On April 25, I left Georgetown University’s campus for the Washington Hilton filled with excitement for the nation’s biggest journalism event: the White House Correspondents’ Dinner. Joined by two other student volunteers, Catherine Alaimo (CAS ’26) and Leo Auerbach (CAS ’27), we spent the drive making a “bingo card” for the night — a bucket list of idolized reporters we hoped to grab a selfie with. But what would happen over the next few hours was, quite literally, not on our bingo card.

Most Hoyas woke up to the news about the assassination attempt the next day, but Catherine, Leo and I experienced the gunshots and panic in real time. This was not just another instance of distant political violence; it occurred a mere 2.5 miles from the Hilltop at an event tied directly to our core interests. All members of Georgetown’s campus need to actively condemn this latest instance of political violence. After what I experienced that Saturday, it’s not an exaggeration to say our lives depend on it.

Upon arriving at the Hilton, I felt exhilarated by the spirit of democracy. After all, it was the one night that politicians and outlets cross their partisan divides to celebrate press freedom, and President Donald Trump’s first-ever appearance at the event as president made the aura that much more anticipatory. I dreamed about receiving my own gold-lettered ticket to the dinner, a milestone signifying I had “made it” as an aspiring journalist.

After a tiring hour of checking in guests, I grabbed my phone to check the time and swung my jacket over my shoulders. It was then that I heard a series of loud bangs echoing down the staircase I stood right next to. I instinctively knew what they were: gunshots.

I heard a curse from a Secret Service officer who immediately sprinted toward the sound, gun drawn. I stood motionless as I debated whether to run or to close the doors in front of me, but the sudden mass of sprinting, panicked guests made the choice for me: I ran.

I must have moved pretty fast because I broke the heels I was wearing and accumulated a few ankle scrapes, neither of which I noticed until the adrenaline wore off. Leading frantic guests behind me, I reached an exit at the end of the hallway. The door wouldn’t budge, so I threw my shoulder against it until hotel staff waved us through another way. I didn’t stop running until I was on the other side of the street. My mind raced: How many people were injured, or worse?

I comforted another volunteer whose family was still inside. I dialed my parents and told them I was okay with the most convincing voice I could muster. I emailed my professor, Rebecca Sinderbrand (CAS ’99), who was inside the ballroom and found Leo and Catherine on the street corner. Despite not knowing each other well beforehand, we embraced with the emotion of reunited best friends.

Realizing we were unlikely to retrieve our belongings in the Hilton, we returned to campus. This time, there were no bingo card predictions or excitement for selfies with acclaimed reporters. The spirit of democracy had dissipated. My dreams for my own gold-lettered ticket were replaced with fear for my career as a journalist.

Back in my dorm, I spent the night reading about the arrested suspect, Cole Thomas Allen, rewatching footage of him charging the security checkpoint while I stood at the foot of the stairs he attempted to scale. I went down social media rabbit holes that led me to question the integrity of those around me as I came across accounts calling the incident staged or expressing their disappointment that the assassination attempt didn’t succeed.

Once again, those who refused to denounce the attack against Paul Pelosi and the murders of Melissa and Mark Hortman say political violence is a problem on the left, while those who refused to denounce the killing of Charlie Kirk or the now-three attempts on President Trump’s life say it’s a problem on the right. We must stop picking and choosing when to speak up. These attacks share a common thread of political violence and they all inflict irreparable harm on those involved — including bystanders like me.

The past weeks since the shooting have felt strange. I jumped at loud noises and wasn’t sleeping well, but I showed up to my last day of classes, completed final exams and almost didn’t write this Viewpoint because it felt like another item on my to-do list. When people asked how my weekend was, I only said, “It was fine, Georgetown Day was fun.” Even when I did get into the details, I was often met with, “What shooting? White House correspondents, what?” After all, everyone safely exited the Hilton; Allen’s manifesto was so casual it was almost relatable and politicians have started the finger-pointing game again.

I’m grateful for the friends and family who have reached out to me over the past weeks. I’m grateful for the professors who granted extensions on assignments. And I’m grateful for the resources the university provided. But I shouldn’t have had to respond to concerned messages with shaky hands, worry about how my grades would suffer or make an appointment with a trauma response therapist. At what point does this become normal? Or is it already just a bat-of-an-eye, a scroll of the Instagram feed?

Though this latest incidence of political and gun violence put four fellow Hoyas in harm’s way, the response from campus hasn’t just been disappointing; it’s been nonexistent. Allen was angry enough to bring his rage across the country to our backyard. We should all be asking ourselves why and what we can do about it. If we don’t, the only other question left to ask ourselves is, “What will happen next?”

All of us need to denounce every form of political violence, especially when they happen so close and directly implicate members of the campus, as this one did. But this doesn’t mean choosing when to speak up, nor does it necessitate a particularly angry or incendiary response. It doesn’t require the typical method of passionate protesting and performative posting. In fact, it requires the opposite.

It requires simple dialogue with your roommate who believes the shooting was fabricated because of Trump’s polling numbers, or a conversation with your classmate who accuses an entire party of murderous radicalism, for instance. All it requires is each and every one of us acknowledging that the direction this country is headed is not okay. It requires acknowledgment that we — students of Georgetown University — have a particular role to play in fighting this crisis. As a university, Georgetown is especially vulnerable to such attacks because of our location, reputation and core interests that bring students and faculty to such events during a time when anti-government violence is at a 30-year high.

Georgetown administrators, in particular, should lead the way. The only support I received from the university was an April 26 email from a student affairs staff member, whom Professor Sinderbrand graciously connected me with. There was no official university statement, no public condemnation, no reiteration of commitment to student safety and wellbeing.

So this is my message to the Georgetown community, and my reminder to myself: Don’t let this be just another headline. Yes, our government needs to play less of the political games, but all of us can do more, not only to protect the fabric of this country, but to protect ourselves.

Ranee Brady graduated from the School of Foreign Service on May 16, 2026.