It’s Been 12 Days.
Just 12 days since Melissa Hortman was murdered in her own home.
Just 12 days since a sitting lawmaker, a mother, and a force for democracy was taken from us. She and her husband Mark were politically assassinated for daring to speak truth in a time of calculated lies.
And already, the story is slipping.
The Headlines Are Fading.
The Outrage Is Quieting.
The Timeline Is Scrolling On.
Melissa Hortman wasn’t a footnote in a news cycle. She was the heartbeat of Minnesota politics.
She was a mother. A partner. A Democrat. A disruptor.
A woman who spoke the truth, even when it made her a target. And now she’s gone.
But not just gone—minimized. Reframed.
The kind of death this country only knows how to acknowledge if it fits the narrative of a hero in uniform.
She Was Politically Assassinated.
Let’s call it what it is.
If Melissa had been a conservative man in uniform, we’d see flags at half-staff on every federal building.
If she’d served the MAGA machine, her name would be printed on t-shirts, flags, and memorial benches before the sun set on the news.
But Melissa stood for democracy.
She disrupted the status quo.
And so she is buried—both literally and narratively—beneath the weight of national denial.
Today, Melissa Hortman is lying in state at the Minnesota Capitol. Beside her is her husband Mark. And beside them both is their golden retriever, Gilbert—who died protecting them.
Yes. Their dog is lying in state.
Because even he was targeted.
Even he was considered a threat worth eliminating.
Even he is being honored—because they all were targeted.
This Is What Erasure Looks Like in Real Time.
We are being told to forget.
To move on.
To call it a murder and not domestic terrorism.
To look away.
But we remember.
We remember that Melissa Hortman was assassinated for what she stood for.
We remember that silence is complicity.
We remember that this is not normal.
Say Her Name.
Tell Her Story.
Refuse the Silence.
Melissa Hortman.
Mark Hortman.
Gilbert—the goodest boy, the guardian, the fallen family member.
Rest in power.
We will not move on.
Not now.
Not ever.