‘Led to the edge of the apocalypse’: 30 years on from the Waco massacre

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A siege, a massacre, a tragedy – call it what you will, the great shootout dominated the nightly news for two months of 1993 and seared itself into American history, attaining mononym status in the bargain.

Waco, as the catastrophe is best known, was not actually in Waco. It took place 13 miles east of the central Texas town, at the putty-colored Mount Carmel Center compound presided over by David Koresh, a cult leader with cherubic curls and an enthusiasm for firearms. Under his auspices, the rambling structure was home to a vast reserve of weapons, and over a hundred followers who believed in their leader’s claims about the coming apocalypse. (There was also a bus that had been buried underground, ready to serve as a bunker.)

Operating on a tip, employees of the alcohol, tobacco and firearms bureau showed up with a warrant to search the premises for machine guns. It was a Sunday, and the government agents had planned on the religious residents being at church. But Branch Davidians, a splinter group of Seventh Day Adventists, observed the Sabbath on Saturday, and if they were prepared for the Second Coming, then they could handle a knock at the door from nosy government emissaries. What followed was the largest gunfight on American soil since the civil war, lasting 51 days and leaving 86 people dead. It was a diplomatic tightrope walk played out on a public stage, and Americans tuned into the nightly news for the latest blunders and blow-ups. Fingers were pointed, accusations flew, and public personalities like Bill Clinton and Janet Reno denied and accepted blame to varying degrees.

Just in time for the event’s anniversary comes Waco: American Apocalypse, the director Tiller Russell’s tense and nerve-jangling three-part documentary series. There have been other Waco docs and dramas, but this one helps itself to new footage from the negotiation room and audio recordings from FBI files to shade in a hyper-detailed play-by-play of an American nightmare.

Most viewers who tune in will probably know how the story ends: Koresh got his hellfire on earth, with the compound going up in a mass of flames. And so the series finds other ways to up the suspense factor. It doubles down on the jittery atmospherics, with the help of a nerve-racking soundtrack that doesn’t stint on the blasts and the clanks.

“I wanted to bring a freshness to it, and make it very vivid and show how it unfolded moment to moment,” says Russell, who has produced and directed numerous true crime films, and was a crime reporter once upon a time. His goal was to create “this very immersive experience of what it was like at the time”.

Russell grew up in Dallas, an hour’s drive from the site of the Waco conflict. He had recently enrolled in Cornell University in Ithaca, New York, when the story broke, and was aware of the headlines in that lackadaisical way that is common to young adults who are more interested in college seminars and girlfriends than the news from home.

When producers at Netflix, where he has a production deal, approached him with the new footage and audio recordings, Russell was immediately intrigued and agreed to come on board. The series came to life with the cooperation of three former members of the church, including Kathy Schroeder, who served three years in prison for her role in the gun battle and was one of Koresh’s lovers. We also meet Heather Jones, the last child to have escaped the compound. They don’t renounce Koresh and his ways. They seem circumspect, still under his spell. Jones recalls the compound’s flowers and butterflies. Schroeder describes sex with the leader as an intensive Bible study. Archival footage focuses on how agents used Schroeder’s toddler son to lure her out of the compound. “I’d rather be here, but in order to be with Bryan I guess I have to come out,” she says in a phone call. When she and Bryan are reunited, her affect is zoned out. She hugs her toddler, and then is separated from the child and arrested.

“They had conflicted feelings, but still a lot of love,” Russell says. “I mean, it was among the best moments of their lives, and among the worst moments of their lives. That internal conflict is what made them fascinating to me.”

In one of the rawest moments of the series, Jones, who still lives a 10-minute drive from the original location, is shown listening to FBI recordings of a call she had with her father when she’d escaped the compound. Jones holds herself together at first, then dissolves into tears. It was the last time she ever spoke to him.

Russell also interviews FBI agents, snipers and the nattily dressed Houston defense attorney who ultimately came on board as Koresh’s lawyer. “All of these people were led to the edge of the apocalypse – including all of the FBI people,” he says. “How does your life’s trajectory lead you to standing over a cliff at the end of the world? And what does it really feel like?”

The allure of Koresh isn’t front and center here, which is a refreshing differentiator from the glut of cult content on streaming services. A brief detour of character exploration introduces a 32-year-old with great self-regard and an electric grin. Originally named Vernon Howell, Koresh was the son of a teenage mom and said to be the victim of sexual abuse at the hands of older boys. He identified a group of religious believers, led by a sixtysomething woman named Lois Reden. Koresh was in his early 20s when he had an affair with her, and following her death he became ensnared in a gunfight with her son. He was arrested, but there was a hung jury, and soon after Koresh announced himself the new leader.

Koresh separated married couples, and slept with the wives. He led all-night Bible studies and took a different woman to his room at the end of each night. “It was exciting to be alone with God,” Schroeder says of a night in bed with Koresh. “He did it to give me tenderness.”

As the conflict intensified, Schroeder had a grenade in her hand. “If [the FBI agents] had entered the building we would all commit suicide,” she states. “I’m not a person, I’m God’s tool.” It’s unclear if she is speaking as her past or present self.