How to Write About Violence

Kristen Radtke's piece about her childhood friend Alex Pretti, tragically shot by federal agents in Minneapolis, broke through the noise with writing that was shocking because it was so familiar.

“We built palatial forts in the snowdrifts after the plows went through. Lawn sprinklers in summers became portals to different realms and time periods; we ran through the strands of water with towels tied around our necks as capes.”

I texted this quote from Kristen Radtke’s article, “I Grew Up with Alex Pretti” to my childhood best friend, Jason.

“This was us,” I texted the guy with whom I now mainly have an exchange-text-messages-a-couple-times-a-year relationship.

Snow Day in my front yard with the neighborhood kids. Circa 1988.

After a tragic event, there's a media race‌ — ‌who gets the first details, who posts the most shocking video, who’s got the audio, etc... In 2026, it’s even more toxic and galling because senior leaders in the Trump administration immediately go on the offense, smearing victims as “domestic terrorists” and “dangerous criminals.”

The 24/7 media outrage machine feeds on violence, and it's both privilege and self-preservation to actively avoid the frenzied swirl of vicarious trauma. I am both fortunate and diligent about avoiding videos.

Then I saw a link to Kristen Radtke’s article for The Verge. The above-the-fold photograph of young Kristen and Alex brought hot tears to my eyes: the Cabbage Patch kid-shaped birthday cake; the smudge of chocolate on her cheek. Alex Pretti was Kristen’s childhood friend - the kid across the street who was an ever-present companion at birthday parties and sleepovers. “Our family’s lives were exceedingly visible to each other, without fences or much foliage, and we knew the comings and goings of one another’s households.” Before I even scrolled down to the lede, I was picturing Jason Simeone, my own childhood best friend, lying facedown on the pavement. I couldn’t breathe.

We were those kids building snow forts and running through sprinklers ‌— ‌we thought we were invincible. We thought a sun-bleached towel or ratty old baby blanket was a perfectly fine stand-in for a superhero cape. The world was made up of good guys, and bad guys, but mostly good guys. We knew exactly what we’d do if we came across bad guys hurting people in our neighborhood.

We didn't know yet that violence finds people. We couldn’t imagine police officers wearing masks and shooting nurses in the street. We were well-versed in when to “tell an adult” - today, 𝘸𝘦 are the adults. The monster under the bed is real and we’re terrified.

"There is something destabilizing about having known someone only as a child and then hearing they were gunned down in the street. The person you see in your mind lying in that street is still a child." - Kristen Radtke

Radtke’s piece of writing is a gift from someone who has every reason to rage. She made Alex a whole person before she made him a victim. She wrote something absolutely devastating without perpetuating secondhand trauma.

Alex Pretti’s last words were, “Are you okay?”

Kristen, I know you’re not okay today. Thank you for telling us about your childhood best friend and inspiring me to reach out to mine.

This is how you write about violence without exploiting it.