Memorial for a Martyr? Or, a Taste of What's to Come?

by Alan Browne

The recent memorial service for Charlie Kirk at Phoenix's State Farm Stadium, attended by hundreds of thousands, represents a deeply concerning inflection point in American political life. The assassination of the controversial far-right podcaster is an unequivocal tragedy; political violence is never a legitimate tool for resolving ideological conflict. However, the orchestrated national response to his death demands critical scrutiny.

The event transcended a mere memorial, morphing into a potent propaganda spectacle. The venue—an NFL stadium—and the previous weekend’s tributes paid by 27 out of 32 NFL teams, signal a profound alignment of major institutions with a specific political movement. This is the same league that has historically partnered with the military for paid patriotic displays, blurring the lines between sport, state, and ideology. The service, attended by the highest levels of government and featuring a roster of speakers, echoed a religious revival, designed to galvanize a movement around a narrative of martyrdom and collective grievance.

No one seems to remember the truly horrible and reprehensible things that made him so beloved by conservatives, Christians, and the far-right. For those who may need to be reminded, this article was published two days after his death.

This mobilization of far-right energy invites historical comparison. While not directly analogous to the Reichstag fire or the March on Rome, the event's tone and imagery are eerily reminiscent of the 1939 German-American Bund rally at Madison Square Garden, where hatred was spewed under the protection of authority figures, surrounded by nationalist symbols. The danger is that such a highly charged event will not only consolidate political support but also legitimize and encourage retaliatory violence from extremist elements.

In the face of this rising, unified far-right threat, a critical question emerges: Where is the labor union leadership? Despite serving as a key fundraising base for the Democratic Party, unions have received little in return but declining membership and weakened power. This alliance, combined with a disastrous 'team concept' approach to management, has left workers without the fierce advocacy they need and deserve, resulting in a decades-long erosion of rights and influence.

The violent suppression of labor is a recurrent theme in American history. From the 1870s through the 1930s, the struggle for workers' rights was met not with passive acceptance, but with brutal force. Private security firms, strikebreakers ("scabs"), the National Guard, and police agencies routinely shot and killed workers. Countless labor organizers were assassinated, kidnapped, or disappeared—decades before unions were even legally recognized. Many of these early organizers were socialists, and their cause was championed by famous celebrities, authors, musicians, and educators.

This coalition was fractured following World War II. Although the U.S. had briefly stood against fascism, it soon turned inward to purge leftist elements from society. The McCarthy hearings and the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) of the 1950s systematically destroyed lives and careers. This historical precedent makes current events—where celebrities are silenced, professors are doxed, and private citizens are fired for exercising their First Amendment rights—deeply familiar. It is a modern echo of the Cold War's darkest chapters.

Furthermore, the image of state violence against citizens is not a relic of the distant past. The beating and killing of U.S. veterans by soldiers equipped with gas masks and riot gear, seen during the Depression-era protests, serves as a stark reminder that such repression has always been a tool used against those who dare to demand their rights. These tactics were used against Vietnam War protestors and Civil Rights marchers during the 1960s and 70s. The same can be said about the suppression of worker anger during the 1980s when jobs were shipped overseas and Ronald Reagan was re-elected by a landslide, with major Democratic Party support. The Cold War fight against communism was a cover for a more aggressive foreign policy approach for corporate influence abroad as workers and the poor suffered the consequences of the War on Drugs, the War on Terror, and the privatization of education, prisons, worker pensions, and countless community services.

This failure of traditional working-class representation has created a vacuum. Instead of a robust defense of class interests, workers are offered a choice between a Democratic Party that often pays them lip service while pursuing corporate agendas and a Republican Party that has successfully channeled economic despair into cultural and nationalist resentment. The unions’ decline and their alignment with a party that has frequently failed them have left many workers adrift, making them susceptible to the far-right's rhetoric that co-opts populist anger.

Therefore, the spectacle in Phoenix is not an isolated event. It is the result of a long-brewing perfect storm: the calculated leveraging of a tragedy by powerful institutions, the historical amnesia of a population, and the catastrophic abdication of the very organizations that were built to protect the working class from exploitation and defend their economic interests. Without a true alternative that addresses the material needs of workers, the landscape is set for further escalation and the very real repression of dissent that has marked the darkest chapters of American labor history.