Project 2025 Architect Faces Deadly Threat: Left-Wing Rage Turns Violent

Paul Riverbank, 2/6/2026Political threats escalate: Plot against Project 2025 architect exposes rising real-world dangers in democracy.

The story goes beyond a single strange encounter. A watchful neighbor had already noticed something off that afternoon. Lurking too close to Vought’s house, Demarco appeared agitated, pacing, peering through the mailbox. At one point, he approached a nearby home, glancing around and asking directly if anybody was present at Vought’s place. The neighbor, unsettled further by what looked like the outline of a concealed weapon under Demarco’s shirt, did what everyone hopes a vigilant neighbor would do—contacted authorities.

Surveillance cameras recorded Demarco’s retreat, but by then, the wheels were turning. Investigators moved quickly—a point officials later emphasized, rightly crediting law enforcement’s sharp response—and tracked him down in just days. What they found once they’d gotten to him painted a picture far more disturbing than that odd afternoon on Vought’s block.

Inside Demarco’s belongings and digital trail, police uncovered pieces of a plan: a manifesto, step-by-step guides on disposing of bodies, digital records of dark online conversations, and, not least, graphic threats. Messages included explicit references to killing Vought. “I want to get a gun, head to DC and kill him,” read one. Another message, this one more expansive in its rage, linked Demarco’s plans directly to political events and to Donald Trump himself: “The more Trump does s**t like this, the more I wanna grab a gun and try to shoot him.”

For many, the name Russell Vought might conjure dry policy debates—he led the Office of Management and Budget under Trump, helped draft the highly contentious “Schedule F” plan, and more recently has been associated with Project 2025, a major policy blueprint floated for a possible Republican return to the White House. But Vought, like dozens of other high-profile public servants lately, has found himself increasingly on edge, recently the subject of repeated threats. Threats against him didn’t begin or end with Demarco; his work on hot-button government reforms, especially those that could impact civil service protections, have drawn ire and occasional hostility from both within Washington and well beyond.

Authorities say Demarco’s fears bordered on the apocalyptic. Investigators described a man obsessed with the prospect of a “fascist takeover” tied to the looming 2024 elections—a cycle already fraught with historic tension. Demarco is on record as calling that November the “lowest point in his life.” Yet disturbing as his confession is, he also tried to find somebody willing to carry out violence in his place if he faltered. Back online, he praised others who’d threatened or attacked government and corporate figures, revealing a dangerous web of admiration and planning that spanned far beyond one Virginia street.

Incidents like this don’t occur in a vacuum. There’s a growing sense that American politics—already polarized—has begun to spill over from angry rhetoric and all-caps social posts into real-world danger. The attempt to target Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh in 2022 brought national attention to this grim trend, but it’s hardly the only example; Democrats and Republicans alike now routinely require extra security. Recent law enforcement reports show threats against public figures have reached their highest point in recent memory—a sobering warning siren for those watching our institutions.

That said, Americans have always known spirited debate is not just healthy, but necessary. There’s a vast chasm, however, between sharp words and the sort of violence Demarco allegedly planned. No policy—however controversial—should justify making a public servant into a target. Officials of every stripe deserve a basic guarantee: that their lives and families are not at risk for their work, however unpopular some may find it.

As the courts move forward with a host of charges against Demarco, including attempted murder and solicitation to commit violence, what stands out isn’t just the individual tragedy, but a broader truth. If violence becomes a regular instrument for venting political frustration, the country as a whole loses—not just those in public office, but the very idea that differences can be hashed out at the ballot box and in debate halls.

What happens in one Arlington neighborhood or in one courtroom matters for the entire nation. How we respond, and what safeguards we implement, will help define what kind of democracy we maintain—one where fierce disagreement is expected, but murder plots remain unthinkable.

Russell Vought’s quiet Arlington neighborhood probably never expected headlines this unsettling. Yet in late August, a dark figure—gloves on, surgical mask obscuring his face, backpack slung tight—crept into view near his porch. The man was Colin Demarco, 26, who’d driven from Rockville, Maryland. According to police, he wasn’t there by accident; he’d come with harrowing intent.The story goes beyond a single strange encounter. A watchful neighbor had already noticed something off that afternoon. Lurking too close to Vought’s house, Demarco appeared agitated, pacing, peering through the mailbox. At one point, he approached a nearby home, glancing around and asking directly if anybody was present at Vought’s place. The neighbor, unsettled further by what looked like the outline of a concealed weapon under Demarco’s shirt, did what everyone hopes a vigilant neighbor would do—contacted authorities.Surveillance cameras recorded Demarco’s retreat, but by then, the wheels were turning. Investigators moved quickly—a point officials later emphasized, rightly crediting law enforcement’s sharp response—and tracked him down in just days. What they found once they’d gotten to him painted a picture far more disturbing than that odd afternoon on Vought’s block.Inside Demarco’s belongings and digital trail, police uncovered pieces of a plan: a manifesto, step-by-step guides on disposing of bodies, digital records of dark online conversations, and, not least, graphic threats. Messages included explicit references to killing Vought. “I want to get a gun, head to DC and kill him,” read one. Another message, this one more expansive in its rage, linked Demarco’s plans directly to political events and to Donald Trump himself: “The more Trump does s**t like this, the more I wanna grab a gun and try to shoot him.”For many, the name Russell Vought might conjure dry policy debates—he led the Office of Management and Budget under Trump, helped draft the highly contentious “Schedule F” plan, and more recently has been associated with Project 2025, a major policy blueprint floated for a possible Republican return to the White House. But Vought, like dozens of other high-profile public servants lately, has found himself increasingly on edge, recently the subject of repeated threats. Threats against him didn’t begin or end with Demarco; his work on hot-button government reforms, especially those that could impact civil service protections, have drawn ire and occasional hostility from both within Washington and well beyond.Authorities say Demarco’s fears bordered on the apocalyptic. Investigators described a man obsessed with the prospect of a “fascist takeover” tied to the looming 2024 elections—a cycle already fraught with historic tension. Demarco is on record as calling that November the “lowest point in his life.” Yet disturbing as his confession is, he also tried to find somebody willing to carry out violence in his place if he faltered. Back online, he praised others who’d threatened or attacked government and corporate figures, revealing a dangerous web of admiration and planning that spanned far beyond one Virginia street.Incidents like this don’t occur in a vacuum. There’s a growing sense that American politics—already polarized—has begun to spill over from angry rhetoric and all-caps social posts into real-world danger. The attempt to target Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh in 2022 brought national attention to this grim trend, but it’s hardly the only example; Democrats and Republicans alike now routinely require extra security. Recent law enforcement reports show threats against public figures have reached their highest point in recent memory—a sobering warning siren for those watching our institutions.That said, Americans have always known spirited debate is not just healthy, but necessary. There’s a vast chasm, however, between sharp words and the sort of violence Demarco allegedly planned. No policy—however controversial—should justify making a public servant into a target. Officials of every stripe deserve a basic guarantee: that their lives and families are not at risk for their work, however unpopular some may find it.As the courts move forward with a host of charges against Demarco, including attempted murder and solicitation to commit violence, what stands out isn’t just the individual tragedy, but a broader truth. If violence becomes a regular instrument for venting political frustration, the country as a whole loses—not just those in public office, but the very idea that differences can be hashed out at the ballot box and in debate halls.What happens in one Arlington neighborhood or in one courtroom matters for the entire nation. How we respond, and what safeguards we implement, will help define what kind of democracy we maintain—one where fierce disagreement is expected, but murder plots remain unthinkable.