Published by The i Paper (13th September, 2025)
On April 3rd, 1968, the charismatic leader of a mass political movement in the United States spoke in Memphis about freedom and justice. He reflected on the violence contorting his country as he told how he had almost died in a stabbing at a book signing, then how the aircraft that flew him home that morning needed to be searched for bombs since he was a passenger. “Like anybody, I would like to live a long life,” he said, before concluding with a rousing promise that the American people would attain their promised land. “So I’m happy tonight.”
Those were the final words spoken in public by Martin Luther King Jr. The following evening, this noble advocate of non-violent protest was hit in the neck by a single bullet from an assassin’s rifle as he stood on a motel balcony, pronounced dead barely one hour later. The killing of this civil rights leader convulsed the nation, sparking riots and exposing again the depth of divisions over race, war in Vietnam, and widely-differing cultural attitudes.
Now, another charismatic campaigner has been murdered with a shot to the neck. Charlie Kirk was the antithesis of King, whom he called an “awful person” – a hard-right conservative who claimed the landmark 1964 Civil Rights Act was a “mistake” being used as an “anti-white weapon.” Yet, distasteful as supporters may find it, these two men arguably shared a skill at building movements, were brilliant campaigners and were both – in their very different ways – at the centre of brutal political conflicts tormenting their nation in dangerous times.
The US is a violent place – founded by revolutionaries, awash with guns, turbulence often bubbling beneath the surface. Four of its 45 presidents have been murdered. Once again – as in King’s era – there are fears it is being torn apart. The fissures seem so wide that one side’s vision of the American dream looks like a grotesque nightmare for their rival tribe. There is nervous chat about possible civil war – as I’ve heard from citizens while reporting there – with the divisions intensified by people inhabiting separate media bubbles, fuelling fear and loathing of foes.
The rhetoric and tone of debate has hardened. Often, people see opponents as evil forces intent on destroying their communities and country. Most citizens despise violence sparked by politics – and many are less far apart than might be presumed from the wild west of unregulated social media. Yet a poll two years ago of almost 4,500 Americans found that one in five of both Democrats and Republicans saw violence as acceptable if carried out “to achieve my idea of a better society.”
This is the backdrop to the gunning down of Kirk, who deftly rode the waves of what passes for political debate today, racking up views on social media while going on to campuses to confront critics and defend his beliefs. There was much to dislike about his politics – including his defence of the insane US gun laws that lead to thousands of needless deaths each year, including now his own – yet his life exemplified his proclaimed belief in democracy and free speech.
Kirk’s murder exposes the dangers for this democracy amid a surge in political violence. It is reminiscent of the bitterly-divided 1960s, which saw high-profile assassinations – including of a president – along with violent street protests and police brutality. President Donald Trump has faced two attempts on his life. There was an arson attack on one Democratic governor’s home, attempted kidnapping of another, a hammer attack on the House speaker’s husband, a plot to kill a Supreme Court judge. A state representative from Minnesota and her husband were killed at home. The head of a healthcare firm was shot dead. And of course, there was that deadly assault on the US Capitol to overturn a presidential election result.
Analysts suggest this rise started in 2016 – the year of Trump’s first election as President. Often it comes from the far right, unlike in the 1960s when perpetrated mainly by left-wing extremists. There is one other key difference with the previous explosion of political violence: the reaction of leaders, who should calm tensions instead of stoking them. Tragically, their President responded to Kirk’s death by listing only violence against Republicans and lashing out at “the radical left”, blaming its rhetoric “for the terrorism that we’re seeing in our country today” and threatening revenge – though he did, a day later, remind his supporters that Kirk had been “an advocate of non-violence” and said “that’s the way I’d like to see people respond.”
What a contrast to Lyndon B Johnson, the president in 1968, who spoke of the need for his nation to come together after King’s assassination. “We can achieve nothing by lawlessness and divisiveness,” he said rightly.
Bobby Kennedy – who had never spoken about the shooting of his brother – broke news of King’s killing to a rally while campaigning for the White House. Admitting he knew that hearts could be filled with hatred after such dreadful events, he said they all faced a choice: between moving towards greater polarisation “filled with hatred toward one another” or to “make an effort, as Martin Luther King did, to understand and to comprehend, and to replace that violence, that stain of bloodshed that has spread across our land, with an effort to understand with compassion and love.”
Two months later, Kennedy was shot dead. And today, the extraordinary nation that gave us King, Kennedy and Kirk stands at a similar bloody crossroads, confronting that same fateful choice between reaching out to rivals or withdrawing into bunkers and hatred. But do its current leaders have the wisdom to soothe the wounds in this unfolding American tragedy? Sadly, I fear not.