Find A Better Way

I didn’t know Minnesota’s Democratic lawmaker Melissa Hortman or her husband, Mark, but when I read the news early Saturday that they had been assassinated in cold blood at their home, by a man masquerading as a police officer, tears immediately welled up in my eyes.

Then I read that another Democratic lawmaker, Minnesota State Senator John Hoffman, and his wife, Yvette, had also been shot and were in surgery (they are expected to survive). This breaking news popped up on my phone while I was reading about the escalating conflict between Iran and Israel.

I sat motionless for what felt like a really long time. I wondered: did Melissa and Mark have kids? When I read that they did, I instantly wanted to throw up. Goose bumps covered my body. I could feel myself being taken back to my younger self and the feeling I experienced when shocking assassinations ripped through my own family.

I sat for a while, simply allowing my emotions to do their thing.

The truth is, it’s been a long week here in Los Angeles where I live. In fact, it’s been a long few months. As you may recall, the new year started here with fires. Thousands lost their homes and all their worldly possessions—not to mention their memories, their neighborhoods, and their communities. Friends wrestled with insurance companies, debated whether to rebuild or not, and others decided to just up and leave.

For months, the fires were all anyone could talk about. Until this past week. This past week, people struggled to make sense of what was happening downtown on our streets and across the region in our factories, on our farms, and in other places of business.

I tried to write five different versions of this essay for this week, but they all felt wrong. The news just kept changing day by day. I went to bed Friday night and said to my team, “I’m going to see what tomorrow brings. I have a weird feeling I’m going to have to do another rewrite.”

I must say, though, I didn’t think I’d be writing about a guy who dressed up as a police officer, knocked on a lawmaker’s door, and killed her and her husband in cold blood. That thought never entered my mind. I thought maybe I’d have to write more about the Middle East, or about Saturday’s No Kings protests across the country, or about the federal troops still here in our city, or even about my state’s governor and his fight with the president. But I never thought I’d wake up to the kind of tragedy that happened in Minnesota.

My fellow Americans, what is happening to us? What is happening to the way we behave, to the way we speak, to the way we view one another?

After sitting for a bit on Saturday morning, I decided to join some friends and attend one of the No Kings protests in my community. I decided to go for so many different reasons. For one, I didn’t want to be alone—I wanted to be in community. I wanted to talk to people and hear what they were feeling. I wanted to listen.

I’m glad I went. I saw thousands of people of all ages carrying American flags. Person after person told stories about their families who immigrated here. Person after person said they were looking for a different resolution than what was being carried out on the streets of Los Angeles. Everyone was peaceful. Everyone was respectful, and one after another expressed their patriotism. Many went up to the police and thanked them for their service and for keeping the peace.

All across this country, people marched for all sorts of reasons on Saturday. Many were angry and defiant, while others were scared and sad. And yes, there are plenty of people who paid no attention and went about their lives. That’s where we are on this day: divided and at odds.

Whew. I almost forgot to say Happy Father’s Day! But can you blame me? We are only six months into this year, and it feels like we’ve all aged tenfold. Or at least that’s how I feel.

The other night I went to dinner with a group of women. We all met when our children were in preschool, and even though our kids have grown up and moved away, we still gather to celebrate birthdays, engagements, and other milestones. Still, all we could ask ourselves at dinner was: What the hell are we to do? What is happening in our city and our country right now? Who are we anymore? And why would anyone want to go into politics?

One girlfriend who lost her home and business in the fires spoke about all the immigrants who have worked alongside her for the past twenty-plus years. She read a text from a man she knew who was hopeful he’d be able to stay, but also doubtful—or maybe just fearful. He told her he was hanging in there and that he still loved Americans and America. After all, this land is where he raised his kids and where he’s made a living, paying his taxes and trying to contribute and be a good citizen.

Meanwhile, another friend said to me, “Maria, I’m scared. I’m really, really scared.” He asked me whether I thought ICE officers would come and take him away from his kids, his wife, and his life. I tried to reassure him by saying no, but honestly, I wasn’t sure whether I was offering comfort or false hope. Another friend, a schoolteacher in Northern California, told me that while she didn’t agree with what exactly was happening in LA, she understood it. She said practically no one in her class speaks English and that everyone she talks to is sick and tired of nothing being done. Different voices. Different opinions. Different experiences.

For a moment this week, I felt somewhat hopeless. Then I went for a walk to clear my head. I got hold of my thoughts and reminded myself of all the angels who live in Los Angeles and in America. I remembered the people in this city who show up for each other—neighbors, teachers, medics, organizers, and workers of every background. I reminded myself not to be pitted against people I know. Not to judge people who came here in search of a better life, much like my ancestors did.

Look, I know there are cracks in the system. I know we can and must do better. I know border states and border patrol are suffering. I know the issue is complex, emotional, and super-charged. I know everyone is exhausted. And I know people have really strong opinions on both sides of these issues. But I also believe that we can find a better way forward. I really do.

