It was Abraham Lincoln who famously warned in 1858 that “a house divided against itself cannot stand.” Those words, spoken on the eve of America’s Civil War, resonate with eerie relevance today. In 2025, the United States feels as bitterly divided as ever in modern history – not over slavery, but along harsh political and cultural lines. As an outside observer of American politics, I find myself both fascinated and alarmed by how this division has escalated from angry words into deadly violence. The national rhetoric has grown so poisonous that even tragedy is no longer a moment for unity, but another battlefield in an ongoing war of us-versus-them.

Over the past year, political polarization in America has crossed a worrisome threshold. I have watched from afar as partisan animosity hardened into something more dangerous: a willingness among a small but growing fringe on both the left and the right to justify violence in the name of their cause. The United States is a democracy founded on fierce debate and differences of opinion – but it was never meant to be a literal battleground between citizens. Yet reading the news lately feels like reading dispatches from a low-intensity civil conflict. Elected officials have been assassinated in their homes. Ideologues have taken up arms against people they see as enemies. Each side of the political divide accuses the other of threatening the nation’s very soul, and increasingly, some are acting on that belief with bullets and bombs instead of ballots and persuasion.

On this September day in 2025, the atmosphere in American politics is one of perpetual crisis and confrontation. The phrase “a house divided” isn’t just a metaphor—it captures the reality that Americans are splitting into two hostile camps with separate media, separate narratives, and mutual distrust. The President of the United States, rather than trying to bridge this divide, often seems to be digging the chasm even deeper. President Donald Trump’s second term in office has been marked not by calls for national healing, but by unabashed catering to his base and inflammatory rhetoric aimed at those he deems the “enemy within.” Instead of calming the storms, he appears to thrive in them, encouraging a climate of tension that pits Americans against each other.

In this article, I want to explore how America arrived at such a fractured moment and what it means for its future. We will look at the recent surge in political violence that has everyone talking about a “new era” of domestic turmoil. We’ll examine the concept of the “strategy of tension” – a deliberate use of fear and division as a political tool – and ask whether something like that is unfolding in the United States today. Central to this discussion are two recent tragedies: the assassination of conservative activist Charlie Kirk and the assassination of Minnesota state lawmaker Melissa Hortman. How the President responded to each of these horrific events speaks volumes about the state of American unity (or disunity). The stark contrast between his reactions – one full of outrage and blame, the other notably muted and politicized – offers a case study in selective empathy and partisan calculations.

This is not a one-sided story. While President Trump’s actions and words play a huge role in fanning the flames, the American left is not innocent in the dynamic of escalating tension. From vitriolic language to instances of left-wing political violence, there are fault lines on both sides that contribute to this dangerous polarization. The challenge, however, is that one side currently holds the power of the presidency and is leveraging these tensions in unprecedented ways.

Ultimately, I write this not as an American, but as a concerned observer who believes in the American experiment. The United States has weathered internal conflicts before – from the Civil War to the upheavals of the 1960s – and emerged to find some semblance of unity again. But that was never guaranteed, and it required leadership, accountability, and a willingness of citizens to reject extremism. As we delve into the currents of conflict swirling through America in 2025, I hope to find hints of how the nation might step back from the brink. At the very least, understanding what’s happening – and why – is a first step toward figuring out how a house divided might yet be rebuilt into a home for all its inhabitants.

I. An Unsettling Surge of Political Violence

These stark divisions aren’t just playing out in heated debates or nasty tweets – they have erupted into real-world bloodshed. Over the last twelve months, the United States has experienced a string of violent political incidents that would have been unimaginable a decade ago. It often feels like each month brings a new headline of some attack or assassination linked to the country’s political climate. To grasp the scope of this surge in political violence, consider just a few of the recent events that have shaken Americans:

