Charlie Kirk lived spreading hate toward me, my friends, and many others. Yet now, after his death, people expect us to visibly mourn him? Fly flags at half-mast? I can’t bring myself to do that.
He publicly said that gay people should be stoned to death. He claimed the Civil Rights Act of 1964 was “a huge mistake.” He asserted we should legally be allowed to whip foreigners in the U.S., that Muslims are here to destroy the country, that American Jews promote “anti-whiteness,” that transgender people deserve physical attacks, that women ought to submit to their husbands, and that Black professionals “steal” jobs from white people. Kirk used his influential, well-funded youth conservative organization Turning Point USA to push these hateful ideas, shaping a generation of imitators and trolls.
After his murder—while speaking at Utah Valley University—voices across the political spectrum—including Donald Trump, and governors like Gavin Newsom—have called him a martyr, offered praise, asked others to honor his memory, and declared flags at half-mast.
My reaction? Not sympathy. Not mourning. Not celebration. I am sorry for children who’ve lost a father and for those who witnessed violence. I oppose murder, always. But I also believe we’re not obligated to pretend sorrow for someone who devoted their public life to harming vulnerable people. Compassion isn’t something you manufacture out of obligation.
Psychotherapist Dr. Dionne Mahaffey-Muhammad put it well: there’s a difference between speaking ill of the dead and honoring a life that caused harm. She says grief isn’t a performance; empathy isn’t endless; and refusing to mourn someone who caused harm sets a boundary. That doesn’t make someone cruel. It makes them honest.
What frustrates me most is the way Kirk’s murder is getting more sympathy and public attention right now than many other victims: school shootings, the slaughter of Palestinian civilians, or violence against marginalized people—often rendered invisible. It feels like his life matters more simply because he was wealthy, powerful, and well connected.
Yes, his killing is shocking. Yes, it’s a reminder that political violence is real and dangerous. But to me, that doesn’t mean we need to sanctify his legacy or pretend the harm he did doesn’t matter. The real concern now is what will come after his death: how the existing far-right media networks that supported him will continue to stoke hate against foreigners, people of color, queer folks—those who he targeted—and do so while being given respect, tribute, and platforms.
So no, I won’t cry for Charlie Kirk. And yet I also won’t mock others who are upset or mourning. Grief, fear, anger—they’re valid. But honoring the memory of someone who spent years vilifying marginalized people? That’s not something I can do.