As I told you, I scrapped five different versions of this column this week. The first one addressed the stories coming out of LA this week and our governor’s standoff with the president. The next covered my cousin Bobby, who is the head of HHS, and his firing of all the leading vaccine experts in one fell swoop—then replacing them with his select version of experts. Then I wrote one about having to cancel our MOSH brain walk for Alzheimer’s, which was scheduled for Saturday. Everyone was so unsettled about being out on the streets. I felt conflicted, as I think there are so many important issues that need to be dealt with right now, but still, I listened to people’s fears and discomfort.

A guy on our team said, “Hey, it’s best to stay out of politics.”

“Can anyone?” I wondered quietly to myself.

Then I thought about writing about the protests and the ongoing crisis in the Middle East. I even thought about the lone survivor of the horrendous Indian plane crash. By the end of this past week, I felt like my heart and my head were going to explode.

Then all of a sudden, as I sat at my desk reading over my various versions, I looked up at a photo I have in my office of my parents with their arms around each other. I looked straight at them—right into their eyes—and out of the blue, I was so overcome with emotions. I miss them terribly. I miss them as parents, as the idealists they were, the public servants they were, and as the people they were.

My eyes went straight to my dad, and in a flash, I remembered Father’s Day. Then it instantly became clear to me that that’s what I wanted to write about. I wanted to write about him and the millions of other men who are fathering.

I didn’t want to write about going to protest marches. I didn’t want to write about the standoff between my governor and the president. I’m so tired of all the chaos, the division, the firings and rehirings. I’m so over the name-calling, the tariffs, the president’s threats to defund the biggest state in the nation—where so many are still reeling from the fires that ripped through our city at the start of the year.

I’m exhausted by people yelling at me to do something about my cousin and then others yelling at me not to do anything but support him. Everyone everywhere is exhausted—and also fired up.

My daughter said to me the other night as we watched the news, “No matter who gets elected in the future, things are never going to be calm again.” She lamented, “We’re never going to be united again. It’s going to be like this forever and ever.”

Gee, I hope not, I thought.

I thought to myself: that will only be the case if the idealists give up. If the hopeful give in. If we all lay down and accept this as normal. It will not be the case if the believers stay the course, if the public servants stay committed, and the idealists keep sharing, talking, dreaming, and trying.

So let me begin—yes, begin anew today.

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads who are celebrating today. To all my brothers who are amazing dads, to my kids’ dad, and all my friends who blow me away with how seriously they take fatherhood. And of course, to my dad up in heaven.

If my dad were here today, I have no doubt he’d be making good trouble. He’d be in the good fight, giving speeches about his beloved programs that are in danger of being gutted or canceled altogether. He’d be fighting to save the Peace Corps, the Job Corps, Head Start, legal services for the poor, AmeriCorps, and all the anti-poverty programs he poured his heart, his mind, and his life into.

He’d be talking about his love of this country, why he had fought in World War II on its behalf, and why he believed in its power to make the world better, kinder, and safer. He’d be quoting Pope Leo about the importance of treating people with compassion, love, and care. (And if my dad were still here, maybe we would have been lucky enough to attend Saturday's Mass together at the White Sox stadium, where Pope Leo made his first public address to America.)

My brothers and I work to honor and protect our father’s legacy, as I’m sure so many other kids do on behalf of their dads. I wish I could ask his advice regarding how to handle this moment in time. I wish I could ask him so many things.

But what I know without asking is that he would tell me not to give up or give in to division, polarization, or contempt. He would tell me to carry on. He would remind me that millions of people are struggling every day to make ends meet—and that I, and others like me, must do whatever we can to lighten their load and make their lives better.

He would tell me not to waste time on men who squabble in public, but instead to stay focused on the good I can do, right where I am.

So on this Father’s Day—which I know can be a complicated, tender, and emotional day for many—I say this: May we stay calm in our hearts and carry on. May we find our way to make a difference, whether as fathers, citizens, advocates, activists, reporters, poets, or humanitarians. May we hold all those who are grieving in our hearts.

Find your place, my dad would say. And then, just keep on keeping on. No matter what is happening. Keep on keeping on. Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there doing exactly that.

That brings me back to Melissa Hortman’s family. Today is the first day of their new reality. No doubt they are all in shock. No doubt their entire city is in shock. No doubt everyone whose name was on the killer’s list is terrified. No doubt everyone who is serving must be scared.

So many people in our country are scared right now. Scared they will not be able to provide for themselves and their families. Scared they will be run out if the country or gunned down in cold blood.

But maybe our collective fears can actually bring us together. Maybe we can all realize that this kind of fear is unsustainable. That no one wants to live this way. No one can live this way.

Maybe on this Father’s Day, in honor of our founding fathers, we can take a step forward toward one another and say let’s find a better way. Those who came before us did it. I have no doubt those of us who are here can do it as well. At this point, we have no other choice.

Also in this week’s issue:

• Matt Richtel on the Pressures (and Joys) of Being a Dad Today

• Why Are Moms Hosting a Fatherhood Summit?

• Tim Shriver: “Treating People With Dignity Makes Life Better for Everyone”