The recent death of Charlie Kirk, the founder of the far-right Turning Point USA, has prompted a predictable and revealing chorus from his ideological allies. They have hastily fashioned a crown of martyrdom for him, a tribute reserved for those perceived to have been persecuted for their righteous beliefs. To call this a misappropriation of the term would be an understatement; it is a complete inversion of its meaning. To understand why, one need only examine the substance of Kirk’s career, which was not built on noble sacrifice but on a foundation of calculated provocation, division, and hateful rhetoric. This rhetoric was compounded by a professed Christianity that was, at best, profoundly misplaced and, at worst, an absolute fraud. Hailing him as a martyr is a tactic exclusive to the far-right playbook, a move as logically coherent as claiming dog faeces is an aphrodisiac.
Kirk’s platform was not a bastion of thoughtful conservatism but a megaphone for grievances often rooted in bigotry. His life’s work was to mainstream ideas that once lingered on the extremist fringe. He consistently trafficked in the “great replacement” theory, a white supremacist conspiracy alleging a deliberate plot to dilute Western white majorities through immigration. Kirk didn’t just allude to it; he articulated it plainly, framing immigration not as a policy issue but as an existential, demographic war. This rhetoric, which paints minorities as an invading force, is not just inflammatory; it has directly inspired acts of terrorist violence from Christchurch to Pittsburgh.
His contempt was not reserved for immigrants alone. Kirk was a prolific source of anti-LGBTQ+ vitriol, consistently portraying the community, and transgender people in particular, as a threat to children and society. He labelled gender-affirming healthcare for minors as “mutilation” and “child abuse,” language designed not to debate but to dehumanise. This kind of speech creates a climate of fear and justifies discriminatory legislation targeting some of the most vulnerable people in society. To portray a man who used his immense platform to target marginalised groups as a “victim” is a breathtaking act of bad faith.
Furthermore, Kirk’s race-baiting was a cornerstone of his brand. He repeatedly made statements dismissing the existence of systemic racism, arguing that initiatives like Black History Month or discussions of white privilege were themselves racist against white people. He reduced centuries of complex racial history to simplistic, inflammatory soundbites, claiming, for instance, that diversity initiatives meant “they want to get rid of you because of your skin colour.” This is not the language of a martyr seeking justice; it is the language of a demagogue stoking racial resentment for personal and political gain.
This is where his supposed Christianity collapses under the slightest scrutiny. The central tenets of the faith he claimed to uphold—love, mercy, humility, and a paramount duty to protect the poor and marginalised—were conspicuously absent from his public pronouncements. Instead, his version of Christianity was a cynical political tool, a cultural-signifier for a reactionary base rather than a framework for spiritual reflection. It was a faith of resentment, not redemption; of exclusion, not grace. He wielded it as a cudgel against his enemies, aligning himself with a vision of Christ that seemed more concerned with tax cuts and culture wars than with the Sermon on the Mount. This was, at best, a deeply misplaced theology that worshipped power over piety. At worst, it was an absolute fraud, a performance designed to lend a veneer of righteousness to an agenda of hatred.
So, why would the far-right insist on this martyr narrative? The answer lies in the movement’s core strategy. Martyrdom is the ultimate shield against criticism. By framing Kirk as a brave Christian truth-teller silenced by a godless “woke mob,” his followers can evade any meaningful engagement with the toxic nature of his ideas. Any condemnation becomes proof of his righteousness. It transforms his death from the end of a life dedicated to division into a perpetual weapon for that same cause. It is a cynical, emotional ploy that bypasses reason entirely.
This brings us to the headline’s analogy. To call Charlie Kirk a martyr is to make a claim so divorced from reality, so wilfully perverse, that it operates on the same logical level as declaring dog faeces an aphrodisiac. Both statements are not merely wrong; they are offensive absurdities that insult the intelligence of the listener and degrade the very concepts they hijack. True martyrs—from historical figures who died for religious freedom to civil rights activists murdered for demanding equality—sacrificed for the expansion of human dignity and justice.
Charlie Kirk’s legacy is the very opposite. He prospered by peddling hatred, by dividing communities, and by providing intellectual cover for prejudice, all while hiding behind a hollowed-out caricature of Christianity. The far-right’s canonisation of him is not an honour bestowed upon a noble life, but a final, desperate attempt to sanctify a poisonous ideology. In the end, the title of martyr fits him as well as a crown of thorns would fit a lump of excrement. The smell, however, is unmistakably the same.
