When news broke of Charlie Kirk’s assassination, reactions across the political spectrum were as divided as one might expect. For some, Kirk was a conservative firebrand whose influence defined a new era of online punditry. For others, he was a polarizing figure whose commentary stoked division and controversy. But regardless of where one stood politically, the fact remains: Charlie Kirk was a human being who was murdered for his speech.
For clarity, Charlie Kirk was a self-made conservative activist and the founder of Turning Point USA, a prominent organization focused on influencing young voters, particularly on college campuses. He rose to fame for his sharp debates, viral clips, and frequent television appearances.
Love him or hate him, his assassination was not a metaphor, not an online “cancellation,” but the ultimate act of violence: he was gunned down in broad daylight for words.
And yet, in the aftermath, many public figures, journalists, and everyday citizens seemed less concerned with the universal immorality of murder than with qualifying their outrage. “What happened was terrible, but…” became the refrain. The second half of that sentence often contained a justification, a minimization, or a subtle indictment of the victim.
Some outright gloated and cheered for the violence as it symbolized taking out not just one of their political adversaries, but a victory against a worldview they loathe.
This article examines why libertarians reject such reasoning, why rights are considered universal and non-conditional, and why victim-blaming—even when couched in political or moral language—undermines the very foundation of human rights.
The Libertarian Philosophy of Non-Aggression
At the core of libertarian thought lies the Non-Aggression Principle (NAP): the belief that it is immoral to initiate force or violence against others. This principle is not conditional on the popularity of a person’s opinions or the moral purity of their lifestyle. It applies universally.
Under the NAP, even abhorrent speech or bigoted opinions do not justify physical retaliation. Violence may only be used defensively—to stop violence itself—not as punishment for offensive words or unpopular beliefs. The moment we make exceptions, we erode the principle entirely.
If violence against speech is allowed because we dislike what is being said, then no speech is safe. The standard becomes subjective, determined by whichever faction has the most power or the loudest outrage. This is the path to authoritarianism, not liberty.
Rights Without Moral Qualifiers
One of the most dangerous trends in modern discourse is the belief that rights must be earned through moral approval. Some argue that a criminal loses his right to life, or that a bigot loses his right to free speech. But this misunderstands the nature of rights entirely.
Rights are inalienable—they do not depend on the goodness or worthiness of the individual. They exist because you are human, not because you are righteous.
To require moral qualifiers for rights is to strip away their universality. It is to claim that rights are privileges bestowed by society, revocable when inconvenient. That is not liberty; that is tyranny dressed in moral justification.
Charlie Kirk, like every other human being, possessed the right to life and the right to speak freely. His ideas could have been debated, challenged, even ridiculed—but never answered with bullets.
The Dangerous Power of “But”
In the wake of Kirk’s assassination, many responses began with: “I agree that murder is wrong, but…”
That single word—“but”—serves as a rhetorical eraser. What comes before it is immediately diminished by what comes after it. To say, “Murder is wrong, but he was a bigot” is effectively to say, “Murder is wrong… except when it isn’t.”
This framing shifts the moral weight away from the perpetrator and onto the victim. It is no longer the murderer who bears the full responsibility—it is the victim who supposedly invited their own demise. This is the same rhetorical pattern used in countless injustices throughout history, and libertarians recognize it as a profound threat to the universality of rights.
Tu Quoque Fallacy and Whataboutism
Another tactic that surfaced after Charlie Kirk’s assassination was the deflection of tu quoque (“you too”) and whataboutism. Instead of addressing the immorality of the murder itself, some argued: “Well, conservatives didn’t care when George Floyd was killed” or “What about all the victims of ICE policies he supported?”
But pointing to hypocrisy elsewhere does not absolve injustice. Even if Kirk and his supporters failed to show compassion for others, that does not justify withholding compassion from him. Rights are not dependent on consistency of behavior. Human dignity does not disappear because someone once dismissed the dignity of others.
Tu quoque and whataboutism may score rhetorical points, but they do nothing to answer the central question: was it right or wrong to kill a man for his speech? Does he have full moral status even though we dislike him? By shifting focus to the flaws of others, people evade the uncomfortable truth that all acts of aggression, regardless of the victim, undermine the very foundation of human rights.
Progressive Hypocrisy and Victim Blaming
Perhaps the most glaring example of this came from progressives who otherwise built their worldview around the rejection of victim-blaming. Outlets such as Slate published articles essentially arguing, “What happened to Charlie Kirk was awful, but he brought it on himself.”
This is the same camp that has long held—rightly—that no matter how drunk, scantily dressed, or flirtatious a woman may be, there is never an excuse for sexual assault. Victim blaming in cases of abuse has been condemned as a moral atrocity. Yet when the victim is a conservative pundit, suddenly the principle evaporates.
During the George Floyd protests, many conservatives committed the same error: “It was terrible what happened to Floyd, but he had a criminal record.” This rhetoric sought to undermine the injustice of his killing by shifting focus onto his personal flaws. Progressives condemned this as dehumanizing. Yet some of those same voices now echo the very logic they despise in other areas.
Victim blaming is wrong not because it applies selectively, but because it undermines human dignity universally.
