On Charlie Kirk: You Can't Pick and Choose Your Martyr

By Abbigale Kernya for The 44 North

Managing Editor

Charlie Kirk speaking into a microphone

"What began as a goal to further the reach of conservative ideology on college campuses evolved into a right-wing pipeline that grounded itself in exploiting marginalized communities and inciting violence against anyone who dared to call out the deplorable white supremacist behaviour."

On September 10th, 2025, American Conservative podcaster Charlie Kirk was fatally shot at Utah Valley University on the first stop of his “Prove Me Wrong” campus tour. Kirk, who made his career founding Turning Point USA and debating college students on campus about controversial topics like abortion, same-sex marriage, transgender existence, and the right to bear arms, has left behind a legacy that continues to polarize and divide. 

Kirk’s final words that afternoon perhaps speak most of all to his work, where he riled up the MAGA crowd in attendance—fearmongering about transgender gang violence—moments before he was fatally shot by a rifle 200 yards away. The suspect charged is 22-year-old Tyler Robinson, whose motives remain unknown at the time of writing, despite republican claims his actions were a blatant attack from the left. 

It is without question that no matter Kirk’s controversial and bigoted stance, nobody ‘deserves’ to die by gun violence. This remains true, even after Kirk plainly stated in 2023 that he supported civilian casualties to protect and uphold the Second Amendment right to bear arms. The outcry following his assassination is as polarizing as it is frightening. Far right MAGA leaders are calling on violence towards the left (or, their “political opponents”) and conspiracy theories are headlining mainstream media, stating that this shooting was somehow a result of transgender violence—the same “violence” Kirk conspiratized seconds before the fatal shot. 

And yet, on the same day Kirk was shot and killed on campus, an elementary school in Illinois was attacked by a lone gunman, marking the 146th American school shooting in 2025, as Kirk became the same “civilian casualty” he supported.

Kirk’s platform was built on oppression and harm to anyone who wasn’t a straight, white, Christian, middle-class American cis-male. It can be hard to feel empathy for someone who would not give you the same courtesy. Empathy, which, in Kirk’s own words, was seen as a made-up emotion.

Right-wing extremism has been rising steadily in America, bleeding the harmful rhetoric mainstreamed by people like Kirk into nearly every crevice of the West. When the news broke that Kirk had succumbed to his fatal shot, the response heard everywhere from the internet to sports venues was shocking, to say the least. 

This is not to say that Kirk deserved what he got—nobody, no matter which side of the political line they stand on, deserves to be murdered in broad daylight. Nobody deserves to witness bloodshed, and in breaking down the hypocrisies of republican outcry, it is not a pro-firearm message. Rather, it’s one that aims to draw light toward the mass mourning of a white supremacist podcaster who made a career demonizing marginalized communities under the guise of “free speech” and the right to have your own opinion.

The irony of this whole situation is hidden under the calls for violence and continued “us vs. them” rhetoric, steeped in racist comparisons between Kirk and the murder of George Floyd, to further blame the left for his assassination. However, the argument that one must feel sorry for Kirk is somewhat missing the mark in this conversation. Especially given that Kirk himself advocated for public executions, saying they should be televised to children and sponsored by major corporations like Coca-Cola. It comes as somewhat ironic, then, that the conversation around his death is spiralling into that of a memorialized martyr who died for his own opinion, not one that aims to look at the broader picture of the violence he made a career out of. 

Kirk’s advocacy for the right to one’s own “opinion” is a trapdoor that invites unsuspecting viewers through the guise of free speech into the chasm of extremist ideology. As a reminder, an opinion is whether or not you like summer over winter, or what TV show deserved an Emmy Award, or how you like your eggs cooked. An opinion is not whether or not you believe the Jim Crow laws were a good thing for the Black community, or that women aren’t capable of holding equal careers to men, or that transgender people are dangerous, bloodthirsty criminals. Charlie Kirk did not die for his opinion. He held no ‘opinions’ that were not factually incorrect or spewed in the pursuit of a divided country, fueled by hatred and fear. 

