Dresden is a policy strategist for Protect Democracy. Livingston is director of field support for Over Zero.
Election officials, law enforcement and civil society have been preparing for months — some for years — to ensure that the full election process plays out safely, securely and in accordance with the law. And for the most part, it seems that Election Day was indeed generally orderly. While the election process continues with final counting and certification, the projected result of the presidential election came more quickly and clearly than many of us anticipated.
As we look ahead to the next months and years and consider what preserving our democracy will need from us, we should gather what we have learned and consolidate some of those lessons. Election Day itself was largely peaceful, but the campaign period was marked by unprecedented incendiary and group-targeted rhetoric. It was also not free of violence — a major party candidate was nearly assassinated and one of his supporters was killed, election workers were threatened and harassed, shots were fired repeatedly at a campaign office in Arizona, falsehood- and hate-fueled threats flooded a small city in Ohio, and numerous other localized incidents left marks on our democracy.
In the coming months and years, leaders will guide their communities in addressing these incidents and their impact. But political violence threats and harassment are not unique to the last six months — they are bound up with the history of our country, even as Americans steadfastly reject them. The campaign period threw into sharp relief the importance of both responding with care and remaining committed to the long-term work to prevent these incidents in the first place. We should not leave those lessons behind, even as we complete the election process and move forward.
What would “responding better” look and sound like in the future?
Simply put, while incendiary rhetoric can stoke tensions, deepen divisions and create a permission structure for violence, responsible communication — from leaders and the media alike — can remind communities of our better angels, guiding us in resisting harmful divisions, recovering quickly from incidents that might escalate and building longer-term resilience to these risks.
But communicating in contentious times requires striking a careful balance. When violence seeks to intimidate people from participating in public life, leaders and the media must take care not to inadvertently play into these aims by stoking the very threats and sense of fear they are trying to defuse.
To support leaders and journalists in navigating these tensions, our organizations developed resources for responsible communication and reporting. They provide a helpful template for communities to discern responsible, de-escalatory communication from inflammatory fear-mongering; to determine when to keep reading or listening and when to turn elsewhere.
What Responsible Leadership Sounds Like
Leaders’ words will shape how communities make sense of, and respond to, the current moment. Communities can judge whether those words are leading towards a more peaceful, democratic outcome by asking a few simple questions.
Are leaders condemning violence? When violence has occurred, it is critical for leaders to unequivocally and swiftly denounce it, regardless of who is involved. Violence is antithetical to community and national values, and the overwhelming majority of Americans reject it. Unambiguous condemnations of violence help to reinforce that norm.
Are leaders combatting us-vs.-them divisions? Violence peddlers often seek to divide us, constructing a threatening or guilty “them” and a virtuous “us” in need of protection. Instead, leaders can remind us of all that unites us, emphasizing our shared identities and what we stand for. This can help build resilience in the face of divisive rhetoric. In Springfield, Ohio, for instance, the city came together to reaffirm local Springfield values and support the Haitian community amid hate-filled and false conspiracy theories targeting them. Leaders can remind us that, as parents, veterans, neighbors or Americans, we are proud to honor our election systems, to respect our community members who make free and fair elections possible, and to resolve our differences peacefully.
Are leaders channeling our emotions into constructive, democratic action? Leaders should use precise, measured language to describe the incident, taking care not to cast it as more widespread than it was and avoiding warlike and natural disaster metaphors (like “erupted” or “flooded”), which can generate additional fear and diminish feelings of agency. While conflict entrepreneurs bet on us feeling defeated, true leaders remind us that we are not powerless and guide us to taking positive action. Voting has ended, but there are plenty of ways to support our communities, whether through thanking election workers, engaging in local politics, reaching out to elected officials, or joining organized efforts to counteract political violence.
Critically, violence in American politics has historically targeted groups on the basis of their identity to control who participates in public life. Leaders should voice support for groups that are especially likely to be targeted — including Black, immigrant, LGBTQ, Jewish, Arab and Muslim communities — ensuring that their needs and priorities are centered in community responses.
Further, violence can be exploited to generate support for authoritarian responses that crack down on our rights and freedoms in the name of restoring “law and order.” Responsible leaders should offer alternative solutions to address our natural desire for security, for instance through outlining specific plans to restore safety and/or continue the electoral process.
Are Your News Sources Giving You the Reporting You Need?
In moments of tension most of us depend on the media for our information. Reporting shapes what we know about an event, informs how we put it in the broader context of the political moment and influences our views on what kinds of responses are necessary and appropriate.
Good journalism is always a vital yet challenging endeavor. But responsible reporting on political violence is especially hard. As with all public communications, even well-meaning reporting can inadvertently escalate tensions, fuel conflict, provide platforms to extremists, or be used to justify crackdowns and authoritarian responses. So when it comes to reporting on the risk of violence or an actual incident of violence, newsrooms need to use extra care.
Here are some of the key signs your news sources are following best practices:
Is reporting accurate, concrete and specific? All good reporting seeks to get the facts right, but in reporting on violence, this also means mindfully calibrating the language being used to present the facts. Hyperbole ( especially in headlines) or language like natural disaster metaphors evoke feelings of fear without providing meaningful information. Look for numbers (“eight storefronts were damaged”) rather than vague descriptors (“many windows were smashed”). Coverage should also attribute responsibility concretely — if one or a few individuals engaged in violent behavior, a story shouldn’t lump them in with a bigger group by referring to actions by “protesters” or “Republicans” or “Democrats.”
