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Hank Kronick is the husband of Hannah Raskin, daughter of US Representative Jamie Raskin. Find out more about him below!
Hank Kronick has captivated netizens with his personal lie information as he is revealed to be Jamie Raskin’s son-in-law.
Mr. Raskin has currently served as the U.S. Representative for Maryland’s 8th congressional district since 2017.
Acquaintance with such a remarkable and powerful person in the USA made Kronick quite famous.
In addition, news of his presence at the US Capitol on January 6, 2021, where a deadly riot took place, made him interesting.
Who Is Hank Kronick? Meet Hannah Raskin Husband And Jamie Raskin Son In Law
Hank Kronick is a politically oriented husband of Hannah Raskin.
Additionally, he has currently attracted media and public attention for being the son-in-law of Jamie Raskin.
Exactly one year ago, on January 6th, I was hing under this desk in the US Capitol, 20 feet from the floor of the House of Representatives, where insurgents broke in to try to overthrow our election. 1/pic.twitter.com/wsze1nSDDf
— Hank Kronick (@Hankkronick) January 7, 2022
Kronick has received numerous notable media mentions, while other web sources have also reported on him.
Daily Mail UK mentioned him for being present at the US Capitol during last year’s riots.
Ase from his presence at the incent, not much of his life is unseen.
Hank Kronick Age: How Old Is He?
Hank Kronick’s current age falls to around 30 when browsing his pictures.
The full details of his date of birth are not accessible at this time.
We’ll update this section as soon as we get insers on his age and birthday.
Hank Kronick Net Worth and Job Revealed
Hank Kronick has refrained from opening up about his personal life, including his net worth stats.
According to our sources, he works in the technology field for a living.
However, the exact details of his profession and his work are currently not accessible.
Meet Hank Kronick Ks And Family
Mr. Kronick and his wife Hannah do not currently share any children from their marriage.
We are closer to a better America and a better world than we think. It would be a shame to throw everything away. 11//
— Hank Kronick (@Hankkronick) January 7, 2022
Ase from his relationship with the Raskin political family, he has yet to disclose full information about his family.
Due to his bond with the Raskin family, he is very close to his father-in-law and sister-in-law Tabitha.
He had also written a blog about the death and funeral of his late brother-in-law, Tommy, who committed suice last year.
Likewise, Kronick’s Twitter handle is dedicated more to his opinions on the latest happenings in the US than to his family.
WATCH: Rep. Jamie Raskin’s full questioning of legal experts | Trump’s first impeachment
[su_youtube url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cV4A8aOv1DQ”]
Images related to the topicWATCH: Rep. Jamie Raskin’s full questioning of legal experts | Trump’s first impeachment
See some more details on the topic Who Is Hank Kronick Everything On Hannah Raskin Husband And Jamie Raskin Son In Law here:
Who Is Hank Kronick? Hannah Raskin Husband And Jamie …
Hank Kronick is the husband of Hannah Raskin, daughter of the U.S. representative, Jamie Raskin. Get to know more about him here below!
Source: showbizcorner.com
Date Published: 1/23/2021
View: 5620
Who Is Hank Kronick? Hannah Raskin Husband … – Dish De
The Man Behind The Mask Is Hank Kronick, Who Is He? See the relationship between Hannah Raskin’s husband and her son in law, Jamie Raskin.
Source: www.dishde.com
Date Published: 9/18/2021
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Who is Hank Kronick? Wiki, Age, Is he dead? Family, Wife, Bio
Hank Kronick is the son-in-law of Jamie Raskin, who is the U.S. representative for Maryland’s 8th … Hannah Raskin is Hank Kronick’s wife.
Source: 50minds.com
Date Published: 8/10/2021
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Jamie Raskin’s year of grief and purpose – The Washington Post
A family photo of Raskin and son Tommy, who died by suice last year at … and his son-in-law, Hank Kronick — who is married to Raskin’s …
Source: www.washingtonpost.com
Date Published: 10/21/2021
View: 9919
Who Is Hank Kronick Hannah Raskin Husband And Jamie Raskin Son In Law
He is the wife of Hannah Raskin, the daughter of Jamie Raskin, a member of the United States Congress. Explore this section to learn more about him.
Hank Kronick is not only Jamie Raskin’s son-in-law, but he has also piqued the interest of internet users with his personal misinformation.
Currently, Mr. Raskin has served as the United States Congressman for Maryland’s 8th congressional district since 2017.
It has made Kronick quite well known in the United States due to his association with such a renowned and influential person.
He has also gained popularity due to reports that he would be present at the United States Capitol on January 6, 2021 when a violent riot is about to ensue.
The man behind the mask is Hank Kronick, who is he? Check out the relationship between Hannah Raskin’s husband and son-in-law Jamie Raskin
Hanah Raskin’s spouse, Hank Kronick, is a politician who is very involved in politics.
He is also currently receiving media and public attention as he is married to entertainment industry star Jamie Raskin.
A number of major media outlets have reported on Kronick, and he has also been covered by other online publications.
His presence at the United States Capitol during last year’s riots was highlighted by the Daily Mail UK.
Not much can be seen of his life other than his participation in the event.
His Age: How old is Hank Kronick?
Judging by his photos, Hank Kronick appears to be in his 30s at the moment.
At the moment it is not possible to get all the information about his date of birth.
Whenever we receive inside information regarding his age or date of birth, we will update this section as soon as possible.
Revealed: Hank Kronick’s salary and net worth
Hank Kronick has chosen to remain silent about his private life, including details of his net worth and other financial information.
According to our sources, his profession is in the field of information and communication technology (ICT).