1. Assassination of a Business Leader (Dec 2024): Brian Thompson, the CEO of a major health insurance company, was shot dead on a Manhattan sidewalk during the morning rush hour. His alleged killer left writings railing against corporate greed and the healthcare system. Shockingly, after the murder, certain extremist corners of social media praised the shooter as a vigilante, celebrating the act as if it were some kind of righteous strike against the establishment. It was a jarring sign that some Americans had become so cynical and angry that they would openly cheer a cold-blooded killing.
2. Attempt on Donald Trump’s Life (Late 2024): During a campaign rally in Butler, Pennsylvania, a gunman in the crowd opened fire aiming for then-candidate (and former President) Donald Trump. He missed the President, but eight bullets struck others on the stage and in the audience – tragically killing a local firefighter who was there with his family. The assassination attempt sent shockwaves through the country. A sitting or former U.S. President hadn’t been directly targeted like that in decades. What’s more, investigators indicated the shooter was motivated by political hatred of Mr. Trump. The incident fed into a narrative on the right that “radical leftists” were literally out for blood. (President Trump later referenced this attack repeatedly as evidence of left-wing terrorism.) It also showed that even the highest-profile figures are not safe from the boiling hatred in the air.
3. Arson at a Governor’s Mansion (April 2025): In a chilling episode this spring, an intruder set fire to the residence of Pennsylvania’s Democratic Governor, Josh Shapiro, while the governor and his family were asleep inside. Thankfully, they escaped unharmed, but the historic mansion was damaged. Authorities arrested a suspect who had allegedly expressed anti-government and anti-Semitic sentiments (Gov. Shapiro is Jewish) and even told police he would have attacked the governor with a hammer if given the chance. The state’s fire marshal bluntly labeled the attack “domestic terrorism.” It was another reminder that public officials from either party can be seen as enemies to be eliminated by extremists.
4. Assassination of a State Legislator (June 2025): Perhaps the most shocking for Minnesotans was the late-night murder of State Representative Melissa Hortman, a prominent Democratic lawmaker, and her husband, Mark, in their own home. The killer, who was disguised as a police officer, also targeted the home of another legislator that night. In that second attack, State Senator John Hoffman (also a Democrat) and his wife were shot and wounded, but survived. Police later discovered the gunman had a hit list of dozens of names – nearly all of them Democratic politicians, activists, and public figures. This coordinated assault on elected officials was something out of a nightmare, cutting down a respected public servant and striking fear into others in office. For the first time in modern memory, lawmakers in a U.S. state were literally looking over their shoulders, wondering if they too might be targeted for their political affiliations.
5. Street Clashes in Los Angeles (June 2025): Not all political violence has been one-on-one assassinations; some has emerged from protests and civil unrest. In early June, Los Angeles was rocked by demonstrations against President Trump’s hardline immigration policies. These protests spiraled into riots over several nights – crowds blocking highways, smashing windows, and battling with police in the streets. Partisans on each side pointed fingers: conservative voices condemned “left-wing mobs” in L.A. for destroying their own city, while liberal voices accused heavy-handed federal agents of provoking violence by cracking down on demonstrators. California Governor Gavin Newsom angrily accused President Trump of wanting “civil war on the streets of America” as the two men publicly clashed over how to restore order. Though calm was eventually restored, the episode felt like a throwback to the unrest of the 1960s – proof that mass political violence can rear its head under the right (or wrong) circumstances.
6. The Charlie Kirk Shooting (Sept 2025): Finally, the recent assassination of Charlie Kirk – the 31-year-old conservative activist and media personality – has brought America’s volatile atmosphere to a new peak. Kirk was in the middle of speaking to a crowd of college students in Orem, Utah, when a sniper’s bullet struck him in the neck, killing him in front of thousands of horrified onlookers. He had been a fiery figure on the right, a close ally of President Trump known for rallying young conservatives. Now he became a martyr in their eyes. Utah’s governor declared the shooting a “political assassination” and law enforcement launched a manhunt for the shooter. Within days, a suspect was caught: a 22-year-old man with reported anti-fascist leanings who allegedly boasted about the killing online. For millions of Americans, this was the moment it truly sank in that the country’s divisions are not just media chatter – they are costing lives.

This list is distressingly long, yet it’s not even exhaustive. There have been other incidents and foiled plots, and countless threats made against officials on both sides. Even President Trump himself has faced multiple threats: on one occasion a would-be assassin’s bullet narrowly missed him and killed an innocent bystander. And hovering in the background of all this is the memory of January 6, 2021, when a mob of political extremists stormed the U.S. Capitol. That event, just a few years ago, was a wake-up call about the potential for political violence in America. But rather than serve as a sobering cautionary tale, it now looks more like a precursor of worse to come.

Observers of American society are asking with genuine concern: How did it get to this point? How did the country leap from intense polarization into a period that some experts say is the most tumultuous and violent at home since 1968 – or even the Civil War era? To answer that, one has to examine not just the extremists who pull the triggers or light the fires, but also the broader climate – and the leaders – that have created a permissive environment for such violence. That is where the concept of a “strategy of tension” comes in, and where the role of President Trump demands especially close scrutiny.

II. Strategy of Tension: Fear as a Political Tool

The phrase “strategy of tension” may sound like jargon, but it’s a useful lens for understanding what is happening in America. The concept originally comes from Cold War-era Europe, where it described a tactic of deliberately heightening public fear and division to achieve political objectives. In practice, it meant fomenting chaos and then exploiting that chaos: people frightened by violence would turn to strongman leaders who promise order, or would support draconian measures they might otherwise reject. While the term’s historical origins involved secret plots and even false-flag terrorist attacks in places like 1970s Italy, today in the United States we are seeing a version of this play out in plain sight – through rhetoric and political theater more than clandestine bombs. The common thread is the deliberate amplification of fear and mistrust among the populace.

Apply this idea to the U.S. in 2025: America’s deep polarization provides fertile ground for a strategy of tension. Every protest that turns violent, every politically motivated shooting or attack, and every nasty confrontation on the evening news adds to an ambient sense that the country is spiraling out of control. Rather than trying to calm this atmosphere, President Trump and his allies often seem to pour fuel on the fire. They highlight the instances of violence that serve their narrative, downplay those that don’t, and use the overall climate of tension as justification for extreme rhetoric and policies. The goal appears to be keeping their supporters in a permanent state of high alert – and high anger – toward a perceived enemy within.

Critics argue that this is not an accident or mere byproduct of Trump’s style, but a conscious political approach. Governor Newsom, in his critique of Trump, essentially accused the President of wanting strife in the streets for political gain. And one doesn’t have to look far for evidence that Trump’s team welcomes a fight. After Charlie Kirk’s assassination, for example, former Trump strategist Steve Bannon publicly described the President as a “wartime president” now focused on eradicating domestic enemies. The choice of words – wartime – is no coincidence. It signals to Trump’s base that the country is in an existential fight, that normal rules of engagement might not apply, and that the other side isn’t just political opposition but a dire threat to the nation.

