Photo by Nina Strehl on Unsplash
Charlie Kirk’s death is a tragedy. It is particularly tragic that he was shot and killed in a place built for the free exchange of ideas, while promoting the idea that political difference should be approached through conversation.
My teenage daughter came home from school and asked me if I’d heard the news that “Charlie Kirk was killed.” I was taken aback that this tragedy was occupying the mind of a grade 8 girl in Brisbane. I myself had barely heard of Charlie Kirk. This article is not going to focus on him but rather on our responses to this tragedy.
I’ve been watching outpourings of grief for this man I didn’t know and had barely heard of, thinking through why so many Australians are so engaged with politics and violence a world away, in a political system that is fractious and fragile; where guns are readily available and violent rhetoric in a ‘culture war’ is amping up.
I trained as a journalist. In my degree we were taught that responsible journalism takes time to establish the facts and follow investigations where they lead; that ‘objective’ facts are the substance of reporting in the immediate aftermath of an event—and that this is responsible. Analysis and subjective opinion pieces were meant to, we were told, flow out of the facts. Both social and traditional media are now fuelling, in my observation, unhelpful conversations that contribute to the fractious and fragile landscape.
This was especially true in the early aftermath of the shooting when all we knew was that Kirk had been shot and killed. We knew for a fact that he had a wife and children who now grieve. We knew this is a tragedy. We also knew, I believe, that this event comes within that American political context and it means something. In the absence of detail, commentators from across the political spectrum speculated—and continue to speculate even now as a suspect has been charged, and with the charges and evidence now publicly available. We can answer the ‘who,’ ‘what,’ ‘when,’ ‘where’ and ‘how’ questions—but even with more information available we are still only able to speculate about the ‘why’—and this speculation is dangerous to our souls, and to our community.
While I don’t know all the details, I’m certainly sure that the way commentators are throwing fuel on an already stoked fire—from the political right, or the political left, trying to assign blame when we didn’t, or don’t, have the facts is premature and, dare I say, irresponsible—especially when the fuel just conforms with whatever political position one already holds.
Many have in the aftermath been praising Kirk’s methodology of civil conversation face to face, or being thankful for his faith. I too share his faith and believe there is value in good faith conversation across divides. For all of us who share his faith, and especially for those of us who valued this commitment to civil conversation, it seems to me it is good for us to consider how to process these events responsibly and move towards dialogue with the political other, rather than towards more ‘othering’ or violent rhetoric or irresponsible speech you might have to walk back as more facts emerge. And as we move to analysis, we will need to grapple with the systems and structures and cultural dynamics intersecting in all of this, which takes time to do.
The best features of a conservative disposition to politics and the world recognises that we have limits and exist in communities — mediating institutions that aren’t just government, but include families and communities like churches or neighbourhood groups. We are placed in bodies, localities and communities in time and space — and there are limits to our attention so we need to be careful where we focus our attention and our action. I wonder if we would do better to cultivate a conservatism that emphasises participation in the places we live (where we have been placed by God) than giving our attention to events we cannot control, that come from contexts and cultures foreign to ours.
I’m not sure we are well served by being drawn into outrage from a world away—or even having American political figures being those we turn to as exemplars for good or for ill here in Australia. This event is deeply significant to Kirk’s family and friends and community. But are we well served in any truly conservative vision of the good by extrapolating from this tragedy in all the directions we might take it online?
What are we doing to ourselves? We have technology that connects us to the globe immediately and invites us to have and share quick opinions. Are we better for this, or do we risk adding fuel to an already destructive fire by piling on and making it clear where we divide from our neighbour rather than making space at our tables, in our homes, to listen to one another?
I cannot tell what is true where I am disconnected, remote, or removed from events. The waters have been and will continue to be muddied by claim and counterclaim, and our perpetual need to fill a vacuum. We long for a big narrative to explain events, and we also look for someone to blame. But things are more complicated and multi-factorial than any one grand idea or narrative can explain, unless the narrative is sufficiently broad that it explains everything. Like the narrative we have in Scripture.
This I do know though, that local communities where difference is worked out face to face, over time, and where we know and come to love and trust one another through, despite, and valuing difference, must be better for our humanity than online echo chambers where we talk about anonymous ‘theys’ who are out there wanting to do ‘us’ violence.
And as a Christian, despite all the flaws in the church, I believe the best and most historically tried and tested form of local community where this happens is the church. In the church we come together not just for community with one another, but for communion with a God who forgives, whose Son calls for creative non-violence (‘turn the other cheek’) and love for neighbour and enemy. A Son who models this by absorbing our violence and responding with life and love on the cross, bringing forgiveness and new life to those who turn to him. And in these communities the Spirit transforms us into the likeness of that Son, Jesus, with ever-increasing glory producing fruit like love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness and self-control.
Self-control. Patience. I believe being slow to speak and quick to listen is a good practice. And we are well advised to listen most to those voices who appeal to the better parts of our common humanity across various divides. These voices will serve us better than listening to those voices who whisper like serpents and ask us to believe the worst of our brother and sister humans—like Cain with Abel.
We would also do well to ensure we ourselves do not speak like serpents who love death and speak violence and lies into the confusion. And we need to not simply dismiss or demonise the political other as serpent-like, without confronting our own inner demons or those on ‘our side.’
Sadly, too much of what has been said over this past week online on this tragic event has shown little of the fruit of the Spirit, from whatever side it has come. I have found myself struck by the time I spend online becoming angry and moved to block or unfriend and isolate myself into a place where I only see views I agree with. And I did use the block button, I confess.
I have quite a bit of experience with young people who have been caught up in crime and violence. How has this happened? Usually because of a lack of love, security, and an ability to process awful things done to them in contexts that should have provided nurture and joyful and secure emotional attachment.
Would not investing in creating those sorts of environments in families and communities be at least one significant and constructive response to the online world with its narratives of despair and fear offered on platforms that are designed to isolate and stimulate the worst parts of our nature?
This week has renewed my commitment to investing into truly loving communities. It has also renewed my conviction that we should ask serious questions about any individual, group, or mediating institution in our society that wants to respond to violence or events with anger or malice or vengeance, or by talking about an anonymous and unknown to oneself ‘they’—rather than with a love that seeks understanding.
Rev Nathan Campbell is the Pastor at City South Presbyterian Church in Brisbane.
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