Digital Martyrdom: How Charlie Kirk's Assassination Transformed Him From Activist to Political Saint

A person holds a US flag as people gather during a vigil for Charlie Kirk

An AI-generated image of Charlie Kirk embracing Jesus. Another of Kirk posing with angel wings and halo. Then there's the one of Kirk standing with George Floyd at the gates of heaven.

When prominent political or cultural figures die in the US, their life remembrance often transforms into hagiography. This is precisely what has unfolded following the tragic killing of conservative activist and Turning Point USA co-founder Charlie Kirk.

The term hagiography originates from Christian traditions of documenting saints' lives, but frequently extends into secular politics and media, falling under what sociologists call the "sacralization of politics." Assassinations and violent deaths particularly tend to be interpreted through sacred lenses: The deceased becomes a secular martyr who made a heroic sacrifice, portrayed with moral righteousness and spiritual purity.

This process represents a natural aspect of mourning. However, examining why this occurs – and how the internet accelerates it – provides valuable insights into contemporary American politics.

From presidents to protest leaders, the construction of Ronald Reagan's post-presidential image exemplifies this phenomenon.

Following his presidency, Republican leadership systematically refined his memory into a symbol of conservative triumph, minimizing controversies like Iran-Contra or Reagan's early civil rights skepticism. Today, Reagan is remembered less as a multifaceted politician and more as a patron saint of free markets and patriotism.

Among liberals, Martin Luther King Jr. underwent a comparable transformation, though differently manifested. King's critiques of capitalism, militarism and structural racism are frequently downplayed in mainstream commemorations, leaving a gentler image of a peaceful dreamer. The annual holiday, numerous street renamings and public murals honor him while simultaneously domesticating his legacy into a universally acceptable narrative of unity.

Even more controversial figures like John F. Kennedy or Abraham Lincoln demonstrate the same pattern. Their assassinations sparked waves of mourning that elevated them to near-mythic status.

Decades after Kennedy's death, his portrait adorned many American Catholic homes, often alongside religious iconography such as Virgin Mary statuettes. Lincoln, meanwhile, evolved into a civic saint: His Washington, D.C. memorial resembles a temple, with his speech excerpts inscribed on the walls.

The hagiography of public figures serves multiple purposes. It addresses deep human needs, helping grieving communities process loss by providing moral clarity amid chaos.

It also enables political movements to consolidate power by sanctifying their leaders and discouraging dissent. And it reassures followers that their cause is righteous – even cosmic in significance.

In a polarized environment, elevating a figure to sainthood does more than honor the individual. It transforms political struggle into a sacred one. When someone is viewed as a martyr, opposition to their movement becomes not merely disagreement, but desecration. In this sense, hagiography extends beyond remembering the dead: It mobilizes the living.

However, risks exist. Once someone is framed as a saint, criticism becomes taboo. The more sacralized a figure, the harder discussing their flaws, mistakes or controversial actions becomes. Hagiography flattens history and constrains democratic debate.

After Queen Elizabeth II's death in 2022, public mourning in the UK and internationally rapidly elevated her legacy into a symbol of stability and continuity, with mass tributes, viral imagery and global ceremonies transforming a complex reign into a simplified narrative of devotion and service.

This process also fuels polarization. If one side's leader is a martyr, the opposing side must be villainous. The framing is simple yet powerful.

A supporter of Charlie Kirk holds banners outside State Farm Stadium in Glendale, Ariz., during Kirk's public memorial service on Sept. 21, 2025. Many of Kirk's supporters described him as a truth seeker whose death highlighted a deeper moral message. At Kirk's Arizona memorial service, President Donald Trump called him a "martyr for American freedom." On social media, Turning Point USA and Kirk's official X account described him as "America's greatest martyr to free speech."

By doing so, they elevated his death as symbolic of broader battles over censorship. By emphasizing that he died while simply speaking, they reinforced the notion that liberals and the left are more inclined to silence ideological opponents through violence, despite evidence indicating otherwise.

While treating public figures like saints isn't new, the speed and scale of this process is unprecedented. Over the past two decades, social media has transformed hagiography from a gradual cultural evolution into a rapid-fire production cycle.

Memes, livestreams and hashtags now enable anyone to canonize admired figures. When NBA Hall-of-Famer Kobe Bryant died in 2020, social media rapidly filled with devotional images, murals and video compilations portraying him as more than an athlete: He became a spiritual icon of perseverance.

Similarly, after Ruth Bader Ginsburg's death, the "Notorious RBG" meme ecosystem immediately expanded to include digital portraits and merchandise depicting her as a saintly defender of justice.

The same dynamics surrounded Charlie Kirk. Within hours of his assassination, memes appeared showing Kirk draped in an American flag, carried by Jesus.

In the days following his death, AI-generated audio clips of Kirk styled as "sermons" began circulating online, while supporters shared Bible verses allegedly matching the exact timing of his passing. Together, these acts framed his death in religious terms: It wasn't merely a political assassination – it represented a moment of spiritual significance.

Such clips and verses spread effortlessly across social media platforms, where narratives about public figures can solidify within hours, often before facts are confirmed, leaving minimal space for nuance or investigation.

Easily created memes and videos also allow ordinary users to participate in the sacralization process, making it more grassroots than top-down.

Essentially, digital culture transforms what was once the slow work of monuments and textbooks into a living, flexible folk religion of culture and politics.

Hagiography will persist as it effectively fulfills emotional and political needs. However, acknowledging its patterns helps citizens and journalists resist its distortions. The goal isn't to deny grief or admiration but to preserve space for nuance and accountability.

In the United States, where religion, culture and politics frequently intertwine, recognizing that political sainthood is always constructed – and often strategic – better enables people to honor loss without allowing mythmaking to dictate public life's terms.

Art Jipson, Associate Professor of Sociology, University of Dayton

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.