DOJ Drops Trump Case—Smith’s ‘Witch Hunt’ Exposed After Election Victory

Paul Riverbank, 1/2/2026Jack Smith’s testimony before Congress laid bare the clash over his Trump probe—pitting legal accountability against accusations of political bias. With charges dropped post-election, the controversy underscores deep divisions over democracy, justice, and the legacy of January 6. The debate is far from settled.

As the room settled, Smith didn’t flutter or shy away from the gravity of the occasion. At one point, his voice cut through the hushed murmurs: “The attack that happened at the Capitol…does not happen without him.” There was never any ambiguity about who “him” meant—a remark hanging over the hearing like a cold draft: former President Donald Trump.

Smith rarely wasted a syllable. In his view, the evidence wasn’t just damning—it was, to borrow his word, “overwhelming.” Trump, he asserted, sat at the center of the events of January 6, orchestrating actions that steered others, intentionally or not, toward the violence. “These crimes were committed for his benefit,” Smith told the assembled committee, not mincing words.

The hearing itself unfolded under the watchful eyes of the House Judiciary Committee, Republicans leading the charge from the dais. For each pointed question about political motives in the investigation—especially whether Smith’s work was intended to block Trump’s path to the White House—he offered a pointed retort: “I entirely disagree…Our work was never about stopping a campaign.” The decision to prosecute, Smith said, rested solely with him—not political bosses, not external pressure, but his own reading of the law and the facts.

But the probe, as many there knew, didn’t end with Trump. Smith’s sights reached well into the former president’s circle. Evidence gathering included subpoenas for phone records, some of them tied to high-profile Republican lawmakers. Kevin McCarthy’s name surfaced—a detail sure to rankle partisan nerves. Smith braced for accusations of overreach, ready with a counterpoint: “If Donald Trump had chosen to call a number of Democratic senators, we would have gotten toll records for Democratic senators.” For Smith, it was about direct evidence, not party lines.

Perhaps the most potent moments, though, came when Smith recounted testimony from Republicans themselves—party veterans who’d broken ranks under oath. He recalled a former Pennsylvania congressman who’d served as an elector, bluntly calling the effort “an attempt to overthrow the government and illegal.” Mark Meadows, Trump’s former chief of staff, added another layer of insight. According to Smith, Meadows described Rep. Jim Jordan’s fear—a startling admission about the surreal and dangerous chaos that overcame Capitol Hill on that January day.

Of course, skepticism—and at times heated skepticism—filled the room. Critics latched onto what they called “hearsay” evidence, including some of the most headline-grabbing accounts, such as Cassidy Hutchinson’s testimony claiming Trump tried to seize the steering wheel of his vehicle. Smith didn’t dodge these concerns, acknowledging the limitations: “A number of the things that she gave evidence on were secondhand hearsay.” There was an undertone in his explanation—some things you know, other things you can only try to prove.

Political lines solidified almost on reflex. Republican lawmakers blasted Smith’s approach, echoing the former president’s own refrain of a witch hunt designed to undermine the will of voters. Smith, clearly aware of the political minefield, said he expected as much. “No doubt the president wants to seek retribution against me,” he observed, letting the reality of high-stakes investigations—regardless of their law enforcement merit—stand on its own.

Meanwhile, Trump’s team responded to every new thread with hard-edged defiance. Every request for records, every new indictment was painted as an attack on democracy itself. The investigation, they claimed, amounted to bureaucratic meddling in a presidential race—an accusation Smith met repeatedly with a familiar refrain: “My job is about the law.”

With Trump’s victory in the 2024 election, the inquiry screeched to an abrupt halt. Department of Justice policy holds that a sitting president cannot be indicted—a door closed by institutional tradition, if not the letter of the law. The country suddenly found itself asking what, if anything, had changed.

Yet for Smith, the work spoke for itself. He stood by the depth and strength of the evidence, and reserved particular respect for the Republicans who, in his words, “put their allegiance to country before party.” Smith detailed how Trump, he believed, spread false claims about the election, amped up passions among supporters, and refused to defuse the situation once violence broke out. These were not political squabbles—they were, to Smith, questions about the very nature of American democracy.

Now, as both sides stand even more entrenched, the investigation remains a touchstone for debates about law, politics, and accountability. Critics see a partisan witch hunt; Smith and his defenders argue the opposite—a badly needed reckoning with a threat to the republic. Judging by the continuing uproar, this dispute will echo for a long time yet—no matter how quickly the headlines move on.