What Some Libertarians Got Wrong
In the days after Charlie Kirk’s assassination, a handful of libertarians argued that he basically had it coming. Even while officially condemning the murder, they still passively accepted his being unalived because of his political ideology.
Their reasoning? He supported ICE, the military-industrial complex, and other statist policies that cause real harm. Therefore, mocking his death was seen as a form of karmic justice.
Some even pointed out that “Hitler was once just a guy giving speeches before he got power.” The implication being: why wait until someone acts violently, if their ideas already point toward violence?
At first glance, this argument has emotional appeal. But libertarians must reject it if we are to remain true to the Non-Aggression Principle.
Supporting bad policies is not the same thing as wielding violence. Holding opinions — even harmful, statist, or authoritarian opinions — is not aggression in itself. To conflate the two is to abandon the distinction between thought and action, between speech and force.
If it were legitimate to attack people for their ideology, then anyone could be targeted preemptively. Socialists could be shot because they “support theft of property.” Conservatives could be attacked for “empowering authoritarianism.” Progressives could be assaulted because their tax policies “steal from the rich.” Once you allow preemptive violence against ideas, you have justified the very principle of political terror that every authoritarian regime in history has practiced.
The “Hitler was once just a guy giving speeches” argument also fails philosophically. We do not punish people for what they might do — we hold them accountable for what they actually do.
A man speaking hateful rhetoric in 1922 is still distinct from the dictator who launched invasions and ordered exterminations in 1941. To erase that distinction is to erase the entire framework of individual rights, presumption of innocence, and proportional justice.
Libertarianism is not about excusing statist rhetoric. It is about demanding that all force be defensive, never initiated. Violence may be used to stop actual aggression — not to silence someone because we fear their words could lead to aggression someday. Once you justify killing speakers for their ideology, you’ve adopted the exact principle of the authoritarian state: that violence is a legitimate tool to silence opposition.
Charlie Kirk’s words could and should have been debated, refuted, and ridiculed. Those who opposed his ideas could have grown stronger and more convincing. But the reality is, he was not a soldier kicking down doors for ICE. He was not a politician passing laws. He was a commentator with a microphone. To treat him as if speech itself is violence is to cross into the very logic that libertarians exist to oppose.
Refuting the Left-Wing “Words as Violence” Argument
Some left-wing anarchists (and progressives, too) have argued that Charlie Kirk’s assassination was justified because his words “empowered oppressors” or caused “harm to marginalized communities.” Libertarians reject this reasoning outright.
Speech is not violence. Words can offend or influence, but they are not the same as bullets or cages. To equate them destroys any limiting principle: if words equal violence, then every argument becomes a potential act of aggression, and anyone can claim harm to silence opponents. That logic has been used by fascists, communists, and authoritarians of every stripe.
Even if Kirk’s rhetoric was statist or offensive, he gave critics the chance to meet him on the intellectual battlefield. They could debate, protest, boycott, or ridicule. Once you cross into violence, you eliminate dialogue and embrace the very authoritarianism anarchists claim to oppose.
Rights cannot depend on how others interpret your words. If speech can be treated as violence, then nobody has rights at all. The loudest mob gets to decide who may speak and who must die. That is tyranny, not liberty.
The libertarian answer to speech is always more speech—not bullets. To endorse murder because someone’s words are unpopular is not resistance to oppression; it is the purest form of it.
Violence Silences Debate Forever
Even if one accepts the most extreme accusations—that Kirk was a “Christian nationalist bigot spreading hate”—it remains true that he never wielded violence himself. He engaged in speech, however controversial. That meant he could always be challenged with counter-speech. He could be debated, refuted, exposed, mocked, or ignored.
By killing him, his critics ensured that no one would ever again have the chance to change his mind or confront his arguments. They robbed themselves of the opportunity to win through persuasion. He was not defeated in the higher arena of intellectual debate. Violence does not just silence the speaker—it silences the dialogue.
The irony is profound: those who claim to oppose authoritarianism have, by celebrating his death, endorsed its defining tactic.
Conclusion: Why Rights Must Be Universal
Charlie Kirk’s assassination has revealed an uncomfortable truth about our political culture: many people only believe in rights for their own side. When it comes to enemies, rights become conditional, subject to moral qualifiers and rhetorical “buts.”
Libertarians know better. Rights are not conditional. The right to life does not depend on whether you are virtuous. The right to speech does not vanish when your ideas are unpopular. The Non-Aggression Principle does not make exceptions for people we dislike.
Victim-blaming—whether in cases of sexual assault, police brutality, or political violence—always undermines human dignity. It shifts responsibility away from the aggressor and onto the victim. It cheapens the value of life and gives a passive endorsement to violence.
Charlie Kirk did not deserve to die for his words. No one does. If rights are to mean anything, they must apply universally—to the righteous and the flawed, the beloved and the despised, the conservative pundit and the progressive activist alike.
The real test of principle is not whether we defend the rights of those we agree with. The real test is whether we defend the rights of those we oppose. In this test, many have failed. But libertarians cannot afford to. For without universality, rights cease to be rights at all.
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