Flags aren’t lowered for every death—if they were, the flag would never be at full-staff. But how do you establish who proves “worthy” of national grief? How do you decide whose life was so impactful that they deserve honor across the country? Whose legacy was important enough for history books? Regardless of the process, the decision should be based on consistent criteria. When these symbolic gestures are applied selectively, they stop encapsulating shared grief and start revealing deeper biases, becoming signals of whose lives and whose voices truly matter to the powerful. This is a problem nationwide, and right here on campus as well.
On September 10, 2025, far-right political activist Charlie Kirk was assassinated in Orem, Utah during the opening date of his American Comeback Tour. His death was horrific and inexcusable. No one, no matter how controversial, deserves to be murdered. Absolutely no child deserves to lose a parent to political hate. Both Democrats and Republicans can agree that violence is never the answer. As the death of the activist sparked debate on the Internet, United States President Donald Trump ordered Kirk’s body to be flown on Air Force Two and for the American flag to be lowered to half-staff for four days nationwide “as a mark of respect for the memory of Charlie Kirk.” Trump also posthumously awarded Kirk the Presidential Medal of Freedom.
Although the honor lauding Kirk showed our government’s intolerance to political violence, three months earlier, on June 14, 2025, when another political figure was murdered, the Trump administration issued no order for the flag to be lowered. Minnesota State Representative Melissa Hortman, a Democrat, was at home when a gunman disguised as a police officer killed Hortman, her husband, and their family dog. Her two children, now orphaned, received no national moment of silence. Minnesota lowered their flags for her, yet there was no Presidential directive to do so nationwide. Her death was just as tragic, but the nation’s response was nowhere near equal.
When CBS News’ Nancy Cordes asked Trump if lowering the flags nationwide for Hortman would have been fitting, he responded, “I’m not familiar. The who?” After learning she was assassinated, Trump said, “Oh. Well, if the governor had asked me to do that, I would have done that.” But when asked if he had called the governor, Trump dismissed him as “a mess” and said, “Why waste time?”
Regardless of Trump’s views on Governor Walz, the two assassinations should have been treated with the same honor. On the same day Kirk was killed, two students were shot at Evergreen High School. In 2024, four students were killed and nine injured at Apalachee High. None of these murders received the same symbolic attention. The issue here is not that Kirk was mourned—it’s that other victims weren’t recognized at the national level, and no explanation was offered for this different treatment. Tragedy doesn’t discriminate along political lines, and neither should our empathy. So why does our respect?
When late-night host Jimmy Kimmel publicly criticized the political framing of Kirk’s death, ABC, under pressure from President Trump’s Federal Communications Commission (FCC), suspended him from his show. “The [Make America Great Again] gang is desperately trying to characterize this kid who murdered Charlie Kirk as anything other than one of them—and doing everything they can to score political points from it,” said Kimmel. Within hours, Kimmel was pulled from the air. President Trump celebrated his removal, calling it “great news for America.”
Legally, the FCC has no authority to censor content based on political speech, and ABC was under no obligation to act. But with ABC’s parent company seeking government approval for a pending merger, the network appeared to preemptively silence Kimmel to avoid jeopardizing the deal. It was a choice made not out of legal necessity, but political fear. While Kimmel explicitly apologized, and the tone of his comments were absolutely inappropriate, the double standard is striking. After George Floyd was murdered, Charlie Kirk referred to him as a “scumbag,” yet there was no government-sponsored condemnation, no call for accountability from political leaders. If the Trump administration is serious about calling out public figures who speak disrespectfully about the dead, that standard should be applied consistently. Recently, it hasn’t been. Recently, in America, speech hasn’t been judged by content; it’s been judged by whom it threatens.
And yet, Kimmel’s story didn’t end with his silencing. A little over a week later, he was reinstated. ABC, under public pressure, released a statement reaffirming its “commitment to protecting the First Amendment.” Kimmel’s reinstatement should remind the entire nation that speaking up can still make a difference.
Kimmel exercised his First Amendment rights, and while there was a short-term consequence, this nation cannot afford to shy away from speaking up—especially when speaking up means telling uncomfortable truths. Because when we do, democracy thrives. And when we don’t, it crumbles.
That’s why Milton’s decision to lower the flag for Charlie Kirk felt so disheartening. Private institutions like Milton are not legally bound to follow federal or state proclamations, which only apply to public buildings. They choose when to lower the flag. Milton is supposed to teach us to advocate: to stand up when it’s hard, and to speak when silence is easier, but at this moment, when Milton stood at a crossroads, it chose silence.
As a woman who hopes to go to college to study law, not just to find a husband as Kirk once mockingly suggested women do, watching the flag lowered in his honor and not in Hortman’s felt personal. It felt like the school that taught me to “dare to be true” was unwilling to be daring at all.
Remember that it is not mutually exclusive to condemn political violence while also refusing to lower the flag. Symbolic gestures matter. If we lower the flag for Charlie Kirk, we must be prepared to lower it for every victim of political violence—not just those with national influence or presidential favor.
And that’s the issue: when symbolism is applied selectively, it loses its meaning entirely. The greatest threat to democracy is authoritarianism, but authoritarianism doesn’t just rise overnight—it seeps into the cracks when people stay silent.
Silence is its loudest ally. That ally wedges itself into the tiny and unnoticeable cracks that become so large we start falling through their irreparable depths. Sure, maybe Milton feels far from the front lines at the moment. But tomorrow, it could be us, and we’ll be wishing we stopped those cracks from getting bigger. So, Milton, this is your chance—don’t let this just be a moment in America’s downfall but let this be an opportunity to fight for our democracy. Let this be your call to action. We, the women, the scholars, the ones without voices, ask Milton to advocate for us. You told us advocacy is important, but now show us. Refuse to be silenced, because standing up for justice isn’t easy or without consequence. But “dare to be true” means nothing if you only dare when it’s safe.