The Squad

I’ve been thinking quite a bit about Charlie Kirk lately, and his assassination. It’s no surprise that as the holes get filled in, there is more and more sexual perversion coming to light — Tyler Robinson, his assassin, had a male lover, embroiled in some version of the hopped up hormonal soup the medical establishment has decided is A-OK as far as a legitimate treatment for obvious mental illness. This is an unfolding story, with the latest chapter being his lover displaying about the level of loyalty you’d expect for someone who wants to engage in self-mutilation of his genitalia. Crazy doesn’t do any of this justice.

What is more interesting to me is Charlie, and his career going around to various campuses, and in a very relaxed way, dealing with all sorts of comers in discussion and debate. The videos I’ve seen indicate that Charlie was very good at defusing tension to an acceptable level in stressful situations, and moving through the crowd and their issues. This is not easy — Charlie was an obvious master, and there are really no words to describe his loss. I pulled apart the memetics in this piece — Charlie was someone who believed if you sat down with someone and established your own, independent relationship, you might change their mind. I call this empathetic brain-borrowing. There’s no way that any of Charlie’s opposition stood a realistic chance of doing anything other than drawing a stalemate with him. Charlie had mastered the venue.

Few people have actually had the exact experience Charlie lived. But I actually have. As an environmental activist, I, on more than one occasion, found myself facing a large, hostile crowd who wanted to do damage to my person, that I had to talk my way out of. Sometimes that crowd was large — I remember well, testifying at a 500 person hearing in Orofino, on the roadless initiative back in the 2000 timeframe. That resulted in some chanting to off me, so I left quickly. Outside, the same people who were wishing my demise had their children, who seemed to be trying to grab me, but in reality, were attempting to shake my hand. “You’re telling our parents things we can’t,” they said. And while it was moving, I still got the hell out of there.

There were other episodes in all of that, giving speeches and such. It was a rush. And I think it might be easy to ascribe to Charlie that for him, it was a rush as well. He was bold, and obviously far more famous than I ever was. But I’d caution anyone about jumping to conclusions on any narcissistic reasoning that he was doing it just for himself. I think, as a fundamentalist Christian, he believed in his mission, just as I believed in mine. But his never stopped, whereas mine did. And what happens that I can attest to is that each time you’d end up in one of those conflict-laden situations, it dulls you. Or rather, you become dismissive. You’re going to end up on the other side, very likely having dinner with people who you like, and the debates, especially with college kids, are not going to vary that much.

What likely happened with Charlie was he got into a routine where he may not consciously, but certainly unconsciously, viewed himself as invincible. There was enough security, enough handlers, to dull down the prospect of a true low probability event. And it seemed that he didn’t really mix things up as far as his routine. Somene wanting to kill him could — and did. He was predictable. And he was known by the masses. Almost no one in the timber industry, save actually for the top level, ever knew who I was. I would have been far more likely to die through an actual assassination, and I just wasn’t that important even to do that. You’d have had to read my book, and follow far more closely actual actions.

What happened to Charlie seems to me to follow a movie that I’ve found very relevant to my own experience. Called Fearless, starring Jeff Bridges, Isabella Rossellini and Rosie Perez, it involves a plane crash survivor who becomes convinced he is basically immortal. He doesn’t have to worry about getting killed. It’s just not in the cards. The movie catches well the mental gloss that settles in after wave after wave of severe trauma. And you better believe Charlie had trauma.

But he learned to deal with it, powering through repeated attacks on his person, all the while being reinforced in his belief system by some of the most powerful people in the world. What’s the mental effect of having the President of the US tell you you’re doing important work? It’s not going to make you back off — especially at 31.

I like to think that my own experiences, which while not being at the same level as Charlie’s, and were far from trivial, helped me to evolve the perspective of an enlightened master. But sometimes, I think I engaged in that dismissive mindset myself. I’ve been attacked since the pandemic started four, and really five times. Each time, I seem to wave off the attack, instead of processing through potential increased risk. Some of us turn into psychopathic targets — we’re just too interesting to leave alone — and I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how to decrease my own modest profile.

But there’s something about deeply believing in something that brings out the psychopaths. They came for Charlie. We’ll have to see how this story really unfolds. But the bottom line is there is always a true price for being a hero.

I also look at my sons, who have no grand expectations of political action. They’re reasonably earnest and resolute young men. Noble, in fact. But they have no interest in the crowds. Still, when shit hits the fan, they don’t think twice. They run towards the trouble. It simply doesn’t occur to them to be afraid. Having kids almost Charlie’s age makes me ponder the level of integrity you want to raise your kids at. It’s a foregone conclusion with my own. But the answers aren’t as obvious as you might think.