From Protest to Assassination: How Decades of Normalizing Political Violence Led to the Killing of Charlie Kirk
A deep dive into the cultural, political, and media currents that turned disruptive protest into deadly violence — culminating in the campus assassination of a conservative firebrand.
By: Carlos Duran
Introduction
On September 10, 2025, Charlie Kirk, the 31-year-old founder of Turning Point USA and one of the most prominent voices of America’s conservative youth movement, was fatally shot during a speaking event at Utah Valley University. The killing unfolded before an audience of thousands and was quickly labeled a “political assassination” by Utah Governor Spencer Cox. Leaders across the political spectrum — from President Donald Trump to Barack Obama, Bill Clinton, and George W. Bush — condemned the act as an assault on democratic debate itself.
Yet Kirk’s assassination cannot be understood in isolation. It was the culmination of decades of escalating rhetoric, shifting cultural norms, and the normalization of violence in American politics. From the street battles of Seattle in 1999, through the unrest of Ferguson in 2014, to the glorification of killers like Luigi Mangione in 2024, the United States has witnessed a steady erosion of the civic boundaries that once held violence at bay. Kirk’s death crystallizes what happens when protest morphs into violence, and violence is excused, rationalized, or even celebrated.
Historical Roots of Political Violence
The seeds of America’s present climate were sown decades ago. The 1999 World Trade Organization protests in Seattle, remembered as the “Battle of Seattle,” saw activists smash storefronts, clash with police, and paralyze a major city. In later years, however, these riots were reframed by sympathetic commentators as a legitimate uprising against “neoliberal globalization.” That reframing signaled something new: violence could be reinterpreted not as criminal but as political expression.
A similar dynamic surfaced in 2011 with Occupy Wall Street. Encampments descended into chaos, drug use, assaults, vandalism, but the movement was largely romanticized as America’s “Arab Spring.” Politicians like Nancy Pelosi and Barack Obama emphasized Occupy’s “message” rather than its lawlessness.
By 2014, the Ferguson riots following Michael Brown’s death pushed this normalization further. Despite the Justice Department confirming the “Hands up, don’t shoot” narrative was false, Ferguson was cast as an inevitable eruption of anger. Black Lives Matter emerged from these events, championed by many in media and politics despite the violence that accompanied its rise.
The late 2010s further entrenched these trends. Gil Troy’s 2016 essay in TIME described how Bernie Sanders supporters, furious at criticism of their candidate, launched waves of online abuse and antisemitic threats, a left-wing mirror of the alt-right. David Remnick’s “An American Tragedy,” published the day after Trump’s 2016 victory, captured elite despair and hinted at the righteous rage that soon spilled into the streets. In Charlottesville (2017), violence between white supremacists and antifa showed that both fringes were willing to weaponize confrontation, but the public narrative rarely acknowledged the symmetry.
As Noah Rothman later argued in “A Clockwork Blue: The Left’s Embrace of Political Violence,” intellectuals, journalists, and activists increasingly suggested violence could be morally justified when it targeted “fascism” or systemic injustice. What had been fringe became mainstream.
The Kirk Phenomenon
Into this climate stepped Charlie Kirk. At 18, he founded Turning Point USA, a youth-oriented conservative organization that grew into one of the most visible pro-Trump activist groups. By his twenties, Kirk was a fixture on college campuses, sparking heated debates on immigration, economics, and culture. His “Change My Mind”-style events drew massive crowds and equally massive protests.
Kirk thrived on controversy. He courted headlines with provocative comments, including sharp criticism of visa programs that, he argued, disadvantaged American workers. At Colorado State University, his return visit was met with uproar, as students framed his presence as a threat rather than a speech. In Texas, his “unhinged” gala rant became social media fodder.
These controversies made Kirk a lightning rod in the battle over free speech in higher education. For his supporters, he was a fearless defender of debate. For his detractors, he embodied the weaponization of campus platforms to amplify “dangerous” ideas. The polarization surrounding his persona made him an ideal, if tragic, target in a culture where violence against opponents increasingly felt permissible.
The Assassination Event
The shooting itself was a carefully timed act. Eyewitnesses reported Kirk was answering a question about mass shootings when a shot rang out. Law enforcement later said the bullet was fired from a rooftop overlooking the outdoor venue. Some 3,000 attendees fled in panic as Kirk’s private security rushed him to a hospital, where he was pronounced dead.
