A three-year-old little girl and her one-year-old brother will grow up without their father. Too young to form lasting memories, everything they know about him will come from the accounts of others. They will be told he loved them and see photographs and videos of him smiling at them in his arms, but they will have no recollection of feeling secure in his embrace, the tenderness of his kiss, or the warmth of his laughter. He is gone forever, taken away by a stranger who did not like his words.
His words. Charlie Kirk was killed because a man he had never met hated things he said. Charlie committed no crime nor covered one up, he did not abuse anyone or cause them to be abused. He merely proclaimed a set of beliefs shared by millions and advocated for governmental policies endorsed by half of the adult population. In a country founded on principles of individual liberty which codified freedom of speech and the right to believe or not believe what one chooses, Charlie Kirk was killed for his words.
How could this happen? We will likely learn more about the killer in the days ahead, but there is much we can say already.
We know that the assassin’s hatred for Charlie was so deep and so intense that it consumed his thoughts for days. This is evident in the steps that preceded the pull of the trigger. The killer familiarized himself with Charlie’s schedule and the layout of the event, selected a weapon, acquired ammunition, practiced marksmanship, engraved messages on the shell casings, drove over two hundred miles to the campus, chose a shooting location and so much more, the sum of which required hours of thought and preparation. This was not a momentary impulsive response to a perceived slight. This was the result of enduring, deep-seated hatred.
The internet is already with speculation as to how and why the young man’s hatred became so intense, fingers are being pointed and blame assigned. Many are angry over the verbal attacks levied on Charlie from the opposite end of the political spectrum, a litany of pejoratives that included him being called fascist, racist, anti-trans, hatemongering, and a bigot.
While there can be little argument that these negative characterizations could have contributed to the assassin’s hatred, I hold little hope of such attacks becoming less common in the future. Civility has been on the decline in America for decades and not just because of the internet. Social media reflects cultural values as much as it informs them, if not more. I suspect that the rise of hatred was not wrought by Facebook, as much as it was revealed by it.
Hatred of others is a symptom of a deeper disease that has infected the west for decades. We have rejected the idea that human beings were being created in the image of God, and with it the intrinsic value of human life. Image bearers of the divine carry within them the potential for boundless good, the ability to create beautiful music or prose, contribute to the good of society, and give and receive love. Image bearers deserve life. Murder, at its core, rejects the value of life, a process that begins with valuing something more than someone, progresses to denying the value of someone, then reaches its nadir in hate for someone. Must this not be the way of things? Could the assassin have taken that final, evil step if he held on to any thoughts about Charlie’s love for his wife and children, or acts of kindness and generosity he has shown to others?
I have already read reports that the killer had expressed his hatred of Charlie in the days before his crime. I can but wonder if things might have played out differently if others had been brave enough or bold enough to remind him of the good in his intended target. Would his hate have been as strong if he had been shown the photos of Charlie with his kids? Or if he he heard reports of his love for his fellow man?
I cannot know these things, but that does not render me powerless. I do not have to join in hateful discourse. I can choose to focus on the good in others, choose to see them as Children of God, and emphasize their value. I may not be able to change the hate in the world as a whole, but I can diminish the hate in my corner of it.
Bart