LiveNOW from FOX anchor Austin Westfall opened his segment with a chilling litany: the shooting of Gabrielle Giffords, the congressional baseball practice attack, the Gretchen Whitmer kidnapping plot, the attack on the Pelosi household, assassination attempts on then-candidate Donald Trump, arson at Pennsylvania Governor Josh Shapiro’s home, the shooting of Minnesota lawmakers – and now the fatal shooting of Charlie Kirk at Utah Valley University. Westfall’s point was less to sensationalize than to ask a sober question: how does the surge in political violence now compare with the American 1960s?
“Great Sadness” As A Starting Point
Presidential historian and author James Robenalt didn’t begin with charts or theories. He began with grief. “It’s a great sadness,” he told Westfall – sadness for Kirk’s family, for those who admired him, and for the country. Robenalt called Kirk’s killing what it is: a political murder. I think that phrasing matters; it strips away euphemism and refocuses us on the core civic harm – attempting to decide public questions with a gun instead of a vote, a protest, a brief, or a debate.
The 1960s Template Robenalt Studies
Robenalt has spent years in that earlier furnace. His book Ballots and Bullets: Black Power Politics and Urban Guerrilla Warfare in 1968 Cleveland examines how the decade’s violence arose from two giant tinder piles: the Vietnam War, which split generations, and racism amid the Civil Rights struggle, which split races and regions. Speaking with Westfall, he traced a line through 1968: Martin Luther King Jr. shot and killed; Robert F. Kennedy delivering a plea the very next day in Cleveland; and two months later, RFK himself assassinated. The temperature kept rising because the country’s deepest conflicts were unresolved and omnipresent.
Bobby Kennedy’s 10-minute Warning
Robenalt urged viewers to listen to RFK’s “Mindless Menace of Violence,” a ten-minute address at the City Club of Cleveland. It reads like it was written last week. Kennedy argued that violence never accomplishes its supposed ends; it “asphyxiates” rather than silences movements, and it corrodes the perpetrator’s humanity. Robenalt noted a grim parallel: King was shot in the neck, as was Charlie Kirk. Parallels don’t mean equivalence, but they are a reminder that political violence follows certain tragic grooves.
From King To Kennedy To Kirk – What Comparisons Can (And Can’t) Do
The risk in historical analogy is the flattening of context. Westfall’s question – are the 1960s and today comparable? – deserves a careful yes-and-no. As Robenalt told him, the scale of the 1960s – four towering assassinations in five years (JFK, Malcolm X, MLK, RFK), widespread urban unrest, and a war that sent 500,000 Americans overseas – was singular. But the pattern – dehumanization, radicalization, and the moral permission some take to strike political foes – is sadly familiar. My read: we are living in a lower-scale but more ambient threat environment, punctuated by shock events that ricochet instantly across the national nervous system.
When The Fever Broke – And Why
Robenalt offered a hopeful historical pivot. After the 1972 George Wallace shooting, he noted, Vietnam ended in 1973. One accelerant disappeared. Then came Watergate – a scandal that, as he put it to Westfall, oddly united the country in a common project of constitutional accountability. The partisan coalitions still fought, but they also recognized shared rules. We drifted into relatively cooler decades – Carter, Reagan, Bush, Clinton – punctured by episodes (the 1981 Reagan shooting, which Robenalt categorizes as a “madman” attack, not a political assassination) but not defined by a rolling fever.
The Long Lull And What It Taught Us
What changed in those quieter years? Robenalt’s account, amplified by Westfall’s framing, suggests three things: (1) fewer existential triggers – no Vietnam-scale deployment; (2) more shared narratives – three broadcast networks and local papers tended to filter and de-escalate; (3) norms of cross-party legitimacy – Watergate’s resolution showed that the system could policing itself. My opinion: institutions matter most when they establish loser’s consent – the belief that, if your side loses, you can try again because rules will be honored. When that belief frays, violence tempts.