Confusion marked the immediate aftermath. FBI Director Kash Patel initially announced a suspect was in custody, only for officials to later admit the person detained was uninvolved. Videos circulating online appeared to show a dark-clad figure on a campus rooftop, though confirmation remains pending.
Reactions were swift. Trump mourned “the Great, and even Legendary, Charlie Kirk,” while Bush emphasized that violence has no place on college campuses. Bill Clinton called for “serious introspection,” and Barack Obama insisted such “despicable violence has no place in our democracy.” International leaders echoed these sentiments — Giorgia Meloni called it “an atrocious murder,” while Benjamin Netanyahu praised Kirk as a “lion-hearted friend of Israel.”
Governor Cox spoke most bluntly: “This was a political assassination.”
Online & Media Reaction
The assassination triggered familiar digital aftershocks. Within hours, social media fractured into mourning, conspiracy theories, and tasteless celebration. Some users blamed Trump’s rhetoric, others insisted left-wing extremism was to blame, and still others constructed elaborate theories about shadowy plots.
This reaction mirrored an unsettling precedent: the online glorification of Luigi Mangione, accused of killing UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson in 2024. Mangione was cast as a “folk hero,” with memes, merchandise, and even campus lookalike contests celebrating him as a Robin Hood figure striking back at corporate greed. A CBC analysis identified three reasons for this disturbing glorification: deep disdain for health insurers, the easy villainy of CEOs, and Mangione’s appealing image as a young, fit Ivy League graduate.
Just as with Mangione, Kirk’s killing generated a wave of online “dark humor.” Jokes, memes, and fringe celebrations reframed a tragedy as entertainment or justice. Homeland Security Secretary Alejandro Mayorkas warned that such rhetoric is “extraordinarily alarming” and evidence of domestic violent extremism.
Broader Climate of Political Violence
Kirk’s assassination did not occur in a vacuum. Since 2016, the Center for Strategic and International Studies has tracked a dramatic surge in politically motivated attacks on public figures. Between 2016 and 2025, there were 25 such incidents, compared to just two in the previous two decades.
This escalation has cut across partisan lines. In 2022, an armed man attempted to assassinate Justice Brett Kavanaugh, and pro-life centers were vandalized and firebombed. In 2024, Donald Trump survived two assassination attempts, one at a Pennsylvania rally and another at his Florida golf course. Earlier in 2025, a Minnesota Democratic legislator and her husband were murdered in their home.
Meanwhile, rhetoric from elected officials has further inflamed the environment. Oklahoma Senator Markwayne Mullin suggested that violence against journalists might “teach a lesson.” Vice President JD Vance mocked Senator Alex Padilla as “Jose” while blaming Democrats for violent immigration protests. In Cudahy, California, Vice Mayor Cynthia Gonzalez was filmed allegedly calling on gangs to resist ICE raids. Each incident chips away at the boundary between speech and violence.
Analysis & Implications
Kirk’s death represents the culmination of a long trajectory. The protest became a riot. Riot became tolerated. Violence became excused, rationalized, or even celebrated. Figures like Mangione were elevated to folk-hero status. Now, assassination has entered the political bloodstream.
The tragedy underscores a chilling cycle:
Protest framed as righteous.
Violence excused as “speech.”
Memes normalize attackers as folk heroes.
Assassination emerges as a viable tactic.
If left unchallenged, this cycle guarantees repetition. As Governor Cox asked bitterly, on the eve of America’s 250th anniversary: “Is this what 250 years has wrought upon us?”
Conclusion
The killing of Charlie Kirk is not an isolated act of madness. It is the endpoint of a culture that, over decades, has grown comfortable excusing violence in the name of politics. From the streets of Seattle to the plazas of Ferguson, from Occupy encampments to TikTok memes, America has blurred the moral line between protest and bloodshed.
Kirk’s assassination should be a wake-up call, not only for conservatives mourning one of their leaders, but for every American who values the principle that words, however disagreeable, must be met with words, not bullets. Unless political leaders, intellectuals, and citizens alike commit to rejecting violence unequivocally, Charlie Kirk will not be the last casualty of this dangerous new normal.
