When Misunderstanding is the Cause of Death

Reflections on Our Growing Tide of Violence

In my novel And So By Fire, I imagined a society where truth had become relative and arbitrary, where reality itself could be manipulated by those who knew how to control perception. In this world, fear was the most powerful tool of governance. Leaders didn’t just rule through laws—they ruled through narrative. They controlled people by shaping what they saw, what they believed, and ultimately, what they feared.

Opponents weren’t debated. They were caricatured. Those who raised uncomfortable questions weren’t engaged—they were branded as enemies, threats, or even terrorists. Citizens didn’t just disagree with one another, they lived in entirely different realities. And in the midst of it all, ordinary people were left to navigate a world where misunderstanding was everywhere, and empathy was in short supply.

When I was writing this story, I wanted it to be a mirror—a way of holding up a hard but necessary reflection of where our own culture may be heading. I never imagined how quickly those reflections would feel like headlines in the short two years since its release.

The assassination of a political leader this past week was not an isolated act. And neither are the growing number of attacks we witness with disturbing regularity across our country—in schools, in workplaces, in public spaces. Each one shocks us, and yet each one seems less surprising than the last.

These acts of violence are not disconnected events. They are the bitter fruit of a culture increasingly defined by division, fear, and antipathy. They reveal what happens when misunderstanding becomes our default posture toward one another.

Think about the language we use. Increasingly, people on the “other side” are not seen as neighbors or fellow citizens, but as existential threats. Social media, news cycles, and political speech reward outrage and caricature instead of empathy and nuance. Narratives are twisted until people no longer see the humanity of those across from them.

This is what And So By Fire wrestles with. Not simply the clash of ideologies, but the erosion of our capacity to see each other as human. In the novel, fear is deliberately stoked to maintain control. Narratives are weaponized until entire communities believe lies about one another. And when empathy dies, misunderstanding becomes deadly.

At one point in the book, I write, “If an autopsy had been done in that moment, misunderstanding would have been the cause of death.” That line was meant as a commentary on the destructive power of narrative-shaping, but it lands now as a haunting reflection of our own reality.

Because if we performed an autopsy on these tragedies—whether the assassination of a leader or the countless violences that punctuate our daily news—the deeper cause of death would not simply be bullets or knives. It would be misunderstanding that foments hatred. It would be the false stories fed to us by AI, bots, social media, and news media. It would be the brainwashing that ultimately turns human beings into enemies, convincing us that violence is the only option.

This is the great danger of our time. Not simply that we disagree, but that we have lost the ability to disagree without dehumanizing. We are living in fractured realities, each reinforced by curated feeds, partisan echo chambers, and fear-driven narratives. And when truth itself becomes relative, when misunderstanding replaces empathy, violence is no longer an aberration. It becomes inevitable.

But if misunderstanding can kill, then understanding can heal.

We are not helpless in the face of this cultural tide. We can choose to resist the easy caricatures. We can choose to listen before condemning. We can choose to see people not as headlines or hashtags, but as complex, flawed, and deeply human. We can cultivate empathy in a culture that has forgotten what it looks like.

This will not come from louder voices or sharper arguments. It will come from a different posture entirely—one marked by humility, grace, and the willingness to see those across from us not as enemies, but as fellow travelers in a shared human story.

The question is whether we have the courage to live this way.

Peace,

Brandon