Is reporting giving you context? Violent events almost never happen in a vacuum. There may be a history of scapegoating a targeted community. Extremist groups involved in violent events may try to turn the media into a free megaphone. Violence may interact with a larger process of democratic backsliding. Coverage should explain this context with clarity and not simply repeat the talking points of those who may have another agenda, particularly one that violence might advance.
Are you getting the full story? Violence is only part of the story when an incident occurs. Reporting on responses and the communities that were targeted paints the full picture. Who is responding to address what happened or prevent similar incidents in the future? Who has condemned the violence? What do targeted communities say they need to recover and repair? If you’re not seeing coverage that answers these questions, you’re only getting part of the story.
Being Mindful in the Moment
We hope that there is no need for any of this in the future. But we have seen in recent months how much words matter if or when inflammatory rhetoric or threats of violence occur. Communities will rely on their leaders to speak up effectively in support of nonviolence and the democratic process, and their media to provide conflict-sensitive coverage that is accurate and complete.
At the end of the day, we all have a role to play in ensuring our communities and democracy are resilient to these risks. We can ask ourselves whether the people we are hearing from and the news we are consuming advance these goals — whether we should continue listening or reading, or look elsewhere for information.



















A golden tray sits on the Resolute Desk as President Donald Trump speaks during an announcement on American nuclear innovation in the Oval Office at the White House on July 24, 2026, in Washington, D.C. Trump is signing multiple executive orders targeting the nuclear energy sector and easing rules for new reactors and nuclear fuel supply chains.
Trump’s hubris rivals the fallen heroes of ancient Greek mythology
In January, the New York Times asked President Donald Trump if there were any limits on his global powers.
“Yeah,” the president responded, “there is one thing. My own morality. My own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me.”
That was eight months ago, but fortunately Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster adaptation of “The Odyssey” has made ancient Greek literature newly relevant. Before that window closes, I’d like to talk about hubris.
Today, the term mostly means excessive pride or arrogance. That’s part of what the Greeks meant by it too, but the meaning was a bit richer and more specific. Hubris was an insolent or outrageous act that offended the gods, often because the transgressor was claiming abilities or authorities that solely belonged to supreme beings.
Nolan renamed and slightly modified the concept of xenia for the film, calling it “Zeus’ law.” In the director’s telling, mortals should follow the rules laid out by the gods, specifically the requirement to treat strangers with respect lest they be gods in disguise.
In a sense, hubris is the opposite, or at least the rejection, of xenia. The hubris of the suitors, and at times Odysseus himself, invites punishment by the gods and their mortal instruments.
Which brings me back to Donald Trump. His claim that there are no constraints on his personal power to dictate events on the global stage was one of the greatest expressions of hubris ever uttered by a political leader.
Trump’s claim was obviously false when he made it.
He vowed that he could end the Russia-Ukraine war in 24 hours. He’s proved powerless to make that happen. If he had divine powers to work his will, why would he have balked at implementing his tariffs so often that Wall Street adopted the “TACO trade” term for his deals? “TACO” stands for “Trump always chickens out.”
And why would Trump have made so many embarrassing concessions to China — from rescinding tariffs on Chinese goods to allowing them to buy crucial and incredibly valuable computer chips?
But Trump saw his success at capturing Venezuelan strongman Nicolas Maduro as proof of his ability to launch missiles to the same effect as Zeus’ lightning bolts. Trump believed he was the most powerful man who ever lived.
This is no exaggeration. In March, when the Iran invasion seemed successful, Trump gave a document penned by“Presidential Historian David King” to New York Times reporters Maggie Haberman and Jonathan Swan purporting to prove that Trump was “the most powerful person to have EVER walked this planet.” King was, in fact, a businessman and occasional caddy for legendary golfer Gary Player.
King compared Trump favorably to many of history’s most powerful, and often heinous, figures: Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun, William the Conqueror, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin, Genghis Khan, Mao Tse Tung, Adolf Hitler and Vladimir Lenin. Many of these men thought they were the most powerful person in the world, too. And many were defeated precisely because they believed it.
At least Napoleon and Hitler had a string of truly impressive victories before they learned the folly of hubris. The limits on Trump’s power have been exposed by far less august forces than the combined might of the allies in World War II or the fearsome Russian winter.
Iran is a comparatively middling power. But the regime’s ability to absorb punishment while imposing its will on the Strait of Hormuz has proved to be a greater constraint on Trump’s power than his morality or mind. We should note that, at least rhetorically, his morality has not proved much of a constraint. He has repeatedly promised to destroy Iranian “civilization” if the regime refuses to capitulate.
But they haven’t — and won’t anytime soon — because the regime’s tolerance for pain far outstrips Trump’s. The combined fear of skyrocketing oil prices, outrage of Gulf state potentates, diminishing weapon supplies and domestic unpopularity is doing the work that international law, congressional oversight and the collective opinion of foreign policy experts can’t or won’t do.
If I considered Trump more heroic than reason and facts could allow, I would say his Sisyphean predicament has the whiff of Greek tragedy to it. Trump is vexed by the fact that the Iranians won’t honor deals or ratify his countless premature claims of victory — giving new meaning to his vow that his presidency would make people tired of winning. It’s almost like they’re out-Trumping Trump.
Things might have gone better if he’d heeded that great Greek tragedian Sophocles: “For Zeus utterly abhors the boasts of a proud tongue.”
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Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.