The assassination of Charlie Kirk and the future of speaking out
It has been a terrible week in America. On the same day as Charlie Kirk’s assassination, there were multiple school shootings, each receiving only a fraction of the coverage. In recent days, 23-year-old Ukrainian refugee Iryna Zarutska was also stabbed to death on a commuter train. These stories matter deeply but were largely eclipsed. And of course, beyond America, devastation continues daily in Palestine, Ukraine, Sudan and other conflicts around the world.
From a PR perspective, it is obvious why Kirk’s killing has dominated headlines. He was one of the most recognisable conservative commentators, with one of the most successful podcasts in America, regularly attracting millions of listeners. He was well known, polarising, and he was assassinated in plain sight, on camera, during a live event. Add to that the fact that the President, Vice President and former presidents immediately weighed in, and it was inevitable this story would lead every news cycle.
The disturbing reaction
What has followed online is darker still. Disturbing videos of the assassination are circulating, and I strongly recommend avoiding them. They are horrific. Unlike the single Zapruder film of JFK in Dallas, 2025 means dozens of angles from bystanders, plus almost certainly professional cameras from Kirk’s own team. That means somewhere there is likely high-quality footage of the moment he was shot. It will never be released, but even knowing it exists is deeply unsettling.
Even worse, some footage shows sections of the crowd cheering after the gunfire. That people could celebrate in the moment underlines how degraded the political climate has become.
Reports also suggest Kirk’s wife and young children may have been present. If true, it is unimaginably traumatic. And yet, social media was instantly flooded with mockery. On his wife’s Instagram, strangers left gloating, abusive messages. I hope someone close to her has stepped in to remove or disable them, because when she eventually returns to social media, the last thing she should face is a barrage of deranged cruelty.
I am deeply opposed to political violence in all forms, in any country, in any situation. And though I disagreed with Charlie Kirk ideologically on almost everything, that is irrelevant. If this is the world we are moving toward, where political opponents are executed, filmed, and celebrated, then it will not stop with him.
Political aftermath and the importance of condemnation
One of the most striking aspects of this event has been how quickly left-wing politicians condemned the shooting. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez wrote: “The scourge of gun violence and political violence must end. The shooting of Charlie Kirk is the latest incident of this chaos and it must stop. We cannot go down this road.”
Bernie Sanders echoed: “Political violence has no place in this country. We must condemn this horrifying attack. My thoughts are with Charlie Kirk and his family.”
President Biden said: “There is no place in our country for this kind of violence. It must end now. Jill and I are praying for Charlie Kirk’s family and loved ones.”
And Barack Obama added: “This kind of despicable violence has no place in our democracy. Michelle and I will be praying for Charlie’s family tonight, especially his wife Erika and their two young children.”
From a PR standpoint, these statements matter. They show an awareness of just how fragile the political climate is. Silence would have risked fuelling the perception that some on the left condone violence against their opponents. By condemning it outright, these leaders are not just showing compassion, they are strategically trying to prevent escalation into something darker. The divide within the left has also been visible online, with Democrats condemning others on their own side for celebrating Kirk’s death, stressing that this is not a political issue but a question of basic humanity.
The value of debate
I want to be clear: I did not agree with much of what I saw of Charlie Kirk. From the snippets I have come across online, I found many of his views incredibly difficult to align with. I am also wary enough to know that short clips can be misleading or out of context, and I have not watched his full talks. But even with that context, disagreeing with him is not the point, and it certainly does not mean he deserved to die.
Healthy societies depend on discussion and disagreement. That is why universities, including Oxford earlier this year, invited Kirk to speak. Debate is not about endorsing a guest’s views, it is about testing ideas in the open. Oxford, consistently ranked the top university in the world, does not hand out invitations casually. Students who opposed him turned up, challenged him, and did so respectfully.
You do not have to agree with 90 per cent of what someone like Kirk might say. But if 10 per cent sparks thought, or if the exchange forces you to sharpen your own arguments, then debate has served its purpose. And it works both ways. I have seen clips where Kirk listened to left-leaning students and acknowledged their points. That kind of dialogue, however limited, only happens when people meet face to face.