So far, however, the details of his position and duties are not known.
Meet the Hank Kronick children and their extended families
He and his wife Hannah have no children from their previous marriage at the time of writing.
On that note, he has yet to reveal any information about his relatives outside of his association with the powerful Raskin clan.
Due to his connection to the Raskin family, he has a close relationship with his father-in-law and sister-in-law Tabitha.
He had also written a blog about the death and funeral of his brother-in-law Tommy, who had committed the previous year.
The same goes for Kronick’s Twitter account, which is more dedicated to his thoughts on current events in the United States than to his family.
In her work with Celeb Hook, Rakshya shows dedication and perseverance. Passionate about pop culture and news, she also keeps an eye on the latest fashion, celebrity and internet culture trends. She is a lifelong learner who enjoys learning new things. When she’s not working, she enjoys watching anime and YouTube videos to while away the time. When you watch anime and write about the latest fashion trends, life is uncomplicated. Please email me at [email protected] for more information.
January 7, 2022 is the final revision.
Who is Hank Kronick Wiki, Age, Is he dead Family, Wife, Bio
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Hank Kronick is the son-in-law of Jamie Raskin, the US Representative for Maryland’s 8th congressional district. Hannah Raskin is Hank Kronick’s wife. People like him because of his close relationship with the Raskin family. His father-in-law is also a member of the Democratic Party and an American lawyer.
Prior to his election to Congress, he was also a constitutional law professor at American University’s Washington College of Law. He was co-founder and director of the LL.M. Program in Law and Government and the Marshall-Brennan Constitutional Literacy Project there.
Hank Kronick revealed his presence at the US Capitol
Last year, Hannah Raskin’s husband, Hank Kronick, spoke about his presence at the United States Capitol. In a blog on Medium, he detailed how the family faced trauma in 2021.
I agree. Those Americans who think authoritarian government would be better have no idea what they’re going to get. The freedoms they now feel they have lost will be tiny in comparison. That grass isn’t greener over there. It’s dead. – Don’t call me Shirley (@sftballwife) January 7, 2022
He described how his family went through the most difficult and terrifying time after the early loss of his brother-in-law. On the day of the anniversary of the riots, Jan. 6, he tweeted about his visit to the United States Capitol. People sympathize with him and tell him that the Raskin family is lucky to have him.
Hank Kronick Age, Family, Early Life
Hank Kronick’s age is currently unknown. Until now we have no information about his exact dates of birth, place of birth and parents. He is the husband of Hannah Kronick, is the daughter of Jamie Raskin.
Who is Hank Kronick? Wiki, dude, is he dead? family, wife, bio 1
Hank and his father-in-law share the same sentiment. However, we have no further information about his private life.
We will update this section as more information about his personal life becomes available online.
Hank Kronick and Hannah Raskin Wedding Photos
Hank Kronick and Hannah Raskin’s wedding photos are yet to be released in the media. Kronick’s name was recently leaked online.
The couple hasn’t spoken much online and has revealed their personal lives. The people are not yet informed about their backgrounds. We hope that they will release their personal information soon.
What school and college did he go to? What was his major?
We currently have no information about his educational background. We hope to learn more about him in the future.
Hank Kronick net worth, how much does he make?
Hank Kronick net worth is currently unknown. We will update his earnings as soon as the information is available.
Trending: Obituary: Who Was George Rossi? Wiki, Age, Cause of Death, Wife, Family, Net worth, Bio
Hank Kronick wife what about his relationship?
Hank Kronick is married to his lovely wife Hannah Raskin. Your wife is the daughter of Jamie Raskin.
Is Hank Kronick available on any social media platforms?
We didn’t find him on any social media addresses like Twitter, Instagram, Facebook etc. We hope to learn more about him in the future.
Hank Kronick’s body appearance height, weight
Height N/A Hair Color Brown Eye Color Brown Weight N/A Body Type Fit Sexual Orientation Straight
Interesting Facts About Hank Kronick You Should Know
Jamie Raskin’s Year of Grief and Purpose
When Jamie Raskin returns to those shattered January days, the sounds surface in his memory. Among them: a hideous pounding, the pounding of an angry mob trying to force their way onto the floor of the House of Representatives, repeatedly banging something invisible heavy thing against the central door leading to the Chamber. “I’ll never forget it,” says the Democratic congressman, who has represented Maryland’s 8th Circuit since 2017.
Then there was a chorus of screams as the floor of the house turned into chaos on the afternoon of the January 6 riot in the US Capitol. Some people ran to push furniture against the shaking doors; others began calling loved ones and saying what they thought were final goodbyes. Raskin recalls someone shouting instructions to get the gas masks — he hadn’t even known there were gas masks under the chairs — and someone else telling members of Congress to remove the pins they’re wearing to identify themselves. Several Democrats yelled angrily at their Republican counterparts: You did that! You allowed that! He looked across the gallery and saw Rep. Susan Wild (D-Pa.) succumb to a panic attack as Rep. Jason Crow (D-Colo.) tried to tend to her.
It was a mess, but Raskin watched it with a strange sense of detachment, a clear concentration; he didn’t feel the deep fear that gripped so many others around him. He would understand later: what should one fear when the worst imaginable had already happened to him?
The day before, on an overcast winter morning, Raskin had stood surrounded by his family in a Montgomery County, Maryland cemetery and watched as the coffin containing his 25-year-old son, Thomas Bloom Raskin, was lowered into the ground. Tommy, as everyone who loved him called him, a student at Harvard Law School, had died by suicide on the morning of New Year’s Eve. “Al mekomo yavo veshalom,” Rabbi Jonathan Roos said to the assembled family – may he go in peace – and then they took turns shoveling dirt into the grave. The hollow thump of frozen earth on wood was followed by the wails of Raskin’s wife and two daughters, and he would not forget those sounds either.
