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The assassination of Charlie Kirk at Utah Valley University this month was more than the murder of a man. It was a seismic act of political violence that ripped through America’s national consciousness, echoing a dark period when assassinations were used to silence voices and destabilize democracy. For those watching from abroad, it was a reminder that the US, often held up as a global model of democratic debate, is once again struggling with political violence.

The 31-year-old activist built his reputation by mobilizing young conservatives and sparking debates on US campuses. Whether one agreed with his views or not, Kirk represented a spirit of engagement. His life was ended not by dialogue or by ballots but by a bullet. His assassination drags America back into a nightmare many believed was confined to the history books.

Political assassination has a unique capacity to wound not only individuals but entire societies. The US has lived through this nightmare before. President Abraham Lincoln was killed in 1865, just as the American Civil War ended, leaving a fractured nation to reconstruct without his leadership. President James Garfield was assassinated in 1881, a stark reminder that, even in peacetime, rage could strike at the heart of government. Twenty years later, President William McKinley was shot, his death ushering in a new era under Theodore Roosevelt.

The violence of the 20th century cut even deeper. President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in 1963, traumatizing a generation and shattering trust in America’s institutions. Just two years later, Malcolm X was murdered, robbing the civil rights movement of one of its most fiery voices. In 1968, Martin Luther King Jr. was gunned down, igniting riots across the nation and extinguishing the dreamer’s call for nonviolence. Only months later, Sen. Robert F. Kennedy was shot, silencing a presidential hopeful who had sought to heal a divided America.

Kirk’s assassination drags America back into a nightmare many believed was confined to the history books

Dalia Al-Aqidi

Even when assassination attempts failed, the scars remained. Roosevelt was shot during a campaign speech in 1912 but survived, famously continuing to speak with a bullet in his chest.

In the decades that followed the 1960s, America largely avoided the spectacle of high-profile assassinations, but the threat never disappeared.

Ronald Reagan narrowly escaped death in 1981, when a would-be assassin struck outside a Washington hotel. More recently, members of Congress such as Gabrielle Giffords in 2011 and Steve Scalise in 2017 were nearly killed while serving the public.

In 2022, a man broke into the home of then-House of Representatives Speaker Nancy Pelosi and brutally attacked her husband. And just this year, the state of Minnesota was rocked by a political killing that shocked even a country accustomed to violence. Former State House Speaker Melissa Hortman, a leading Democrat, and her husband were murdered in their home, while state Sen. John Hoffman and his wife were seriously injured in the same politically motivated attack. The killings horrified the country but they were also a warning that no corner of American political life is immune.

Last summer, the world watched in shock as President Donald Trump survived two assassination attempts while campaigning for reelection. In one rally, a gunman’s bullet grazed his ear; weeks later, another plot was foiled. These attacks showed how dangerously normalized political violence has become in America. When even presidential candidates are targeted on the trail, the ballot box is at risk of being overshadowed by bullets.

However, the assassination of Kirk was different in terms of both scale and symbolism. It was the public execution of a nationally known figure, carried out in front of 3,000 people during a political event. It sent a terrifying message: no one, no matter how prominent, is safe. It underscored a sobering truth: when dialogue dies, violence takes its place.

This crisis is not about one shooter alone. Political violence flourishes in a toxic climate in which opponents are no longer seen as rivals but as existential enemies. Too often, people abandon debate over ideas or policies and go straight to demonizing those who disagree with them. That kind of poison is not confined to the political fringes; it increasingly infects mainstream discourse.

The rhetoric of the past week has not been about restraint or reconciliation but about blame and escalation, with some voices pushing the US closer to ideological war. Demonization feeds a cycle: the more opponents are described as enemies, the more likely someone will act on those words. The tragedy is that Kirk himself built a career around debate. He was controversial, yes, but he relished the arena of ideas. To assassinate him while speaking publicly was not just to kill a man; it was to attack the very notion that differences should be settled with arguments, not weapons.

Political violence flourishes in a toxic climate in which opponents are no longer seen as rivals but as existential enemies

Dalia Al-Aqidi

Every political assassination tears at the foundations of democracy. But when it happens in America, it reverberates far beyond its borders. The US, for better or worse, is seen as a reference point for democratic practice. When bullets replace ballots, the signal to the rest of the world is that even a modern democracy cannot protect its own debates.

The chilling effect is real. Politicians and activists begin to fear for their safety. Families beg loved ones to abandon public service. Citizens grow wary of speaking up. If public squares become hunting grounds, civic life collapses.

The consequences extend beyond fear: they radicalize politics further. Violence invites retaliation, escalation and polarization. For global observers, this erosion of American stability raises doubts about the credibility of Washington’s calls for democratic dialogue abroad.

Kirk’s assassination must not become just another headline, another entry in the long catalogue of American tragedies. It should be a turning point — a moment when Americans recognize the dangerous road they are on and decide to return to dialogue.

The lesson of history is clear: a democracy cannot survive when bullets replace ballots and when disagreements are settled not through persuasion but through violence.

Freedom of speech is meaningless if speaking in public becomes a death sentence. Dialogue is not a weakness. It is the essence of democracy. It allows societies to engage in debate with ideas rather than fists, to persuade rather than destroy, and to coexist despite their differences.

The choice before America is clear: return to the civil path of reasoned debate and electoral decision-making or continue down the destructive road where assassins dictate the terms.

• Dalia Al-Aqidi is executive director at the American Center for Counter Extremism.