No, Charlie Kirk’s death meant nothing to me, and I didn’t even know he existed before he was killed. But suddenly, one morning, I came across the news of his assassination in several media outlets. I didn’t ask who this person was, nor did I feel any kind of curiosity about him. He does not belong to my world, and I couldn’t understand all the fuss surrounding his death.
Is he somehow better than the residents of Gaza, who have been assassinated by the thousands for more than two years now? Or does his American citizenship grant him a higher value than those civilians in Palestine, who have been forcibly stripped of their land and identity and slaughtered like herds of cattle?
No, I don’t care how Charlie Kirk died or why he died.
What matters to me is knowing how much longer we will keep weighing things with double standards in this miserable world—just as the hero of a film “Brubaker”once angrily asked.
