The Weaponization of Death

A president responds to murder with grievance, reminding us that in Trump’s America, even tragedy is repurposed as a weapon against perceived enemies.

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Last night I attended Dan Abrams’ Mediaite “Most Influential in News Media 2025” event. It was bipartisan, well-attended, and exactly what you’d expect from a gathering of people who shape—or at least loudly comment on—our national conversation. The room included Joe and Mika Scarborough, Elie Honig, Scott Jennings, Ari Melber, Megyn Kelly, Harry Enten, Dean Obeidallah, Elizabeth Vargas, and yes, me. A cross-section of modern media, shaking hands, trading small talk, and pretending for a few hours that the country isn’t in a constant state of political combustion.

But beneath the surface politeness, one question kept surfacing. It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t theoretical. It was direct and unavoidable.

Why?

Why did Donald Trump say what he said about the murders of Rob and Michele Reiner?

As people asked me—some curious, some incredulous, some visibly disturbed—I did something unusual. I paused. I didn’t have a ready answer. No practiced explanation. No insider spin. Nothing. So I defaulted to something closer to instinct than strategy: I answered the question with a question.

What, exactly, had Rob Reiner done to warrant that level of animus from the president of the United States?

What did he say that was worse than what some in Trump’s own inner circle once said about him? His vice president famously compared him to Hitler. His secretary of state mocked him relentlessly on the campaign trail. Ted Cruz, now a loyal foot soldier, once called him a “sniveling coward.” None of those men were publicly tied, by Trump himself, to their own violent deaths.

Rob Reiner was.

The facts matter, so let’s be precise. Rob Reiner, the iconic filmmaker and outspoken Trump critic, and his wife, Michele Singer Reiner, were found dead in their Los Angeles home. Their son, Nick, has been arrested on suspicion of murder. Police have offered no motive. They have made no political connection. There is no evidence—none—that Rob Reiner’s criticism of Trump had anything to do with his death.

And yet, the president of the United States chose to make it about himself.

On Truth Social, Trump called the murders “very sad,” then immediately pivoted to grievance, claiming Reiner had been driven by “Trump derangement syndrome,” a phrase Trump uses to delegitimize dissent and reduce criticism to pathology. Hours later, speaking from the Oval Office, Trump doubled down. He called Reiner “deranged,” suggested he was partly responsible for the Russia investigation, and made sure reporters knew he was “not a fan… in any way, shape or form.”

This wasn’t commentary. It was a moral failure.

What made the moment striking—almost jarring—was the response. Republicans pushed back. Not quietly. Not anonymously. Congressman Thomas Massie called the remarks “inappropriate and disrespectful,” openly challenging his GOP colleagues, the vice president, and the White House staff to defend them. Marjorie Taylor Greene, hardly a profile in restraint, said plainly that this was a family tragedy, not political combat, and that it should be met with empathy.

Then came Senator John Kennedy of Louisiana, who— I can’t believe I’m quoting—delivered the cleanest indictment of all. “I think a wise man once said nothing,” Kennedy said. “Why? Because he was a wise man.” He added that Trump should have said nothing, and that remarks like these detract from his policy achievements.

That wasn’t a partisan shot. That was an acknowledgment of basic decency.

But here’s the uncomfortable truth: this wasn’t new. I’ve seen this movie before. Trump attacked John McCain after his death. He mocked the late John Dingell, suggesting he might be “looking up” from the grave. He laughed at the attack on Paul Pelosi that left him with a cracked skull. When criticized, the White House said he was “just riffing,” as if cruelty, when improvised, somehow becomes harmless or acceptable.

It doesn’t.

What makes the Reiner comments especially alarming is not just their cruelty, but their timing. We live in an era of political violence, online radicalization, and grievance-fueled rage. Language matters. Presidential language matters more than anyone else’s. When a president responds to a double homicide by attacking the victim, he sends a message far beyond his social media feed.

The message is this: opposition isn’t just wrong; it’s pathological. Criticism isn’t part of democracy; it’s a sickness. And even in death, enemies deserve contempt.

Last night, in a room full of media professionals, the real question wasn’t why Trump said it. That answer is obvious to anyone who’s been paying attention. He said it because grievance is his reflex, cruelty is his comfort zone, and empathy has never been part of his toolkit.

The real question—the one no one quite said out loud—is why we still act surprised when he shows us exactly who he is.

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