After Saturday night’s attack on the White House Correspondents’ Dinner, it’s clearer now than ever that, in President Donald Trump’s America, danger isn’t defined by actions, but by narrative value. And, in turn, both violence and tragedy are selectively framed to justify power, deflect accountability and mobilize political loyalty like never before.

The California man charged in attempting to assassinate Trump at the dinner was safely and immediately transported to a hospital for a medical assessment, and allowed to see his day in court.

Others haven’t been awarded that privilege.

An unarmed Minneapolis woman was such a perceived threat protesting from within the bounds of her vehicle, accompanied only by her wife and dog, that a group of armed federal agents were given no choice but to shoot her dead, in broad daylight, according to officials.

An ICU nurse, after agents flung two women toward his body, put his hands in the air. Armed with a legal weapon, remaining in his holster, one hand was open and elevated far from the gun, the other clearly handling his smartphone — the universal signal of “I come in peace.”

This posture was, as then-DHS Secretary Kristi Noem put it, “the definition of domestic terrorism,” and therefore warranted the lone citizen be tackled by 9 agents, his weapon be confiscated, and only then be gunned down by two different men — one Border Patrol agent and one CBP officer — who fired 10 shots at him in total, point-blank, in the street.

Video evidence suggests that neither the woman, Renee Good, nor the nurse, Alex Pretti, posed any threat to the federal agents’ safety. In each of their encounters, they were grossly outnumbered in both strength and weaponry. But it didn’t matter. Their lives were taken at the scenes, not granted the same privilege as the president’s assassin.

Cole Tomas Allen, unlike Pretti and Good, was not immediately deemed a domestic terrorist. Within two hours of the incident, Trump addressed the nation, going only as far as to call his attempted assassin a “sick person,” and directing reporters’ questions to the ongoing investigation.

And within mere minutes, what was initially a traumatizing evening for attendees became a campaign for Trump’s controversial $400 million White House ballroom — a demolition and construction facing at least two major lawsuits.

In fact, the only similarities between Saturday evening and the days Pretti and Good were killed was that each instance was weaponized. Tragic events utilized like a convenient opportunity — serendipity.

Before any investigation into Pretti and Good’s murders, and in place of accountability, the two were deemed “terrorists,” attacking the nation’s proud patriots.

Trump, on the other hand, was attacked for the third time. Hence the secret service, his ability to host events at the White House’s existing spaces. He frequently visits his member-club Mar-a-Lago, but the demolition of “the people’s house,” paid for by private investors, to create a space that would only serve to host events and parties for rich and powerful elites — up to 999 of them, to be exact — without congressional approval, is a logical leap from a shot hitting a single secret service-member one floor above the event.

In line with America’s judicial processes, the assassin was able to see his first day in court. A mother and an ICU nurse weren’t awarded that luxury.

The Trump administration applies the label of “threat” selectively — not based on actual danger, but on political usefulness, and then weaponizes both.