It had been decided that night that Raskin’s younger daughter Tabitha Raskin and his son-in-law Hank Kronick — who is married to Raskin’s daughter Hannah — would meet the congressman the following day on Capitol Hill for confirmation of the college votes, while Hannah and her mother, Sarah Bloom Raskin, would stay at home with the family. “I thought Tabitha didn’t want me to leave her alone,” Raskin says, “but turns out she didn’t want me to be alone.” Amid the frantic evacuation from the floor of the house, Raskin texted urgently to Tabitha and Hank; They were barricaded in the office of House Majority Leader Steny Hoyer (D-Md.) along with Raskin’s Chief of Staff Julie Tage. They spent a harrowing 45 minutes hiding there, huddled under a desk and fearing for their lives as insurgents stomped down the hallway, wiggling the knob of the locked door as they passed.
The vivid details of that day are burned into Raskin’s memory and will be chronicled in his forthcoming book, Unthinkable: Trauma, Truth, and the Trials of American Democracy, to be published Jan. 4, just before the first anniversary of the uprising. After such devastation, both personal and historical, Raskin felt it imperative to record everything. By the time Tabitha and Hank left the hill to go home on the night of January 6, Raskin had already got the word “impeached” to his fellow House Judiciary Committee members David Cicilline (D-R.I.), Ted Lieu (D -Calif.) and Joe Neguse (D-Colo.). After midnight he returned to the House of Representatives and made the closing remarks for the Democrats in response to Republican objections to the Pennsylvania voters, and then the count was finally over, the election formally confirmed. It was after 4 a.m. on January 7 when Raskin finally arrived home in Takoma Park, Maryland, bearing the weight of a wounded family and a wounded country.
In the weeks that followed, after House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-Calif.) put him in charge of impeaching President Donald Trump, Raskin was catapulted into the national limelight. Both before and during the trial, his widely circulated remarks and arguments mixed a scrupulous interpretation of constitutional law with the emotion of the human toll of the uprising. He spoke about his family’s experience of how the attack on the Capitol happened the day after Tommy’s funeral, “the saddest day of our lives.” Colleagues and friends and media interviewers kept asking him about the convergence of his son’s death and the impeachment process, how he coped with those two monumental experiences at the same time.
“I think a lot of colleagues said, ‘Jamie is dealing with his grief by throwing himself into the impeachment and the process,’ which wasn’t entirely true for me,” Raskin says. “Tommy was a passionate political and moral person, and fascism is probably the only thing he hated in his life. I knew he would want me to fight for our family and our country and so I felt he was with me, in my chest, in my heart. I felt it physically and I felt it ethically.”
He’s still trying to understand the intersection of these disparate tragedies — how, at the end of one horrific year and the beginning of another, he was suddenly reeling from successive disasters, each the result of something tedious. simmers beneath the surface. “The truth is, I see these two horrific, traumatic events in my life as very intertwined,” says Raskin. “In a cosmic sense, they were logically independent of each other. But in my life they are inseparable.”
Please forgive me, Tommy had written in his final hours. My illness won today. Please take care of each other, of the animals and of the poor worldwide. Love, Tommy.
“My roadmap for the rest of my life,” Raskin said of his son’s farewell message. For those unfamiliar with Tommy, unfamiliar with the full reach of his empathy, his unwavering focus on justice and morality, it may be difficult to understand how Jamie Raskin sees it: the job is to defend a vulnerable democracy not a distraction from the overwhelming depths of his grief, but a channeling, a place to channel all the love for his child who is no longer here to receive it.
There are many high-visibility families who abruptly turn inward after a loss, withdrawing from the public eye and making only brief statements asking for privacy while they grieve. The Raskins made a different choice. The day before their son’s funeral, they released a long and soulful statement about his life, a vivid portrait of Tommy and what he ultimately endured. They revealed his battle with depression and the manner of his death, and included the entirety of his farewell note. That level of openness didn’t necessarily come naturally to everyone, “but Jamie is the best person for it,” says Sarah Bloom Raskin, former Deputy Treasury Secretary to President Barack Obama and a professor at Duke University School of Law. “He draws his strength entirely from other people. He trusts in people’s ability to love and care. He attributes the best of intentions to mankind.” And so it was decided that they would tell the world exactly who and what had been lost.
[Rep. Raskin and his wife on their late son: “A shining light in this broken world”]
Tommy was born in January 1995, two and a half years after his older sister Hannah and two years before his little sister Tabitha. A lively boy with his mother’s clear blue eyes and his father’s wild curls, he grew up with his sisters in the Takoma Park house just outside D.C. where the Raskins have lived for over 30 years, down a sloping road under a canopy of leaves.
Jamie Raskin — the son of Barbara Raskin, a writer and journalist, and Marcus Raskin, an author, philosopher, and co-founder of one of Washington’s most prominent left-leaning think tanks, the Institute for Policy Studies — was a professor of constitutional law at American University when his children were young unaware that one day he might run for public office. That changed in 2005, when he learned that his Democratic senator, Ida Ruben, who had been in office for 30 years, was pushing to expand Maryland’s death penalty and obstruct marriage equality. As Raskin stood on his porch in January 2006 to launch his campaign for the Maryland Senate to represent Maryland’s 20th District, it was 10-year-old Tommy who introduced his father to the modest crowd gathered in the front yard had gathered.
