The assassination of Charlie Kirk at Utah Valley University is a tragedy that defies politics. I write that as someone who disagreed with him deeply.
I often found his commentary offensive, lacking nuance and empathy, and corrosive to the civic and spiritual hope I want to believe in. But no matter how strongly I objected to his politics, his death by gunfire is not justice, not progress, and certainly not something to joke about.
It is an act of violence that should break all our hearts.
A wound to democracy
The danger of political violence is not limited to its immediate victims. Every bullet fired at a political figure tears a hole into our democracy.
It sends a message that ideas can be silenced by force, that debate can be replaced by intimidation and that hatred is more powerful than words.
Whether aimed at Donald Trump last year, Gabby Giffords a decade ago, or now Charlie Kirk, such attacks are an assault on us all. A functioning democracy cannot survive if citizens believe the way to settle disputes is through a sniper rifle instead of through persuasion, protest and the ballot box.
Within hours of Kirk’s death, my own social media feeds were filled with insensitive reactions. Jokes about the tragedy, mocking comments and even outright celebration. To some, it may feel like poetic justice. But let’s be honest: laughing at a man’s death is not justice. It is cruelty dressed up as political commentary.
This trend is not only indecent, it is also counterproductive.
Celebrating violence against one’s opponents does not strengthen a progressive cause. It does not heal the wounds left by school shootings, racial violence or domestic abuse. It hardens divisions, making it easier for every side to demonize the other as irredeemable.
When progressives cheer a conservative’s death, they mirror the very callousness they often criticize. Compassion and empathy should not be conditional on political affiliation.
Finding empathy again
At the same time, it’s worth noting that not all of social media was hateful. Many people responded with genuine sympathy and grief. My feeds also included prayers for the Kirk family, words of condolence from across the political spectrum and reminders that violence should never replace dialogue.
These moments of compassion show that empathy is still possible, even in a fractured digital landscape.
My own heart aches for Kirk’s wife and two young children. They will grow up with photographs instead of memories, silence instead of their father’s laughter.
And my heart also aches for children in classrooms who are told to crouch in corners during lockdown drills, for families who bury loved ones lost to mass shootings, for communities living with daily gun violence that never makes national headlines.
Gun violence is not a partisan problem. It is an American problem. And it is a spiritual problem, too, for a nation that claims to value the sanctity of life.
The fact that some of us found Kirk’s ideas damaging does not erase the reality that he was a human being whose life was cut short by an act of brutality. No speech, no podcast, no ideology justifies an execution. The path to a healthier political culture cannot run through a graveyard of opponents. It must run through the difficult, messy, frustrating work of civic engagement. This means arguing, listening, voting, protesting, persuading. Freedom of speech must mean freedom to speak without fear of assassination, even when that speech makes us angry.
Reckoning with our humanity
This should also be a moment of collective self-examination. What does it say about us that tragedy has become entertainment fodder online? What does it mean for our national conscience that we can scroll past images of vigils and grieving families and still muster the energy to post jokes?
If we cannot pause, if we cannot show restraint in the face of death, then we risk losing something far greater than a political argument, we risk losing our own humanity.
We don’t have to like Charlie Kirk’s politics to mourn his death. We don’t have to agree with his views to reject the violence that silenced him. And we don’t have to abandon our convictions to insist that our political fights stay rooted in words, not weapons.
America has endured too many funerals, too many vigils, too many moments of silence. If anything is clear, it is this: gun violence cannot be our answer, no matter who the victim is.