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, hatred, and controversy for the sake of 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.
In discussing his assassination, this essay does not attempt to validate or invalidate any claims made about his political views or personal character. We make no judgment—positive or negative—about him as an individual.
Such considerations are irrelevant to the universal principle at hand: the defense of human rights and human dignity. Our sole focus is on upholding the idea that these rights are inalienable and must be respected regardless of who the person is or what they believe.
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, or that a woman loses her right to bodily autonomy because she “led a man on.”
But the moment rights become contingent on virtue or popularity, they are no longer rights at all—they are privileges granted and revoked at the whim of whoever holds power.
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.
The Folly Of Conditional Morality
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.
The Fallacy of Evasion
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 attention to the flaws of others, people evade the uncomfortable truth that every act of aggression—no matter the target—erodes the moral architecture upon which human rights stand.
The Double Standard of Victim-Blaming
Perhaps the most glaring example of this came from some progressives who otherwise built their worldview around rejecting victim-blaming. In the aftermath of Kirk’s assassination, the refrain was all too familiar: “What happened to Charlie Kirk was immoral, but he brought it on himself.”
The second half of that sentence varied — “Charlie said empathy was a made-up word,” “Charlie spread bigotry and hatred against minorities,” “Charlie admitted the cost of the Second Amendment was human life,” “Charlie was an instigator who provoked rather than debated honestly.” "Charlie didn't care if other people died." Different words, same logic: an attempt to balance condemnation with rationalization, as if moral disapproval somehow nullifies the right to life.
This is the same camp that has long insisted—correctly—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 denounced as a moral atrocity, a way of shifting guilt from the perpetrator to the victim.
Yet when the victim is a conservative pundit, that principle seems to vanish overnight.
We saw a mirror image of this hypocrisy during the George Floyd protests, when some conservatives said: “It was terrible what happened to Floyd, but take a look at his rap sheet.” That rhetoric was rightly condemned as dehumanizing and irrelevant to the injustice of his death. And yet, some of the very voices that led that condemnation are now recycling the same logic in a different costume.
Victim-blaming is not reprehensible because it offends "our side"; it is reprehensible because it strikes at the root of human dignity. A failure of moral approval for one does not confer upon another the right to silence, harm, exploit, abuse, or kill. The moment we make compassion conditional on ideology, we reveal that our principles were never principles at all, but merely partisan weapons.
When Principles Become Compromised
In the days following Charlie Kirk’s assassination, a handful of libertarians suggested that he had essentially brought it upon himself due to his advocacy of statist ideology. While some offered the perfunctory disclaimer that the murder was wrong, their tone betrayed a passive acceptance — as if being killed for one’s political beliefs were an inevitable consequence rather than an intolerable injustice.
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 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.
The Crucial Distinction Between Speech And Aggression
Some left-wing anarchists — and even some progressives — argued that Charlie Kirk’s assassination was justified because his words “empowered oppressors” or inflicted “harm on marginalized communities.” This is a dangerous inversion of justice. Speech, no matter how offensive, is not violence.
Libertarians reject this reasoning not out of sympathy for Kirk’s politics, but out of loyalty to a deeper truth: if words are treated as weapons, then every dissenting voice becomes a potential target. Once you accept that premise, you have not defended the vulnerable — you have simply handed the state and the mob a moral license for political murder.
To be clear, there is a narrow legal and moral principle of incitement, where speech crosses the line into directly calling for imminent violence. But that is categorically different from merely holding or expressing objectionable opinions.
Words can sting, offend, and even cause deep emotional pain — yet they are not the same as fists, bullets, or cages. To erase that distinction is to shatter the fulcrum upon which liberty turns.
Once speech is redefined as violence, every argument becomes a potential act of aggression, every opponent a potential criminal, and silencing them becomes a righteous cause. That logic has been the weapon of choice for 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. 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 offensive speech is always more speech, better speech—not bullets. To emerge truly victorious, one must conquer their foes on equal grounds. Victory outside of the intellectual battlefield is pyrrhic. To endorse murder because someone’s words are unpopular is not resistance to oppression; it is the purest form of it.
The Futility of Silencing Speech with Force
Even if one accepts the harshest accusations — that Kirk was a “Christian nationalist bigot spreading hate” — the fact remains: he never wielded violence himself. His weapon was speech, however controversial. And speech can always be met with counter-speech. He could have been debated, refuted, exposed, mocked, or ignored.
By killing him, his critics ensured that no one will ever again have the chance to change his mind or confront his arguments directly. They robbed themselves of the opportunity to defeat him in the higher arena of persuasion. He was not discredited through reason; he was erased through force.
And yet, the dialogue does not die with the man. It lives on in his supporters, amplified by the very injustice of his death. His critics may have thought they ended a voice, but in reality, they fueled a movement. The irony is profound: those who claim to resist authoritarianism embraced its defining tactic.
In essence, every claim that Kirk’s words inflicted harm collapses under the reality of his murder. By resorting to violence, his opponents did not discredit his message — they conferred upon it the very power they feared, transforming rhetoric into martyrdom and ensuring his ideas would resonate more forcefully than debate alone ever could.
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.”
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 real harm, oppression, and 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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