In Minnesota, America's Luck Ran Out

The Atlantic

10 hours ago

Early this morning, a gunman apparently impersonating a police officer targeted two Democratic Minnesota state lawmakers in their homes. First, he shot State Senator John Hoffman and his wife, who were seriously wounded. Law-enforcement officials believe the same gunman then shot Melissa Hortman, who served as Minnesota's speaker of the House from 2019 to 2024. She was killed, along with her husband, Mark.
In September 2023, shortly after Donald Trump yet again encouraged direct political violence against his opponents, I wrote this: 'As a political scientist who studies political violence across the globe, I would chalk up the lack of high-profile assassinations in the United States during the Trump and post-Trump era to dumb luck … Eventually, all luck runs out.'
That luck has now run out, in an idyllic Minneapolis suburb.
Although details are still emerging, law-enforcement officials are searching for a former appointee of Democratic Governor Tim Walz in connection with the killings, which Walz called 'politically motivated.' The gunman reportedly had a manifesto and a list of targets that included the names of other Minnesota politicians as well as abortion providers in the state. Law-enforcement authorities intercepted but were not able to arrest the shooter shortly after he assassinated Hortman. Had they not, it's possible that he would have made his way to the homes of other Minnesota officials, trying to murder them too.
Political violence—and assassinations in particular—are notoriously difficult to predict, precisely because the violence is often carried out by 'lone wolf' attackers. Just one deranged zealot is sufficient to carry out an act of consequential violence. In a country of 340 million people and even more guns, there will always be a small pool of potential killers eager to wreak havoc on the political system.
That's why researchers who study political violence, including myself, try to understand what elevates or reduces the risk of violence, even if it can never be fully eradicated. In a context such as the United States, three key factors stand out: easy access to deadly weapons, intense polarization that paints political opponents as treasonous enemies rather than disagreeing compatriots, and incitements to political violence from high-profile public figures. When you combine those three social toxins, the likelihood of political violence increases, even as it remains impossible to predict who will be targeted or when attacks might be carried out.
Again, law-enforcement officials still don't know the attacker's precise motivations, and trying to draw conclusions from any single act of political violence is foolish. Because they are rare, randomness plays a role in these instances, and many perpetrators are mentally unwell. But consider this comparison. Although we can't say that climate change caused a specific hurricane, we know that climate change produces stronger hurricanes. Similarly, we may not be able to draw a direct link from rhetoric to a specific act of violence, but we do know that incitements to violence make killings more likely.
The United States has repeatedly refused to do anything about easy access to deadly weapons, despite having, by far, the highest rate of mass killings among developed democracies. As a result, the only feasible levers are reducing polarization and stopping high-profile incitements to commit violence. Instead, during the Trump era, polarization has sharply increased. And over the past decade, Trump himself has been the most dangerous political actor in terms of routinely inciting violence against his opponents, including against specific politicians who could become assassination targets.
Such incitements matter. When a person with a massive public platform spreads information that encourages violence, attacks become more likely.
From the April 2023 issue: Adrienne LaFrance on America's terrifying cycle of extremist violence
From the beginning of his first campaign for president, Trump encouraged supporters to beat up hecklers at his rallies, saying he'd cover their legal bills if they ' knock the crap ' out of them. He floated the ideas of shooting looters, shooting shoplifters, and shooting migrants crossing the border. Trump also targeted the press, sharing a variety of violent memes involving specific outlets. He endorsed Greg Gianforte, now the governor of Montana, specifically because he violently attacked a reporter. ('Any guy that can do a body slam, he is my type,' Trump said, to cheers.) And, at the end of his first term, Trump's speech on the National Mall on January 6 doused an already incendiary environment, culminating in a violent attack on the U.S. Capitol building.
Trump's rhetorical incitements to violence extend to politicians, too. He has called his political opponents ' human scum.' Even more worrying are Trump's endorsements of violence against specific Democrats. In 2016, he suggested that maybe there was something that ' Second Amendment people ' could do to deal with Hillary Clinton. In October 2022, when a QAnon disciple who had peddled Trump's lies about the 2020 election attempted to assassinate then–Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi—and fractured her husband's, Paul's, skull with a hammer—Trump made light of the incident. (His son Donald Trump Jr. posted a photo on Instagram of a hammer and a pair of underwear like the ones Paul Pelosi had been wearing during the attempted murder, with the caption: ' Got my Paul Pelosi Halloween costume ready.') Less than a year later, Trump openly mused that Mark Milley, the former chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, should be killed.
When such language becomes normalized, deranged individuals may interpret rhetoric as marching orders. In 2018, Cesar Sayoc, a die-hard Trump supporter, mailed 16 pipe bombs to people who frequently appeared as targets in Trump's tweets. (Nobody died, but only because Sayoc wasn't skilled at making bombs.) In 2020, Trump tweeted that people should 'LIBERATE MICHIGAN!' in response to its COVID policies. Thirteen days later, armed protesters entered the state capitol building. A right-wing plot to kidnap the governor, Gretchen Whitmer, was narrowly foiled months later.
It also matters that Trump is one of the biggest vectors for spreading conspiracy theories and misinformation in the United States. When a major political figure disseminates lies about shadowy plots and treasonous acts carried out by the 'human scum' on the other side of the aisle, that can increase the likelihood of violence. (Several followers of QAnon, which Trump has repeatedly amplified himself, have carried out political violence based on the conspiracy theory.)
Trump often makes a brief show of condemning political violence—as he has with the killings in Minnesota. While trying to play both the arsonist and the firefighter on social media, his actions in power make clear where his true loyalties lie, sending much stronger signals. One of his first official acts at the start of his second term was to pardon or grant clemency to people convicted for their involvement in the January 6 riots, including those who had violently attacked police officers and were targeting lawmakers. In recent weeks, Trump has floated the possibility of pardoning the far-right zealots who sought to kidnap Governor Whitmer in Michigan. The message is unmistakable: Use violence against my political opponents and there may be a pardon waiting. Joe Biden abused his pardon power to protect his son from tax-evasion charges. Donald Trump abused his pardon power to condone those who attacked cops and hoped to murder politicians. Both abuses were bad. But they are not the same.
Trump, more than anyone, should be aware of the risks of political violence. After all, he narrowly escaped an assassin's bullet last summer. He would be dead, but for a gust of wind or a slightly different tilt of his head. But when that assassination attempt happened, Biden didn't mock it; Kamala Harris didn't float the idea of pardoning the assassin; and House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries hadn't previously mused that Trump should be executed, or that he was human scum, or that Jeffries would pay the bills of people who used violence against Republicans.
Neither party has a monopoly on the risks of political violence. Democrats and Republicans in public office are targets who face credible threats in a hyper-polarized political climate. Likewise, supporters of Democrats and supporters of Republicans are both capable of carrying out political violence. (There have also been a small number of statements by Democrats that could be interpreted as incitements to violence, including some by Representatives Maxine Waters of California and Dan Goldman of New York. Goldman apologized for his phrasing the following day.)
The difference is that only one party is led by someone who uses his megaphone to routinely normalize and absolve acts of political violence. There is overwhelming evidence of this asymmetric rhetoric between those in party leadership.
The United States is a fraying society, torn apart by polarization, intense disagreement, and ratcheting extremism. Cheap weapons of mass murder are readily available. And into that tinder box, Trump adds incendiary rhetoric. We don't know when or where the deadly conflagration will strike next, but more flames will no doubt come. We may still be shocked by tragic acts of political violence like the assassination in Minnesota, but we can no longer feign surprise.