The Election Year Playbook: When Tragedy Becomes Strategy

Minneapolis: The Reliable Flashpoint

Why Minneapolis? Why does this city keep becoming ground zero for nationally significant incidents that somehow peak during election cycles?

It’s not because Minneapolis has uniquely problematic policing—data doesn’t support that. It’s because Minneapolis has the right political ecosystem: progressive local government, active organizing infrastructure, media markets that can nationalize stories quickly, and enough tension to make incidents explosive.

When tragedy strikes there, the machinery already exists to transform it into a national referendum on whatever the opposition party needs it to be about.

The ICE Protests: Setting the Stage

Before 2020, Minneapolis saw significant ICE facility protests. Less dramatic, fewer cameras, but the same playbook in action: local incident, national implications, perfect timing for political messaging about immigration policy.

These weren’t just spontaneous gatherings of concerned citizens. They were organized, funded, and amplified by groups with clear political objectives. The tragedy or injustice might be real, but the response is carefully calibrated for maximum political impact.

The infrastructure was being tested, refined, prepared for something bigger.

2020: When the Playbook Went National

Then came the incident that would define an election year. What happened in Minneapolis in May 2020 became the template for how to mobilize political opposition through tragedy.

Here’s what made it into the national consciousness: a man died during a police encounter, captured on video, sparking nationwide protests about police brutality and systemic racism.

Here’s what the media conveniently omitted: George Floyd had fentanyl and methamphetamine in his system at concentrations the toxicology report indicated could be lethal. He had a criminal history including armed robbery. He was passing counterfeit currency when police were called. He resisted getting into the police vehicle. He was saying “I can’t breathe” before officers even applied the restraint that became the focus of global outrage.

None of these facts justify anyone’s death. But they provide critical context that fundamentally changes how we understand what happened—and the media actively chose not to provide that context because complexity doesn’t mobilize voters in an election year.

Within days, the incident became a 24/7 national obsession. Cities burned. Billions in damage. Every corporate boardroom scrambled to issue statements. Presidential candidates weighed in. It was unavoidable, inescapable, the defining issue of 2020.

Six months before a presidential election. Convenient timing.

The Incidents They Ignored: A Pattern Emerges

Now let’s talk about what happened when Democrats controlled the White House or when it wasn’t an election year.

Tony Timpa (2016) – Dallas police knelt on his back for 13 minutes while he begged for help and eventually died. White man, officers laughing on body camera footage as he lost consciousness. Happened under Obama. Where were the protests? Where was the wall-to-wall coverage? Where were the corporations issuing statements about police reform?

Crickets.

Andrew Finch (2017) – Wichita police shot and killed an unarmed man in his own doorway due to a swatting incident. Completely innocent victim. Happened under Trump but in a non-election year. Did you hear about it? Did cities burn? Did the media cover it for six months?

No, because it wasn’t politically useful yet.

Daniel Shaver (2016) – Mesa, Arizona. Cops gave contradictory commands to a sobbing man crawling on his hands and knees in a hotel hallway, then shot him dead when he reached to pull up his shorts. The entire encounter was on body camera. Officer acquitted. Happened under Obama in a non-election year.

Where was the national outrage? Where were the think pieces about police accountability? Why didn’t this spark a nationwide reckoning?

Daunte Wright (2021) – Brooklyn Center, Minnesota (basically Minneapolis). Officer Kim Potter shot him during a traffic stop, claiming she mistook her gun for a taser. Happened in April 2021—under Biden, non-election year.

Got some coverage because it was so close to the Derek Chauvin trial, but notice how quickly it faded? No sustained protests, no national movement, no corporate statements. Why? Because Democrats controlled the White House and keeping police brutality in the headlines wasn’t politically useful anymore.

Patrick Lyoya (2022) – Grand Rapids, Michigan. Shot in the back of the head by an officer during a traffic stop struggle. Happened under Biden, non-election year. Video evidence showed questionable officer conduct.

Brief local coverage. No national movement. The mechanism that amplified George Floyd didn’t activate for Patrick Lyoya because it was the wrong year with the wrong party in power.

Tyre Nichols (2023) – Memphis. Five Black officers beat him to death. Horrific body camera footage. Happened under Biden, non-election year.

Got coverage because the footage was so damning, but notice what didn’t happen: no sustained national protests, no calls to “reimagine policing,” no corporate diversity statements, no political candidates making it central to their campaigns. The story came and went within weeks.

Why? Because when Democrats control the White House, police brutality suddenly becomes a complicated local issue rather than a systemic national crisis requiring immediate political action.

The Data They Don’t Want You to See

According to the Washington Post’s database of police shootings, roughly 1,000 people are shot and killed by police every year in America. That number has remained fairly consistent from 2015 through 2024.

But media coverage of these incidents isn’t consistent at all. It spikes dramatically in election years when Republicans hold the White House or when mobilizing opposition is the priority.