In a strategy of tension, leaders benefit from keeping their followers agitated and afraid. President Trump’s speeches and social media posts increasingly paint a nightmarish picture of America under siege by “radical left” forces. He often cites violent crime (even at times when it’s actually falling) and anecdotes of left-wing mayhem to suggest that “Democrat-run cities” are out of control. The drumbeat of chaos has a clear subtext: only I can save you from this threat. By portraying his political opponents not as fellow Americans with different ideas but as literal enemies endangering the country, Trump prepares the ground for drastic measures – and ensures that his base will be emotionally and morally mobilized to support those measures.

It’s important to note that this tactic requires a one-sided narrative of danger. That’s why, as we’ll see, President Trump emphasizes violence by left-wing actors relentlessly, while staying largely silent or dismissive about violence coming from the right. To admit that some of “his side” are also engaging in political violence would muddy the simple us-versus-them story. A strategy of tension thrives on clarity of villain: in this case, the villain is the American left (in all its forms, from Antifa protesters to “socialist” lawmakers), depicted as dangerous, “vicious” and “horrible” people out to destroy the country. Once that seed is planted, any incident that reinforces it is amplified a hundredfold; incidents that contradict it are ignored or explained away.

For President Trump, this approach has short-term payoffs. It solidifies his base’s loyalty – they feel they are soldiers in a grand cause, standing with their leader against anarchists, socialists, and traitors. It also provides political cover for actions that might otherwise be unacceptable. Sending federal troops into cities, purging perceived foes in government agencies, even threatening to jail opponents – all become easier to sell if the public perceives that the nation is under siege from within. Fear, in other words, can be weaponized to erode democratic norms. We have seen this pattern in other countries sliding into authoritarianism: a leader convinces enough of the populace that extraordinary threats require extraordinary powers.

Whether or not one believes this is a deliberate “strategy” on Trump’s part, the effect is the same. The highest office in the land is not currently being used to ease tensions – it’s being used to rile people up. The President is effectively telling one half of the country to fear and hate the other half. If that sounds like a terribly risky strategy for a nation’s stability, that’s because it is. A house divided against itself, to return to Lincoln’s words, cannot stand for long if the division is continually exploited. In the sections that follow, the impact of this dynamic becomes starkly evident as we examine President Trump’s responses to two key flashpoints: the killings of Charlie Kirk and Melissa Hortman.

III. A President for Only Half the Country

American presidents, at least in modern times, have usually felt an obligation to speak to the whole country – to at least pay lip service to unity and healing, especially in times of crisis. In the past, when national traumas struck or when political tensions ran high, presidents would often try to lower the temperature with words of reassurance that we are all Americans first, that we must come together. Even if those sentiments sometimes rang hollow, they set an important norm. It’s hard to imagine past leaders in wartime or during national strife intentionally stoking division; on the contrary, most tried to summon a sense of common purpose, at least in their rhetoric.

Donald Trump has turned this notion on its head. Since his emergence on the political stage, he has made it abundantly clear that he is not interested in uniting with or empathizing with the other side. In his view, America is split into those who are with him (the “real” Americans, as he often frames it) and those who are against him – and the latter are to be defeated, not courted. During his first term (2017-2021), Trump certainly relished confrontation and often demonized opponents, but there were still occasional nods toward bipartisan cooperation or national unity (a few scripted calls for togetherness in State of the Union speeches, for example). In his second term now, such gestures have virtually disappeared. He governs as if only his supporters matter.

The President does not invite Democratic leaders to the White House for talks, nor does he seek their counsel; in fact, he rarely even acknowledges Democrats except to attack them. He routinely excludes the opposition from discussions on national security and major legislation. By all accounts, the Trump White House these days doesn’t bother with the facade of outreach across the aisle. A telling example came when tragedy befell Minnesota in June: President Trump didn’t even call that state’s governor (a Democrat) after the assassination of Rep. Hortman and the related attack on other officials. Such a call would have been standard protocol – a basic courtesy to express condolences and offer federal support. Instead, Trump publicly insulted Governor Tim Walz’s leadership and said calling him would be a “waste of time.” This wasn’t an isolated lapse; it was a deliberate reflection of Trump’s attitude that Democrats are opponents unworthy of the usual courtesies.

In President Trump’s rhetoric, there is a stark double standard. When he speaks of “Americans,” he often implicitly means those who support him or share his ideology. After winning re-election in 2024 and returning to office, he repeatedly framed his victory as a mandate from “real Americans” to take the country back from “the radical left.” He often touts his high approval ratings among Republicans as evidence of broad support, while dismissing the fact that a majority of the overall population disapproves of him. It’s as if the other half of the country simply doesn’t count in his mental calculus. This mindset trickles down through his administration. Policies and actions frequently seem designed to reward red states and punish blue states. For instance, when natural disasters struck in recent months, Trump conspicuously highlighted relief funds going to states that voted for him – even bragging about his vote margins in those announcements – while implying that Democratic-led states in crisis might need to fend for themselves or show more loyalty if they want help.

This approach has profound implications for how national crises are handled. If a president sees himself only as the champion of his faction, then events are filtered through a partisan lens rather than a purely humanitarian one. Political violence, in particular, becomes yet another arena for taking sides rather than a moment for coming together. We can already see this in how President Trump reacts to incidents depending on who is involved. When the victims or targets are people on “his side” – Republicans, conservatives, or allies – he responds with full-throated outrage and demands for swift justice (or even vengeance). When the victims are on the other side – Democrats, liberals, or perceived foes – his response is muted, grudging, or sometimes outright combative toward someone tangentially involved.

This mentality was on full display in the way President Trump handled two high-profile assassinations just months apart in 2025. One was the murder of Charlie Kirk, a staunch Trump supporter and rising star in the conservative movement. The other was the murder of Melissa Hortman, a Democratic state legislator. By examining Trump’s markedly different responses to these tragedies, we can see how a “president for half the country” operates – and how that approach further divides an already divided house.

