We Stand at the Crossroads

America died on a Saturday morning in Minnesota.

She died in the driveway of a woman who believed that children should not go hungry at school. She died beside a man who thought aging adults deserved dignity and care. She died when we allowed our hatred to grow so vast, so consuming, that murder became the language of political discourse.

But America has died before.

She died at Fort Sumter when we decided that disagreement justified war. She died in Birmingham when we turned fire hoses on children who dared to dream of equality. She died in Dallas when we silenced a president who spoke of justice. She died in Memphis when we murdered a preacher who dreamed of brotherhood.

And yet she lives.

She lives because in every moment of darkness, Americans have chosen light. In every hour of hatred, Americans have chosen hope. In every season of division, Americans have remembered that we are bound together by something deeper than politics, something more sacred than party, something more enduring than the rage that would tear us apart.

We stand at such a moment now.

The crossroads stretches before us, and we must choose which path America will take. Down one road lies the country that murders its public servants and calls it patriotism. Down the other lies the America that Representative Hortman believed in when she ran for office, the America that Senator Hoffman served when he worked to help his neighbors, the America that still exists in the hearts of millions who refuse to let hatred have the final word.

The choice is ours. The choice is now.

We can choose to be the America that settles political differences with bullets. We can choose to be the nation where serving your community means accepting death as an occupational hazard. We can choose to be the people who teach our children that democracy is war by other means, that our political opponents are enemies to be eliminated, that the ballot box has been replaced by the crosshairs.

Or we can choose to be Americans.

We can choose to be the people who remember that Representative Hortman was someone's mother, someone's wife, someone's daughter. That Senator Hoffman is someone's husband, someone's father, someone's friend fighting for his life in a hospital bed because he believed in serving his neighbors.

We can choose to be the nation that rejects the hatred consuming us. We can choose to be the people who turn away from the rage that would make us killers. We can choose to be Americans who remember that our opponents across the political divide are not enemies to be destroyed but fellow citizens to be engaged, however passionately we disagree.

This is not about being weak. This is about being strong enough to reject the easy satisfactions of hatred. This is about being brave enough to choose democracy over destruction. This is about being American enough to remember that we have always been at our best when we refused to let our worst impulses define us.

Representative Hortman and her husband Mark are dead. Senator Hoffman and his wife lie wounded. The Republic bleeds from wounds we inflicted upon ourselves. But the Republic is not dead. America is not finished. Democracy is not over.

Not if we choose otherwise.

Not if we remember who we are.

We are the children of Valley Forge and Gettysburg and Normandy. We are the inheritors of a dream that began with the radical idea that human beings could govern themselves without killing each other. We are Americans, and Americans do not surrender to hatred. Americans do not let rage determine our destiny. Americans do not allow the worst among us to define who we are.

The man with the gun thought he was defending America. He was destroying her. The man with the list thought he was saving democracy. He was murdering it. The man with the hatred thought he was a patriot. He was a betrayer of everything America has ever meant.

We will not be like him.

We will not let Saturday morning be the day America died. We will make it the day America remembered her soul. We will make it the day we chose to reject the hatred that would destroy us. We will make it the day we decided that Representative Hortman and her husband Mark did not die in vain.

The crossroads stretches before us. One path leads to civil war disguised as politics. The other leads to the America we were meant to be—the America that Representative Hortman believed in, the America that Senator Hoffman served, the America that still lives in the hearts of millions who refuse to let murder become the language of democracy.

Choose America.

Choose the rejection of hatred.

Choose the refusal of rage.

Choose the democracy that Representative Hortman died defending.

Choose the Republic that has always been our most sacred trust.

Choose to be Americans worthy of the sacrifice that was made on a Saturday morning in Minnesota, when two people died because they believed that democracy was still possible, that service was still noble, that America was still worth saving.

The crossroads waits. The choice is ours.

Choose her now, before it is too late.

Choose her while she still breathes.

Choose her because she is all we have, and she is everything we are, and she is worth every sacrifice, every struggle, every moment of choosing hope over hatred, democracy over destruction, America over the forces that would tear her apart.

Hundreds of thousands of men and women have bled, fought and died so that we would not know this pain. They chose to sacrifice. They chose to honor this experiment.

Now choose her back.

The crossroads stretches before us. One path leads to civil war disguised as politics. The other leads to the America we were meant to be. The America that Representative Hortman believed in, the America that Senator Hoffman served, the America that still lives in the hearts of millions who refuse to let murder become the language of our Republic.

Hundreds of thousands of men and women have bled, fought and died so that we would not know this pain.

They chose to sacrifice. They chose to honor this experiment.

Now it is our time to choose.