2016: Election year, Republican president – sustained coverage of several incidents
2017: Non-election year – incidents buried as local news
2018: Midterm election year – moderate increase in coverage
2019: Non-election year – back to local coverage
2020: Presidential election year, Republican president – EXPLOSION of coverage, months of protests
2021: Non-election year, Democrat president – coverage drops dramatically
2022: Midterm year – moderate coverage
2023: Non-election year, Democrat president – incidents treated as isolated local news

The pattern is unmistakable. Police don’t suddenly become more brutal in election years. The media suddenly decides certain brutality is nationally significant while other brutality isn’t newsworthy.

How The Playbook Works

Step 1: The Incident
Something genuinely problematic occurs. It doesn’t have to be unique or unprecedented—it just needs to be visual and emotionally compelling. And it needs to happen at the right time with the right political dynamics.

Step 2: Rapid Narrative Control
Within hours, not days, the story gets framed. Not as a specific failure by specific individuals with specific circumstances, but as evidence of systemic problems that require sweeping political change. Inconvenient facts get buried immediately.

In Floyd’s case: The criminal history? Buried. The toxicology report showing potentially lethal drug concentrations? Downplayed. The resistance to arrest? Ignored. Body camera footage showing “I can’t breathe” before the knee on the neck? Not newsworthy.

In cases during non-election years or under Democratic administrations: The entire incident gets buried. Doesn’t matter how egregious, doesn’t matter how clear the video evidence. If it can’t be used to mobilize opposition and drive turnout, it’s just another local tragedy.

Step 3: Organizational Mobilization
Groups that already exist and are already funded spring into action. The ICE protests showed the infrastructure was ready. Protests materialize with professional signage, coordinated messaging, and media strategies that would make PR firms jealous.

But only when it’s politically useful. Notice how these organizations go dormant when Democrats hold power? The problem didn’t get solved—the political utility disappeared.

Step 4: Media Amplification and Selective Storytelling
Coverage becomes relentless—or nonexistent, depending on the political calendar.

Tony Timpa dying with officers kneeling on him for 13 minutes while joking about it? Not worth sustained national coverage under Obama.

George Floyd dying in a similar restraint? Six months of 24/7 coverage under Trump in an election year.

The difference isn’t the tragedy. The difference is the political opportunity.

Step 5: Suppression of Dissent
Try mentioning Floyd’s criminal record in mid-2020 and you’d be called every name in the book. Suggest that fentanyl at 11 ng/mL—potentially lethal on its own—might be relevant to understanding respiratory distress? You’re the enemy.

But ask why Daniel Shaver’s execution-style shooting in a hotel hallway didn’t spark national outrage? Crickets. Ask why Andrew Finch being shot in his own doorway while completely innocent didn’t create a movement? Silence.

The media created a sanitized version of events because the real version complicated the narrative they needed. And they completely ignored other events because those couldn’t be shaped into the narrative at all.

Step 6: Corporate Capitulation
Businesses rush to align themselves with the movement—but only when the media creates the movement in the first place.

After Floyd: Billions flow to BLM and related organizations. Every company issues statements. Diversity initiatives explode.

After Timpa, Shaver, Finch, Lyoya, and dozens of others: Nothing. Because the media didn’t create a movement around those deaths, corporations didn’t feel pressure to respond.

Step 7: Political Leveraging
The issue becomes a litmus test—but only in election years when it helps the opposition party.

2020: Police brutality is THE issue. Defund the police. Systemic racism. Candidates must take positions.

2021-2023 under Biden: Same police departments, same issues, same problematic encounters—but suddenly it’s complicated local matters that require nuanced approaches.

Minneapolis paid the price—neighborhoods destroyed, businesses burned, and a crime wave that continues because the political lesson became “restraining criminals is racist.” But only in election years do these consequences get connected to broader narratives about policy failures.

The Pattern Across Incidents

This isn’t unique to Floyd. It’s the pattern for every high-profile incident that becomes politically useful:

Michael Brown wasn’t surrendering with his hands up—he was charging the officer after assaulting him and trying to take his gun. But it was 2014, a midterm year, and the narrative was useful.
Jacob Blake wasn’t breaking up a fight—he was violating a restraining order, had a warrant for sexual assault, and was reaching into a vehicle against police commands. But it was August 2020, three months before an election, so it got amplified.
Meanwhile, Andrew Finch gets shot in his doorway while completely innocent, Daniel Shaver gets executed crawling down a hallway—and these barely register because the timing and political dynamics weren’t right.

Each case has complexities the media buried because the simple version served their purposes better. And other cases got buried entirely because they served no purpose at all.

What About Real Problems?

Here’s what makes this so insidious: the underlying issues are often real. Police accountability matters. Excessive force should be prosecuted. Derek Chauvin made indefensible decisions—kneeling on someone’s neck for nine minutes while they’re in medical distress is wrong regardless of what drugs they’re on or what they did before.

