When Democracy Bleeds: The Minnesota Assassinations
The nightmare I wrote about this morning became reality while America slept
This morning, in the quiet hours before dawn broke over America, I wrote about senators fearing the state. I took you on a walk through Rome's ancient Forum, recalling how Seneca was forced to die when he dared question Nero's power. I traced the pattern from a marble-clad senate hall in Rome to a federal building in Los Angeles, where Senator Alex Padilla was handcuffed for asking questions just days ago.
I published that piece on The Planet while you were still sleeping, never imagining that within hours, the pattern would complete itself with blood on American soil.
Rep. Melissa Hortman and her husband Mark were shot and killed at their home in Brooklyn Park. Sen. John Hoffman and his wife Yvette were shot multiple times at their home in Champlin and are fighting for their lives after surgery. Both Democrats were targeted by a gunman impersonating a police officer in what Gov. Tim Walz called "politically motivated assassinations."
The suspect remains at large. All 201 Minnesota state lawmakers are now under protective custody. America has crossed a line we hoped we'd never see.
When Senators Become Targets
As a Dutchman, I witnessed firsthand what political assassination does to a democracy. On May 6, 2002, Pim Fortuyn, a popular politician and sociology professor whose party was by some projected to become the largest in parliament, was shot dead by Volkert van der Graaf in a car park outside a radio studio where he had just given an interview, just nine days before the general election where he might have emerged as leader of the biggest party.
The assassination shocked many residents of the Netherlands and highlighted the cultural clashes within the country. The left-leaning daily Volkskrant called it a "loss of innocence" for the Netherlands, while Trouw added: "We could always be sure that we could settle our political differences with words. This essential trust in democracy has been seriously violated."
What struck me most was how quickly the unthinkable became reality. Before May 6, 2002, the idea of someone being murdered for their ideas was something alien to most Dutch people, something that happened in the past or in other countries, but not "where we live." The Netherlands is a country where you see ministers biking to work, and even the Prime Minister bikes to the Royal Palace for official visits with the King. Political violence seemed impossible in such an informal, accessible democracy.
Today, Minnesota faces the same reckoning, and thus, the United States faces the same shattering realization that violence has entered the sacred space of democratic discourse.
The American Pattern
In addition to presidents and candidates for the presidency, eight governors, seven U.S. senators, nine U.S. House members, eleven mayors, seventeen state legislators, and eleven judges have been victims of political violence throughout American history. The number of political assassinations in America is shockingly high by all international standards.
But here's what's different about America: While federal lawmakers have been relatively protected in recent decades, with the last sitting member of Congress killed more than 30 years ago, the targeting of state legislators like Hortman and Hoffman shows that political violence is now reaching deeper into the foundations of American democracy. The impact on democratic institutions remains devastating regardless of the level of government. We had reasons to believe America had moved beyond this darkness.
Although the first two decades after World War II were characterized by a limited number of political assassinations, the number of such attacks has risen dramatically since the early 1970s. Research shows that assassinations of legislators are often followed by public unrest and a decline in the legitimacy of the government.
The pattern I wrote about this morning, from Seneca's forced suicide to Padilla's handcuffing, has escalated to a new level of violence. When a state begins treating its own senators as enemies, such violence becomes tragically predictable.
The Eerie Prophecy
The timing of my morning article feels haunting now. While writing about how democracy dies when states fear their own senators, I had no idea that actual senators were about to become targets. I focused on Trump's military parade today, the handcuffing of Senator Padilla, and the pattern of authoritarian regimes silencing legislative voices.
I wrote: "When a state begins to fear questions from its own senators, democracy is already dying." I thought I was describing a warning. I didn't realize I was writing an obituary.
In my piece, I mentioned visiting the Curia Julia, the Roman Senate House, trying to imagine Cato and Cicero arguing passionately, believing their speeches would preserve the Republic's balance. I thought about how they combated corruption and defended senatorial authority against rising tyranny.
Now I think about Melissa Hortman and John Hoffman, who just last week worked across party lines in Minnesota's most divided legislature to pass a budget through compromise and negotiation. "We don't settle our differences with violence or at gunpoint," Gov. Walz said. "In the state of Minnesota, and as recently as last week, in the most closely divided state legislature in the country, we sat down, shook hands and compromised, and we served the state of Minnesota together."
They proved democracy could work. Someone killed them for it.