His “Prove me Wrong” tour would be the final act in his legacy of rage-baiting college students into falling for the ultra-right-wing pipeline, spinning every disadvantage young people face into a calling card for bigotry and white-supremacy. It is extremely telling how school shootings and the rise of hate speech in North America have become so normalized that they’ve become desensitized to mainstream media. On the afternoon of Charlie Kirk’s shooting, when a man armed with a semi-automatic weapon opened fire in an elementary school in Illinois, the narrative instead became focused on protecting the legacy of someone who didn’t believe in equal rights based on “freedom of expression” rather than the epidemic of gun violence that is plaguing America.

The truth is, if people were truly outraged that this horrific act of gun violence cost Kirk his life, a conversation of change would spark. Instead, conversations around further demonizing left-leaning voters and the trans community have infiltrated online forums. Additionally, we’ve seen countless examples where anyone speaking out against the hypocrisy of Kirk’s shooting is facing harassment and, in increasingly frequent cases, being fired from their employment after speaking against Charlie Kirk's “opinions.”

How have we strayed so far from the plot that merely bringing attention to the hypocrisy and somewhat ironic nature of September 12th is an act of war against the right-wing? To say that you don’t support what happened to Charlie Kirk, but Charlie Kirk (by his own words) supported what happened to him, has become controversial—as if his platform was built around not only protecting the Second Amendment, but also advocating for looser gun restrictions. 

How can one mourn Charlie Kirk and ignore the victims of his rhetoric?

What began as a goal to further the reach of conservative ideology on college campuses evolved into a right-wing pipeline that grounded itself in exploiting marginalized communities and inciting violence against anyone who dared to call out the deplorable white supremacist behaviour. 

To truly mourn Charlie Kirk must mean you mourn all victims of gun violence. 

To mourn him as a father, as a husband, is to also mourn the innocent families ripped apart by ICE raids.

To mourn him as a political activist for free speech is to also mourn the journalists murdered in Gaza who died documenting a genocide. 

To mourn Charlie Kirk is to mourn victims of violence perpetuated with hands cradling guns and microphones. 

To mourn him is to mourn trans people and childbearing folks who have died due to lack of access to gender affirming care and abortion resources.

You cannot pick and choose your martyr. 

Political Anxiety→ Live Podcast Recap

by Mikaela Brewer ​for The 44 North

From left to right, and from behind, a view of Kritika, Walied, Diana, and Brennan sitting at a long table in front of microphones. Photo taken by: @calcamposmedia / @calvin.campos

Key Event Insights To Remember & Guide You

*paraphrased from our

 Live Podcast Event: Political Anxiety–How to Take Action and Take Care of Yourself.  

Download this post as a PDF checklist!

How can we truly be informed during the rise of AI & social media’s influence on political discourse?

• Asante Haughton (A): The internet is juxtaposed with the real world. The internet never used to be real—we were told to go outside & talk to real people. Now, the internet is real. Have conversations with real people in our lives about misinformation, disinformation, and conspiracy theories. We’re critical of the internet, but not everyone is. Reach them.

• Walied Khogali Ali (W): AI has changed everything. If it’s taught bias in data mining, bias becomes easy to spread. At a policy level, data is overcharged. Platforms are learning through bias, such as in health care & of racialized groups. Ask how this is impacting our shared understanding of facts. Be involved in how we collectively regulate this data. AI didn’t appear magically—bias is built into all technology & it’s people who build it. We feed it bias to learn from, only for it to share bias back to us. What are we telling AI?

• Brennan Jackson (B): Surround yourself with people who both do & don’t think like you. Facts don’t always align with beliefs, so put effort into fact-checking. Don’t take things at face value.

• Diana Yoon (D): Social media is a tool—we can use it to reach people. It can be a bridge to connect decision makers + politicians where in-person conversations are critically complementary. 

• D: We can’t ignore the rise & popularity of AI & the fact that people are searching for information through it. Ask: What is the bias of each platform & publication you’re engaging with. What sources are being mined? What are you being fed & who’s growing it?

• W: Ask why we would believe information not coming from a trusted source? Trust is a foundation of community. So if we don’t trust Google’s leadership, for example, why would we trust its AI as a source?

• B: AI is not always correct. It’s often blatantly wrong. Use critical thinking!

• D: Ask what we lose in moments where we talk to a machine instead of a friend, neighbour, or family member. Can we lean on our list of contacts? Who might need us, too?

What does a politically safe & just future look like? What are we building towards?

