On a humid September morning in Fort Pierce, Florida, the trial of Ryan Routh, the man accused of attempting to assassinate former President Donald Trump at his Mar-a-Lago golf course, took a dramatic turn. Routh, who chose to represent himself in federal court, rested his case on September 22, 2025, declining to take the stand in his own defense. This decision capped off a morning of intense, sometimes meandering questioning of a firearms expert and two character witnesses—an unconventional defense for one of the most closely watched criminal cases in recent American history, according to The Associated Press.
The prosecution alleges that Routh spent weeks plotting to kill Trump, culminating in the events of September 15, 2024. On that day, as Trump played golf at his West Palm Beach club, Routh allegedly aimed a rifle through a line of shrubbery, waiting for the former president to come into view. But fate—and the vigilance of the Secret Service—intervened. A Secret Service agent, testifying last week, said he spotted Routh before Trump appeared. The agent recounted that Routh aimed his rifle at him, prompting the agent to open fire. As a result, Routh dropped his weapon and fled the scene without firing a shot.
Routh's defense, which he conducted himself, focused on technical details and his own character. During three hours of questioning on September 22, he called firearms expert Michael McClay to the stand. McClay testified that, from Routh's hiding place in the bushes, he would have had a clear view of the sixth green—precisely where Trump was playing. McClay explained that he had tested Routh's firearm for the trial, firing two shots as part of the procedure. "The second shot attempt jammed during the test," McClay told the court, suggesting that Routh's weapon would not have allowed him to fire multiple rounds in succession. McClay also noted that a scope found at the scene was mounted to the firearm with tape and glue, a makeshift arrangement that likely rendered it ineffective for accurate shooting.
To bolster his defense, Routh summoned two character witnesses: a former employee and a friend of his son. Both described Routh as a peaceful man, yet under cross-examination, they admitted they had not seen him in years. Their testimony, while supportive in tone, did little to counter the prosecution's narrative or to address the gravity of the charges facing Routh.
Routh has pleaded not guilty to a slew of federal charges, including attempting to assassinate a major presidential candidate, assaulting a federal officer, and several firearms violations. He also faces state charges of terrorism and attempted murder. The U.S. Attorney’s Office for the Southern District of Florida rested its case on September 19, after seven days of testimony from 38 witnesses, all aiming to secure a conviction that could keep Routh behind bars for life.
Presiding over the trial is U.S. District Judge Aileen Cannon, who approved Routh's request to represent himself after two hearings in July. Routh, in a candid exchange with the judge, explained why he dismissed his court-appointed public defenders. "How are they supposed to represent me and say I’m not a dangerous person when they don’t believe that?" he asked, expressing frustration that his attorneys were, in his view, both diligent and fearful of him. The U.S. Supreme Court has long held that defendants have the right to represent themselves, provided they can demonstrate competence to waive legal counsel. Since taking over his own defense, Routh's former attorneys have served as standby counsel, present in the courtroom but largely silent as he navigated the legal process on his own.
Judge Cannon, initially expecting the trial to last more than three weeks, noted that Routh’s brief cross-examinations and streamlined defense had accelerated the proceedings. She instructed the attorneys to prepare for closing arguments on September 23, allotting each side one hour and forty-five minutes. After that, the case will go to the jury for deliberation—a moment that could determine Routh's fate for decades to come.
The backdrop to this trial is a nation still reeling from political violence. Just nine weeks before the Mar-a-Lago incident, Trump survived another assassination attempt while campaigning in Pennsylvania. In that attack, a gunman fired eight shots, one of which grazed Trump’s ear before the assailant was fatally shot by a Secret Service counter sniper. The proximity of these two attempts has heightened security concerns and underscored the dangers faced by high-profile political figures in the United States.
Routh’s background is as complex as it is troubling. Once a construction worker in North Carolina, he later moved to Hawaii and developed a reputation as a self-styled mercenary leader. According to witnesses cited by The Associated Press, Routh openly discussed his ambitions to insert himself into global conflicts. In the early days of the war in Ukraine, for example, he reportedly tried to recruit fighters from Afghanistan, Moldova, and Taiwan to join the battle against Russian forces.
His history with law enforcement stretches back more than two decades. In 2002, Routh was arrested in Greensboro, North Carolina, after eluding a traffic stop and barricading himself from police with a fully automatic machine gun and what authorities described as a "weapon of mass destruction"—an explosive device with a ten-inch fuse. In 2010, police searched a warehouse owned by Routh and uncovered a trove of more than 100 stolen items, ranging from power tools and building supplies to kayaks and spa tubs. Despite the seriousness of these offenses, judges in both cases handed down either probation or suspended sentences, allowing Routh to avoid significant prison time.
As the trial draws to a close, the courtroom drama has become a microcosm of broader questions about justice, mental health, and the limits of self-representation in high-stakes criminal cases. The prosecution, for its part, has worked tirelessly to paint Routh as a persistent threat, while the defense—such as it is—has tried to cast doubt on his intent and competence. The jury, soon to be sequestered for deliberation, faces a daunting task: weighing the evidence, the expert testimony, and the shadow of recent political violence to decide the fate of a man who, by his own admission, has lived on the edge of legality for much of his life.
As closing arguments loom, all eyes remain fixed on Fort Pierce, where the outcome of this case may reverberate far beyond the courtroom walls.