What’s New Now: The Megaphone
Robenalt told Westfall that social media is the big delta. The 1960s had fires; we now have bellows. The “voice of madness,” as RFK called it, can be algorithmically boosted, tinged with irony, and lacquered with in-group validation. Utah’s Governor Spencer Cox urged people to “turn off social media” in the immediate aftermath of Kirk’s killing; Robenalt agreed, arguing for a respectful pause over instant finger-pointing. I’d add: the platforms’ design is a force multiplier for copycat risk, grievance absolutism, and dehumanizing language that lowers inhibitions. It’s not the cause, but it’s certainly an accelerant.
A Playbook From 1968: De-Demonize
Asked by Westfall how nations climb out of spirals like this, Robenalt returned to RFK’s counsel: stop demonizing opponents and re-recognize one another as fellow citizens. That’s not sentimental. It’s strategic. Political violence requires moral permission, and demonization supplies it. Practically, we could adopt what I’ll call “cool-down norms”: a social expectation – especially for officials, pundits, and influencers – of a 24- to 48-hour moratorium on hot takes after a political attack. Not censorship, just grown-up discipline. Pair that with cross-ideological rituals – joint statements, shared moments of silence, and bipartisan visits to victims’ families – to model that some lines are non-negotiable.
What Leaders And Media Can Do Next
Westfall’s choice to start with a timeline and then invite a historian to contextualize it is itself a model: zoom out before you amp up. Leaders can go further. First, adopt bright-line rhetoric: condemn all political violence without “whatabout” footnotes. Second, banish stochastic flirting – the coy talk that paints adversaries as existential threats or subhuman. Third, share information sparingly in the first hours; inaccuracies metastasize. Journalism can help by foregrounding process (what’s known, what’s not) and by platforming voices like Robenalt who bring history, not heat.
What Citizens Can Do When The Country Is Hurting
Robenalt’s advice, channeling RFK and shared by Westfall’s sober tone: mourn first. However you felt about Charlie Kirk, a family lost a son and a husband; colleagues lost a friend; an audience witnessed trauma. After that, citizens can do three ordinary, radical things: (1) refuse dehumanizing language about political opponents; (2) verify before sharing – particularly images, claims of motive, and “evidence” that aligns neatly with your team’s narrative; (3) reinvest in local civic life – PTAs, neighborhood councils, faith communities – where politics is still personal and mutual obligations are unavoidable.
A Note On The Kirk Shooting
Westfall situated the conversation in the immediate shadow of Charlie Kirk’s killing. As widely reported at the time and recounted in multiple on-air mentions, Kirk was fatally shot at Utah Valley University while speaking outdoors; a suspect was arrested days later. Robenalt urged restraint: it is not the week for victory laps or instant indictments of entire camps, he argued – just quiet, respect, and space for grief. I agree. There will be time for debate about security, speech, and polarization. There should be less time for turning a murder into a meme.
Then Vs. Now: An Honest Scorecard
So how does today stack up against the 1960s? Robenalt, in conversation with Westfall, makes a nuanced case. Scale: The 1960s suffered a cascade of high-profile assassinations and a level of sustained unrest we have not yet reached. Frequency and distribution: Today, attacks feel more sporadic but ubiquitous, from school boards to homes to campaign fields, each instantly nationalized by our feeds. Actors: The 1960s involved both organized networks and lone gunmen; today skews more toward self-radicalized attackers who find meaning online. Context: The 1960s had Vietnam and segregation; today has demographic churn, institutional mistrust, and digital amplification. Different fuels; similar flames.
Choosing The Cooler Decade, Again
Westfall’s segment was a prompt about the future. Robenalt’s history lesson boils down to this: the fever can break. It did before – when a war ended, when a scandal forced both parties to honor constitutional guardrails, and when a cultural majority decided to stop letting arsonists set the civic agenda. Re-reading RFK’s “Mindless Menace of Violence” won’t, by itself, lower the temperature. But it might remind us of a hard, hopeful truth: political murder loses when the rest of us insist on talking, persuading, voting, and living together anyway. That is the work – this week, this season, this election, this era.
Mark grew up in the heart of Texas, where tornadoes and extreme weather were a part of life. His early experiences sparked a fascination with emergency preparedness and homesteading. A father of three, Mark is dedicated to teaching families how to be self-sufficient, with a focus on food storage, DIY projects, and energy independence. His writing empowers everyday people to take small steps toward greater self-reliance without feeling overwhelmed.
