Some deaths have a strange transformative quality to them, turning extremists into icons and provocateurs into prophets, inviting sympathy where once lied scrutiny. 

The fatal shooting of Charlie Kirk on Sept. 10 was one of these unique instances. Before, Kirk was widely known as a right-wing extremist and conservative commentator, but through his death, ideologies have magically realigned. He has now become an activist. A leader of free speech. A martyr. 

I remember swiping through Instagram and seeing story after story dedicated to mourning his death and celebrating his contributions to society. Some people I knew who never cared about anything remotely political — including gun violence — were suddenly active protestors against Kirk’s murder. His passing has significantly impacted American political media and is now nestling its way into our own campus. 

An event inspired by Kirk’s life will be held on campus this Wednesday. Although it is not explicitly a memorial, it is to emphasize qualities the organizers claim Kirk represented: “courage, sincerity and a willingness to speak openly.”

What does this imply? To me, by nature, a memorial-like event draws attention to the ideas and legacy of who it honors. It gives respect and permanence, and it often commemorates the subject’s morals. The decision to hold a moment of silence, particularly in a setting like Stanford, is never apolitical. Space is limited. Time is deliberate. To memorialize is to prioritize.

But memorializing isn’t new for Stanford students. Just this month, ceremonies were held for the victims of Oct. 7 as well as the martyrs of Gaza. The purpose of these events was not only to remember the dead, but also to spread political messages meant to spark further action. In other words, memorials make it clear that, sometimes, remembrance is inseparable from resistance. 

While Faith & Freedom Night tries to avoid conflating the event with a specific political goal, it is impossible to separate Kirk as an honoree from his outspoken views. It prompts us to grieve for someone who, in life, stood against many of the values that Stanford students have historically organized to promote such as equity, inclusion and the survival of truth. I wonder how students within marginalized communities feel knowing that some of their peers admire a figure who stood fundamentally opposed to the existence of their human rights. As a woman of color, it’s difficult for me to wrap my head around holding a moment of silence in honor of a misogynistic, nationalist, white supremacist, regardless of his dramatic and violent passing.

After the George Floyd protests in 2020, the removal of confederate statues began, setting a precedent that who we memorialize and celebrate is a direct reflection of our values as a nation. It is now even more important to carefully select who we choose to distinguish with the honor of being memorialized. Kirk lived an immensely controversial life, spewing vicious, hateful rhetoric until his very last breath. Remembering Kirk is to revere and ultimately uphold his beliefs. I think this is questionable at best, and nefarious at worst — implicitly endorsing values of harm and intolerance.

I do not believe it is the University’s job to oversee who its student body chooses to remember. In a time when free speech seems curbed at every avenue, it would be dangerous to allow an institution to decide when it is or isn’t appropriate to remember or memorialize someone. But we must all ask ourselves: does his passing automatically make him a martyr and erase the harm he has created in our world? Is Kirk’s legacy one that deserves to be honored and upheld for years to come?

In my opinion, no.

When he was shot, I, like many others, received a flurry of messages from family and friends analyzing the situation. So many people made proclamations that this was just another instance of gun violence that would quickly fade from American conscience. Instead, his death has become a movement, banding together right-wing extremists, political leaders and fascists into a whirlpool of anger and outrage. 

Attending an event partly in his honor is not a neutral act. It’s a rewriting of history in real time, and it demands our scrutiny. Death is not an absolution from life-long wrongdoings, and remembering someone’s death without considering what they’ve done while living is dangerous and irresponsible. 

I will not attend Faith & Freedom Night, and I suggest others avoid it as well. While Kirk’s death is tragic, the people we remember deeply matter. Through memorialization, we create permanent history in real time. We cannot let idyllic stories of Kirk’s death that have circled through the media mask who he was when he was alive. If we allow public mourning to blur the line of accountability, I think we all risk losing our values at the altar of performative grief. Let us not mistake tragedy for heroism, or compassion with concession.