It was a long, tense morning on Capitol Hill. Jack Smith, the special counsel known for his measured resolve and sharp focus, took his seat under the glaring lights, prepared for what had been weeks in the making—a public grilling by lawmakers eager for headlines, and answers.As the room settled, Smith didn’t flutter or shy away from the gravity of the occasion. At one point, his voice cut through the hushed murmurs: “The attack that happened at the Capitol…does not happen without him.” There was never any ambiguity about who “him” meant—a remark hanging over the hearing like a cold draft: former President Donald Trump.Smith rarely wasted a syllable. In his view, the evidence wasn’t just damning—it was, to borrow his word, “overwhelming.” Trump, he asserted, sat at the center of the events of January 6, orchestrating actions that steered others, intentionally or not, toward the violence. “These crimes were committed for his benefit,” Smith told the assembled committee, not mincing words.The hearing itself unfolded under the watchful eyes of the House Judiciary Committee, Republicans leading the charge from the dais. For each pointed question about political motives in the investigation—especially whether Smith’s work was intended to block Trump’s path to the White House—he offered a pointed retort: “I entirely disagree…Our work was never about stopping a campaign.” The decision to prosecute, Smith said, rested solely with him—not political bosses, not external pressure, but his own reading of the law and the facts.But the probe, as many there knew, didn’t end with Trump. Smith’s sights reached well into the former president’s circle. Evidence gathering included subpoenas for phone records, some of them tied to high-profile Republican lawmakers. Kevin McCarthy’s name surfaced—a detail sure to rankle partisan nerves. Smith braced for accusations of overreach, ready with a counterpoint: “If Donald Trump had chosen to call a number of Democratic senators, we would have gotten toll records for Democratic senators.” For Smith, it was about direct evidence, not party lines.Perhaps the most potent moments, though, came when Smith recounted testimony from Republicans themselves—party veterans who’d broken ranks under oath. He recalled a former Pennsylvania congressman who’d served as an elector, bluntly calling the effort “an attempt to overthrow the government and illegal.” Mark Meadows, Trump’s former chief of staff, added another layer of insight. According to Smith, Meadows described Rep. Jim Jordan’s fear—a startling admission about the surreal and dangerous chaos that overcame Capitol Hill on that January day.Of course, skepticism—and at times heated skepticism—filled the room. Critics latched onto what they called “hearsay” evidence, including some of the most headline-grabbing accounts, such as Cassidy Hutchinson’s testimony claiming Trump tried to seize the steering wheel of his vehicle. Smith didn’t dodge these concerns, acknowledging the limitations: “A number of the things that she gave evidence on were secondhand hearsay.” There was an undertone in his explanation—some things you know, other things you can only try to prove.Political lines solidified almost on reflex. Republican lawmakers blasted Smith’s approach, echoing the former president’s own refrain of a witch hunt designed to undermine the will of voters. Smith, clearly aware of the political minefield, said he expected as much. “No doubt the president wants to seek retribution against me,” he observed, letting the reality of high-stakes investigations—regardless of their law enforcement merit—stand on its own.Meanwhile, Trump’s team responded to every new thread with hard-edged defiance. Every request for records, every new indictment was painted as an attack on democracy itself. The investigation, they claimed, amounted to bureaucratic meddling in a presidential race—an accusation Smith met repeatedly with a familiar refrain: “My job is about the law.”With Trump’s victory in the 2024 election, the inquiry screeched to an abrupt halt. Department of Justice policy holds that a sitting president cannot be indicted—a door closed by institutional tradition, if not the letter of the law. The country suddenly found itself asking what, if anything, had changed.Yet for Smith, the work spoke for itself. He stood by the depth and strength of the evidence, and reserved particular respect for the Republicans who, in his words, “put their allegiance to country before party.” Smith detailed how Trump, he believed, spread false claims about the election, amped up passions among supporters, and refused to defuse the situation once violence broke out. These were not political squabbles—they were, to Smith, questions about the very nature of American democracy.Now, as both sides stand even more entrenched, the investigation remains a touchstone for debates about law, politics, and accountability. Critics see a partisan witch hunt; Smith and his defenders argue the opposite—a badly needed reckoning with a threat to the republic. Judging by the continuing uproar, this dispute will echo for a long time yet—no matter how quickly the headlines move on.