Raskin at home with his wife Sarah Bloom Raskin in Takoma Park, Md.
“He was a natural in politics. But that was a small part of him,” says Raskin. “He had a very philosophical soul. I mean, from a young age he said, “Let’s have a debate about free will and determinism.” Or, “Let’s have a discussion about the mind-body issue.” ‘, but he was never a loner: his friends and family describe a magnetic presence and a raucous sense of humor, the reigning champion of family stand-up comedy competitions, and a devoted boggle enthusiast. As a young child he was a prolific author of elaborate, illustrated stories, later writing countless essays, legal briefs, poems and plays as a young man.
Tommy’s parents each saw something of their own fathers in their son. Tommy and his maternal grandfather, Herbert Bloom, shared a passion for the written word, while Marcus Raskin shared an irreverent libertarian streak with his grandson, says Jamie Raskin. He enjoys recounting the time he was accompanying Tommy to elementary school and they discovered another little boy who had been suspended for a week and was finally coming back. “I said, ‘Tommy, look, they let him out of jail!'” says Raskin, “and Tommy said, ‘You mean, they let him back in jail.'”
At that young age, Tommy envisioned that he would one day like to be governor of Maryland, but by the time he was 12, Raskin says, those political aspirations had been abandoned. “The more he learned about electoral and legislative politics, the more he realized it wasn’t for him,” says Raskin. “At one point he just said to me, ‘I don’t think I could do what you do.’ And I said, ‘You mean be a law professor?’ And he said, ‘No, I can do something like that.’ But I don’t think I could be in politics because I don’t think I could handle being with people I only have basic disagreements with.’”
Raskin shakes his head slightly as he remembers this. “I felt like a politician when he said that, like someone who put up with so much nonsense and hypocrisy. And that’s what you do in politics. You have to,” he says. “You spend a lot of time being wary of people who might be liars, warmongers, or insurgents.” In those early conversations about politics, Raskin recalls, he used to tell Tommy that there were two kinds of politicians: politicians of justice and politicians politicians of power. “And I think Tommy decided as a kid that he didn’t really want to be around power politicians,” he says. “He’s right. Every day I endure so much avoidance of the truth. And it wasn’t for him. It was a poignant moment between us.”
He wants to understand his son’s experience as much as he can, he says, even if that understanding brings even more pain.
Still, Tommy remained heavily involved in politics: joining the Young Democrats Club as a high school student and raising people to volunteer for Obama’s 2012 re-election; He fought for his father during Raskin’s Senate race and again in 2016 when Raskin decided to run for the open congressional seat vacated by the now-Senator. Chris Van Hollen; He spent countless hours debating and debating issues of ethics, politics, and political philosophy with his father. A teacher by nature — Tommy started a peer tutoring program in high school to help his classmates with math and English — he was adept at persuading others to consider new perspectives. He was a passionate animal lover and committed vegan, but never engaged in hypocritical proselytization of veganism: “I work for a vegan world, not for a vegan club,” his parents recalled his words, noting that he had many carnivorous friends and family members successfully converted to his cause by making them feel welcome and not pushed (his father has been a vegetarian since 2009). Tommy rejected the idea that everyone must choose between animal rights and human rights; In one of his spoken word poems, he argued that indifference to animal suffering sets the stage for the neglect and dehumanization of vulnerable people, and that it is therefore necessary to treat all living things with care and dignity.
At a socially distanced drive-in memorial the family hosted outside RFK Stadium in April, dozens shared reflections that conveyed that mix of moral integrity and personal decency. “He was honestly the smartest person I’ve ever met, but he was never pretentious and he never made anyone around him feel stupid,” said one of his friends. Tabitha still referred to her brother in the present tense: “I will miss how he expresses love. He’s so gentle and so warm and so kind.” Another friend said, “He believed in me. … As I stood in Tommy’s gaze, I saw a version of myself that I could love.” And another: “He felt the pain of others like no one I know.”
[Rep. Jamie Raskin and family mourn son at socially distanced memorial]
When it was Sarah Bloom Raskin’s turn behind the microphone, her blue scarf ruffled by the cold breeze, she quoted a line from the poet Rumi: Beyond the notions of wrong and right there is a field. i will meet you there “Tommy took us to these fields. He took us on these trips,” she said. “We listen to him and think we’re sitting on our sofa in the family room, but instead we’re somewhere else. … We were transported to these newly designed places with new ideas, new openness and we ask ourselves: How did we get here? can we come back And how do we stay?
can we come back how do we stay For the Raskins, these questions—once pondered in Tommy’s presence—had found a new resonance. What the family was looking for was a sense of permanence, a way to hold onto everything Tommy had given them to serve as a channel for his vision and ideals. In the case of Jamie Raskin, this work began just days after his son’s funeral.
On a bright Friday afternoon in late September, at the end of a grueling week on Capitol Hill, Raskin appears on the doorstep of his home and peers out onto the wide porch, where I meet the family’s two dogs – Potter, the grizzled mutt, and Toby, the blue-eyed one husky. “It’s been a really tough week,” Raskin says — citing tense rows between left-leaning and centrist Democrats over the terms of President Biden’s infrastructure plan — “and I’m really longing for a hike.” How about Rock Creek Park?”
When he reappears a few minutes later, he has traded in his tie and jacket for Nike pants tucked into hiking boots, and Potter and Toby happily take their places in the back seat of the car. In his long-ago pre-pandemic life, Raskin hiked the dogs through Rock Creek Park at least once a week; When the country shut down in March 2020, he started walking almost every morning. Tommy, who returned to live with his parents the same month after the Harvard campus closed, often joined his father.