Officers who killed Tony Timpa, Daniel Shaver, Andrew Finch, and Patrick Lyoya should face consequences too. The problem is real and ongoing.

But when legitimate grievances get weaponized for electoral advantage, solutions become secondary to mobilization. Fixing the problem would end the political utility of the crisis. There’s a perverse incentive to keep the wound open, to prevent healing, to maintain the state of emergency that drives voters to the polls—but only during election years.

We can acknowledge officer failures while also acknowledging that complete pictures include criminal histories, drug use, and resistance to lawful commands. Both things can be true. But the media won’t let both things be true, because nuance doesn’t burn down cities or flip congressional seats.

More damning: we can acknowledge that police brutality happens every year, under every administration, in every political climate—but the media only cares about it when it’s politically useful to care.

The Smoking Gun: What Changed in 2021?

Want proof this is orchestrated? Look at what happened on January 20, 2021.

On January 19, 2021, police brutality was a systemic crisis requiring immediate national action, corporate commitments, and sweeping legislative reform.

On January 20, 2021, Joe Biden was inaugurated.

Suddenly, police brutality became a complicated local issue requiring nuanced community-based approaches and careful consideration of public safety needs.

The police didn’t change. The policies didn’t change. The problematic encounters didn’t stop. Patrick Lyoya, Tyre Nichols, and dozens of others still died in questionable police encounters.

What changed was who controlled the White House and whether amplifying police brutality helped or hurt the party in power.

If this were really about solving the problem, the advocacy would be consistent. The protests would continue. The media coverage would persist. The corporate commitments would remain active.

Instead, the infrastructure goes dormant until it’s needed again. The organizations that raised billions in 2020 go quiet. The media moves on to other narratives.

Until the next election year when suddenly police brutality will be a crisis again—but only if Republicans hold power.

The Cost of Dishonesty

When the media lies by omission, when they create sanitized heroes out of complicated people, when they suppress facts that don’t fit the narrative—they destroy their own credibility.

When they ignore identical or worse incidents because the political timing is wrong, they reveal their true priorities.

More importantly, they prevent us from having honest conversations about real problems. We can’t fix policing if we can’t honestly discuss what police encounter. We can’t address the drug crisis if we can’t acknowledge when it contributes to tragic outcomes. We can’t reduce harmful police encounters if we can’t talk about reducing crime and non-compliance.

And we definitely can’t fix police brutality if we only pretend to care about it every four years when it’s useful for winning elections.

Local reporters in Minneapolis knew Floyd’s history. They had access to the toxicology reports. They saw the full body camera footage. They chose what to emphasize and what to bury. And the national media amplified those choices for six months straight because it was an election year.

National media knows about Tony Timpa, Daniel Shaver, Andrew Finch, Patrick Lyoya, and hundreds of others. They have the footage. They have the facts. They choose not to care because it’s the wrong year or the wrong administration.

Looking Ahead

We’re heading into another election cycle. Watch for it. Watch Minneapolis, watch other cities with the right political infrastructure.

Watch for incidents that have all the right elements: visual drama, emotional resonance, narrative flexibility, and—most importantly—facts that can be selectively presented or omitted.

And pay attention to what doesn’t get covered. When police shootings happen in 2025 under Biden, notice how they’re treated as isolated local incidents. Then watch how identical incidents get treated in late 2026 as we approach midterms.

Ask yourself when you see the next tragedy:

What aren’t they telling us?
What facts would complicate this story?
Who benefits from the simplified version?
Why is this incident getting 24/7 coverage while others barely register?
Why did incidents just like this one get ignored last year when the political dynamics were different?

The playbook exists because it works. Tragedy moves people in ways policy papers never will. Emotion drives decisions that data cannot. And in an election year, when everything is high stakes, those who know how to harness tragedy—and control which facts about that tragedy you’re allowed to discuss, and which tragedies you’re allowed to hear about at all—have a powerful weapon.

The question isn’t whether tragedies will occur—they will. Police will continue to make mistakes, use excessive force, and kill people in questionable circumstances. That happens every year under every administration.

The question is whether we’ll recognize when those tragedies are being selectively amplified to manipulate us, whether we’ll demand the complete story including the uncomfortable parts, whether we’ll notice when identical tragedies get buried because they’re politically inconvenient, or whether we’ll keep playing our assigned roles in someone else’s election strategy.

Minneapolis didn’t ask to be the test site for this playbook. Tony Timpa’s family didn’t ask for his death to be ignored. Daniel Shaver’s widow didn’t ask for justice to be denied because the timing wasn’t politically useful.

But until we acknowledge what’s happening and demand honest, consistent reporting of police misconduct regardless of who’s in office or what year it is, the playbook will keep working.

And Americans will keep dying in police encounters while the media decides which ones we’re allowed to care about based on the electoral calendar.

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