Politics
Divided and Deadly: When Political Hatred Turns Fatal
America’s political divide is no longer just a metaphor—it’s now a measurable, chilling reality. In recent weeks, a relentless barrage of violence has brought headline after headline: the assassination of Charlie Kirk on September 10th, bomb threats and failed attempts targeting news crews, shootings at public gatherings, attacks on federal agents, and online mobs openly glorifying the carnage. What once seemed fringe or exceptional is now undeniably mainstream. The unthinkable is becoming all too routine.
Consider this: within days of Kirk’s assassination, a Fox News van parked at the crime scene in Utah was targeted by a bomb that narrowly failed to detonate, followed by bomb threats at the home of presidential candidate RFK Jr. Shootings tied to political slogans erupted at a New Hampshire country club and inside a news station, with attackers leaving manifestos and warning that “Trump officials would be next.” Meanwhile, federal ICE agents were ambushed in Chicago by carloads of heavily armed assailants—another event spun by legacy media as if it was government aggression, rather than a defensive response to an act of terror.
This surge in violence is not happening in a vacuum. It emanates from decades of tolerated, even celebrated, dehumanization across the political spectrum. But, in Brett Cooper’s telling—and in the disturbing texts and rhetoric unearthed in the wake of these tragedies—the epicenter appears to be one party’s willingness to excuse, justify, or even cheer political assassination. Cooper highlights not just one-off outbursts, but prominent Democratic politicians openly wishing death and horror on their opponents, their families, and even their children. The infamous leaked texts from Virginia’s Jay Jones—expressing desire to see innocent children die “so that their father would change his opinions”—read like a dystopian novel come to life. Yet, defenders line up, brushing it off as “mistakes” and framing any criticism as partisan smears.
How did this become the new normal? The left, argues Cooper, has marinated in a protest culture that sanctifies violence as a substitute for persuasion. Losing an election, a court case, or a policy fight now justifies open calls for revenge. Online, the rhetoric is as gruesome as the reality, with political adversaries not simply derided, but declared subhuman and unworthy of life—a chilling echo of history’s darkest chapters.
Of course, political violence can never be blamed on rhetoric or ideology alone. But words have consequences. Leaders who flirt with calls for violence set the tone for every zealot and unstable mind. The celebration of real-world killings by online mobs only entrenches a cycle where each incident of bloodshed is either weaponized or excused, not universally condemned.
Perhaps most dangerous is the media’s shifting lens—the effort to muddy attacks with claims of ambiguity about motive or to frame self-defense by government officers as wanton aggression. The danger isn’t just physical, but moral and cultural: when outrage at assassination gives way to tribal excuses, a nation chips away at its own foundation.
In a world this divided and deadly, Cooper’s advice feels both practical and poignant: focus on the real, the local, the communal. Sit down with family. Turn down the temperature wherever possible. Call out inhumanity—no matter who it comes from.
America’s most urgent debate is not just about policy, but about whether political disagreement must now also mean existential threat. If ever there was a time for collective soul-searching, it is now—when headlines show, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that political hatred can, and does, turn fatal.
