The murder of Charlie Kirk, the American far-right activist and media provocateur fatally shot during a political event on September 10th, has loomed large over American politics.

The Trump administration has done a lot to keep it that way. The president immediately (and without evidence) blamed “radical left lunatics” for Kirk’s death. His government has since threatened to investigate and dismantle liberal organizations allegedly linked to political violence.

The “Kirk moment” has become an inflection point in American politics. It has moralised political conflict, imposed violence as the dominant prism through which politics is now viewed, and—as Trump and his allies go after liberal media, NGOs and other civil-society actors—became a stress test for American democracy.

And yet, it might have easily remained a domestic story. Kirk himself was scarcely known outside the US. His murder seemed to follow a particularly American pattern of violence—the land of gun freedom and routine shootings—that now barely stir international attention.

European echo

It is therefore striking that Kirk’s murder has nonetheless galvanized so much sentiment in European politics.

Much of it has been the work of populist and nationalist conservatives. In Italy, Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni and her allies swiftly turned Kirk’s killing into proof that “left-wing hatred” endangers conservatives in her own country. They organised tributes and invoked him at rallies, presenting him as a martyr for free speech and traditional values.

In France, far right politicians—from Jordan Bardella and Marion Marechal to Eric Zemmour—have been vocal too. Some have even re-appropriated the hashtag #JeSuisCharlie, originally used to show solidarity with the victims of the 2015 terrorist attack against the left-wing magazine Charlie Hebdo.

In the Netherlands, far-right leader Geert Wilders posted tributes describing Kirk as a hero, linking his killing to domestic debates over free expression and Muslim immigration.

In Poland and Lithuania, at the request of national conservatives, parliaments held moments of silence in his honour—an unusual gesture for a foreign activist.

In the European Parliament too, a Swedish far-right MEP proposed a minute of silence for Kirk. When that was refused, over 80 right-wing deputies tabled a resolution condemning “political violence against conservatives”, to be voted on this week. A parliament group led by Germany’s far-right AfD nominated Kirk for the 2025 Sakharov Prize—the EU’s highest honour for human rights work, whose first laureate was Nelson Mandela.

Imported martyr

This does not mean that Charlie Kirk is on the way to becoming the same sort of political martyr as in the US. One can realistically assume that most Europeans would not recognise his name even today. Yet, the European far right does not need its voters to know who Charlie Kirk was to make use of him.

The European far right does not need its voters to know who Charlie Kirk was to make use of him

Kirk might not be a martyr in Europe, but he is quickly becoming an icon—to be posted on social media or printed on T-shirts. Much like Che Guevara, it is not necessary to know his full story, or even his name. His image alone is a declaration of political allegiance.

Besides, the European far-right watches carefully how the US president uses the Kirk moment to his advantage. Trump’s tactics of accusing political opponents of exactly what he is doing have proven extremely effective: it muddies the waters and wrongfoots MAGA’s opponents.

In that sense, the Kirk affair marks another chapter in Trump’s culture war with liberal Europe—one that deepens Europe’s far right sense of unity with America’s MAGA. Tactically, it helps them reach those voters who don’t ardently love Trump the man but may sympathize with what he represents.

Victimhood

Across the Atlantic, the story of Kirk’s murder, whether his name is spoken out loud or not, is a powerful rallying cry. By presenting Kirk as a martyr killed by “leftist hate”, conservative leaders can reaffirm their core narrative: that they are victims, persecuted and silenced by liberal elites.

Victimhood is always a compelling narrative. Historically, it has been used by both left and right to drive political allegiance and strengthen a sense of belonging. It is a story that reduces political conflict to a morality play, a duel between good and evil, hence deterring difficult ethical questions. And when people see themselves as victims—when politics is framed as an existential battle for survival—they are justified in committing extreme actions.

Liberals have long used this Machinean prism to disqualify the far right. Now, the far right feels it is their turn. “The light will defeat the dark,” said Trump adviser Stephen Miller at Kirk’s memorial in Arizona. “We will prevail over the forces of wickedness and evil.”

This is laying the groundwork for a messianic myth. In Poland, some have compared it to the Smolensk plane crash that killed then-president Lech Kaczynski and dozens of other Polish officials as they travelled to Russia to attend a ceremony commemorating 70 years of the Katyn massacre. The incident, shrouded in conspiracy theories ever since, profoundly changed Polish politics and helped revitalise the Law and Justice party, of which Lech Kaczynski was a central figure (his twin brother, Jaroslaw, has been the party leader since 2003).

The mainstream’s task

The political left and centre have not stood aside. In France, centrist MEP Nathalie Loiseau published an op-ed condemning the killing but warning against the rise of a Kirk cult. “What supporters of the American influencer were demanding was not a minute of silence but the silencing of those who disagree with them”, she wrote.

Loiseau’s words reminds us of how quickly a democracy can be consumed by a politics of grievance. For that reason, the European left and centre need to stand firm against importing America’s style of polarisation and its “anything goes” approach to free speech. The moment offers an opportunity to urge regulation of hate speech and switching off the polarising algorithms of digital platforms.

Even the centre-right can find advantage in invoking Kirk. It allows them to strike a juste milieu: to mourn a murder victim without endorsing his xenophobic and misogynistic views. They can cast themselves as bulwarks against the radical ideologisation of politics and its descent into permanent culture war. They can argue that Europe is different from America—from its free speech culture to its gun laws—and should remain so. But, for this to work, they need to dare to challenge the far right. Currently, we are not seeing many examples of that. Recently, for example, the Dutch centre-right has failed to call a wave of right-wing violence by its name.

One thing is clear: the European mainstream would be unwise to dismiss the Kirk affair as an imported curiosity, a fleeting spark of limited significance. In a season of rising political grievance, someone’s martyr can become a catalyst for others—and everyone’s problem.

The European Council on Foreign Relations does not take collective positions. ECFR publications only represent the views of their individual authors.