Why Attempting to Assassinate a President Is Always a Bad Idea—Lessons from the White House Correspondents' Dinner Plot

Cole Allen, a 31-year-old man from California, has been officially charged with attempting to assassinate the president after he allegedly armed himself and attempted to breach security at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner this past weekend. While details of the case remain unclear—including whether Allen fired his weapon inside the Washington Hilton Hotel—the implications are unambiguous: attempting to assassinate a president is a catastrophic misstep.

This may seem like common sense, but it bears repeating. Murder is both morally indefensible and illegal. Assassinating the president of the United States is particularly futile, given the extensive 24/7 protection provided by highly trained security personnel. In nearly every scenario, such an attempt would fail, and the consequences would be irreversible, destroying any chance of returning to a normal life.

Beyond the legal and practical risks, the Trump era introduces additional considerations. Would killing the president truly improve the situation? Is there a more constructive way to express dissent? These questions are especially relevant in light of Allen’s unusual profile as a would-be assassin.

Unlike many recent mass shooters, Allen does not seek glory or notoriety. His manifesto reveals no desire for infamy; instead, he expresses remorse for betraying the trust of those close to him and shows disdain for the security measures that ultimately thwarted his plan. What sets his case apart—and what makes it particularly disturbing—is that his decision to act appears rooted in a sense of moral injury.

Understanding Moral Injury in the Context of Political Disillusionment

Elizabeth Spiers, a contributor to The New Republic, noted on Bluesky that Allen’s actions stem from a deep sense of moral injury. David Wood of The Huffington Post, who has extensively covered the issue, defines moral injury as the distress experienced when one’s core beliefs about right and wrong are violated, often leading to grief, numbness, or guilt. In his manifesto, Allen wrote:

“I am a citizen of the United States of America. What my representatives do reflects on me. And I am no longer willing to permit a pedophile, rapist, and traitor to coat my hands with his crimes.”

Allen’s statement reflects a belief that he is complicit in the actions of the president due to his role as a citizen. He argues that failing to act against perceived oppression is not merely passive—it is complicity. He wrote:

“Turning the other cheek when someone else is oppressed is not Christian behavior,” he wrote, “it is complicity in the oppressor’s crimes.”

This perspective underscores a troubling trend: the potential for others to feel similarly compelled to take drastic action. In an era marked by elite impunity, where a corrupt president allegedly uses government power for self-serving ends and justice is perceived as slow or nonexistent, such sentiments may resonate with a growing number of disillusioned individuals.