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Pundits have offered elaborate explanations for the evolving views of Marjorie Taylor Greene, the Georgia Republican whose resignation from Congress takes effect today, but I don’t think you need a detailed theory to explain this woman’s journey from QAnon acolyte to MAGA exile. You just need to recognize one central fact about her: She actually believes things. Some of the things she’s believed are absurd, but that’s secondary. She has beliefs, and she’s willing—not always, but more often than the average D.C. pol—to put those beliefs ahead of other considerations.

You could already catch a hint of this during Greene’s original 2020 congressional campaign. Back then, she attracted national attention for her past interest in QAnon, a tapestry of conspiracy theories in which President Donald Trump was supposedly secretly working with special counsel Robert Mueller to defeat a cabal of elite satanic pedophiles who consume children’s blood. In those days, articles about Greene frequently linked her to another Q-friendly figure, the Colorado congressional candidate Lauren Boebert, who entered the House at the same time as Greene and eventually had a contentious falling out with her. (Greene was booted from the Freedom Caucus after she reportedly called Boebert a “little bitch.”) But even in 2020, anyone paying close attention could have seen an important difference between the two candidates. Greene had actually embraced the Q worldview (though she insisted that she had come to reject it). Boebert, asked about QAnon on the conspiracist show Steel Truth, had replied by saying she “hope[d] that this is real”—a statement delicately phrased to appeal to the Q-ish voting bloc without committing her to its worldview. Boebert was playing a cynical political game. Greene, for better or for worse, was a believer.

Not just a believer: a particular kind of believer. Most Americans don’t spend their lives soaking up the dogmas of the two big parties’ competing fan bases. To the extent that they pay attention to politics, they often adopt their views piecemeal, mixing opinions from the left and the right and, sometimes, from strange folks on the fringes. So you might be, say, an affluent woman in an Atlanta suburb, founder of a CrossFit gym, who rarely reads the op-ed pages of The New York Times or The Wall Street Journal but scrolls frequently through Facebook, absorbing rumors that the typical Times or Journal reader might regard as nuts. That was Greene, part normie and part weird—weird, in fact, because she was so normal.

The most infamous idea Greene expressed in her pre-congressional days came in 2018, when she wrote a Facebook post blaming that year’s California wildfires on space lasers controlled by the Rothschild banking family. The Rothschilds play a starring role in many antisemitic conspiracy theories, so when Greene’s post resurfaced in 2021, many people concluded the congresswoman was not merely loopy but an antisemite. Greene responded that she simply hadn’t known that the Rothschilds are Jewish. Maybe she really didn’t know, or maybe that was a lie. But if any congressperson could plausibly claim such naivete, it would be Greene. This wasn’t the Rothschild tale of someone who grew up surrounded by anti-Jewish folklore; it was the Rothschild tale of someone surrounded by folklore that had fallen out of its original context and floated like driftwood in a digital sea.

Sometimes someone with that sort of background comes to Washington, gets acclimated, and drops those early influences like a striver carefully eliminating every trace of his hometown’s accent. But Greene didn’t. She kept believing things, and that led to trouble with her party.

Even during Donald Trump’s first stint in the White House, you could see a simmering tension between two types of MAGA—the kind that was basically just pro-Trump, and a wilder, woolier bundle of Trump-era currents on the populist right. (One way to tell the difference: Check whether someone’s skepticism about the national security state disappears when the three-letter agencies pursue people not named Trump.) Greene was, along with Florida’s Matt Gaetz, the most notable Republican from the second group to have made it to Congress. Their views did not always track with the party line, particularly when it came to foreign policy. Greene once joined Democratic Rep. Rashida Tlaib, a self-described socialist from Michigan, in signing a letter asking the government to drop the prosecution of WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange, and she did it the very same week she joined a Republican push to censure Tlaib for some comments about Israel.

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