Over the weekend of December 13-14, 2025, the United States was rocked by two separate tragedies that tested the nation’s capacity for grief—and its president’s ability to offer comfort. The brutal slaying of actor and director Rob Reiner and his wife, Michele Singer, at the hands of their 32-year-old son, Nick Reiner, left Hollywood and political circles alike in shock. Meanwhile, a mass shooting at Brown University in Rhode Island claimed the lives of two students and wounded nine others, sending ripples of fear and sorrow through the academic community. In both moments, President Donald Trump had a rare opportunity to embody the traditional role of consoler-in-chief. Yet, according to USA Today and multiple other outlets, his responses have drawn sharp criticism from across the political spectrum for lacking the empathy and unity Americans have come to expect from their leader in times of national mourning.
Trump’s response to the Reiner tragedy was anything but conventional. Rather than offering condolences, he took to social media, posting a message that was as much a political jab as it was an acknowledgement of loss. He wrote that Rob Reiner died “reportedly due to the anger he caused others through his massive, unyielding and incurable affliction with a mind crippling disease known as TRUMP DERANGEMENT SYNDROME.” This phrase, a favorite among Trump’s supporters to describe his critics, struck many as deeply insensitive—especially given the circumstances of Reiner’s death.
When later asked about his remarks in the Oval Office on December 15, Trump doubled down, expressing no regret. “I was not a fan of Rob Reiner at all – in any way, shape or form,” he said, going further to call the actor “a deranged person.” The police, for their part, have charged Nick Reiner with his parents’ murder but have not yet released a motive as of December 15, 2025, leaving the public with more questions than answers about this family tragedy.
Just hours before addressing the Reiner case, Trump had spoken briefly at the White House about the Brown University shooting. His comments were notably succinct and, to some, disturbingly detached. “Things can happen,” he told the assembled crowd, before wishing a speedy recovery to the injured and expressing his “deepest regards” to the families of the deceased. He concluded, “It’s a very important thing to say. And we mean it.” The White House declined to respond to further questions about the President’s tone or message.
Presidents in the past have been called upon to help Americans process collective grief, often rising to the challenge with words that seek to unite and inspire. From Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address to Ronald Reagan’s tribute to the Challenger astronauts, and George W. Bush’s rallying cry after September 11, these moments have become touchstones of American resilience. As historian Jennifer Mercieca of Texas A&M University told USA Today, “Typically, American presidents do this by invoking our national values and explaining to the nation that if we stay true to our values, then our values will see us through the tragedy. It’s an elevating and uniting form of speechmaking that gives noble purpose to our suffering.”
Mercieca, however, was blunt in her assessment of Trump’s approach: “He has not demonstrated that he is capable of displaying that kind of rhetorical leadership. He hasn’t been able to talk about our values in an elevating way. He hasn't sought to unite the nation. And he hasn't tried to help us make sense of the many senseless tragedies we've experienced while he has been president.”
This weekend’s events were not isolated incidents in Trump’s history of controversial responses to tragedy. Earlier in January 2025, following a catastrophic collision between a commercial jetliner and a military helicopter over Washington that killed 67 people, Trump observed a moment of silence for the victims—but quickly pivoted to blame his Democratic predecessors, Joe Biden and Barack Obama. He accused them of lowering standards for air traffic controllers due to their emphasis on diversity in hiring, a claim that was widely criticized as politicizing a moment of mourning.
There have also been instances where Trump made jokes at the expense of the deceased. On December 12, 2025, while boasting about his administration’s policy to strike alleged drug-smuggling boats in the Caribbean—a campaign that resulted in at least 87 deaths—he quipped, “You want to go fishing in that area? Does anybody want to go fishing in that area?” Such remarks have fueled concerns about the president’s tone and priorities during national crises.
Even within the Republican Party, Trump’s recent comments have sparked outrage. Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene of Georgia wrote on X, “This is a family tragedy, not about politics or political enemies.” Kentucky Congressman Thomas Massie echoed the sentiment, stating, “This is inappropriate and disrespectful discourse about a man who was just brutally murdered. I guess my elected GOP colleagues, the VP, and White House staff will just ignore it because they’re afraid? I challenge anyone to defend it.” Jenna Ellis, a conservative lawyer and former Trump campaign adviser, added, “A man and his wife were murdered last night. This is NOT the appropriate response.”
The contrast between Trump’s reaction to the Reiner murders and his response to the assassination of conservative activist Charlie Kirk in September 2025 has been particularly striking. When Kirk, a vocal Trump supporter, was killed on a college campus in Utah, Trump delivered a four-minute address from the Oval Office, calling Kirk “a martyr for truth and freedom” and expressing that he was “filled with grief and anger at the heinous assassination.” The administration went so far as to crack down on any criticism of Kirk, with the Pentagon monitoring service member posts, the State Department revoking visas of at least six foreign nationals who celebrated Kirk’s death, and more than 600 Americans reportedly disciplined by employers for their comments about the incident, according to Reuters.
In sharp contrast, Rob Reiner—himself a frequent critic of Trump—was described by the president as “tortured and struggling,” suffering from an “obvious paranoia” about Trump’s presidency. Only after 110 words of ridicule did Trump finally conclude his statement with, “May Rob and Michele rest in peace!”
Trump’s selective approach to public mourning, critics argue, underscores a broader unwillingness to use the presidential platform to unify the nation in grief, especially when victims or their families are perceived as political adversaries. Meanwhile, supporters see his bluntness as a refreshing departure from what they view as insincere political posturing. Still, as the country reels from violence and loss, the debate over what kind of leadership Americans need in times of tragedy remains as heated as ever.
With no motive yet released in the Reiner case and the Brown University community still reeling from its own tragedy, the nation finds itself wondering: Who, if not the president, will help shoulder the burden of collective sorrow? As history has shown, words matter in the aftermath of calamity. Whether Trump’s will be remembered as healing or hurtful is a judgment that, for now, remains with the American people.