Political Violence in America Is Here — And It’s Killing Our Democracy

A deadly weekend shows how far we’ve fallen—and why we must stop excusing violence from “our side” before it’s too late.

This past weekend, America crossed a terrible line.

A Democratic lawmaker and her husband were brutally murdered in their home. A state senator and his wife were nearly killed. Early reports suggest the suspect had a political hit list—names of elected officials targeted for their beliefs.

This wasn’t random. It wasn’t senseless. It was intentional. And it should have been a moment that froze us in our tracks—a moment of shared grief, outrage, and resolve.

But instead, what did we do?

We opened our apps and jumped into the spin cycle.
We pointed fingers before the facts were in.
We went looking for blame, not truth.

Elon Musk immediately blamed “the far left.”
Donald Trump said he might call the governor of the state—then, almost reflexively, turned around and called that same governor “grossly incompetent.”

It was the same broken instinct we’ve seen before.
When Trump survived an assassination attempt last year, voices on the left instantly claimed it was staged. Not because they had proof—but because it was useful.

This is the crisis we’re living in now. One where facts are irrelevant, and narrative is everything.

We’ve become addicted to outrage. We process political violence not with sorrow or solemnity, but as content for the next viral post, or fuel for our side’s fire. We don’t stop to consider the consequences—we just double down. I’m not immune from this either.

It’s as if we’ve forgotten that political violence isn’t partisan. It’s not red or blue.
It’s not MAGA or woke.

It’s a sickness.
And it’s spreading.

Look around:
A president has now survived two assassination attempts as a candidate.
A sitting governor’s home was set on fire—with his children asleep inside.
Israeli embassy staff were gunned down on American soil.
And now, elected officials are being hunted in their own homes.

This isn’t looming. It’s not a future threat.
It’s here. It’s now.

And this is how democracy dies—not with a single bullet, but with each one we explain away, each act of violence we rationalize, and each truth we abandon for tribal comfort.

I know this isn’t easy to hear. But we have to say it plainly:
We are normalizing the unthinkable.

And if we keep doing that—if we keep letting our party identity matter more than our shared humanity—we will lose something that can’t be recovered.

But here’s the truth that gives me hope: it doesn’t have to end this way.

I've spent years in the military, in Congress, and in communities across this country. I’ve seen Americans rise to the moment—choosing principle over politics, truth over convenience, and courage over comfort. I’ve seen Democrats call out their own when it mattered. I’ve seen Republicans take political risk to do the right thing. I’ve seen independents reject extremism altogether.

And I believe most Americans want to be better than this.

So, where do we begin?

We begin by refusing to make violence partisan. When someone is attacked or murdered because of what they believe, we condemn it. Period. No qualifications. No whataboutism. No spin.

We begin by rejecting conspiracy theories—especially the ones that make us feel good. It’s easy to believe something that flatters our side and makes the other look like monsters. But that ease is the very thing that erodes our democracy.

We begin by defending the truth. Even when it’s inconvenient. Even when it’s unpopular. Even when it means losing followers or votes.

Because in the end, we won’t save this country by defending our parties.
We’ll save it by defending our values.
The ones that bind us together: decency, honesty, accountability, and a shared belief that this fragile American experiment is still worth preserving.

So if you're tired—tired of the hate, the fear, the chaos—good. That means you’re paying attention.

Now, take that exhaustion and turn it into action.

Speak up when you see a lie spreading.
Stand firm when someone on your side crosses the line.
Support candidates and leaders who value country over clout.
And don’t just vote—engage. Be present. Be part of the solution.

We are not powerless.
We are not doomed.

But we are at a crossroads.

And what we do next will determine whether this democracy endures—or fades into history as one more great thing we let slip away.

Let’s not let that happen.
Let’s choose the harder path—the better path.
Let’s rise above our tribes, our feeds, our factions.

Let’s choose each other.
Before it’s too late.