When Pennsylvania Gov. Josh Shapiro’s home was firebombed this summer, at no point did I say or write, “I hate Josh Shapiro’s politics, but … .” And I certainly didn’t say “Well that’s karma.”

Sadly, some people expressed exactly those two emotions.

I know they did because I read them on my page, right after I posted this comment upon watching Shapiro reach the point of tears when reflecting on the threat to his family: “Watching Josh Shapiro. Bad ass. Proud he is my Governor. No political issue is more important than basic humanity.”

That is who I am. I’m not saying this to show off my halo, tilted as it clearly is. I’m pointing this out to show that there are some basic standards of humanity that we all have to embrace, and if we don’t, we are simply not human to begin with.

Now, a few months later, I find that the same nihilism some of my conservative friends displayed with their “but-but-but” comments is manifested in people whom I mistakenly considered friends.

Looking over the reaction to Charlie Kirk’s assassination on social media, I found far too many examples of schadenfreude, that horrible form of virtue signaling where the speaker pretends to be upset about a tragedy, but is really thrilled to see him or her suffering.

The people who are the most despicable are the ones who begin their comments with “I don’t wish harm on anyone … BUT …” and then prattle on about how the victim of gunfire was a known Second Amendment absolutist, or someone who died from COVID was anti-vax, or someone who voted for Trump watched as his wife was deported.

These are terrible people, and they hide in plain sight on normal Facebook and Instagram feeds, mixing their pictures of last Saturday’s pasta dinner and their new haircuts and their grandkids’ first days of school with comments that celebrate the death of a conservative commentator.

I am seeing people on friend’s timelines virtue gloating about how Charlie Kirk was pro-Second Amendment. Their words amount to “how did that work out for you, Charlie.” I am disgusted and repelled by these people, and I will tell them to their faces that they are not worthy of sharing the human race with the rest of us.

Blank them, and blank anyone who has the sickness of soul to say such things, and formulate such thoughts, moments after a father, husband, son, and citizen was murdered.

There are people who are so damaged and angry that they will rejoice in the death of a man that they hated, because he said things that contradicted their worldview.

I use the word “hated” on purpose, because you must abhor someone to celebrate the fact that his wife is now a widow, and his toddlers are now orphans.

These are the people who paste the flags of Ukraine all over their feeds, and display rainbow flags in their windows, the ones with the special trans addition, and who figured out how to correctly spell fascist by asking Siri, “What is a synonym for Donald Trump?”

These are not serious creatures, and contribute much less to society in their entire lives than Charlie Kirk did in 13 years, from the moment he created Turning Point.

I did not agree with Kirk on everything, including his embrace of Donald Trump, his evangelical fervor, and his refusal to criticize the horrific excesses of this administration with respect to its immigration policies.

But he was a good man, a deeply good man, and a brave one who was able to speak truth to the cacophony of confused college students, convinced that they could locate Palestine on a map. They can’t, because it doesn’t exist geographically.

I sit here, the day after his murder, which was the most significant political assassination since Bobby Kennedy, and I mourn two things: The loss of a man who was willing to engage with the devil, and the evaporation of the last drop of tolerance I had for people who say, “I don’t wish harm on anyone, but …”

Copyright 2025 Christine Flowers