The Weaponization of Grief
Yesterday afternoon, a single gunshot echoed across Utah Valley University, killing Charlie Kirk in front of thousands. By nightfall, his name was trending worldwide—not just as a victim, but as a symbol. In hours, his death had shifted from a human tragedy to a political flashpoint, proof of everything each side already believed.
I abhor violence. That has always been my baseline, whether the victim is a conservative firebrand or a liberal activist. I often found Kirk’s rhetoric cruel and offensive—he once argued that a certain number of gun deaths each year was a “prudent deal” to preserve the Second Amendment—but none of that makes his murder justifiable. Yet even in my grief and anger at the act itself, I watched a familiar playbook unfold: mourning sharpened into a blade, tragedy spun into political currency.
A Day of Chaos
The details are stark. Kirk was speaking beneath a tent emblazoned with the slogan The American Comeback, taking questions about mass shootings, when a single shot from a rooftop struck him in the neck. Panic rippled through the crowd as parents shielded their children and people dove for cover. Within hours, two men had been detained, then released. A Canadian retiree was falsely accused and doxxed, his photo plastered across X by a fake news account. Rumors outran facts.
By sunset, Utah Valley University’s campus was empty, its gates locked, its students traumatized. Online, though, the shooting had already been transformed into a symbolic war zone. Threads filled with speculation, blame, and old clips of Kirk’s sharpest sound bites. The chaos of reality mattered less than who could claim his death fastest.
The Speech That Set the Tone
Last night, President Trump addressed the nation, his words setting the narrative that now dominates conservative media.
“Charlie was the best of America… An assassin tried to silence him with a bullet, but he failed, because together we will ensure that his voice, his message, and his legacy will live on for countless generations to come.”
The speech began as a eulogy and ended as a battle cry. Trump named Kirk “a martyr for truth and freedom,” then used the moment to indict the “radical left” and promise sweeping crackdowns on “organizations that fund and support” political violence. There was no mention of Democrats who have been killed or attacked in recent years—Melissa Hortman, Paul Pelosi, Gabrielle Giffords. Selective empathy is its own message.
Within hours, the speech was amplified across every conservative platform, transforming Kirk’s death into proof of conspiracy. He wasn’t just a victim; he was a symbol.
A Mirror Held Up to Us
Scrolling through reactions online felt like watching empathy die in real time. On the Southern Poverty Law Center’s post condemning the shooting, some voices called for reflection and compassion. Others mocked Kirk’s death, citing his own dismissal of gun deaths as the cost of liberty. A few openly celebrated, arguing “freedom has a price.”
In one sense, this is nothing new—political violence has long been part of America’s story—but our willingness to treat death as entertainment, as a meme, feels like moral collapse. Even Congress, a place where silence once carried weight, couldn’t hold a moment of it. Lawmakers shouted across the aisle, their accusations turning the House floor into another stage for grief theater.
What we witnessed wasn’t grief but spectacle, sharpened for cameras and clicks.
The Cycle We Refuse to Break
It’s tempting to believe this is new, but history tells another story: Lincoln, Kennedy, Martin Luther King Jr., Gabby Giffords. American politics has always been shadowed by violence. What’s different now is the speed. There was no pause between Kirk’s death and the headlines declaring him “a martyr,” no breath before influencers called for vengeance.
And so the cycle continues: an assassination, followed by outrage, followed by rhetoric that justifies the next act of violence. When Trump said, “Charlie’s voice has become bigger and grander than ever before—and it’s not even close,” he was right. But that resonance isn’t redemption; it’s proof that political violence has found yet another stage.
A Call to Remember Our Humanity
I disagreed with Charlie Kirk profoundly. I bristled at his mockery of empathy, his vilification of marginalized communities, his dismissal of gun deaths as a cost of liberty. But none of that makes his death less horrifying. If anything, it underscores the urgency of reclaiming something we are losing at an alarming pace: the ability to mourn without agenda.
We cannot let tragedy become just another cudgel. Political violence doesn’t begin with bullets; it begins with the steady erosion of empathy, with the way we speak about those we oppose, with the ease of turning enemies into caricatures. If we don’t interrupt that cycle, Kirk’s death won’t be the end of anything—it will be a grim preview of what’s coming.
Before another shot shatters a courtyard, before another name becomes a hashtag, we need courage, humility, and an insistence on seeing one another as human first.
We are living through history, that much has been made clear through all of the events that have been going on. Covid & everything else. This is a great publication, I enjoyed your post.