In April 2023, Charlie Kirk stood before a crowd at a Turning Point USA event and made a declaration that would echo long after his death:
“I think it’s worth it… to have a cost of, unfortunately, some gun deaths every single year so that we can have the Second Amendment to protect our other God-given rights," he said.
He compared gun fatalities to car accidents — inevitable collateral damage in the pursuit of liberty. “Driving comes with a price,” he said. “50,000 people die on the road every year. That’s a price. But we’ve decided the benefit is worth it.”
It was a chilling calculus. And it wasn’t theoretical. In 2023 alone, the U.S. averaged more than one mass shooting per day. Children, teachers, worshippers, grocery shoppers — none were spared. But to Kirk, these deaths were not tragedies to be prevented. They were acceptable losses.
So if you were one of those victims — if your child was gunned down in a classroom, or your grandmother was shot in a church — how much sympathy would Charlie have had for you?
Kirk’s comments weren’t just provocative. They were the policy. His organization, Turning Point USA, lobbied against gun control, promoted armed guards in schools, and dismissed calls for reform as “utopian.” He rejected the idea that gun deaths could be eliminated, insisting that “having an armed citizenry comes with a price.”
But who pays that price?
Statistically, it’s not the white, male gun owners Kirk often championed. It’s disproportionately Black and Latino communities, women in domestic violence situations, and children caught in crossfire. According to CDC data, firearm injuries became the leading cause of death for Americans aged 1 to 19 in 2020.
Kirk knew this. He just didn’t care.
Kirk’s lack of empathy extended beyond gun violence. His rhetoric toward immigrants, minorities, and women was equally callous — and often cruel.
He was a hardliner on immigration, frequently demanding mass deportations and embracing the “Great Replacement” conspiracy theory — the belief that non-white immigrants are being used to replace white citizens for political gain.
“We are going to have millions of people come into the country and try to replace the native-born population,” he said on his show in June 2023.
He called Islam “not compatible with Western civilization,” blamed Jewish donors for liberal policies, and dismissed the Civil Rights Act of 1964 as “a huge mistake.”
When asked about affirmative action, he claimed that Black women like Michelle Obama and Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson “had to go steal a white person’s slot to be taken seriously.”
He called George Floyd a “scumbag,” said Martin Luther King Jr. was “awful,” and argued that the legacy of the Civil Rights Movement was exaggerated.
If you were a Black woman, an undocumented immigrant, a Muslim, or a survivor of racial violence — how much sympathy would Charlie have had for you?
Kirk’s views on women were steeped in misogyny. He argued that women should prioritize motherhood over careers, criticized birth control for making women “angry and bitter,” and claimed that women over 30 “aren’t attractive in the dating pool.”
In a 2024 interview, he was asked whether he would want his 10-year-old daughter to carry a pregnancy to term if she were raped.
“The answer is yes,” he said. “The baby would be delivered.”
This wasn’t just a personal belief — it was a political stance. Kirk opposed abortion in all cases, even when the mother’s life was at risk. He framed reproductive rights as moral decay and feminism as rebellion against divine order.
If you were a woman seeking autonomy, safety, or dignity, how much sympathy would Charlie have had for you?
Kirk reveled in being a provocateur. He co-hosted a show called “Thoughtcrime,” where he boasted about saying the things “you’re not allowed to talk about.” But his provocations weren’t just edgy — they were dangerous.
He inspired a generation of young conservatives to view empathy as weakness, diversity as a threat, and violence as liberty. His rhetoric normalized cruelty, justified inequality, and weaponized freedom against the vulnerable.
He didn’t just lack sympathy. He built a movement around its absence.
The Irony of Martyrdom
In September 2025, Charlie Kirk was assassinated at a university event in Utah. He was shot by a radicalized young man who opposed his views. The tragedy sparked mourning, outrage, and — among some — grim irony.
Kirk had once said that gun deaths were “worth it” to preserve the Second Amendment. Now, he had become one of those deaths.
But the irony shouldn’t distract from the harm. Kirk’s death was a violent act, and violence should never be celebrated. Yet it’s worth asking: if the roles were reversed, would Charlie have mourned you?
Would he have grieved a trans student shot in a hate crime? A migrant child killed at the border? A Black pastor gunned down in his church?
Or would he have called it “the price of liberty”?
Kirk’s legacy lives on — not just in Turning Point USA, but in the broader conservative movement. His views are echoed in policies that ban books, erase history, and silence survivors.
The recent removal of the “Whipped Peter” image from national parks is one example. That photograph — an iconic testament to the brutality of slavery — was deemed too uncomfortable for public display. Just as Kirk dismissed the Civil Rights Movement, the government now dismisses its visual evidence.
This is what happens when sympathy is replaced by ideology. When history is sanitized, and suffering is politicized.
Kirk didn’t believe in collective responsibility. He believed in individual liberty — even when it came at the cost of others’ lives. He didn’t believe in systemic injustice. He believed in personal failure. He didn’t believe in empathy. He believed in dominance.
So if you were harmed by gun violence, racism, misogyny, or xenophobia — how much sympathy would Charlie have had for you?
Probably none.
But that doesn’t mean we should follow his example. Sympathy is not weakness. It’s the foundation of justice. And remembering those who were erased, dismissed, or sacrificed in the name of liberty is not just an act of resistance — it’s an act of survival.
In the days following Kirk’s assassination, politicians lined up to tell us how deeply we should mourn. Donald Trump called him “legendary” and ordered flags flown at half-staff. House Speaker Mike Johnson led a moment of silence, declaring Kirk a victim of “detestable” political violence. Senator Bill Cassidy warned that “cruelty in response to tragedy only serves to divide us further.” And Rep. Troy Nehls went so far as to say, “If Charlie Kirk lived in biblical times, he’d have been the 13th disciple.” But for many of us — immigrants, Black women, LGBTQ+ youth, survivors of gun violence — Kirk’s legacy was one of erasure, mockery, and contempt. He didn’t believe our lives were worth protecting, our histories worth preserving, or our pain worth acknowledging. So when the same politicians who ignored our suffering now demand reverence for his, it’s not just hypocrisy — it’s a reminder of whose grief gets institutional respect, and whose gets buried.