Why Are We Divided on Something That Should Just Be Objectively Heinous?

Years ago, as a high school student, I attended CPAC. For me, it was mostly a chance to see Washington, D.C. on someone else’s dime. The Gaylord convention center was a collage of conservative America: seasoned activists in suits, younger attendees arguing passionately about liberty and government, and wide-eyed newcomers still finding their footing - I lumped myself in the latter.

Somewhere in that mix, I met Charlie Kirk. Briefly. A handshake, a nod, and then he was gone, already pulled into conversations that mattered more. At the time, I wrote him off. In hindsight, it made sense. He wasn’t there to entertain every passerby. He was laying the groundwork for something larger — a movement that would eventually stretch well beyond that ballroom.

Which is why, years later, watching his assassination unfold across multiple screens in high definition felt surreal. I had once shaken his hand; now I was watching his life end in real time, replayed from every angle for an online audience.

And yet, what struck me most wasn’t just the violence itself. It’s been the aftermath. Something so plainly heinous — a political figure shot while speaking publicly — should unite us in condemnation. Instead, reactions fractured. Some were horrified, others dismissive, still others disturbingly celebratory.

Why?

“The danger isn’t only the violence itself, as shocking as it is. It’s the erosion of a shared reality in which the obvious can still be recognized as obvious.”

The answer lies partly in the strange world we inhabit — a world not shaped by shared experience, but rather, curated feeds.

The Charlie Kirk I encountered online was sharp and ambitious, delivering strong arguments and rallying young conservatives. Others, however, were shown a very different Charlie: arrogant, combative, trafficking in “gotcha” clips and provocation.

Both versions existed. But no one was seeing the whole person. Algorithms don’t deliver balance; they deliver engagement. One audience was fed the highlight reel, another the lowlights, and both were told this was reality. Over time, those tailored portrayals hardened into truth.

So when tragedy struck, Americans weren’t even reacting to the same man. Some mourned a martyr. Others shrugged at a villain’s demise. And the obvious — that assassination is wrong — HAs somehow become debatable.

This, more than anything else, reveals the dangerous turning point we face. We are not just divided politically. We are divided on the most basic moral intuitions. Acts that should be universally condemned are filtered, packaged, and disputed until even murder becomes just another culture-war flashpoint.

The danger isn’t only the violence itself, as shocking as it is. It’s the erosion of a shared reality in which the obvious can still be recognized as obvious.

Charlie Kirk’s legacy is complicated, as any public figure’s is. I had my critiques of his style, his reliance on viral outrage, and his sometimes heavy-handed rhetoric. But none of that changes the moral clarity of his death. Assassination is heinous. It should not need caveats.

The fact that it does tells us something urgent: our culture is being shaped less by leaders, and more by the invisible architecture of technology. These algorithms do not just amplify division — they normalize it. They turn tragedy into a Rorschach test and strip us of the ability to agree on the most fundamental truths.

Unless we begin reckoning seriously with the systems that feed us these curated realities, we risk becoming a society incapable of recognizing the obvious, even in its darkest moments.

That is the real crisis.