IV. The Charlie Kirk Assassination: Outrage and Blame

Charlie Kirk’s murder on a university campus in Utah was exactly the kind of atrocity that could have been a unifying moment – a chance for all sides to loudly reject political violence. In the immediate aftermath, there were indeed widespread condemnations across the spectrum: liberal and conservative politicians alike expressed shock and denounced the killing of a young man engaging in peaceful political debate. But those calls for unity and restraint were soon drowned out by the partisan thunderclap that came from the Oval Office.

To understand President Trump’s reaction, it’s important to know who Charlie Kirk was to him. Kirk wasn’t an obscure activist; he was a prominent figure in Trump’s movement. As the founder of a conservative youth organization and a frequent guest on right-wing media, Kirk had been a loyal champion of Trump’s agenda. He was only 31, charismatic and combative, someone Trump’s base adored. In many ways, Kirk symbolized the next generation of Trump supporters. His assassination felt personal to that base – almost like a family member had been taken from them. President Trump himself was reportedly enraged and deeply unsettled by the news that Kirk had been gunned down while speaking at an event.

Within hours of the shooting, President Trump addressed the nation. One might have expected a measured call for calm, an assurance that justice would be done, and an appeal to the better angels of our nature. Instead, Trump delivered a furious broadside. After briefly expressing sympathy for Kirk’s family and calling it a “dark moment for America,” the President quickly pivoted to assigning blame. He squarely blamed the American left for inciting the violence. In a video message from the Oval Office, his voice shook with anger as he declared that “the rhetoric from the radical left is directly responsible for the terrorism that we’re seeing in our country today.” He went on to list a litany of incidents – all violent acts or threats perpetrated by individuals he identified with left-wing causes – as evidence that “left-wing political violence” was rampant and out of control. (Tellingly, he did not mention the attack that had killed Melissa Hortman in June, or any other violence against Democrats.)

Trump announced a federal crackdown on “domestic terrorism” and made clear it would focus on leftist groups like Antifa. “We will find and destroy the radical networks that are pulling the trigger,” he vowed. He adopted an almost wartime posture, insisting that those responsible would “pay dearly” and framing the moment as a fight for the nation’s survival against an internal enemy. It was fiery, divisive language – unlike anything Americans had heard from a president after a domestic tragedy in modern times.

In subsequent days, Trump doubled down. On Fox News the night after the shooting, a normally friendly host gently asked how the country might lower the temperature and come back together. Trump’s response was telling. He dismissed the premise that “both sides” had extremists. “Look,” he said, “you’ve got radicals on the left causing all this pain. Don’t talk to me about radicals on the right – people are angry, and they have every right to be. The radicals on the left are the problem. They’re vicious, horrible people.” In other words, the President of the United States flatly refused to acknowledge that extremism or violence could exist on any side but the left. To him, the very suggestion was offensive. He even ordered all federal flags lowered to half-staff in Kirk’s honor – a gesture usually reserved for national dignitaries – underscoring how personally he took this loss.

He even pointed to a few fringe social-media users on the left who cruelly cheered Kirk’s killing as proof that “the left” as a whole was celebrating. Rather than distinguish these trolls from the vast majority of liberals who were horrified by the violence, Trump spoke as if they were the voice of the left.

The effect of Trump’s handling of Kirk’s assassination was to harden the resolve of his supporters and drive the two Americas even further apart. Many Republicans – even those who might privately have preferred a more unifying tone – rallied behind the President’s framing out of loyalty or their own anger. Meanwhile, Democrats and independents watched Trump’s performance with dismay, seeing a President seemingly unwilling to admit that his own incendiary rhetoric, or the actions of any right-wing extremists, could have any role in the country’s turmoil. Any hope that Charlie Kirk’s death might prompt bipartisan soul-searching or a rare moment of national unity was dashed almost immediately. Instead, it became yet another episode in our ongoing cold civil war – one side’s martyr and another side’s villain, and a President choosing to act as avenger for one side rather than comforter for all.

V. The Melissa Hortman Assassination: A Telling Silence

Now contrast this with the assassination of Melissa Hortman in Minnesota – a tragedy in many ways the mirror image of the Kirk case, but which President Trump treated very differently. Melissa Hortman was a well-known Democratic state representative – the Speaker of the Minnesota House – respected by colleagues for her public service. In the early hours of June 14, 2025, a masked gunman broke into her suburban home and shot her and her husband, Mark, in cold blood. Their family dog was also killed. That same night, the assailant invaded the home of another Minnesota lawmaker, State Senator John Hoffman (also a Democrat), shooting him and his wife and gravely injuring them. It was a coordinated attack specifically targeting elected Democrats; police later discovered the shooter had compiled a “hit list” of dozens of politicians (mostly Democrats, along with a few progressive activists and doctors) whom he intended to kill one by one. The nation woke up to this horrifying news, and many immediately drew the obvious conclusion: this was an act of domestic political terrorism aimed squarely at one side of the partisan divide.

In Minnesota, there was an outpouring of grief and condemnation. Leaders from both parties in the state – Democrats and Republicans alike – came together in mourning. Vigils were held for Rep. Hortman and her husband at the State Capitol, with tearful constituents and colleagues placing flowers and lighting candles. Governor Tim Walz, a Democrat, called it “one of the darkest days in Minnesota’s history” and implored people to unite against political violence, not to let hate tear communities apart. Republican officials in Minnesota, many of whom had sparred with Hortman on policy, also publicly grieved her loss and urged a cooling of inflammatory rhetoric. There was a palpable fear among public servants: if a prominent state leader could be assassinated at home, who might be next? For a moment, it seemed this awful event might spur a broader national reckoning about extremist violence, much as similar tragedies have in the past.

