“A fool gives full vent to his spirit, but a wise man quietly holds back.” Proverbs 29:11

I have always wanted to time-travel to the 1960s and be a flower child. I imagined listening to the Beatles and Jimmy Hendrix on 45s. My closet would be radiating hippy vibes with peasant blouses and platform shoes. As a college student, I would participate in civil rights protests, while remaining drug free. I know that is a bit unrealistic given that most college students during that time experimented with LSD and mushrooms, but I would still be me, a bit of a rule follower. I wanted to live in a time when it felt like important things were happening and I was making a difference.

In romanticizing that era, I forget that in a space of 5 years, 4 major political figures were assassinated: President John F. Kennedy, Malcom X, Robert Kennedy, and Martin Luther King, Jr.  Despite the peace signs and mellow commune living, I am sure that all people, mushrooms or not, experienced anxiety, grief and turmoil over these deaths. They didn’t have up to date information on the manhunt for the shooters. Images of the actual assassinations were grainy, taken with cameras far less superior than most iPhones. Often, they had to wait until their “regularly scheduled program” was interrupted to get the latest updates.

In the last 5 years, we have also faced political violence resulting in 3 political assassinations. These acts of violence include the plot to kidnap Michigan Governor Gretchen Witmer, the January 6 violence at the US Capitol, Nancy Pelosi’s husband attacked in her home, 2 assassination attempts on President Donald Trump, a firebomb thrown at PA Governor Josh Shapiro’s residence, 4 shootings of Minnesota lawmakers and their spouses in their homes, resulting in 2 deaths, and the assassination of Charlie Kirk. Add the attempt on Justice Brett Kavanaugh and the shooting at the CDC, and these acts of violence feel unprecedented in my lifetime.

Some things have changed since the 60s: Swifties replaced Beatlemania, neutrals replaced the bright patterns (except in my wardrobe), and retro sneakers replaced platform shoes. While fashion and music have changed, how we respond to political violence has not changed. We still turn some victims into martyrs while villainizing others. Conspiracy theories float around and become the leading narratives. People call for protests, speech to be censored, and more stringent laws to protect those they believe are innocent.

I could fulfill my past flower child dreams by making signs and marching in my city square or state capital, protesting on behalf of those I feel are being oppressed. I have been given the opportunity to join some protests in recent months by some of my friends. I could also write a click bait comment online, waiting for likes and dislikes to hit, based on my algorithms. But protesting and tweets don’t feel like the best approach for me at this moment. Instead, I am learning to pause, think, and reflect before I speak and act. My family and friends could attest that this approach doesn’t come naturally to me. I am far more comfortable speaking than being silent. I readily look for solutions and ways to apply them. This rhythm of pause, think, and reflect is a learning process that I continue to develop in my life.

In my time of reflection, I am trying to balance my news intake by hearing both sides. It helps me to see all victims of political violence as real individuals with families who love them, pets they cared for, and people who believed in them. Erika Kirk’s answer to her 3-year old’s questions as to where her daddy, “He’s on a work trip with Jesus so he can afford your blueberry budget,” was absolutely heart wrenching. Equally as devastating was the statement made by Sophie and Colin Hortman, children of Minnesota Rep. Melissa Hortman and her husband Mark, who were shot in their home. They encouraged others to honor their parents’ memory by doing “something, whether big or small, to make our community a little better for someone else.” I also had the unique perspective of viewing an alleged criminal’s family differently. When images of the alleged Minnesota shooter flashed on my screen, I recognized this person as someone I had been briefly acquainted with while in a homeschool group with his wife and family in the mid 2000’s. This sweet woman loved God, invested herself in her children, and gave to her community. I can’t imagine her grief, and I pray daily for this family.

This balance of news also helps me see there is political violence on both sides. David French wrote an op-ed piece for the New York Times titled “There Are Monsters in Your Midst, Too” that articulates how I have been feeling. He shared a conversation he had with National Review colleague, Michael Brenden Dougherty about political blindness. Dougherty said when we see a problem on our opponent’s side, we believe that is emblematic, but when our allies do something, that is exceptional. This resonated with me; how often do I label those I struggle with and say that their mistake is indicative of their personality, and that this shortcoming makes them a flawed human being? But when someone I love does the same thing, overall, I emphasize that they are good people who made a small mistake. I even let this confirmation bias inform how I view myself. It is so much easier to see a flaw in another person, judging their motives and actions. But when this same flaw shows up in me, I protest when my motives and actions are judged.

I found out that a young man who was formerly in my circle of influence recently did something violent that ended with multiple deaths. I didn’t know him well and hadn’t seen him in the last year or so. What I did know was that this young man seemed lonely. As much as many of us tried to include him in our circle, it wasn’t enough to make any lasting change. Soon, he left our circle and moved on. I can also say that what I knew of this young man was that he was not evil; but at the same time, I can hold the acts he committed as evil and destructive.

I am asking myself some hard questions based on what I know of him and what I suspect of most people who commit these acts of violence. Do I enable political extremism by engagement online and in person, labeling people and putting them into groups? Do I engage in conversations with curiosity or try to prove my point? Do I call out political violence no matter what the source? Do I amplify political extremism when political violence occurs, or do I move towards unity and reconciliation? Do I treat all people as if they are created in the image of God? Finally, do I open my home with hospitality, inviting those who feel alienated or lost to enter, creating a space of refuge?

In the case of the young man I knew, it was not an act of political violence. But it was still violence that may have been prevented. I grieve for the young man I knew and his family, along with the victims and their families. I can no longer sit on the sidelines and say that violence “affects them.” It affects all of us, no matter what side of the fence we are on.  And if we continue in “us vs them” conversations, if we only lower flags half-mast to honor people we support, if we move to limit the free speech of those we disagree with, if we label the other side as extreme, then violence will continue. But if we pause and reflect, maybe we can work to create a community where we can invite those who feel alienated to be in a place where they feel welcomed and loved. Just maybe, we can stop some from becoming potential monsters.