In a nation built on debate, disagreement and democratic tension, one rule should be so obvious that it hardly needs repeating: Don’t threaten violence. Not against judges, mayors, legislators, lieutenant governors, governors — not against anyone. Yet somehow, in the current climate, that simplest of civic norms is eroding.
I’ve spent the last eight years as a low-level public servant. It’s not glamorous. It’s not lucrative. I’ll serve for a time and eventually be forgotten — and I’m perfectly comfortable with that. But during those years, I’ve received death threats more often than I care to recall. That, unfortunately, is becoming a routine cost of public service.
A package no family should receive
Last year, someone mailed a “bomb” to my house. It turned out to be a glitter bomb, not an explosive one, but it wasn’t a prank from a friend. It arrived during a bruising legislative session, when emotions were running high and public controversies were boiling.
Imagine your 7-year-old children running to the door with the excitement every parent loves to see — only to have you freeze, realizing the package is suspicious. Imagine the police confirming that yes, it is something to be concerned about. That moment stays with you. But it is mild compared to what has happened to others.
Most legislators I know have had to notify the highway patrol of various credible threats. Legislators’ cars and homes get vandalized. They get hacked. They get doxed. Threats of rape and sexual assault are common. Sometimes children are dragged into the crossfire. One person told a legislator he would run over his special needs daughter if he got the chance. These threats are common among all public officials regardless of party.
The unspoken reality: Women get it worse
Female public officials don’t just receive more threats — they receive more vile threats. And not just from men. Women can be just as cruel if not more cruel to these public servants. The problem doesn’t follow party lines either; the vitriol comes from both sides, sometimes with equal force.
It’s telling that more female legislators have state troopers parked outside their homes during the session due to credible threats than their male colleagues. That fact alone should embarrass us as a society.
What’s fair game — and what isn’t
Don’t misunderstand me: Criticism is part of democracy. Losing elections, facing calls for resignation, calls for removal, being unretained, being blamed (fairly or unfairly), being praised (fairly or unfairly) — these are the natural consequences of public service. They are the mechanisms by which the public speaks, corrects course and holds its leaders accountable.
Those consequences are not what I’m talking about.
I’m talking about the line we must never cross: violence or the threat of it.
Not as political leverage. Not as a vent for anger. Not as a way to intimidate or punish. Not ever.
Threatening sexual assault is not political speech.
Threatening to harm someone’s children is not “being passionate.”
Threatening to bomb a home, destroy property or terrorize a family is not civic engagement.
A call for decency
Most people are good — truly. But a growing minority seems to believe that cruelty is a legitimate form of participation, that fear is a tool of persuasion. It isn’t. It’s poison.
We can argue about policy. We can disagree on principles. We can debate fiercely. But we cannot abandon basic humanity and expect our democracy to survive intact.
So let’s draw the line clearly:
Criticize all you want. Organize, vote, protest, persuade. But stop threatening violence. Period.