America has always been monstrous, uncaring, and selfish. Yet, it once dressed itself in a pretty face—put on makeup and projection—and presented itself as a hero, a morally superior utopia.
As a Black man living within it, I could always see the cracks beneath that facade. But as I grew older, I’d be lying if I said I felt no hope for the future. I thought things would eventually get better.
I was wrong.
White supremacy is back in full force — although I'm not quite sure it ever left.
This hatred, and America’s monstrous past, is represented by Republican martyr Charlie Kirk.
Kirk was a sexist, racist, homophobic master debater. He was murdered during a public event. Many refused to mourn him, and despite protests claiming they didn’t support violence, they were fired anyway.
Others mourned him excessively.
I talked to a white colleague about Kirk’s death. She had a lot to say and asked me to write her thoughts. You can read her words below.
LG Ware
In short, she was starting to see America's shortcomings. It’s easy to dismiss her curiosity as naive, but genuine questioning is a good first step.
After reading the comments, she felt discouraged, but kept asking questions—until her boyfriend saw her messages and told her to stop talking to me.
He didn’t want her thinking about racism. I knew he was sensitive about Kirk’s death.
I hope she’s still questioning and growing despite her boyfriend's stance.
Kirk died on September 10th. Within days, his face was posted on a sign outside my neighborhood. As of October 23rd, it still grins down at me.
Yesterday, I went for a walk in a nearby park with a friend. We were the only Black people there. As African Americans, you notice these things. You can feel it.
The park is simple: a track circling a playground, a small stage, and a baseball field full of kids playing kickball. My mind was drifting when an older woman approached with a folding chair.
I’ve watched enough horror movies to know the difference between a genuine smile and something more sinister. It's in the eyes.
This woman’s grin was a little too wide.
“I hate to bother you,” she began. “I’d like to invite you both to a vigil for Charlie Kirk at the stage, 7 p.m.”
My instinct was to politely decline.
My friend responded, “Thank you. We’ll check it out.”
Clearly, my compadre hadn’t watched horror movies.
“I’d be careful,” I warned. “They might hang us.”
She laughed, dismissing my warning, claiming she was just curious. She waved off my concern.
I couldn't think of any reason a white woman living during Jim Crow would invite two Black strangers to a vigil for a known racist. Maybe it was some misguided effort to prove she’s had a soft spot for Black people but I didn’t buy it.
If your'e still holding vigils for a racist more than a month after his death, you probably don't have many Black friends.
As the sunset cast long shadows and more white faces arrived, I felt more alert than afraid. I watched kids from the kickball game join the crowd. Hate, passed down through generations—always disheartening.
People gathered around the stage with candles. My friend and I backed away, toward the parking lot.
“Ready yet?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I was hoping they’d wear their Klan hoods in public.”
They didn’t. They looked like normal people—the kids I teach every day, their parents smiling affectionately. Still, I knew I was in the den of the enemy. Kirk’s face was everywhere across the park.
I was just about to tell my friend I was leaving when the woman who’d invited us called us out. I felt a flicker of annoyance from my friend — despite her being the one who wanted to stay.
“I’m so glad you came,” the old woman called out. “Do you want to come up?”
“We’re just leaving!” I said quickly. “Thank you so much for the invitation.”
I grabbed my friend, and we started walking away without looking back. You're never supposed to look back in a horror film. I refused to be a sacrifice for a Charlie Kirk cult.
Behind me, the white woman's voice called out again, “He has to get home early. He’s a teacher.” She even named my school, though I didn’t tell her I was a teacher.
My mind was trying to make sense of all of this. I thought I was set up. Maybe my friend was in on it, or perhaps Charlie Kirk’s spirit grants racists a sixth sense. I don’t know. The thoughts were irrational.
Coming down from my panic, I realized I was wearing my school’s T-shirt. I laughed at how stupid the whole thing was, but as I drove home passing Kirk’s face, frustration crept in again.
People have the attention span of a fruit flies — except when it comes to mourning racists.
This post originally appeared on Medium and is edited and republished with author's permission. Read more of LG Ware's work on Medium.