Throughout history, political discourse in the United States has oscillated between civility and conflict. There were notable times when individuals from opposing perspectives engaged in constructive debate, exemplified by the 1965 exchange between author James Baldwin and conservative commentator William F. Buckley Jr., as well as the bipartisan relationships of leaders such as Ronald Reagan and Tip O’Neill during the 1980s. Yet, it is important to recognize that political violence is deeply rooted in the nation’s origins. The American Revolution itself was marked by actions that, had they failed, would have been deemed treasonous. As we complain about masks being worn to hide the perpetrator’s identity, colonists dressed up as Native Americans when they engaged in the Boston Tea Party. Hiding one’s identity is not new.
Although the preamble to the Declaration of Independence proclaims that “all men are created equal,” contradictions persisted in the Constitution, notably its allowance for slavery and its three-fifths compromise. Nevertheless, American history is characterized by an ongoing pursuit of a more just and inclusive society. Progress has often been met with setbacks, and genuine patriotism requires acknowledgement of our country’s full history—the achievements and shortcomings alike—to move toward a more perfect union and recognizing that all citizens as part of “we the people.”
As we reflect on the first quarter-century of the new millennium, parallels can be drawn to periods of heightened political unrest, including the tumultuous 1960s. That era witnessed significant tragedies, including political assassinations: Medgar Evers (June 1963), President John F. Kennedy (November 1963), James Chaney, Michael Goodman, and Andrew Schwerner (June 1964), Malcolm X (February 1965), George Lincoln Rockwell (August 1967), Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. (April 1968), and Robert F. Kennedy (June 1968). The 16th Street Baptist Church bombing in Birmingham, Alabama (September 1963) also claimed the lives of young girls—Addie Mae Collins, Cynthia Wesley, Carole Robertson, and Carol Denise McNair.
And here we are in the new millennium with assassination attempts and assassinations. Minnesota’s Democratic state representative Melissa Hortman and her husband Mark were assassinated in June 2025 and Charlie Kirk was assassinated in September 2025. There have also been attempted assassinations targeting individuals such as former and current President Donald Trump, Minnesota State Senator John Hoffman and his wife Yvette, United States Representative Gabby Giffords, House Majority Whip Steve Scalise, Special Agent Crystal Griner, congressional staffer Zack Barth, and lobbyist Matt Mika.
The consequences of these events extend beyond those directly affected, influencing communities and the broader societal landscape. The impact of loss resonates with families and engenders ripple effects throughout society, particularly when individuals are viewed as symbols of hope or progress. We can repeat the past or head it off at the pass.
Given the ripple effect it is important to recognize our shared humanity, to be empathetic, and inclusive. Let me share an experience from my past and the ripple effect. I was in high school when Dr. King was assassinated. Those of us who were in rehearsal for the annual variety show were in the gymnasium and on stage or were in the music room. There were only two Black students in the variety show at my predominantly White all girl Catholic high school. I was at the back of the music room studying. Renee, the other Black student, was in the gym. We could hear her singing, “Summertime” by Gershwin all the way in the music room. My White classmates were listening to music on the radio, when the broadcast was interrupted for a special bulletin. The newscaster announced that Dr. Martin Luther King had been shot.
My White classmates spontaneously applauded. I felt all the bones in my body shaking, I stood up and shouted, “You better hope to God he does not die, or hell is going to breakout all over!” They were silent. They had forgotten I was there. They were ashamed.
When I was back at school, after the 1968 riots, one of my White classmates said, “Deborah, that’s why Whites don’t want Black people in the neighborhood. Look what happened after King was shot.”
I asked her, “Pat, do you think the Irish would riot if Mayor Daley was shot and killed?”
She said, “No.”
I said, “I don’t either because Mayor Daley does not represent their hope. Dr. King represented hope. And folks despaired.”
We are in a time of polarization. Polarization presents a challenge to inclusion, making consensus increasingly difficult. It is incumbent upon moderates and leaders to foster environments where equality is realized, and every individual is afforded the opportunity to pursue the American Dream. This moment calls not for despair but for empathy and mutual understanding.
The enduring principle of “E Pluribus Unum” serves as a reminder of collective responsibility, as written by John Donne, “No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend’s or of thine own were; any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.”
In conclusion, while ideological differences persist, it remains essential to extend compassion and empathy to all individuals and their families affected by political violence. Inclusion demands that we regard every loss as significant and work collectively toward a more equitable and united society. While my ideology differs from Charlie Kirk’s, my prayers go out to his widow and children. With inclusion, we do not ask for whom the bell toll.
- Political Violence & Inclusion– by Deborah Ashton - September 16, 2025
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