It’s a short drive to the park, and the dogs tug at their leashes excitedly as we set off. Our walk today is a quick breather from a relentless schedule; Raskin will spend his Friday night writing captions for his memoir. He began work on the book last March, a time when he says he was “still drowning in grief and agony.” Tommy’s death had completely obscured the future, so instead Raskin would travel back in time, digging up memories for hours every night and staying up until 1 or 2 am meticulously chronicling his son’s 25 years. “I didn’t sleep much anyway,” he says. “I like the feeling of working when everyone else is asleep.” When he turned in the manuscript — all 900 or so pages of it — his editor informed him that he had actually written two books: a comprehensive biography of his son and a gripping treatise on the 50 life-changing days that spanned Tommy’s riot and subsequent impeachment. The publisher was interested in the latter.
Now that the book is done, what follows feels like a reappearance of sorts. “When I first finished the book, I felt tremendous relief because it was such an overwhelming project,” he says. “But then I was very sad to see the world again without Tommy and there are still so many difficulties.” The pandemic is not over yet; people are still dying. The country remains bitterly divided. The extent of the riot has yet to be fully revealed by the ongoing Congressional investigation, an effort Raskin is leading as a member of the House Special Committee on the Jan. 6 attack. And there’s the constant pain of missing Tommy, the constant temptation to relive certain moments and conversations, to search the past for clues that might reveal how the unthinkable came about.
As a teenager, Tommy was a restless sleeper, a boy who sometimes worried unduly that he had hurt someone’s feelings. When all of his friends were busily getting their driver’s licenses, Tommy decided to hold off; He never drove in his life, Raskin says, “because he was always afraid of hitting someone and he never wanted that responsibility.” But it wasn’t until college that Tommy’s depression surfaced with startling intensity, presenting primarily as obsessive anxiety. With his family’s encouragement, he saw a psychiatrist and was diagnosed with both depression and obsessive-compulsive disorder. He found some relief from medication and a regimen to keep himself sane, and he remained very private in his struggle. “Even his friends — and he always had a girlfriend — didn’t really know what he was going through,” says Raskin.
A photo of Raskin and son Tommy taken in December 2019. (Courtesy of the Raskin family)
In his early 20s, Tommy identified strongly with effective altruism, a philosophy centered on finding the best possible way to help others. Around the same time, Raskin says, Tommy decided not to have children of his own because he didn’t think it would be a morally responsible decision. “He would put it as a philosophical principle: No one has the right to force an experience of pain on anyone else. And of course that sounds perfectly fine in the abstract – but then he translated it like this: ‘Therefore it would be wrong to have children, because you would be exposing them both to the possibility of great joy, but also of sadness,’ and obviously he was …” Raskin falls silent. For a man who took so much joy in becoming a father, someone known among friends and family for a lifelong, unrelenting optimism, it is agonizing to think that Tommy did not present his arguments from the point of view of a prospective parent, but a son is in pain.
We keep moving through the trees, the cool air filled with the chirping of crickets. “When he said he didn’t want to have children,” Raskin concludes, “I think that was as close to expressing the difficulty of depression for him.”
While Tommy lived at home, Jamie Raskin watched his son agonize over the collective suffering caused by the pandemic. “We lived in a time where people are in just terrible pain, and he felt all of that,” he says. At that point, Tommy had been battling depression for years, “but the whole situation has been made immeasurably worse by Covid-19 and by the state of our society under Donald Trump,” says Raskin. “And I want to be clear: I’m not saying that Tommy died because of Donald Trump. Tommy has struggled with depression, but depression exists in a broader social context and Covid-19 has been a terribly isolating and devastating experience for many young people.”
Despite the psychological toll of 2020, those closest to Tommy never doubted that he was only at the beginning of a promising life: he’d spent the summer enthusiastically working as a legal intern for nonprofit animal rights organization Mercy for Animals; He was a passionate law student and dedicated teaching assistant who spent countless hours with his undergraduate students on Zoom, guiding them through their work.
“I have a responsibility to do everything in my power to preserve American democracy, which is fragile in many ways. I feel so strong and I know that Tommy felt and would feel so strong.
A few weeks before his death, as Tommy and his father stood together in their kitchen, Tommy said, I don’t think I’ll ever be happy. Raskin offered his trademark positivity and loving reassurance, and that memory is a difficult one for him: “I kept talking, but I should have asked him if he had any suicidal thoughts,” he says. “One of the things I regret is that I didn’t really use that word much, you know? I think that was a mistake. I think it’s probably best to talk about it.” He exhales. “These are things that can sometimes keep you up at night.”
Towards the end of December, a strange calm settled over Tommy, and Raskin now recognizes this as a sign that something is wrong. He suspects Tommy had made up his mind what he was going to do and didn’t want to be swayed, so he tried to instill a sense of stability. “His normal state of being was exuberant, hilariously fun, enjoyable. None of that was there. But he didn’t seem depressed and upset. It was kind of a serene calm,” says Raskin. “But it was kind of an act.”
One of the most harrowing passages in Raskin’s memoirs is his recounting of the last hours of Tommy’s life. Sarah Bloom Raskin visited her mother out of state; Hannah was at home with her husband in Nevada and Tabitha was with her partner’s family in Pennsylvania. Father and son watched TV together and talked about Tommy’s plans for the spring semester. “I love you, dear boy,” Raskin told him as they embraced. “Love you dear Dad,” Tommy replied.
Raskin found his son in his bed in the downstairs apartment of their home the next morning. What followed was a blur from hell: a frantic call to 911, a desperate attempt to resuscitate his son, the screams of his wife and daughters when he reached them on the phone, the hours of waiting for their trip home to Maryland.