When Words Become Weapons
Senator Amy Klobuchar called this "a stunning act of violence," while House Speaker Lisa Demuth said she was "shocked and horrified by the evil attack." The responses echo exactly what we heard in the Netherlands after Fortuyn's murder—the same disbelief, the same sense that something fundamental had broken.
Social media platforms have exploded with messages of support for the lawmakers involved, as well as calls for increased security measures for politicians. Political leaders from both sides of the aisle have condemned the violence, emphasizing the need for unity and a commitment to peaceful discourse.
The Manifesto's Targets
A manifesto was found in the suspect's vehicle that identified several other lawmakers. Both Hoffman and Hortman were on the list of people found in the car. This wasn't random violence. This was systematic targeting of democratic representatives.
This is what I meant this morning when I wrote about patterns repeating. From a marble-clad senate hall in Rome to LA's federal building to Minnesota's suburban homes, the escalation follows the same trajectory.
The suspect is still at large. The suspect is a white man with brown hair wearing black body armor over a blue shirt and blue pants and may be impersonating law enforcement. He represents what happens when the rhetoric of treating political opponents as enemies meets someone willing to act on that logic. You cannot preach hate and division for years and then feign surprise when it encourages violent extremism.
Two Visions, One America
Today was supposed to be about contrasts. Trump's $45 million military parade in Washington, complete with tanks and aircraft rolling down Constitution Avenue. Meanwhile, thousands gathering for "No Kings" protests across 1,800 cities, rejecting the idea that democracy should bow to authoritarian spectacle.
Instead, today became about blood. About a democracy learning that no amount of protective custody can shield legislators from the violence that follows when political opponents become "enemies of the state." And now there is a third vision, one that hunts lawmakers in their homes.
What History Teaches
Standing in Rome's Forum, I imagined Seneca facing Nero's "invitation" to die. In the Netherlands, I watched a democracy lose its innocence when political murder shattered our assumption that words were enough. In America today, we're witnessing the moment when rhetorical violence becomes literal assassination.
Polities most susceptible to assassinations against legislators are those that feature oppressed minorities and high levels of political polarization. Sound familiar?
The research is clear: assassinations of legislators are often followed by public unrest and by a decline in the legitimacy of the government. What happened in Minnesota today is a warning of democratic breakdown.
But I also know this: Leaders must speak out and condemn the fomenting violent extremism that threatens everything this country stands for. Former Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords, who survived her own assassination attempt, reminds us that "An attack against lawmakers is an attack on American democracy itself."
The Voice That Outlasts
In my morning piece, I ended with hope: "The voice of the people is something no parade can shut up." I still believe that. Even after today's horror.
The real question isn't whether democracy survives this week's assassinations any more than it was whether it survived Seneca's forced suicide, Matteotti's murder, or the Reichstag's burning. The question is whether we learn what Seneca understood even as he opened his veins: dignity and truth outlast every tyrant's power.
Melissa Hortman spent her final week proving that compromise was possible even in America's most divided legislature. John Hoffman fights for his life right now because he believed in public service. Their voices, their commitment to democratic discourse, their willingness to sit across the table from political opponents and find common ground—that's what the gunman tried to kill.
But you can't murder an idea with bullets. You can't silence the voice of democracy by hunting its representatives. History teaches us that much.
The Roman Forum is mostly ruins now. But the ideas those senators died defending are still alive every time someone refuses to be silenced, every time someone asks uncomfortable questions, every time a citizen stands up and says what Senator Padilla said: "I am a senator. I have questions."
That voice, the voice of democracy itself, is something no assassin can silence forever.
Today Minnesota bled. But democracy's heart still beats. And tomorrow, if we have the courage to remember what Hortman died defending and what Hoffman fights to recover from, that heart will beat stronger.
Daybreak Notes & Beans normally brings you hope over despair, but today demanded we confront the darkness threatening democracy itself. Tomorrow we return to stories of human progress, because that's how we honor those who died believing in our better angels.
This is the article in The Planet of this morning:
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"That voice, the voice of democracy itself, is something no assassin can silence forever."
What is most chilling is the suspicion violence today and subsequent violence are coming from inside.
“I wrote: "When a state begins to fear questions from its own senators, democracy is already dying." I thought I was describing a warning. I didn't realize I was writing an obituary.”
How quickly things change when a bullet leaves its chamber as hate pulls the trigger.
The hate fomented by a sick inciter of violence becomes murder by proxy.
And the day has just begun. . .