Reflections on Violence and Accountability
When conservative activist Charlie Kirk was killed, some suggested it was a form of political revenge. Similarly, the murder of UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson was attributed to the alleged shooter’s anger toward the health insurance sector. In both situations, the focus was more on grievances than outright condemnation of the violence.
As a clinical psychologist splitting my time between New York City and Washington, DC, I often see this same reasoning at play in my practice. Some individuals seem to believe that feeling pain legitimizes their urge to lash out, or that their frustrations can somehow justify harmful choices. The overlap between personal psychology and our societal attitudes is both striking and troubling.
The conversation has shifted from simply questioning whether a crime occurred to pondering, “Can I empathize with the emotions that led to this crime?” It’s a significant departure from the past. After pivotal events like the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, the Oklahoma City bombing, and 9/11, Americans universally condemned violence. Leaders across the board asserted that such acts could not be justified, providing the nation with moral clarity.
Today, however, we find ourselves with conflicting narratives. Instead of denouncing the act of violence itself, discussions revolve around whether the victim or the perpetrator fits our political beliefs.
This trend spans the entire political spectrum. Following the January 6 Capitol attack, many involved considered themselves patriots, rationalizing their actions as a response to a fraudulent election. Recent urban unrest saw incidents of looting sometimes described as “reparations.” In academic settings, violent protests frequently get recast as reactions to trauma.
Each of these examples highlights a similar shift: grievances are being leveraged to evade accountability.
In my experience, I’ve seen firsthand how damaging this mindset can be. Once, a patient expressed immense anger towards a colleague who had wronged her. He felt justified in sabotaging others in revenge. While his frustration was understandable, if I had supported this desire for retaliation, I would have been enabling his self-destruction. Instead, he learned that while his feelings were valid, that didn’t give him license to harm others.
Another patient, a college student, labeled a breakup as “traumatic,” claiming it gave him a reason to skip classes and lash out at friends. While the term “trauma” validated his feelings, it also allowed him to sidestep responsibility. When he came to terms with the reality that challenges do not eliminate choices, he gradually regained control. Without that realization, he might have clung to his bitterness as an excuse indefinitely. When words are twisted to justify actions instead of clarify them, they hinder growth and undermine accountability.
Similar patterns are emerging in institutional settings. Prosecutors sometimes hesitate to file charges, fearing they might come off as insensitive. Journalists are increasingly opting for softer terminology like “incident” instead of “crime.” In an attempt to avoid backlash, schools and workplaces are lowering standards and making excuses for behaviors that would have previously been condemned. Over time, the concept of accountability itself can seem capricious.
On social media, displeasure is becoming a form of currency. Posts portraying personal struggles as evidence of victimhood often gain significant traction. Calls for resilience tend to be overlooked. The algorithms tend to favor outrage, teaching us that if we want attention, acting out of dissatisfaction is the way to go. This pervasive message alters our collective perception of acceptable conduct.
However, it’s not about dismissing pain; many grievances are valid and deserve attention. But empathy should not operate in isolation. Compassion must work alongside accountability. Without both, individuals fail to build resilience, and societies cannot unify.
Restoring this delicate balance is challenging, but it’s necessary. Political, cultural, and journalistic leaders can take the lead. We must call violence what it is, even when the victims are contentious or the complaints of the perpetrators resonate. Universities should instill the understanding that protest and dissent are crucial, but destructive actions do not cross into acceptable territory. Prosecutors ought to avoid justifying crimes based solely on the motives behind them. Media outlets should refrain from softening violence with euphemisms.
History can serve as a guide. During the civil rights movement, leaders drew strength from frustration but steadfastly condemned violence. Their moral authority came from their insistence on equal accountability under the law, which granted them legitimacy and strength.
After over two decades of practice, I’ve learned how challenging it can be to tell individuals that they don’t need to retaliate just because they’re hurting. Yet, I’ve also seen that this difficult truth often marks the beginning of genuine healing. America is in need of that truth right now.