Tommy had met with his longtime psychiatrist for an hour the day before he died; The doctor did not notice any man about to make such a decision and, like everyone else who knew Tommy well, was amazed at the way his life ended. Especially for a father who was exceptionally close to his son, who was eye to eye with him on so many things, Raskin still struggles with how unfathomable it feels. He says he’s never experienced depression. In 2010, as he battled stage 3 colon cancer and underwent grueling rounds of radiation and chemotherapy, what he remembers most is an ardent desire to live.
We cross a bridge over the babbling brook, and here Raskin pauses for a moment along the way to focus on describing a particular epiphany: In late March, Raskin underwent an MRI scan to find a growth on his abdomen realize which turned out to be a benign cyst. Confined in the narrow tube, arms pinned to his sides, he was instantly consumed by panicky claustrophobia. A nurse had told him the scan would take 37 minutes.
“And I started thinking about Tommy,” he says. “And how he must have felt, trapped in the desperate feelings of depression, you know? And they gave me a little handheld device to squeeze when I felt like I couldn’t take it. And I immediately wanted to squeeze it, and then I started saying to myself, If Tommy could live with that feeling for weeks, months, or years, I certainly could handle 37 minutes.
So he lay still, imagining himself running the trails of Rock Creek Park, weaving between trees, along the trails he knows by heart. The same paths he walked with Tommy and his girlfriend through a freshly fallen blanket of snow just days before his death. Raskin presented himself here, and so he held out until the procedure was complete.
His expression is distant, remembering the long minutes in that cold machine. “For the first time, I felt like I had a sense of what Tommy must have felt, because when he told us in his note, ‘Please forgive me, my illness won today —'” his voice trembles. “I became obsessed with whether that meant he was out of control and it was the illness that forced him to do it, or whether it meant the illness was so overwhelming that he made a voluntary choice. And that second option made me feel like, maybe” — he winces, blinking back tears — “maybe there was scope for choice, there was something we could have done, you know? But after what happened in the MRI machine, I realized there really wasn’t any difference.” His voice is almost a whisper.
He walks on, the dogs padding at his side. Raskin thinks of everything he’s read about depression, the testimonies of those who have called it “the beast” or described it as “total darkness.” He wants to understand his son’s experience as much as he can, he says, even if that understanding brings even more pain.
There is a transformation of identity that follows a sudden, catastrophic loss, the reorientation and redefinition of one’s self in a new, incomprehensible reality, and this process is one that Rep. Lucy McBath (D-Ga.) understands well. Her 17-year-old son Jordan was murdered in 2012 by a man who confronted Jordan and his friends at a gas station and complained about the volume of their music before firing 10 bullets into their car. Following this trauma, McBath ended her 30-year career as a flight attendant and dedicated herself full-time to gun control activism. Nach der Massenerschießung 2018 an der Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida, beschloss sie, für den Kongress zu kandidieren, um sich auf die Bekämpfung von Waffengewalt zu konzentrieren, und wurde im Herbst gewählt. McBath, Raskins Freund und sein Kollege im Justizausschuss des Repräsentantenhauses, kennt den Horror, ein Kind zu verlieren; sie kennt den Drang, sich dem öffentlichen Dienst zu widmen, um diesem Verlust einen Sinn zu geben; sie weiß, wie anstrengend die Arbeit als Kongressmitglied sein kann.
Als ihr klar wurde, dass Raskin nur wenige Tage nach Tommys Tod nach The Hill zurückgekehrt war, „ging ich sofort hin, um ihn zu sehen, und er fiel mir einfach in die Arme und fing einfach an zu weinen und zu weinen“, erinnert sie sich, als sie von zu Hause aus telefonierte in Marietta, Georgia. „Und ich wusste genau, was er fühlte. Ich weiß es. Ich kenne diese Emotionen, ich kenne den Schmerz und die Zweifel. Ich wollte nur, dass er das weiß, weißt du: „Ich spreche dir nicht nur mein Mitgefühl aus, ich bin hier. Ich weiß genau, was du durchmachst.‘ … Ich liebe Jamie. Das machen wir alle. Ich denke, jeder meiner Kollegen bewundert ihn wirklich. Wir bewundern seinen Intellekt und sein Mitgefühl.“
McBath machte sich auch Sorgen um ihn, als er durch die Intensität des Amtsenthebungsverfahrens navigierte. Als er die Rolle des leitenden Impeachment-Managers annahm, erinnert sie sich, fragte sie ihn: „Sind Sie sicher, dass Sie das tun wollen? Bist du emotional darauf vorbereitet?“ Er versicherte ihr, dass er es war.
Im Leben forderte Tommy Raskin immer heraus, seine Ideale zu verkörpern; im Tod verlieh Tommy seinem Vater ein bekräftigtes Gefühl der Entschlossenheit.
