It’s a strange thing, isn’t it, how quickly narratives can form, especially in the wake of something as jarring as a death? For many students, particularly those at historically Black colleges and universities (HBCUs), the outpouring of what felt like deification for Charlie Kirk after his passing on September 10th was, to put it mildly, unsettling.
Alana, a student at Utah Valley University, voiced a sentiment echoed by many: "He wasn't this national hero or politician. He was just a white man with a loud opinion." This feeling of disconnect was particularly acute for students who felt Kirk's rhetoric had often targeted marginalized communities. The idea that they, or others like them, might be unfairly blamed for his death, or that their lack of public mourning was somehow a transgression, felt like a further layer of injustice.
Indeed, in the days and weeks that followed, a disturbing pattern emerged. Several HBCUs and Black students found themselves targets of racist threats. Journalists faced repercussions, and students of color were disciplined for not expressing grief in a prescribed manner, or worse, for celebrating his death. It paints a picture of a deeply fractured landscape, where the valorization of one figure in death sparked genuine fear and consternation among those who felt historically vulnerable.
Take, for instance, the incident at Tennessee State University, an HBCU in Nashville. A group of conservative activists, part of the "Fearless Tour" that emerged in Kirk's honor, made an uninvited visit to campus. Their signs, proclaiming "DEI should be illegal" and "Deport all illegals now!", were a stark intrusion. Talia Talley, a TSU junior, described the feeling of unease: "I did feel a little bit fearful. We had no idea that they were coming on to our campus to do this." Her classmates, she recalled, tried to engage, to articulate their perspectives in the limited time they had, while campus security eventually intervened. Blair, a TSU senior, articulated a clear boundary: "You have to have a certain type of entitlement to come to someone elses campus unwarranted and to debate students without permission. We don't owe them a conversation."
Talley's viral TikTok video, showing students following the group as they were escorted off campus, captured a moment of tension but also a commitment to non-violence. "I just didn't want anything violent to happen," she said, "And we knew that we couldn't do any of that, because that's not the type of people that we are." Yet, even this act of documenting the event led to harassing messages for Talley.
This fear of being scapegoated isn't new. Justin Hansford, a law professor and founder of the Thurgood Marshall Civil Rights Center at Howard University, pointed out that "Black and brown communities have long served as scapegoats in US politics." He elaborated, "Being angry at Black people is the foundation of a lot of American political energy." The mass incarceration during the crack cocaine epidemic in the 1980s, he argued, was a prime example of how political motivations could target specific communities, using the "war on drugs" as a narrative that satisfied certain constituents, even when drug use was widespread.
The conversation also inevitably turned to free speech. The expulsions and withdrawals of students at Texas schools after videos of them mocking Kirk's death surfaced highlighted the complex and often contentious boundaries of expression. Camryn Giselle Booker at Texas Tech University was arrested after a video showed her saying "Yall homie dead" during a vigil. Devion Canty Jr. at Texas State University faced calls for expulsion from the governor himself after a similar incident. Universities, in their statements, emphasized that behavior denigrating victims of violence has no place on their campuses, underscoring the difficult balance between allowing dissent and maintaining a respectful environment.
What emerges from these student experiences is a picture of a campus environment grappling with the legacy of controversial figures, the impact of divisive rhetoric, and the ever-present anxieties of marginalized communities. It’s a reminder that behind the headlines and political debates, there are real people, with real feelings and real concerns, navigating a complex social and political landscape.
