The new cost of opinion: how social media turned disagreement into dehumanisation

Not long ago, the worst consequence of voicing an unpopular opinion was reputational. You risked being cancelled, losing sponsors, or being dropped by mainstream platforms. That was damaging enough. But after the assassination of Charlie Kirk, the fear attached to speaking out feels like it has crossed into something far darker.

From what I have seen, Kirk often expressed views that were controversial to many and deeply resonant to others. They were positions rooted in his faith and broader worldview, but they were far from unique. Plenty of people, religious or not, hold similar beliefs. That context matters, because it shows that Kirk was not an isolated outlier.

And his brand was not built only on sharing those views. It was built on travelling to college campuses, inviting challenge, and giving opponents the microphone. Whether you liked him or not, he created a space where disagreement happened in public, face to face, and from what I’ve seen, respectfully. Students turned up to debate him, sometimes fiercely, but he gave them the platform to do so. In today’s climate, where many people admit they do not feel comfortable voicing opinions even within close circles, it is no surprise that this dynamic attracted millions of viewers. For supporters it was validation, for critics it was catharsis, and for observers it was simply interesting to watch people disagree openly.

That, in part, explains why Kirk became so visible. His views may have been polarising, but the format of respectful disagreement in an era allergic to it had broad appeal.

The inhuman reaction

The assassination itself was horrific. But the reaction has been atrocious. Crowds cheered at the scene. Online, people mocked him. One widely shared comment read: “I hope the bullet is okay.” His wife’s Instagram was flooded with abuse. Death threats circulated not only against his widow and children, but also other right-wing commentators now branded as “next.”

Free expression allows people to speak, but that does not mean every thought is worth sharing. Celebrating a murder is not debate, it is a collapse of basic human courtesy.

I remember when Margaret Thatcher died in April 2013 and people took to the streets singing Ding Dong! The Witch Is Dead. I found it unnecessary then, and this feels worse. Kirk was a 31-year-old husband and father of two young children, executed in front of his family.

From silence to performance

Before social media, the rule of polite life was simple: you did not discuss politics, religion or money in public. Celebrities largely kept their views private, and when one broke that rule it became front-page news precisely because it was unusual.

Social media flipped that entirely. What began as a place to keep up with friends and family became a stage where everyone is expected to perform their values constantly. Even ordinary people are accused of being “complicit” if they stay silent on issues. It is no longer enough to post pictures of friends, family or pets. You are expected to declare your stance on every major issue.

And the platforms are not neutral. Algorithms reward outrage and repetition. Linger on one video for too long, and your feed shifts dramatically.

Before social media existed, encountering a radically different worldview might have come through a Louis Theroux, such as his weird weekend series. You would watch for an hour seeing something so opposing to what you’re comfortable with in your own world and bubble, think “that is unusual/weird,” and move on. Now those differences are thrust at you daily, framed as battles to pick sides in, with no escape.

This is why the political climate feels so much angrier than it once did, I’m convinced of it. Growing up in Britain, Labour and Conservative were distinct but rarely extreme, and you certainly weren’t heavily judged on which one you chose. Usually, you just voted for the party which wins your local area. Other parties such as the Liberal Democrats, UKIP, BNP, the Green Party or the BNP held their corners, but the main divide still felt moderate by comparison. If someone admits to voting conservative now, they’re treated with similar judgment as someone who voted BNP back in the day. The spectrum has collapsed into two warring camps, each viewing the other with hostility once reserved for the fringes. Social media did not invent polarisation, but it has supercharged it.

Why do people celebrate tragedy?

Psychology offers some clues. Studies of schadenfreude show people often take pleasure in the misfortunes of rivals, especially those they perceive as powerful or opposed to their values. A 2015 study in Nature Human Behaviour found participants enjoyed setbacks for rival groups more than victories for their own.

Online disinhibition theory adds another layer. As psychologist John Suler described, anonymity and distance strip away the normal brakes on behaviour. People say and do things online they would never consider face to face. Add algorithms that reward engagement, often the most extreme reactions, and cruelty is not only common, it is amplified and rewarded.

Repeated exposure to violent imagery also desensitises people. A 2017 study in the Journal of Communication found this lowers empathy and raises tolerance for aggression. When people filmed Kirk’s assassination, flipped the camera on themselves and treated it as content, it was a bleak display of desensitisation in action. I cannot believe that video exists and was posted, I verbally gasped when I saw it…. Like they won the jackpot filming it in the moment.

The PR nightmare for public figures

For those in public life, this changes the landscape entirely. I have already had clients message me, anxious about what it means for them. Artists who are insisting on bulletproof protective walls/glass. Politicians wondering if outdoor rallies are safe. Commentators questioning whether holding a microphone is now a risk.

The old fear was cancellation. You could be deplatformed, doxxed, or quietly frozen out by broadcasters. That was damaging, but survivable. Now, cancellation almost looks like the least of your worries. At least if you were cancelled, you were alive. Today’s fear is far darker: that speaking an opinion could put a sniper’s target on your back.

From a PR perspective, that means image and security are now inseparable. Event planners will add bulletproofing, restricted access, vetted crews, counter-sniper overwatch and delayed livestreams into their briefs. Universities and venues will run reputational risk assessments before inviting speakers. Insurance premiums will rise. Too little visible security looks reckless. Too much looks like a fortress. Getting the balance right will be both a safety decision and a brand one.

On another note, the cost of security is very high. I’ve organised bookings for public people, and the price of security always is high. The cost now on public peoples riders is about to increase drastically to include high security, especially if whatever the event is, is outside.

The danger of naming the killer

I also believe naming Kirk’s killer was a serious mistake. Margaret Thatcher famously warned against giving terrorists “the oxygen of publicity.” Yet here, the perpetrator’s name is plastered across headlines, while sections of social media brand him a hero. That risks encouraging copycats who crave attention or share his ideology.

The killer’s name should not be rewarded with notoriety. Their crime should not be treated as a shortcut to fame. Otherwise, we risk turning assassination into a twisted route to influence.

You do not have to agree with Charlie Kirk to see the horror of what has happened. From what I have seen, I personally do not agree with many of his opinions. But I also respect that he was entitled to them, just as I am entitled to mine, and he would not have agreed with mine either. That is the point of free speech.

When bullets replace words, democracy itself is in crisis. Condemning political violence is not about endorsing someone’s views. It is about drawing a line. It is about protecting the fragile space where disagreement is still possible. And it is about rejecting the warped, inhuman idea that celebrating a death online is just another form of expression.