Minnesota lawmakers are facing a surprisingly delicate question this session: How do you honor someone whose loss still feels impossibly fresh? And how do you navigate the gravitas of that decision against the session’s constricted timeframe?
In the months since the assassination of Speaker Emerita Melissa Hortman, her husband Mark, and their dog Gilbert, proposals have poured in from every direction to honor them and mark their loss. Rename a highway. Rename the State Office Building. Install a statue. Dedicate money for training more service dogs. Create a new state park on the Capitol Mall.
Renaming the state’s solar garden program in her name already passed both the House and Senate as a standalone bill and was awaiting a signature from the governor at the time of this writing. Some of the other ideas have come from colleagues. Some from online petitions. Some from people who never met Speaker Hortman but felt like they knew her.
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Melissa Hortman served for 20 years. She rose to leadership. She passed major legislation. She cultivated relationships with colleagues and staff on both sides of the aisle. She seemed to be everywhere: in the community, supporting campaigns across the state and in the quiet corners of the Capitol where real work gets done. And she remained so lowkey that people didn’t always recognize her at the grocery store. Yet, like many public figures who become fixtures in our civic landscape, people projected familiarity onto her. They felt connected to her even if they’d only ever seen her on TV or heard her voice in a radio interview.
Those at the Capitol who did know her well — her colleagues, her staff, the people she worked alongside for years — are grieving in a different way. They’re trying to keep her memory alive, to make sure the state never forgets who she was or what she meant. That impulse is not only understandable; it’s generous. And it’s also where the Legislature now finds itself in a bind.
Because with so many proposals, the real question isn’t, “How much is too much?” For many people no amount of tribute could ever feel like enough.
The better question might be, “How can we possibly do this right, right now?”
And therein lies the work: blending grief, admiration, and the complicated work of government and moving forward after a tragedy.
At a hearing of the House State Government Committee before the legislative break, the executive secretary of the Capitol Area Architectural and Planning Board noted that, historically, a person must be deceased for 10 years before a statue is eligible for installation on the Capitol grounds. Committee co-chair Ginny Klevorn, the bill’s sponsor, explained that Hortman’s death was so unusual, so shocking, and so political that it warrants an unusual honor. That’s a sincere and heartfelt argument, one sure to resonate with colleagues on both sides of the aisle.
The memorial on Hortman’s former desk in the House chamber is a daily reminder of what was taken. But what’s also missing — and what the Legislature might need most right now to navigate this situation — is her pragmatism.
Related: ‘Her mirthful eyes, her sharp humor’: Colleagues remember Melissa Hortman, assassinated at age 55
Hortman was important. She was also really human — principled, firm in her commitments, and still the kind of leader who could roll her eyes, laugh and swear when things got too self‑serious. She didn’t need grandeur to validate her work. She believed in finding the win‑win. In getting to yes. In being the peace in rooms that didn’t always have much of it. And she understood something that many leaders never quite grasp: The true measure of how much power you have is how much of it you’re willing to give away.
With that in mind, the best way for lawmakers to honor her might be by creating a thoughtful, deliberate process — one that allows time, reflection and a wider circle of voices. State Government Committee co-chair Jim Nash mentioned in an interview on “Almanac at the Capitol” that all of the bills have a cost, so all were headed to the Ways & Means committee where a frank conversation could take place.
That’s a good use of the legislative process, and I suggest a “yes, and” position: a structure that invites citizens, subject‑matter experts, family and friends, and community members to weigh in on this sensitive, historic decision. A deliberate process could ensure that whatever the state ultimately builds, names or plants in the Hortmans’ honor reflects their values: humility, care, and a deep respect for servant leadership.
Minnesota will remember Melissa Hortman, regardless of how many or how few memorials bear her name. And Minnesota can be better by carrying forward her example — a legacy in living, not just in limestone.
Shannon Watson is the executive director of Majority in the Middle, a St. Paul-based nonprofit. She’s also a longtime State Capitol observer and will provide occasional Voices commentaries during the 2026 legislative session. You’ll find Watson’s previous Middle Aisle columns here.
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