie that extremists turned into action (Griswold, 2021). You don’t have to wear a Vanguard America shield to do the movement a favor; strategic silence, equivocation, and votes that blunt institutional countermeasures do the job.

The psychological logic is simple and devastating. Extremist projects thrive on permission structures—signals that say “you might not be praised, but you won’t be punished.” When a member of Congress avoids naming racist groups after their most visible atrocity, votes to preserve Lost Cause tributes at the seat of government, and opposes a bill to focus law enforcement on domestic extremism, he lowers the perceived risk for extremists and raises the costs for those trying to stop them (Mernyk et al., 2022; Smith, 2017). That is not leadership. It’s cover.