That is what makes the reaction to his assassination so disturbing. A society that claims to value open debate should never be one where people celebrate someone being killed for taking part in it.
When cruelty becomes normalised
One of the most disturbing parts of this has been the way people have celebrated Kirk’s death. Disliking him is one thing, but what is it in someone that makes them feel the need to log on and mock his assassination publicly? Who does that serve?
This is the danger of the internet: behaviours that once would have been unthinkable to say out loud are now broadcast to the world and rewarded with attention. Cruelty is amplified until it feels normal. My mum always used to say, “If you have nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” That advice feels particularly accurate here. Disagreeing with someone’s politics is one thing. Cheering their murder is something else entirely, and the more it is seen, the more it risks being normalised.
When trauma becomes content
The most disturbing part of all this is how unavoidable the footage has been. A generation ago, if you wanted to see something this graphic, you had to go out of your way. You had to find a dark corner of the internet, a bootleg DVD, a dodgy download. It was hidden because it was never meant for the public.
Now it is on the same apps people use to talk to their friends, share family photos and watch puppy videos. On some platforms it plays automatically. You do not choose to see it. You open your phone and suddenly you have watched someone’s last moments, with no warning, no choice, no chance to turn away.
I experienced this myself. As soon as I heard Charlie Kirk had been shot, I opened X to see what was happening. The very first video to appear on my homepage was an extreme close-up of him being shot in the neck. It was beyond graphic. I saw every detail of that moment, and it has replayed in my head relentlessly since. That is not something any person should ever be confronted with by accident.
Children will have seen this video. Parents will have seen it. And most devastating of all, there is every chance that members of Kirk’s own family had to see it because it was everywhere.
Even more disturbing, one man who filmed the murder then turned the camera on himself, into selfie mode, excited that he had captured such a big moment. It was fucked up. The fact people can see something so horrific and think not about helping, not about giving evidence to authorities, but about uploading it for likes, is insane to me. It shows how warped our culture has become. I cannot understand how anyone sees a tragedy like this and thinks, “I can get a few followers out of it.”
It does not just create trauma for those who see it, it also chips away at our sense of what is normal. If we reach a point where people film a murder, flip the camera on themselves and treat it as content, then something has gone badly wrong in our culture. This is not only a question of media ethics, it is a question of humanity.
A deepening divide
This assassination will not heal divides, it will deepen them. On the right, Kirk will be treated as a martyr, proof that the left has lost all sense of tolerance. On the left, there will be accusations that conservatives are exploiting his death for political gain. And millions of people will be caught in between, horrified at both the act and the reactions to it.
But the divides are not just between left and right. Since the assassination, fractures have also emerged within the left itself. Prominent progressive voices, including those on the furthest end of the spectrum, have condemned people celebrating Kirk’s death, calling it a betrayal of basic humanity. Public figures who would normally be fiercely opposed to Kirk ideologically have drawn a line, criticising those mocking his murder and stressing that this is not about politics but about decency.
Moments like this entrench tribes, but they also expose tensions inside them. What should have been a moment of shared condemnation has instead revealed just how unstable the political climate is, with even allies publicly turning on each other. Civil political discourse becomes less and less possible when violence is seen as victory by some, and opportunism by others. And in the worst scenarios, these fractures risk opening the door to cycles of retaliation, where violence begets violence.
What changes for public figures
For right-wing commentators especially, life will not look the same. It is hard to imagine open-air rallies proceeding as before. Events will shift indoors, with airport-style checks for guests, controlled perimeters, bag policies, metal detection and visible armed security. I already have clients who are intensely focused on protection. I have worked with artists who insist on ballistic shielding or bulletproof glass in front of the stage at certain festivals and outdoor appearances where screening cannot be as thorough. This mindset will spread from political figures to performers, authors on tour, academics, campaigners and creators.
