The news arrived like another tremor in a landscape already shaking. Another shooting, this time near Donald Trump. But the feeling wasn’t horror, not even shock. It was…a hollow echo. A strange, unsettling numbness that seems to be spreading across America.
Since the return to power in January 2025, a relentless wave of political violence and extremism has washed over the nation. It’s a pattern, a sickening rhythm of headlines that have begun to blur together, each one chipping away at our capacity to feel.
There’s a chilling resonance to the words of a 1960s activist: “Violence is as American as cherry pie.” It’s a harsh truth, perhaps. The current surge isn’t a sudden eruption, but the latest layer in a history of divisive elections, the relentless churn of social media, and the turbulent decade of the 2020s.
I remember sitting in a London cocktail bar, phone buzzing with the news of Charlie Kirk’s shooting. Around me, conversations continued, glasses clinked, as I frantically refreshed the screen for updates. It felt…distant, unreal, even as the gravity of the event settled in.
Just three months earlier, the news of Minnesota state representative Melissa Hortman and her husband being shot dead reached me on a train journey. Before that, shots fired at a campaign rally in Pennsylvania, grazing the former president and claiming a life, unfolded while I was at a friend’s birthday party.
That initial, visceral gasp of horror has faded, replaced by a weary indifference. Dr. Sanam Hafeez, a neuropsychologist, describes it as a “learned passiveness.” A chillingly accurate assessment.
“It can lead to this numbing effect where you get into a passive loop of doomscrolling, shrugging your shoulders, and reduced engagement,” she explains. It’s a cycle of despair, fueled by constant exposure to tragedy.
Growing up in the shadow of Columbine, I’m accustomed to reports of atrocities. My generation began practicing active shooter drills at the age of five. Fear became a constant companion. As a journalist, I now sift through these events daily, but even I find myself succumbing to this emotional fatigue.
It’s not a lack of care, but an exhaustion of being inundated. A constant barrage of tragedies overwhelms the system, leaving little room for genuine emotional response. Dr. Darren O’Reilly, a psychologist, explains the brain’s defense mechanism: “When you’re exposed to a threat over and over again, the brain just stops reacting at the same intensity.”
Social media exacerbates the problem. The endless scroll of “doomscrolling” is a wrecking ball to mental health. Each distressing headline diminishes in impact, not because it matters less, but because the brain simply can’t sustain that level of alarm. It’s a constant threat, processed as background noise.
In a world where news flashes across our screens in seconds, it’s easy to become overwhelmed, to burn out. The numbness isn’t a sign of diminished empathy, but of information saturation. It’s overload, not apathy.
“What may look like apathy is often overload,” Dr. O’Reilly clarifies. “People aren’t disengaging because they don’t care; they’re disengaging because they’ve reached their limit.”
Political violence wasn’t born in the last few years. It’s woven into the fabric of American history, arguably dating back to the Revolution itself. Abraham Lincoln’s assassination marked a turning point, but a quiet undercurrent of violence has always been present.
It’s only recently that this violence has begun to feel…normal, expected. Perhaps that’s why the latest reports were met with such a muted response. Not for lack of empathy, but because we are constantly bombarded with chaos.
The numbness is a warning sign. A signal that something is deeply broken, that our capacity for compassion is being eroded by the sheer weight of tragedy. It’s a desperate attempt by the brain to protect itself, but at what cost?