• W: When basic human rights are respected, and our framework is focused on this. We must work to see the warning signs & consequences of not listening to one another. Build strong safety nets. This future is possible when it’s a matter of choice: who we vote for, elect, volunteer with, donate to, and speak up alongside. Exercise the power we have! We need to trust each other & work together. Appreciate the shared values we have. Calls to action cannot be seen as an inconvenience!

• B: Everyone’s perspectives have to be heard. This offers a better chance for understanding & therefore, the changing of minds. Reduce censorship. 

• D: Back to basics: a society where we genuinely care for each other.

What are some frames/wisdom to know and/or lead communication with, in the most empathetic, resourceful way?

• W: Know that this is more than a series of thoughts—this is a collective feeling.

• W: Powerful people don’t want change, and use forms of intimidation to halt discussion of a system that’s harmful. It’s helpful to know that social media divisions have worked. We’re influenced. Research on AI shows effectiveness at convincing people to change their minds. 

• W: Know that the public narrative is not always factually correct.

• W: Attacks on people & rights are not subtle. Laws are being changed & programs dismantled. 

• B: Re: Faith and the Christian community: Trump pedestalled his platform on “Christian values.” If you’re a part of a Christian community and don’t subscribe to his ideologies, do some extra research. What does faith look like in a political climate where it’s weaponized? 

• B: Know that inducing fear sponsors hate & blame, which aren’t effective in change. 

• D: Try not to feel intimidated. We can influence the decisions that impact our lives.

• D: Fear & concern are always valid & needed with the rise of fascism & international conflict. 

• D: Being in a state of powerless fear is not motivating. Organize in a way that tackles anxiety as urgency in a productive way. And reframe urgency: everything feels harder when we’re burning out. If we want to fight the good fight for the rest of our lives, we need healthy rest & stamina.

• D: Know that Instagram blocks news, which changes how folks get information on the landscape of social media. 

• D: We’re losing the ability to gather information, form communication channels, and take action. It is harder to share information, so continue finding & building new ways. 

• W: Past “progressive coalitions” are showing cracks. 

How can advocacy evolve to not only resist political anxiety but also get it back on track?

• W: Solidarity. Evil prevails when good people remain silent. 

• W: Find common alignment & understanding of what our shared, true threat is.

• W: Do not take for granted voices disenfranchised from the process—we must do intentional work to build alliances. Build, don’t sit idle, and don’t assume things are going to get better.

• D: Ask what we can do to influence change: talk to city councillors, MPs, escalate when tactics don’t work, fill out surveys & petitions. 

• B: Be okay with angering people, but without pushing them away through anger. Come from a place of empathy. Not everyone has the same upbringing or access to information/perspectives.

• W: There are no shortcuts. Our best communication form is face-to-face, 1:1. This builds a foundation of trust. We’re kept busy intentionally—exhausted from work, partying on weekends to cope, and then have no idea what’s happening. Some level of privilege—to take time off work for example—is required to join spaces. We need to challenge this fundamentally: how can spaces function if people can’t meaningfully participate in them?

• W: We can’t just show up to town hall now—it’s security-focused & feels unwelcome. Challenge the status quo. Make spaces accessible. Integrate intergenerational conversations to understand how we got here. Not showing up & not caring is the desired outcome by those in power. Sheep can be manipulated & controlled. Take back these institutions & make them democratic. 

• B: Look to leaders who are truly empathetic to the people they’re hoping to serve. Ex. those who are willing to take public transit or spend time living with the houseless community. 

• D: Find mutual aid work & community development outside of government support for local, tangible impact. 

• W & D: Understand who influences the political process. Convince people to participate. Run for office or support someone who truly reflects & represents the community & their needs. Build coalitions that coalesce. Be consistent, work hard, and lead with a vision. 

• A: People will join you, because they agree, but only if you start!

• D: Know that everyone thinks they’re doing the right thing. What is motivating them? Who are they listening to?

• A: Sometimes people are in government because the folks who voted for them are the loudest. Let’s be loud! 

Finding Love: When Your Loved Ones Vote Differently Than You

by Mikaela Brewer ​for The 44 North

A red “I Voted” sticker, stuck to a fingertip

At the peak of a cool, June golden hour, Henrie searched for her house keys in the pocket of her jeans. They jingled around her fingers on their sparkly purple coil, singing with the wind chimes hanging from the porch. The old wood steps creaked, as if the groan of its paint-skin peeling, and the stone cardinal riding the chimes jolted as Henrie bumped their head on them. She’d always thought this a strange design—cardinals always appeared in pairs.

