Charlie Kirk and the Curse of Social Media
When I was a kid, my friend Steven and I spent countless hours playing on his green Acer Desktop, the first personal computer I had ever seen in someone’s house. The PC included the game, Are You Afraid of the Dark? 1A point-and-click adventure, where players solved puzzles to break a curse, with spooky campfires and ghost stories. I have fond memories of sitting at that computer, playing the game with friends and family.
The internet was meant to be a doorway not a prison, and that PC was my doorway to the web. AOL 2 came on floppy disks, and the beep and screech of the dial-up modem sounded like some alien creature awakening. I remember the thrill of a “You’ve got mail!” notification. I waited for AIM messages with bated breath, the web required patience because things were slow. Chat rooms held the promise of genuine conversation.
I would sit next to my friends, enamored at the screen, our voices filling the room while the dial up connection performed its magic. There was a charm to that waiting, a rhythm that taught patience, curiosity, and the simple value of conversation as we watched the world unfold pixel by pixel.
That world seems almost unimaginable today. No endless feeds, no algorithms, no constant pings. No behavioral psychology engineered into the apps to turn us into zombie doomscrollers.
The slowness of it all forced us to pay attention, to savor each interaction. Early forums and chat rooms were small communities, often imperfect, but human. We learned from each other, argued, disagreed, and still respected that there was a person on the other side. It was messy, slow, and entirely real.
And I think that’s the problem. We have forgotten what it means to be real. Charlie Kirk was real. He wasn’t some caricature on your phone. He was a young man who rose to prominence. At 18, he founded Turning Point USA, influencing millions by 31. Like millions of others, I found him online and saw several videos of him debating college kids, trying to persuade them to his positions with his words. Challenging them to think and explain their beliefs without parroting the slogans they’d been told.
I did not agree with everything he said. And I feel silly for even having to say this, but disagreement does not erase the value of life. He was ubiquitous online and in the political arena; seeing him grow up and build something monumental, was something I respected because it took bravery to engage in actual dialogue again, face to face. A battle of ideas in the public square, not trolling or regurgitated propaganda talking points by keyboard cowboys.
Charlie Kirk’s death is a reminder of what happens when humanity is stripped from our online spaces. Violence becomes spectacle, outrage becomes reward, and empathy becomes optional.
Then the video appeared, the debate was over.
I cannot describe the horror in words without warning you—it was grotesque, violent, and calculated in its cruelty. He was shot in the throat, an act that seemed designed to silence him completely: a public execution on display for the world, the kind of imagery that should never exist in human society. Let alone at the fingertips of millions of kids.
“A 2023 Pew Research study found that over 60% of U.S. teens say they’ve encountered graphic violence online, often unintentionally.” 3
The digital spaces that once seemed full of potential—Facebook, IG, Reddit, Discord, social media apps, now amplified by AI bots—have become echo chambers spewing hate, division, and violence. Radicalization wasn’t just possible; it was inevitable.
Youth, being fed a diet of outrage, savagery, and ideological extremism, often without counterbalance of reason or empathy. Extremism thrives on both sides; we need to stop pointing fingers and look in the mirror.
Just months before Kirk’s assassination, Minnesota state representative Mark and Melissa Hortman were assassinated in a shooting at their home in Brooklyn Park, Minnesota due to political extremism. Political violence isn’t new; how many leaders haven’t felt the stab of its poisonous dagger? Julius Cesar, JFK, RFK, Gandhi, MLK, Shinzo Abe, Lincoln, Rabin, Roosevelt, Reagan, Trump, now Kirk.
The first thing I did after seeing the video was call my wife and my sister. I begged them not to watch it. I could not bear the thought of them being traumatized by what I had seen. And yet, as curiosity and fear often do, my sister went online anyway. She wanted information but she stumbled upon the very footage I had tried to shield her from. Her regret was instant.
The aftermath was perhaps even more disturbing. Online trolls celebrated the act. People posted memes, jokes, and calls for more violence. Outrage was currency, and empathy optional.
I think back to dial-up, to the hum of the modem, to waiting for a friend’s message, to early forums where words mattered. The pace was deliberate; patience was taught. Debate required listening, empathy was natural. Now, instant gratification and radicalization dominate, and the human voice is drowned in noise.
The moral compass of society, at least online, seemed broken. I hoped all these evil messages would be the product of some AI bot designed to keep us clicking and commenting as I know they do, but unfortunately, this vitriol becomes adopted by malleable minds.
Even one of my favorite authors amplified a false claim, in a now-deleted post, Stephen King tweeted, “He advocated stoning gays to death. Just sayin’,” in response to a post by Fox News host Jesse Watters, who had called Kirk a “patriot.”
Like many, Stephen King had viewed a video clip of Charlie speaking that had been cherry picked out of context. After public outcry, King did his due diligence and realized his folly. But his shot from the hip, caused him to post the very rhetoric that contributes to violence and misinformation, what are we to expect from our idealistic, younger impressionable youth?
“I have apologized. Charlie Kirk never advocated stoning gays to death.” Stephen King Tweet, Sep 12, 2025 4
“A study by Stanford University found that nearly 70% of teenagers struggle to distinguish fake news from credible reporting.” 5
King isn’t helping.
He deleted the post and provided an apology which I respect, but how much damage had been done when millions of his followers read the lie and retweeted it spreading this false statement about someone who had just been murdered in cold blood.
I want to be clear; this is not merely about Charlie Kirk. His death was tragic and shocking, but it serves as a lens through which to view the darker currents of our digital world. The platforms that should have connected us, that should have broadened our horizons, are instead breeding grounds for extremism, radicalization, and cruelty. AI amplifies misinformation. Echo chambers distort reality. And the youngest among us are left to navigate the chaos, often without guidance or protection.
I find myself thinking back to the days of dial-up, of waiting together for a page to load, of actual conversation replacing likes and retweets. It feels almost unreal now, this slower, safer, more human version of the internet. It preserved a kind of innocence and basic decency that seems almost extraterrestrial in today’s online landscape.
The horrific video, the celebration of violence, the casual cruelty, the desensitization of the youth—these are symptoms of a larger problem. We must ask ourselves: What has happened to human decency? And what role is social media playing? What will it take to reclaim empathy in a world that now values outrage and virality above life and dignity?
“The CDC reports that rates of anxiety, depression, and suicidal thoughts among teens have risen sharply in the social media era, with exposure to violent or hateful content as a contributing factor.” 6
As for me, I will continue to protect those I love from the worst of this digital age, just as I tried to protect my wife and sister from seeing the grotesque assassination. The internet can teach, connect, and inspire but without caution and safeguards, it can also dehumanize. The cost of that dehumanization is real, tangible, and heartbreakingly clear.
I will remember Charlie Kirk not as a symbol of politics, but as a Christian, and as a man whose life ended violently and unnecessarily. A man whose wife and children will only watch him speak in the archives of the internet’s digital graveyard.
If I could solve a puzzle to break this curse I would, but life isn’t a PC game.
As a nine-year-old, in front of that green Acer Desktop I wasn’t afraid of the dark. But now, almost 31 years later, I am terrified of the digital darkness that surrounds us; it’s our responsibility to trudge forward through that darkened path, illuminating the light of truth.