The aftermath of the correspondents’ dinner shooting shows how broken we are

There are moments in the life of a republic when events, taken singly, may be dismissed as aberrations, yet taken together, reveal a deeper disorder. We are living through such a moment now.

An attempted attack on the president and his Cabinet, the brutal assault on a speaker’s husband and the targeted killing of a state legislative leader and her spouse were not merely crimes; they were signals — grim, insistent and growing louder — that something vital in our civic life has frayed.

The American experiment has always endured conflict. Our politics have never been bloodless in sentiment, nor gentle in disagreement. Yet there was, until recently, a shared understanding that our opponents were still our fellow Americans — that however fierce the contest, it was bound by mutual recognition and restraint. That understanding has weakened.

What has taken its place is something more dangerous than disagreement: the habit of delegitimization. It has become common to hear political adversaries described not as mistaken, but as malevolent; not as wrong, but as enemies; not as participants in a shared enterprise, but as obstacles to be overcome. When such language becomes commonplace, it does not remain without consequence.

Almost immediately after the shooting at the White House Correspondents’ Association dinner on Saturday, this country did what it now does best: The political discourse turned away from the gravity of the moment and into a spiral of blame, spin, conspiracies and distraction. Instead of calming a nation shocked by what it had just witnessed, President Donald Trump and his staff used their first words as a cudgel to build his ballroom and get a late-night talk show host fired.

This is not the first time America has had to confront its own ugliness. But the difference has always been how our leaders accepted the challenge and rose above the country’s petty problems. Leaders who understood that “we the people” meant something larger than personal grievance or tribe. That sense of shared responsibility feels absent now.

What has also become absent is our sense of how our political rhetoric fuels acts of violence. Those entrusted with public authority are not merely advocates for policy or party; they are stewards of the civic tone. They shape, by word and example, the boundaries of acceptable conduct. When they elevate discourse, they enlarge the space for reason. When they degrade it, they narrow that space and leave room for darker impulses to enter.

So when leaders or influencers frame opponents as “enemies of the people,” “traitors” or an “existential threat” to the nation, they are no longer arguing policy, but rather they are revoking the moral legitimacy of the other side. Once that happens, a small subset of people draw the next conclusion that if the system is corrupt and their political opponent is illegitimate, then extraordinary action is justified. Violence then, is no longer aberrational, it’s ambient, meaning what changes is not only the frequency, but the normalization of violence.

Trump’s critics don’t seem moved much by the third attempt on the president’s life in less than two years. But if their hearts have grown callous, Trump need look no further than his own rhetoric. Recall how he continued feuding with Sen. John McCain after his death, joked about a brutal attack on former House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s husband, suggested the late Rep. John Dingell might be “looking up” from hell, implied the former chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff should be put to death for supposed treason and gloated over the deaths of former FBI Director Robert Mueller and director Rob Reiner. These are just some examples on a long list of tasteless and inappropriate remarks..

Words, like seeds, take root in the soil in which they were sown. Most fall harmlessly. Some, however, find purchase in minds already inclined toward grievance or fear. In those places, rhetoric hardens into belief, and belief, untethered from reason, may give way to action. It is not necessary that many act — only that one does. 

I was in the room at the Washington Hilton on Saturday, as I have been for White House correspondents’ dinners since the 1990s. I heard the shots ring out, saw the Secret Service agents flood in, shouting commands as guests ducked under linen-covered tables. In that moment, I witnessed not just the bravery of agents putting their lives on the line, but the heartbeat of the First Amendment as reporters in gowns and tuxedos, huddled under their tables, stretched out their arms, phones in hands, to document the moment, bearing witness in the middle of chaos. They understood their assignment, too.

Our nation has a stark choice to make. There is, to be sure, a temptation in our age to traffic in outrage. It animates supporters, fills coffers, and commands attention. Yet what is gained in the moment may be lost in the long term. For when leaders indulge in language that inflames, excuses what should be condemned or flirts with falsehood for advantage, they participate — whether knowingly or not — in lowering the threshold at which violence becomes thinkable. Or we can resolve to speak with greater care, to judge with greater charity and to lead with greater responsibility. Let us remember that in a government of the people, the language we use about the people is not incidental, it’s foundational; and if we cease to see in our opponents the face of a fellow citizen, we will soon cease to see the republic itself as something worth preserving. Choose wisely.   

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