Finally finding the right key, she unlocked the door and sniffed for expected tobacco smoke. They slipped off their hiking boots, and tiptoed toward the foyer stairs. 

“Henrietta? Honey, is that you?” A familiar, gravelly voice wound around the doorway of the living room.

Henrie breathed a soft sigh. “Yes, Grandpa, it’s me.” Henrie heard the T.V. volume decrease as her grandfather, Danny, shuffled out of his back and neck pillows. He stopped in the doorway, with a warm smile that reached Henrie like a ghost hug. They knew he was wondering why they hadn’t announced their entrance, as usual. But Danny was sweet, and respectful, which Henrie always appreciated. The grief of losing a mother wasn’t the same as losing a daughter, but the state of the old farmhouse consistently clarified that the ache was shared.

The quiet was a bit disarming. Danny must’ve fed the animals a bit early, Henrie thought. Why?

“Would you like anything special for dinner? I wish I could say the tomatoes were ready for pasta sauce, but not quite.” Danny’s eyes crinkled with playful frustration.

“Oh, that’s okay. I’m good with whatever you’re feeling, honestly. I’m a little tired to think.” The setting sun’s golden beams made the floating dust in the air between them visible. One beam shone directly on a black and white graduation photo of Ellen, Henrie’s mother, nearly coercing the colours of life out of its past as if they were behind the wall the photo was nailed to. 

“Well why don’t we cook something together? Maybe you can tell me about your Tuesday afternoon?”

Clever, Danny. This is what Henrie did not want to do, but they didn’t know what else to say. “Okay, sure.” 

“Perfect. Let’s do it.” Danny walked down the hall toward the kitchen, which was mostly windows overlooking Ellen’s garden. It was Henrie’s favourite room in what had been her mother’s childhood home. In the sun, everything caught fire, especially her and Danny’s deep amber hair, his now streaked with silver. At night, the dark orange walls looked almost black lit by a blue-white moon. The whole room smelled like basil, bread, and the ripening tomatoes climbing an open window. 

As Danny washed his hands, he offered a look of invitation and expectation. Not unkind. But one Henrie knew well: Why, at 23 and living at home, she hadn’t been “working” this afternoon. 

“Well, I voted, first,” she paused for a reaction but Danny just nodded as he poured green pasta curls into a corningware dish. “And then I went to an open meeting at the Seed Library. It was about queer ecology and ensuring community gardens and other natural spaces and parks are queer, trans, indigenous, and Black and Brown centred and inclusive leading into PRIDE, Juneteenth, and Indigenous Peoples Month. I wrote down pages of notes, and I’m hoping to volunteer a bit more, because, you know, learning about how to organize and activate a community is how we do more than just vote.” Henrie stopped here, aware of her swelling eagerness. 

Danny nodded again, but looked down as he rinsed rosemary residue from his hands. “I voted, too.” 

Henrie smiled with their lips pressed together. Danny mistook it for despair, and an opportunity.

“Don’t worry, love. Once we get a new government, they’re going to mend this cost of living crisis. You’ll be able to move out and live the life you’re hoping for—that I’m hoping for you.”

Henrie’s brows knit. She didn’t know how to respond to her unspoken question being answered. 

“Grandpa, how could you vote for them?”

“What?” He asked with genuine confusion, again not unkindly, but defensively. “I’ve always loved and supported you. And learned about the 2SLGBTQIA+ community. Did I say it right? I was just watching that series with RuPaul! And I finished Season 1 of that show last night! The Last of Us? Right? It’s very good. I really like it.”

Henrie’s heart seemed to stall between beats to take up more blood, but the delay hurt. 

“I know you love me, Grandpa. I do. I really do.” She meant it. “But that’s not what we’re talking about. I agree with you. We are in a violent cost of living crisis. But it certainly won’t be fixed or solved by any of our parties or leaders. We have to vote for harm reduction, and not just for ourselves or the people closest to us. Maybe it’s like Joel trying to save Ellie in The Last of Us—he was only considering her when he killed all those people to free her from the hospital. And it wasn’t for lack of love. It was almost like—” Henrie paused to think, “love out of context.”