The old fear was cancellation. For years, public figures weighed up the risk of being doxxed, taken off air, or quietly blacklisted by mainstream media outlets. Many ended up building their own platforms on YouTube or podcasts after being cut out of traditional spaces. For right-wing commentators especially, that was the anxiety: losing reach, losing legitimacy, losing your seat at the table. Now, cancellation almost looks like the lesser concern. At least if you were cancelled, you were alive. The new fear is far darker - that speaking your views could put a sniper’s target on your back.
This shift changes everything. I already have clients who have messaged in the last 24 hours saying they feel anxious about outdoor shows, and that is before anyone knows the shooter’s motive. Politicians across the spectrum will reassess their stagecraft. Will Trump now insist on bulletproof glass at every outdoor speech. Will leading Democrats do the same in case of retaliation. Seeing the killing in plain sight and then replayed on video will shake decision-making for everyone.
There is also a limit to what security can do. In a set-up like Kirk’s, you could see there was security, yet a distant shot to the neck is not something even a bulletproof vest can stop. That reality pushes planning toward distance, hard barriers, elevated secure positions, counter-sniper overwatch and strict sight-line control. It also pushes production toward tighter access lists, crew vetting, RF and drone monitoring, time-lagged livestreams and stricter filming rules for audiences.
From a PR and operations perspective, expect a cascade of knock-on effects:
Venue and event insurance will become more expensive, with new exclusions and mandatory risk assessments.
Speaker and artist riders will expand to include specific protection measures and veto rights over staging, ingress and egress.
Universities and venues will run reputational risk matrices before invitations are issued, weighing protest dynamics, brand safety, media handling and campus welfare.
Livestreams will be delayed and moderated, with clearer policies on cutting feeds and handing footage to authorities rather than letting it circulate.
Visuals will become part of the crisis plan. Too little security looks reckless. Too much looks like a fortress. Getting that balance right becomes a brand decision, not only a safety one.
The cultural impact may be even larger. People who hold views outside a local mainstream will think twice about speaking. That includes campaigners on Palestine, gender policy, immigration, climate and any other topic that attracts strong opposition. The risk is a chilling effect where people self-censor, not because their arguments are weak, but because the threat environment feels stronger. Democracies rely on people being willing to speak, to be challenged, and to accept the cost of criticism, not the risk of violence.
Some public figures will retreat, deciding the risk is too great. Others will double down, determined not to be silenced. Both reactions are understandable, but both reshape culture. If public speaking becomes synonymous with mortal danger, fewer emerging voices will step forward. That is how civic life hollows out, one cancelled appearance at a time.
From where I sit, the practical brief now is clear. Build security into the creative from day one. Communicate it without theatrics. Train teams for crowd filming realities and rapid takedowns. Put family protection and aftercare into the plan. And be honest with audiences about why measures are in place. This is about safeguarding the space for disagreement. Without that, the rest of the work is performance without a stage.
The future of speaking out
The assassination of Charlie Kirk is not only a tragedy for his family, it is a warning about where politics is heading. A man was shot for speaking. His death was filmed, edited and circulated within minutes. And instead of universal condemnation, large sections of the internet responded with mockery.
From a PR perspective, this changes the landscape. It means security is now inseparable from image. It means universities and venues must prepare for reputational fallout before an event even begins. And it means every speech, every stage and every incident is owned not by the organisers but by the crowd filming it.
You do not have to agree with Charlie Kirk’s politics to recognise the horror of what has happened. I rarely agreed with him myself. But disagreement is supposed to be the point of debate. When disagreement is replaced by bullets, democracy is already in crisis.
Condemning this attack is not about endorsing his views. It is about preventing escalation into something darker, and putting a stop to the warped idea that celebrating someone’s death online is an acceptable form of political expression.
This is not about endorsing Kirk’s views. It is about recognising that a father and husband was murdered in public, filmed, and then mocked. If this is what society begins to accept, it will not stop with one man. It will spread, and it will poison democracy itself.