In seiner Eröffnungsrede vor dem Senat, in der er argumentierte, dass Trump immer noch der Gerichtsbarkeit des Senats unterliege, obwohl er nicht mehr im Amt sei, präsentierte Raskin ein anschauliches Video der Gewalt, die sich im Kapitol entfaltete. „Senatoren, der Präsident wurde am 13. Januar vom US-Repräsentantenhaus dafür angeklagt. Sie fragen, was ein „schweres Verbrechen und Vergehen“ in unserer Verfassung ist? Das ist ein hohes Verbrechen und Vergehen“, sagte er in Bemerkungen, die bald viral wurden. „Wenn das kein anfechtbares Vergehen ist, dann gibt es so etwas nicht.“ Er versuchte, die Erfahrung, an diesem Tag im Kapitol zu sein, zu vermenschlichen, indem er erklärte, dass seine Tochter und sein Schwiegersohn ihn mitten in einer verheerenden Woche für ihre Familie begleitet hätten. Seine Stimme brach, als er von seinem Austausch mit Tabitha erzählte, nachdem sie sicher wieder vereint waren, nachdem er ihr versprochen hatte, dass dies nicht passieren würde, wenn sie das nächste Mal mit ihm ins Kapitol kam, und sie antwortete: „Dad, ich will nicht zurück zum Kapitol zu kommen.“
[Video: Raskin erzählt vom Terror seiner Familie am 6. Januar]
„Ich erinnere mich, dass ich ihn beobachtete und dachte, ich kann mir einfach nicht vorstellen, wie er das jetzt macht“, sagt McBath. „Die Standhaftigkeit und die Stärke und der Mut waren einfach unglaublich für mich. Weil sein Pflichtgefühl gegenüber diesem Land so tiefgreifend ist und ich wirklich glaubte, dass er zu sich selbst sagte: Das ist es, was Tommy von mir erwartet. Und er machte weiter, auch wenn er gebrochen war.“ Sie war eine von vielen Kollegen, die sich damals um ihn scharten. Nachdem der Senat für die Fortsetzung des Amtsenthebungsverfahrens gestimmt hatte, rief Biden Raskin an: „Sie sind ein verdammter Anwalt“, sagte der Präsident, wie der Kongressabgeordnete erzählt, „aber Sie sind ein noch besserer Vater.“
McBath forderte Raskin auf, mehr Zeit für sich und seine Familie zu schaffen. „Was ich erkannte, war, dass er sich selbst keine Grenzen setzte, um sich selbst zu erlauben, sich vollständig durch den Trauerprozess zu bewegen“, erzählt sie mir. „Ich habe versucht zu sagen: ‚Deine Familie braucht dich, Jamie.‘“
Und das taten sie, sagt Sarah Bloom Raskin, aber sie sind auch eine Familie, die genau weiß, was es bedeutet, mit einer Persönlichkeit des öffentlichen Lebens zusammenzuleben. „Er wurde berufen, diese Rolle zu übernehmen, und wir hätten es geliebt, wenn er es nicht gewesen wäre“, sagt sie, „aber er ist jemand mit großem Können und Einfühlungsvermögen, und er ist Professor für Verfassungsrecht, und es gab keinen besserer Mensch dafür. Er musste es tun. At the same time, we were like, ‘We want you to stay with us, stay in our little cocoon’ — we were not quite ready to be so outward-facing. It was quite early in our grief. But he was the person of this moment in history, so we completely understood.”
It took Tabitha Raskin, a 24-year-old math teacher at Georgetown Day School, a little longer to feel entirely understanding. “I was not happy with him at that time,” she says. “I just felt like we all needed him around; we needed his full attention. We needed time for us and the family.” She knows her father feels clear that Tommy would have wanted him to accept the role of lead impeachment manager, to steer the charge for accountability and justice; she has a more nuanced way of thinking about it. “Tommy just wasn’t one to impose his beliefs on anyone or expect others to do things. He wouldn’t have pushed my dad to do it,” she says. “But I think he would have said: ‘If you want to do it, you’ve got to do it.’ So I grew to understand that.”
McBath remembers how long she spent in the haze of her own raw grief — it was two years, she says, before she could truly begin to make sense of a life without her son. So she is still keeping a close eye on Raskin, because she knows where her friend is, even — especially — when he seems like he’s somewhere else.
“I watch him,” she says. “And I see him at times, sitting on the House floor by himself. And he might be looking at his hands, he’s not really looking at any one thing, but I can see him thinking. And I know he’s thinking about Tommy.”
We return to Rock Creek Park for another hike a few weeks after the first, this time on a stunning Saturday morning in October. The park is busier with weekend visitors, and as we wind along a trail bathed in mottled sunlight, a passing hiker does a quick double-take before raising his hand to greet his elected representative.
“Thank you, Congressman, for everything you do for us,” he says to Raskin.
“Thank you, dear man,” Raskin replies, placing his palm over his chest. “I appreciate it.” The man’s walking companion chimes in as she approaches from a few steps behind: “Are you still managing to stay optimistic, despite the horror?” Raskin assumes that she is referring to the investigation of the Jan. 6 attack; he’d appeared on CNN the night before to discuss the work of the House select committee, which has issued subpoenas against Trump administration officials and rally organizers. “Yes!” he says emphatically. “We’re going to make it through. We might even put some of these people in jail if we have to.”
Raskin has always been well recognized among his fiercely loyal constituency when he’s out and about in his community, but never more so than now, in the waning months of a particularly high-profile year for his career. He is greeted repeatedly, by some people he recognizes and others he doesn’t, many of whom address him with a gentleness that conveys a certain familiarity with his story.
He’s used to this, he says, meaning the overlap of professional and personal space in his life, and he actually prefers it. “I’m not a person who is good at rigidly demarcating public life and private life. I just see it as life,” he tells me as we continue along the path. “As you can tell from people coming up to me and talking — they want to talk about their kids, my kids, how they know each other, their work, my work, our society. For me, it’s all one thing.”