But when it came to the White House, that moment never arrived. President Trump’s reaction to Hortman’s assassination was almost begrudging. There was no prime-time Oval Office address, no national call for unity or reflection. In fact, the President did not even mention Melissa Hortman by name in any public statement in the immediate aftermath. Instead, he posted a brief message on social media expressing “sadness at the terrible events in Minnesota” and urging “law enforcement to bring the perpetrator to justice.” The wording was strikingly generic – it could have referred to a natural disaster or an accident as much as a targeted political killing. To those paying attention, it felt intentional that he did not name the victims or acknowledge that an attack had been aimed at public officials over their political affiliation.

When reporters later pressed the President for comment, his tone was detached. He called the shootings “absolutely terrible” – a perfunctory phrase – and then quickly pivoted to criticize Governor Walz’s leadership of Minnesota. Trump implied that the state’s Democratic officials had failed to maintain law and order, casting the incident almost as a symptom of their governance. It was an astonishingly partisan takeaway in the face of a tragedy that had specifically victimized Democrats. At a time when one might have expected the President to reach out to Governor Walz with condolences and support, Trump instead sneered that Walz was “grossly incompetent” and mused aloud that contacting the governor would be a waste of time. “Why would I call him?” Trump scoffed at one point. “The guy doesn’t have a clue.”

For many Americans – especially those on the left – this response was stunning. The President of the United States could not bring himself to offer even simple words of comfort to a grieving state leader or to the families of slain public servants, apparently because they belonged to the opposite political camp.

Behind the scenes, Vice President J.D. Vance reportedly did place a courtesy call to Governor Walz on the day of the shooting, expressing sorrow and the federal government’s willingness to assist in the investigation. It was a small gesture of normalcy that highlighted how abnormal the President’s own behavior was. Traditionally, in such moments, a president might visit the afflicted community or at least send a high-level representative to funerals. In this case, the White House organized no such outreach. The funeral for Rep. Hortman and her husband drew thousands of mourners and many of Minnesota’s elected officials, but not a single notable figure from the Trump administration. Instead, Governor Walz himself presented an American flag to the Hortman family – a role that might normally fall to a representative of the President. The absence from Washington was glaring.

Equally telling was what President Trump did not say. He did not use the word “terrorism” when referring to the Minnesota attack, despite state authorities charging the suspect and revealing his hit list of political targets. He did not publicly acknowledge the likely motive behind the killings – an extreme right-wing hatred of Democrats and progressives – the way he routinely emphasizes the ideological motives of left-wing attackers. In fact, when asked about the shooter’s intent, Trump downplayed any political angle, dismissing the attacker simply as a “deranged person” or “whack job.” This stood in stark contrast to his eagerness to label Charlie Kirk’s murder part of a broader leftist “terror” campaign. In the Minnesota case, Trump treated it as a random, isolated crime, despite clear evidence that it was anything but random.

For Democrats and others on the left, Trump’s muted response felt like a slap in the face. Here was a blatant act of political violence – the assassination of one of their own – and the Commander-in-Chief showed no empathy, no solidarity, no interest in addressing the hate behind it. Under Trump’s partisan governing ethos, sadly this was par for the course. The story of the Hortman assassination never became a rallying cry the way Charlie Kirk’s did. Conservative media barely dwelled on it; there was no lengthy soul-searching on national TV about violent right-wing rhetoric fueling such acts. The White House’s indifference signaled that this event was not a national priority or a symptom of anything larger – just a bad thing that happened in a “blue state.”

The consequences of this disparity were deeply felt. Democratic lawmakers around the country got a message loud and clear: if you are targeted, do not expect the President to have your back. Some voiced outrage, noting that Trump was quick to label his critics “traitors” or “terrorists” but fell silent when actual terror struck his critics. Many ordinary Democratic voters, too, took note. It reinforced their view that Trump doesn’t see them as part of the American family he’s sworn to protect. If Charlie Kirk’s death had made Trump’s base feel under siege, Melissa Hortman’s death – and the President’s silence afterward – made the left feel abandoned and on its own.

It is worth acknowledging that there were Republican voices outside Trump’s inner circle who mourned Hortman and condemned her killer. In Minnesota, for example, Republican State Senator Julia Coleman (a colleague who had even worked with Charlie Kirk in the past) spoke at a vigil and urged people to honor Hortman’s legacy of bringing people together for solutions. Such moments offered a glimpse that the spirit of common humanity was not entirely dead in American politics. But those voices were regional and relatively subdued on the national stage. The bully pulpit of the presidency – which could have been used to say, “This is unacceptable, no matter which party the victims or perpetrators belong to” – remained silent on that score.

In the end, Melissa Hortman’s assassination faded from national headlines far faster than Charlie Kirk’s, in no small part because it did not fit the narrative the most powerful man in the country wanted to tell. For President Trump, Hortman’s murder was inconvenient – it did nothing to advance his message that the “radical left” is the sole source of political violence. So he minimized it. The stark disparity between his responses to the two killings speaks volumes. And within that disparity lies a disturbing truth about how the strategy of tension plays out in practice: empathy becomes selective, and tragedies are either amplified or downplayed based on how well they serve political ends.

