Trump assasination attemp and George R.R. Martin's short story
From "And Death His Legacy"
The news of the Prophet's death rocked a nation, and the wail went up from all parts of the land.
"They killed him," they said. "Those damn Commies knew that he was the man who could lick them, so they killed him."
Or, sometimes, they said, "It was the n-gers, the damn n-gers. They knew that Beauregard was going to keep them in their places, so they killed him."
Or, sometimes, "It was those demonstrators. Goddam traitors. Beaue had 'em pegged for what they were, a bunch of anarchists and terrorists. So they killed him, the filthy scum."
Crosses burned across the land that night, and all the polls turned sharply upward. The Prophet had become a Martyr.
And three weeks later, Beauregard's vice-presidential candidate announced on a nationwide television address that he was carrying on. "Our cause is not dead." he said. "I promise to fight on for Beau and all that he stood for. And we will fight to victory!"
And all the people cheered and cheered.
A few hundred miles away, Maxim de Laurier sat in a hotel room and watched, his face a milk-white mask. "No," he whispered, choking on the words. "Not this. This wasn't supposed to happen. It's wrong, all wrong."
And he buried his head in his hands, and sobbed. "My God, my God, what have I done?" And then he was still and silent for a long time. When he rose at last his face was still pale and twisted, but a single dying ember burned still in the ashes of his eyes. "Maybe," he said, "Maybe I can still--"
And he sat down to oil his gun.