Raskin speaks with reporters on Capitol Hill in October. (Jabin Botsford/The Washington Post)
There was a time, soon after Tommy’s death and the insurrection, when Raskin thought his career might be over — that leading the impeachment could be the last meaningful political work he would ever do. In the depths of his despair, Raskin says, he sometimes thought: Let them — Trump, his allies, his supporters — have it; let them have the country, the political system they seemed intent on controlling by any means. But then Raskin would think of his daughters, his nieces and nephews, the grandchildren he might have one day. He would think of the most vulnerable Americans, and the constituents who reach for his hand when they pass by on these trails, who say, “Thank you” and “Keep up the good fight.” He would think of all of them and remember what Tommy wrote: Please look after each other.
“I know that I have a responsibility to do whatever I can to preserve American democracy, which is fragile in a lot of ways. I feel that strongly, and I know Tommy felt that strongly and would feel that strongly,” Raskin says. “And so as I’ve gotten stronger and stronger, I know that this is a political and personal mission that I can never back down from, ever.”
The letters started arriving as soon as word of Tommy’s death became public — hundreds of letters, then thousands, and now there are boxes and boxes filled with more than 15,000 messages of support and solidarity and sympathy. In those first weeks, a family friend began compiling a list of “acts of kindness” carried out in Tommy’s memory; what began as a local gesture quickly went national, then global. A couple in Silver Spring pledged to donate their stimulus check to support housing for immigrants. A woman in New Zealand made a donation to a suicide prevention nonprofit. A man in São Paulo, Brazil, wrote that he had delivered a homemade meal and pet food to someone who was living on the streets with his dog. As the list soon approached 1,500 acts of kindness, it became too time-consuming to continue recording them all.
[‘One small act of compassion in Tommy’s honor’: Kind deeds follow the death of Rep. Raskin’s son]
The reverberations continued: In July, the Thomas Bloom Raskin Act went into effect in Maryland, expanding the state’s 211 crisis call center to allow counselors to proactively check in with people who have registered as needing mental health support. A nonprofit organization started by the Raskin family, the Tommy Raskin Memorial Fund for People and Animals, swelled to over $1 million in contributions and has announced numerous grants, gifts and the establishment of a paid internship at Tommy’s former workplace, Mercy for Animals. The foundation is run by Tommy’s sisters and cousins, and having this mechanism in place to quickly respond to issues that Tommy would have cared about — such as the resettlement of refugees from Afghanistan and Haiti — has been a comfort, the family says.
“There’s so much attention that he would put into this, and so making sure that we’re appropriately honoring him — it feels good, but it’s also a little overwhelming,” says Tommy’s sister Hannah Raskin, a 29-year-old vice president at Silicon Valley Bank. “I know that he would know that we’re doing our best, and he’d be understanding and happy that we’re all getting together and thinking about other people.”
Tabitha says she sometimes feels this pressure, too, knowing how meticulous Tommy was in his research and his thinking about moral dilemmas. “We can’t end all of the hurt in the world. But at the same time, knowing that we can relieve the hurt for some people, for some animals — it wouldn’t be enough necessarily for Tommy, but it would matter,” she says. “Every little thing matters. We all do what we can.”
Sarah Bloom Raskin has found solace in spending time with Tommy’s friends, the many people in his orbit who reached out to the family after his death, wanting to be close as they moved through their collective grief. Getting to know some of those people, seeing her son again through their eyes, has been deeply meaningful, she says: “His friends are ambassadors to the path forward.”
Jamie Raskin says it’s still too soon to see exactly where that path leads, though he knows the principles that will guide him. On the day Tommy introduced his father as a political candidate in January 2006, Raskin vowed to always represent the moral center rather than the political center, to push toward an alignment of the two. That is how Tommy lived, he says: “Tommy was totally antiwar, and he was vegan, and he had these positions that would be considered radical in terms of conventional political norms.” In life, Tommy always challenged Raskin to embody his ideals; in death, Tommy bestowed on his father a reaffirmed sense of resolve.
When he considers what lies ahead, Raskin recalls his graduation from Harvard Law School, and the professor — the civil rights lawyer and legal scholar Derrick A. Bell Jr. — who asked Raskin what he planned to do next. “I said, ‘Well, I don’t really know yet,’ ” Raskin recalls. “And he said, ‘Good. It’s really good not to have ambition for specific titles and offices, but to have ambition for values and how you want to live.’ ”
The police found Tommy’s farewell note hours after they arrived at the Raskin home, and it was confiscated before any of his family members could see it or know what his words for them had been. Because of the New Year’s holiday, they were first told it might be days before they could receive it — “and that would have been absolutely agonizing,” Raskin says — but Brian Frosh, attorney general of Maryland, and Takoma Park Mayor Kate Stewart stepped in to make sure the note was returned to the Raskins as quickly as possible.
It was written on the back of a Boggle word sheet, in Tommy’s instantly recognizable, endearingly childlike print, and when it was given to them it felt like a relief, “like a gift,” says his mother — one last chance to hear from their boy, to feel reassured that he would not have wanted them to blame themselves. That he had done the best he could.
Nearly a year later, the note is kept atop the dresser in their bedroom. “It’s the first thing we look at every morning,” Jamie Raskin says. He has come to see in Tommy’s words more than just the day of his death, but the embodiment of his life, the distillation of all he tried to do in the quarter-century he shared with them. “I think his parting instructions about how he wanted us to live are very consistent with trying to take care of our family, our friends, our country, our world,” he says. And so it feels right to begin each day with Tommy’s final message, now his father’s road map, a reminder of the work still to be done: To help rebuild a fractured country, to reimagine the life of a family, to inhabit the visionary places Tommy once showed them. To find a way to come back, and stay.
Raskin sifts through family photos at home.
Caitlin Gibson is a Washington Post staff writer. If you or someone you know needs help now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-8255. You can also reach a crisis counselor by texting 741741 to the Crisis Text Line.
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