VI. Selective Outrage, Divided Nation

These two back-to-back tragedies – and the President’s polar opposite responses to them – cast harsh light on the reality of America’s divide. In the assassination of Charlie Kirk, President Trump saw a rallying cause, an opportunity to fortify his narrative of left-wing villainy. In the assassination of Melissa Hortman, he saw no political advantage in dwelling on details, so he largely ignored it. The leader of the country effectively sent a message that some victims of political violence “mattered” more than others. That is a devastating message for national unity. It tells one half of the country that their pain is not equal to the other half’s.

The selective outrage from the highest office has ripple effects. Among Trump’s supporters, it reinforces the belief that only the other side commits heinous acts – after all, those are the only acts the President talks about at length. Many in that camp likely barely heard about the Minnesota murders, or if they did, they heard Trump dismiss the perpetrator as just a lone madman. There was no linkage to a broader problem, no call for MAGA fans to consider whether extreme rhetoric about Democrats had gone too far. Thus, there was no challenge to the right-wing audience’s worldview. Conversely, on the left, people watched the President’s passionate response to Kirk’s death and his indifference to Hortman’s and concluded that Trump simply doesn’t care about violence against them – or worse, that he tacitly condones it by failing to condemn it. This furthers an already deep well of distrust. If you are a Democrat, you might reasonably ask: how can you “come together” under a leader who won’t even acknowledge when your representatives are gunned down?

From a broader perspective, President Trump’s handling of these events exemplifies how the strategy of tension deepens polarization. By loudly broadcasting the crimes of one side and quietly glossing over those of the other, he ensures that each half of America lives in a different reality. In one reality – the pro-Trump conservative bubble – the country is under siege by violent leftists, and any notion of right-wing violence is overblown or politicized. In the other reality – liberal and anti-Trump circles – right-wing terrorism is a dire threat stalking the land, and the President himself seems complicit or at least willfully unconcerned. The truth is that both forms of political violence are real and dangerous. But a divided house cannot even agree on that basic fact. Instead, each half sees itself as the true victim and the other half as the aggressor, especially when prompted by their chosen leaders.

America in 2025 thus finds itself caught in a feedback loop of distrust. The President’s partisan outrage and selective empathy aren’t solely causes of this divide – they’re also symptoms of it, reflecting the fact that even basic compassion has been politicized. Breaking out of this cycle would require leaders and citizens on both sides to condemn violence and hatred no matter where it comes from. Yet, at the moment, such moral consistency is scarce. And that brings us to the role the American left has played in this fraught environment – because while President Trump’s approach is uniquely inflammatory, the wider landscape of polarization is not a one-man creation.

VII. The American Left’s Faults and Frustrations

No examination of this troubled landscape would be complete without also looking in the mirror from the other side. While President Trump’s behavior and the far right’s extremism have been in the spotlight, the American left has also played a role in inflaming tensions. It’s an uncomfortable thing for many progressives to admit, but there are fault lines on the left – places where anger, self-righteousness, and despair have led some to embrace toxic rhetoric or even, in rare cases, violence. A house divided is rarely divided by one side alone.

First, consider rhetoric. Just as Trump demonizes his opponents, some voices on the left demonize Trump supporters in sweeping terms. Scroll through X or other platforms and you’ll find ordinary liberals or left-leaning activists referring to “MAGA Republicans” as “fascists,” “terrorists,” or a “cult” hell-bent on destroying America. Hillary Clinton famously once called a segment of Trump’s supporters “a basket of deplorables” – a remark that, while not representative of all Democrats, lingered in the public consciousness. Since then, plenty of prominent figures on the left have used language painting the right not just as wrong on policy, but as fundamentally bad or dangerous people. They may feel justified – after all, Trump has courted extremist groups and his actions in office (such as trying to overturn the 2020 election) genuinely alarmed many. But when activists and even some mainstream commentators describe every Trump voter as a white supremacist or traitor, it furthers the vicious cycle of disdain. It convinces those on the right that “the left hates you and wants to eradicate your way of life,” feeding exactly the paranoia that Trump capitalizes on.

Then there is left-wing political violence. Although far-right violence has statistically caused more deaths in recent years, there have been notable and frightening instances from the left as well. Consider the example of Charlie Kirk’s assassination – the alleged shooter appears to have had anti-fascist (Antifa) leanings, reportedly even engraving an anti-fascist slogan on his ammunition. If that holds true, it means a young man on the extreme left decided that murdering a high-profile conservative was not only acceptable, but perhaps heroic. That is chilling. Likewise, the assassination of UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson late last year was carried out by someone allegedly motivated by hatred of corporate greed and the health insurance system – again, a twisted leftist rationale in which killing a “bad” capitalist was seen as delivering justice. After that incident, as noted earlier, some individuals on social media openly praised the assassin and made dark jokes celebrating the murder as a blow against the establishment. It’s hard to imagine a more self-defeating approach for the left’s moral credibility than cheering on violence.

Street protests and riots associated with left-leaning causes have also contributed to the tense climate. The summer of 2020 saw massive protests against police brutality – overwhelmingly peaceful, but marred by nights of rioting and looting in multiple cities. Some on the left were hesitant to unequivocally condemn that violence at the time, viewing it as an understandable outpouring of rage or focusing blame exclusively on heavy-handed police responses. Nevertheless, the imagery of burning buildings and smashed windows in cities like Minneapolis, Portland, and Kenosha became seared into the minds of many Americans. Conservative media replayed those scenes endlessly, cementing a lasting impression among the right that left-wing activism inherently leads to chaos and destruction. In the years since, smaller-scale unrest – such as the clashes in Los Angeles this June over Trump’s immigration policies – have kept that narrative alive. And indeed, there are radical left factions (certain “Antifa” cells or anarchist collectives) that openly endorse property destruction and street skirmishes as legitimate tactics against what they view as an oppressive system. While they represent a fringe, their actions often speak louder (at least in media coverage) than the peaceful protests of the majority.

