Time & Perspective Quote by Jennifer Granholm

Order and empathy are staged here as a single package, but the emphasis lands hard on containment. Granholm’s “must come to an end” isn’t just a plea; it’s a governing verb that casts unrest as an emergency to be managed, not a symptom to be interrogated. The sentence front-loads “civil unrest” and “violence,” terms that compress a messy civic rupture into a public-safety frame. That choice quietly narrows what the state can be held responsible for: riots are something to stop; structural grievances are something to “heal,” a softer, slower promise with fewer measurable deliverables.

“Healing process” does rhetorical work because it sounds communal and nonpartisan while remaining strategically vague. Healing from what, exactly? Police actions, economic abandonment, political marginalization, local corruption, racism? The line refuses to specify a wound, which protects the speaker from naming an agent. Healing becomes a future-tense aspiration rather than a present-tense reckoning. It also recasts residents as patients in need of therapy, a subtle shift from citizens with demands to a community with trauma.

Then there’s the pivot to “we will provide assistance,” the classic statehouse posture of benevolent intervention. “In Benton Harbor” matters: it marks the town as a site of disorder requiring outside stabilization, reinforcing a center-periphery dynamic. The promise to help “end the violence” reads concrete; “enabling the healing process” reads like a grant program and a press conference. The intent is to project control and compassion simultaneously, reassuring broader audiences that the state is restoring calm while signaling to locals that their anger will be translated into administrable, supervised recovery.