Opinion: Why choose public service, when serving is a risk?

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When news broke that state Sen. John Hoffman and Rep. Melissa Hortman and their spouses had been injured in a shooting, I stood in shock — staring at my phone at a Geek Squad counter, unable to look away.

The details were unclear at that moment. We didn’t yet know who had survived. We only knew that people who had dedicated their lives to public service had become victims of violence.

The tragedy was senseless. It was heartbreaking. And as someone who has dedicated my life to public service — and to preparing the next generation of public leaders — I found myself asking: How is this OK?

I heard that same question from students just days later. They were already walking a path toward public life. Now they were asking: Why would anyone choose to serve, if this is what it costs?

Here’s what I’m telling students at the University of Minnesota’s Humphrey School of Public Affairs, where I am dean, as they consider a future in public service — and what I would tell anyone who’s doing so:

That question is not rhetorical. And the answer is not easy.

But I believe we must answer it, especially now.

Public service is often framed as noble. But that framing obscures something deeper: Service is courageous. It requires us to show up in complexity, to stand in tension, to listen with humility and to act with hope. It demands we keep going — even when the work is thankless, difficult and, at times, dangerous.

Melissa Hortman embodied that spirit. She was a sharp and empathetic leader who believed in the good that government can do. An alum of the University of Minnesota Law School, she modeled what it means to lead with integrity. Her husband, Mark, and Sen. Hoffman’s wife, Yvette, were public servants in their own way — sharing the weight of a calling that demands so much of families.

Their losses pierced our public life. And their memory reminds us: Leadership is never carried alone.

So why serve?

Because service isn’t about spotlight moments. It’s about doing the next right thing — the one in front of you that calls your name. It’s staying late to help a neighbor. Speaking up when silence would be easier. Voting. Teaching. Organizing. Listening. Reading. Choosing hope.

Service is not the absence of fear. It is movement, even with tears in your eyes.

I remember crying when I saw the first plane strike the World Trade Center, just days after becoming a mother. I cried again after this recent tragedy. But the tears don’t stop the calling. After 9/11, I chose to step more fully into public life. After this, I recommit myself once again.

Hubert H. Humphrey once said, “The right to be heard does not automatically include the right to be taken seriously, but it does require that the speaker be taken as a fellow human being.”

That idea — respecting the humanity of those we disagree with — is the cornerstone of a healthy democracy. And it is under threat. When disagreement turns to violence, when fear replaces dialogue, our democracy begins to fray.

Civil discourse is not a luxury. It is civic infrastructure. It’s how we build trust after tragedy. How we find common ground, even when we don’t agree on everything. How we ensure that debate, not destruction, drives change.

To our students, colleagues and fellow Minnesotans: You are not just part of a university or a job or a policy agenda. You are part of the fabric of public life. And public life needs you — your questions, your ideas, your care, your courage.

If this moment has moved you emotionally, let it also move you civically. Let it be a call — to vote, to serve, to listen, to lead.

Because, as Humphrey also said, “There is not enough darkness in all the world to put out the light of even one small candle.”

So serve. Because your light still matters.

Nisha Botchwey is dean of the University of Minnesota’s Humphrey School of Public Affairs.