The far-left fringe can be just as dehumanizing and apocalyptic in its thinking as the far right. Some far-left activists argue that the modern Republican Party is akin to a neo-fascist movement, and thus extraordinary measures are warranted to stop it. This mentality has led to incidents like protesters physically shutting down campus speeches by conservative figures, or – at the extreme – targeting people like Charlie Kirk. The slogan “punch a Nazi” gained popularity in left-leaning circles after 2016, implying that violence is not only acceptable but virtuous if the target can be labeled a “Nazi.” The problem, of course, is that in the heat of political passion, the definition of “Nazi” or “fascist” can become dangerously loose. To the man who killed Charlie Kirk, it seems Charlie was a “fascist,” and therefore shooting him was, in the killer’s distorted mind, doing the country a favor. It should go without saying that this logic is profoundly wrong and anti-democratic – yet it is the logical extreme of a dehumanizing discourse that has taken hold in some corners of the left.

It’s also important to acknowledge the phenomenon of public shaming and cancel culture that has been more associated with the left. While not violent, it has fueled resentment. Many conservatives feel the left doesn’t just want to win political arguments, it wants to personally ruin those who disagree – get them fired, ostracized, “canceled.” When a high-profile incident occurs in which someone on the right is mobbed or deplatformed (say, a controversial speaker shouted down rather than debated), it hardens the right’s narrative that the left is intolerant and tyrannical. This isn’t to draw a false equivalence – being “canceled” is obviously not the same as being killed – but it contributes to the emotional backdrop driving people into their partisan corners. It creates a sense that there is no mercy or grace in our public discourse, only punishment for being on the wrong team.

It’s worth emphasizing that the vast majority of Democrats and left-leaning Americans do not condone violence. In fact, many of the examples above – from the Scalise shooting in 2017 to the 2020 riots – were roundly condemned by mainstream Democratic leaders when they happened. After Congressman Steve Scalise was shot by a left-wing extremist, every Democrat in Congress spoke out against that crime; after the 2020 unrest, Joe Biden (then a candidate) explicitly said rioting and destruction were wrong and must stop. Even now, figures like former President Barack Obama and President Biden consistently call for nonviolence and stress that no grievance justifies terror. However, just as the mainstream right’s condemnations of its fringe often get drowned out by louder extremist voices, the same happens on the left. Fringe actions and words create images and narratives that opponents eagerly exploit.

For those on the left who genuinely abhor violence and authoritarianism, the challenge is finding ways to distance themselves from their own “crazies,” so to speak, while still fighting passionately for their principles. It can be a bitter pill to swallow that someone ostensibly on “your side” could do something as evil as assassinate a political opponent. Often the reaction is denial – “that person wasn’t really one of us” or “this must be a false flag” – rather than soul-searching. We see this human tendency on both sides. But confronting these elements is crucial. When left-wing commentators joked about or downplayed Charlie Kirk’s death (for example, quipping about his opposition to gun control in the moment he was killed), it was cruel – and politically foolish. It made it far easier for Trump and the right to cast the entire left as callous and extremist.

In summary, the American left has its own extremists and its own contributions to the toxic atmosphere. Progressive ideals of equality and justice are not advanced by violence or by treating all opponents as monsters. Yet in a climate as emotionally charged as today’s, some on the left have indeed succumbed to rage and despair, just as some on the right have succumbed to fury and fear. This is the psychological trap that the strategy of tension sets for everyone: it provokes the worst in each camp, until both can point at the other and say, “See how dangerous they are.” The left must reckon with this and find ways to uphold its values without feeding into the cycle of hatred – both for moral reasons and because, practically speaking, every violent outburst from the left only strengthens the hand of those like Trump who are eager to impose crackdowns.

VIII. Finding a Way Forward

As the United States stands on the edge of what feels like an abyss – with talk of “civil war” now a casual topic of conversation in a way it hasn’t been in over 150 years – it’s easy to feel pessimistic. Indeed, recent polls show that a significant number of Americans on both sides believe a civil conflict in the near future is possible. And yet, the very fact that so many people fear that outcome could be the wake-up call that prevents it. America does not have to continue down this dark road. The forces of division may be strong, but they are not stronger than the desire of ordinary people to live in peace and security. The challenge is how to tamp down the flames when some leaders seem intent on fanning them.

A starting point is to demand more from leadership. President Trump’s approach in his second term has clearly been one of escalating confrontation. One can debate the motives – whether he truly believes his own rhetoric about the “enemy within” or whether it’s a calculated strategy to maintain power – but either way, his leadership has deepened the divide. It falls, then, to others in positions of authority to fill the void of unity. Governors, mayors, members of Congress, community leaders, clergy, business figures – voices across the spectrum need to speak out against political violence, and do so in a nonpartisan way. There have been glimmers of this: after Charlie Kirk’s death, some Republican and Democratic officials in Utah jointly urged calm and denounced the “poisonous” effect of violent rhetoric. After Melissa Hortman’s death, Minnesota’s legislature – Republicans included – passed a resolution honoring her and condemning extremism. These are small steps, almost drowned out by louder voices, but they matter. They set an example, however modest, that it is possible to grieve together across party lines and reaffirm some shared values.

