I was getting ready to head to the “No Kings” rally in St. Paul, Minnesota, when the first text came from a friend: State Rep. Melissa Hortman and her husband, Mark, had been murdered. State Sen. John Hoffman and his wife, Yvette, were fighting for their lives. I stared at my phone, stunned. Melissa was a warm acquaintance and a fierce advocate for reproductive rights.
Driving to the rally, I got a second text: There were other targets, many of them reportedly unapologetic supporters of abortion access. And the shooter was still out there.
The people on the suspect’s list aren’t just names to me — they are people I may have shared meals with, laughed with, marched alongside.
I was born and raised in Minnesota. I still live in the Twin Cities for half the year. My close friends are abortion providers in this state. The people on the suspect’s list aren’t just names to me — they are people I may have shared meals with, laughed with, marched alongside. Minnesota abortion providers are now on high alert. And of course we still don’t know all of the details. But as shocking and heart-shattering as these attack were, they didn’t surprise me.
The first reported arson of an abortion clinic happened at a Planned Parenthood in St. Paul in 1977. In the early ‘90s, the extreme anti-abortion group Operation Rescue specifically targeted Minneapolis with its so-called “Cities of Refuge” campaign, trying to shutter clinics and terrify patients and providers into silence. In 2009, a man drove his SUV through the front door of a clinic in St. Paul to “stop the murderers.”
And this is in “woke” Minnesota, a stark reminder that this is an everywhere problem.
It’s also not just a historic problem. Between 2023 and 2024 alone, the National Abortion Federation documented 621 cases of trespassing, 296 death threats, 169 acts of vandalism, 777 clinic obstructions, 12 bomb threats, three arsons, and 30 hoax devices or suspicious packages at clinics across the country. And meanwhile, what are Republican lawmakers doing? Trying to repeal the Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances Act (FACE) — the very law designed to protect clinics, staff and patients from this exact violence.
The work I do at Abortion Access Front has me on the road supporting clinics all year long. For the past 10 years, I’ve watched firsthand — in red states, blue states, purple states — every provider has experienced some kind of threat or violence. I have stood with clinic escorts helping patients past walls of screaming protesters. Law enforcement has refused to get involved and even joined protests as doctors and clinic staff are harassed, doxed and stalked.
I’ll never forget visiting a friend and clinic owner a few years ago at her home in the Midwest while I was in town doing a show to raise money for their local abortion fund. I noticed she had no blinds or curtains on her front windows. I asked why, because surely she must want privacy, given the nature of her work. Her answer nearly broke me: “Because if someone comes to kill me, I want them to have a clear shot at me and not hit my children.”
This is the reality that providers, their staff and their supporters face. But they keep showing up, they keep helping people who need their help. They don’t give in to despair. And neither should we. Because here’s what these terrorists don’t understand: our movement’s superpower isn’t just resilience. It’s joy.
It’s our ability to gather, to laugh, to care for each other while we fight like hell. That’s what terrifies them most. It’s our ability to gather, to laugh, to care for each other while we fight like hell. That’s what terrifies them most. When we show up for one another — whether at clinics, at rallies, in courtrooms or at comedy shows — we send a message louder than their hate: You can’t and won’t erase us. We’re mourning right now. But we’re also raging. And we are demanding accountability — from Justice Department leaders who fail to act, from politicians who condone the behavior, from talking heads who stoke the flames of violence and billionaires who promote misinformation. Where I have found profound meaning in this work is in making sure my activism includes personal, heart-to-heart advocacy that brings humanity to those most affected by this cruelty. It can be as simple as creating aftercare packages for patients who may have no support, escorting patients past “God’s foot soldiers” screaming at them, or even taking a nurse out for a beer and listening to their day. What I saw at that “No Kings” protest Saturday was nothing short of inspiring. Tens of thousands of Minnesotans rallying side by side with their friends, families and neighbors, long before the suspect was apprehended. We are the ones we are waiting for. That’s how we win. It’s how we honor the lives of Melissa and Mark Hortman. Because it’s not just this list. They are on dozens of lists. Abortion providers and advocates know the dangers of what they do, and they do it anyway. They do it for us. Now we must show up for them.
Lizz Winstead
Lizz Winstead is a comedian, activist and co-creator of "The Daily Show" as well as founder of Abortion Access Front. 