“But I’d do what he did, Henrietta. I think I would. Wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know, and that’s what makes this so hard. Maybe Joel and Ellie are a poor example. But we do make judgement errors when we don’t consider folks outside of our immediate circle of conversation and influence. How much we love someone close to us should be fuel for learning to love others who aren’t.”

“Yes,” Danny tried to take a calming breath, “you’re right about that bit. But this government has messed up everything for your generation. We need change! How could you vote for them? Again?” 

Henrie glanced at the tomatoes growing up the kitchen window frame, green but reddening, reflecting off of Danny’s furrowed face.

“You’re right. We do! But change has to come from us. And when we vote—a bare minimum step—we have to think about who, in a position of power, is most likely to join that change when we make it. And react with fear, control, and surveillance least often.” 

“Henrietta, you’re young. You’re confused—”

“No, I’m not. Can’t you see we’re saying the same thing?” 

“You just voted for the same crap that’s been happening for ten years!”

“There has been a lot of trash. Yes. A lot of manipulation. But reviving a past—before the past ten years—isn’t change. Doing this won’t build or enact the new pillars we need to float our country’s dock.” 

From the living room, a breaking news anchor’s voice wafted in. The election results. 

Henrie and Danny made sharp eye contact before hustling into the living room. Both were silent as the election was declared, much earlier than anticipated. Henrie felt her socks sink further into the tiger-print carpet than usual, because it hadn’t been vacuumed. 

“Well. That’s just perfect. Good job.” Danny’s voice wavered as he walked out the back door to the garden, knelt in the dirt with both knees and elbows, and put his head in his hands.  

Henrie jogged upstairs, flopped onto their bed, and opened Andrea Gibson’s Substack. 

The first poem that popped up was a video of “What Love Is”. They hadn’t heard it before. Henrie wept as she listened to it, facing her mother’s handwriting—accidentally in plum-purple Sharpie—on the top right corner of her vanity mirror. 

“Where there is rage, remember its tenderness. Where there is tenderness, don’t forget its rage.”

[This is an invitation to pause reading & watch Andrea read us their breathtaking poem; we don’t have copyright permissions to reprint it!]

Face damp, Henrie stood to look at their face in the mirror. Her freckles seemed bolder, like wet versus dry rocks. In the mirror’s reflection, Henrie looked out her open window. A mist of rain sprayed lightly across the backs of her arms, bringing with it a few lilac petals from the bush that climbed the back of the house. Henrie didn’t wipe away her tears on the way to the printer downstairs, and then out to the garden. 

***

Danny was tenderly thumbing the tomatoes, both a fruit and a vegetable, as if two truths simultaneously. Henrie walked slowly toward him, remembering something from earlier that day, at the Seed Library: patience as the vital cornerstone of nature, and of course, gardening. When they flourish, not unlike a family, it’s not always due to their fertility and reproductivity, but to their depth, circularity, and broadness of influence. Our garden and our grief is what we have in common, Henrie thought. 

Henrie approached Danny, dropped to their knees, and placed a hand over his. “I don’t blame you.”

“I know. I don’t blame you either.”

She took a deep breath and handed her grandfather a paper with a poem printed on it. He took a few moments to read it, right there among the tomatoes and lilacs. Tears fell into the imprints where his hands had been pressed into the soil. He read one of the last lines out aloud:

““I’m 76 years old, he said, and I just tonight figured out what love is.””

“I know what love is at 23 because you’ve shown it to me—in ways like this poem. And that’s where we’ll try to understand and forgive each other, okay?”

Danny nodded. He smeared soil across his cheeks, like a football player or a warrior, as he tried to clear his tears. “Could I share something with you, too?” 

Henrie nodded, eagerly. 

“Victor Hugo said, once, that “Certain thoughts are prayers. There are moments when, whatever the attitude of the body, the soul is on its knees.” Our souls are both on their knees, Henrie, I know. Especially right now. But because they’re here, they see eye to eye. Let’s stay for a moment. Let’s talk from that place.”

Henrie closed their eyes and took their grandfather’s hands, nodding gently. Two cardinals landed on the lilac bush beside them. She tilted her head up to the warmth of the afternoon sun, the smell of petrichor, and colours of the garden making a mosaic against her eyelids. They thought—perhaps prayed—to always be moved by what love is.