Another crucial step is for regular citizens to pull back from the brink of rhetorical warfare. America’s political discourse has become so toxic that many people assume bad faith or evil intentions in anyone from the other side. This has to change, one human interaction at a time. It may sound idealistic, but if you’re a politically engaged American, consider reaching out to someone you know with different views – not to argue, but to listen and share your fears and hopes. You might be surprised to find that beneath the slogans and voting habits, you have common fears and common hopes. Both liberals and conservatives worry about their families’ safety, about economic opportunity, about the integrity of the country they will leave to their children. The two camps may differ on solutions, but recognizing each other’s humanity is a start. Dehumanization is the prerequisite for violence; re-humanization is a potent antidote.

Importantly, the vast majority of Americans actually do not want a second Civil War. They do not want to live in a country where attending a political rally or serving in public office means risking assassination. This majority is exhausted by the chaos and conflict; polls show an overwhelming number of Americans feel fear and fatigue about how divided they’ve become. That widespread exhaustion could itself be a unifying force. It means there is a potential coalition of the reasonable – people who may disagree on tax policy or immigration or health care, but who firmly agree that resolving those disagreements through violence is beyond the pale. If that coalition asserts itself – through voting, through civic action, through what they choose to amplify (or not amplify) on social media – it can marginalize the extremists on both ends. Politicians like Donald Trump gain power from the perception that the country is split into two warring tribes of equal ferocity. That assumption must be proven wrong by a larger tribe standing in the middle, horrified by the warring and willing to work together to stop it.

Of course, none of this is easy. It’s hard to dial back emotions when real principles and rights feel at stake. And it’s hard to ask people to be the “bigger person” in a conflict, to show restraint and empathy, especially if they feel attacked or wronged. But consider the alternative: if current trends continue, political violence could become normalized. Tit-for-tat reprisals could escalate. Already we see hints of this: one side suffers a loss, then the other side does, and each justifies the next act as revenge for the last. History shows that such cycles, once they take hold, are terribly hard to break. Avoiding that fate is not just a lofty ideal; it’s a practical necessity if the United States is to remain a functioning democracy. No one truly “wins” a civil war. One side might vanquish the other, but the victorious side emerges battered and morally scarred, and the nation as a whole is diminished. The only true victory is preventing the war altogether.

As a non-American who cares deeply about the United States, I remain hopeful that Americans can pull back from this trajectory. This country has a remarkable capacity for self-correction. Time and again, just when it seems tensions are too high to bear, something – or someone – pushes the nation onto a better path. Sometimes it’s inspired leadership; sometimes it’s the American public itself saying “enough.” After the upheavals of the late 1960s, Americans eventually enacted reforms and chose leaders who helped calm the storm. The country did not fall apart; in fact, it emerged with renewed commitments to civil rights and the rule of law. That gives me hope that today’s turbulence can also be navigated.

Americans cannot wait passively for a savior from above. In a sense, the call is coming to each citizen and each community. It’s in conversations at town halls, school board meetings, church groups, and neighborhood gatherings that the tide can turn – where Americans can decide to see each other not as mortal enemies but as compatriots. “A house divided against itself cannot stand,” Lincoln warned. Those words are a warning, but they are also implicitly a plea: find a way to stand together, or you will fall. Standing together doesn’t mean everyone agrees or that principles are abandoned; it means remembering that there is a national house that both left and right reside in and benefit from. It means recognizing that if that house collapses, everyone inside gets hurt.

In practical terms, defusing the current tensions might mean pursuing justice and accountability without vengeance. It means holding those who commit violence accountable under the law, regardless of whether they wave a MAGA banner or an Antifa flag – and doing so fairly and transparently. It means political leaders must clearly and consistently renounce supporters who cross the line, even when it’s inconvenient. And yes, it means dialing back the rhetoric – avoiding slurs and apocalyptic narratives that cast every election as doomsday. Constant panic and hatred are unsustainable for a democracy.

Perhaps above all, finding a way forward will require empathy – a quality that sounds quaint in an age of cynicism. Empathy doesn’t mean agreeing with your adversary; it means understanding the world from their perspective enough to realize they act from motivations that, to them, are as sincere as yours. If enough people on both the left and right can practice just a bit more of that, the caricatures begin to fade, and the potential for common ground emerges. It is much harder to want to harm someone once you’ve seen them as a full human being with fears and dreams not so different from your own.

The stakes cannot be overstated. The strategy of tension we’ve discussed – this deliberate (or sometimes inadvertent) stoking of fear and division – thrives only if ordinary Americans allow it to. Leaders like Donald Trump will continue to play with fire as long as it rallies their base; extremists will continue to lash out as long as they feel in their bones that the other side is a monster. But if Americans reject that narrative – if a critical mass of citizens simply refuse to be enemies – then the strategy fails. The temperature comes down, because it must; politicians will adapt to a public that no longer responds to constant rage.

In the end, I choose to believe that the United States can step back from this precipice. The “house divided” need not collapse. It will take humility, courage, and patience from both leaders and everyday folks. It will take remembering that the American experiment – this grand, messy democracy – is bigger and more enduring than any one faction or any one president. E pluribus unum has been tested before, and it is being tested now. But if Americans can once again find that common thread of nationhood and shared destiny, they can begin to mend the tears in the national fabric. The choice, ultimately, lies in the hands of the American people: to decide that this union, however imperfect, is worth saving together – and that no strategy of fear will tear it asunder.