Politics of Violence
The tragic death of Charlie Kirk in Utah, a man who once argued that some gun deaths were a necessary cost to uphold the Second Amendment, has exposed the bitter paradox at the heart of America’s democracy. He was felled by the very weapon he had defended, and his assassination comes at a time when the United States is struggling with an escalating wave of political violence. Unlike ordinary crime, this violence has a deliberate purpose: to achieve political goals or intimidate opponents through the use of force. It is directed not just at public figures but increasingly at judges, journalists, election officials and even private citizens whose political identities are enough to make them targets. This violence has been building over the past decade, fuelled not by disciplined extremist groups but by lone actors and self-radicalised individuals who draw their energy from a febrile political climate. The catalogue of incidents is stark: the 2018 shooting of Republican congressmen at a baseball practice, the 2020 plot to kidnap Michigan governor Gretchen Whitmer, the assault on Paul Pelosi in 2022, the torching of Pennsylvania governor Josh Shapiro’s home in April this year, and assassination attempts on Donald Trump during the 2024 campaign. Each act has left behind shock and grief, but also a normalisation of political violence in the American psyche, a corrosion of democratic culture from within. That this list can now be extended to include the killing of one of the American right’s most visible figures is both shocking and unsurprising. It reflects a society where the boundaries between political rivalry, personal rage and armed assault have blurred beyond recognition.
At the root of this descent into violence lie three corrosive forces that have reshaped the American political landscape. Hyper-partisanship has reached a boiling point, turning disagreement into treachery and opponents into enemies. Rhetoric has become dehumanising, making violence easier to justify. When Trump told supporters on January 6, 2021, that they must “fight like hell” or lose their country, he did not need to issue explicit orders—the implication was clear. Such rhetoric has become routine, echoed by television pundits and amplified by party loyalists. Added to this are the digital echo chambers of social media, where algorithms reward rage and conspiracy theories flourish unchecked. Here, followers are offered tailor-made realities in which political opponents are monsters, violence is resistance, and content creators profit from cultivating hate. Even in the hours after Kirk’s death, platforms swirled with disinformation—liberals allegedly celebrating, motives being invented before facts were known. Finally, there is the slow but steady erosion of trust in democratic institutions. When faith in elections, courts, and government evaporates, violence begins to seem like the only way to “correct” what some see as a rigged system. The far right has long propagated myths of a “deep state” conspiracy, but this cynicism is not confined to one side of the spectrum. When civic trust collapses, democracy weakens; when democracy weakens, violence gains legitimacy. The combination of hatred in rhetoric, disinformation online and disillusionment with institutions has produced a volatile environment where citizens are not only divided but convinced that their opponents are existential threats to the nation.
Where does this trajectory lead? The worst-case scenario is obvious: an escalation in both the frequency and organisation of political violence, particularly as the 2026 midterm elections approach. In this scenario, extremists would seize on Kirk’s assassination to justify retaliation, while others would seek to leverage disorder to suspend democratic processes. A more probable but equally corrosive outcome is stagnation, where political violence does not spiral into civil war but becomes an accepted feature of political life. In such a climate, moderate politicians will retreat, leaving the field to those who thrive on extremism, ensuring that the rhetoric grows harsher and the space for dialogue shrinks. Yet there remains another path. America can step back from the precipice, but it will require bipartisan condemnation of violence, accountability for media platforms that amplify hate, and a collective effort by politicians, institutions and ordinary citizens to rebuild civic trust. Trust is the cornerstone of democracy, and its erosion has brought the United States to this dangerous point. The work of restoration will be slow and imperfect, but it is the only path forward. America does not need to accept violence as its new normal. To do so would be to concede the very idea of democracy to those who thrive on fear. It must instead summon the courage to reject political violence consistently and collectively, remembering that the true test of democracy is not in how it manages prosperity but how it resists disintegration in moments of crisis. The death of Charlie Kirk is a grim marker, but whether it becomes another step in a downward spiral or a turning point towards renewal will depend on how the nation chooses to respond.
