Charlie Kirk’s death was a public assassination that the whole world was able to watch unfold via social media. On September 10, 2025, he was shot on the campus of Utah Valley University in Orem during one of his appearances on his “The American Comeback” tour.
As a Christian podcaster, he welcomed dialogue with the public and engaged in debate on difficult topics, including abortion or questions related to gender. He was a conservative American activist whom the press was also happy to label as right-wing.
The assassination was shared across media within moments through video footage, and everyone who knew him, and everyone who didn’t, became part of a public murder and — as quickly became clear — a witness, an investigator, an advocate, an audience.
Because even though public institutions quickly named a suspect — 22-year-old Tyler Robinson, who has since been charged with multiple offenses, including murder — and tried to substantiate this with video footage and (publicly available) message logs, the opposite happened: the world that had witnessed the event simply didn’t believe a word of it.
The internet overflowed with opinions, suspicions, conspiracy theories, truths and lies — with and without evidence. Leading the charge was journalist Candace Owens, a longtime friend of Kirk’s, who made it her personal mission to solve her friend’s murder — naturally in front of an audience, on her podcast and across social media. The internet had turned into an Agatha Christie novel, and everyone was hungry to crack the case.
People setting out in search of the truth.
That was one side.
The other side of the internet revealed a different, disturbing picture of itself: people who celebrated the assassination, who filmed themselves gleefully and shared it. They showed themselves to be gloating, giddy, and downright vicious. More than one of these enthusiasts lost their job as a result of their own public display. But it exposed an immense problem: a lack of empathy alone no longer explains reactions like these.
And yet another side revealed itself.
This one formed out of Kirk’s inner, private circle and shaped itself into a political elite: above all his wife Erika Kirk, his non-profit organization Turning Point USA, and high-ranking politicians — both current and aspiring.
Charlie Kirk’s death became a political agenda. Eleven days after the assassination, on September 21, 2025, a memorial service was held — anything but private, staged instead at State Farm Stadium in Glendale, Arizona, with more than 60,000 people inside the stadium and an estimated tens of thousands more outside, complete with fireworks, celebrity guest appearances, and merchandise. “Memorial service” doesn’t quite capture it. Let’s call it what it was: a show.
The public execution of a family man became a show with every form of commercial exploitation imaginable. Within days, Turning Point USA released new memorial merchandise — T-shirts, caps — and demand was so high that shipping times of up to twelve weeks were announced. And it didn’t stop at that one show: countless public appearances followed by a widow (now CEO of TPUSA), political allies, and his former team.
None of these appearances were understated, subtle, or emotionally restrained: colorful, glittering outfits, a fire show, and angry reactions to the internet’s truth-seeking reality.
It comes across like a circus that has nonetheless made its motto, amid all the glittering madness: We are grieving here! So no criticism, please.
What makes the whole thing even more charged: Charlie Kirk was an outspoken Christian who stood honestly by his Christian values even in the face of repeated criticism. His faith was the anchor point of all his public appearances, whether his podcast or his campus tours, where he engaged directly with students. Not everyone liked him for it, but at least he could be respected for it.
That Christian reference point has remained after his death, but the tone has changed. Christian values have suddenly become a political weapon.
Because at that very memorial service, his wife and the mother of his children spoke through tears about having forgiven the man accused of murdering her husband. Which is meant to sound touching.
But real forgiveness isn’t something you can simply pull out of your sleeve. It’s a years-long struggle with yourself and with God — knowing you will never experience remorse for the suffering inflicted on you, and that you alone must live with loss and pain. It’s a struggle with grief, pain, violence, helplessness, and doubt. Not a lesson anyone should envy, and certainly nothing glamorous or telegenic.
Whether this forgiveness is genuine is not for any outsider to judge — but what can be judged is the setting: a stage in front of tens of thousands, complete with applause and merchandise, turning a deeply private moment into a public spectacle.
At the large-scale event, forgiveness was announced to applause from thousands in attendance. Any criticism of such appearances is answered with a Bible verse meant to make one thing clear: you are wrong, and we are above you.
God’s words become a weapon against any (legitimate) objection. One can think of Charlie Kirk what one wants, but his tone toward critics was a different one: that of someone who listens to and understands the other opinion, yet disagrees within the framework of his own reality.
What has happened since his death has nothing to do with honest exchange and respectful communication. Christian language becomes a political agenda, serving to belittle and “brush aside” other opinions.
An elite that has formed itself out of money, Christian slogans, and a clear political objective, with an unmistakably theatrical character. A political and media infrastructure that instrumentalizes the death of a family man for its own agenda — whatever that agenda may be behind closed doors.
That this did not appear “suddenly” or by chance should be clear given the timing involved. Even though this cannot resolve any question of truth, it reveals a distorted picture of our society.
Meanwhile, those who became “unwilling” witnesses to a murder often seem to forget that a real tragedy took place here. One that has nothing to do with a crime novel, and one that the quirky internet sleuth is unlikely to solve.
So the other side uses the murder of their husband, boss, colleague, friend as a grand stage for their own goals — goals that no longer have anything to do with the original idea behind Kirk’s work. With money, entertainment, and Christ.
And at the same time, simply what has always repeated itself throughout human history happened once again: as soon as someone holds a different opinion or is “different,” their humanity is stripped from them. The cover stories are called politics, religion, or culture.
What lies behind it: sadism and sociopathic behavior toward other people. It is not merely accepted that this person suffered harm — it is even celebrated. One of the reasons people take to the streets and celebrate massacres and attacks against other social groups — we still live in a world where that is acceptable.
Between sadism, entertainment, money, politics, and the search for truth stands the death of a man.
The smallest voices were the most honest ones: those who were horrified by the footage, by a crime, by a murder. Those who felt sadness over it. Those who were shocked. A normal human reaction.
Because no — neither the forgiveness voiced at a political rally, which the wife extended to the man accused of murdering her husband and the father of their children, nor the gloating over it, is “normal”: both are distorted images of missing humanity, each in its own extreme form.
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