It pains me to see how selective our humanity has become. When Floyd was killed, the image of him bleeding under a police officer's knee froze the world. And rightly so; there was an outcry; there had to be. A man was lost in a barbaric way, and his murderer was put in prison. This is justice.
But they didn't stop there. Cities were burned, lives were destroyed, innocent people paid with their own labor for the rage that erupted. No one spoke about it. Not even about the thefts, the vandalism from the robber raids of the "persecuted who plundered whatever they found in front of them, in the name of a dead man. And yet, the cry for justice was heard everywhere, it became a global symbol, it became lava that burned everything in its path. It was as if all of humanity was shouting: "Life counts!" But unfortunately, overlooking the above.
And yet… we don't always shout it. We don't shout it when the victim doesn't fit the narrative. We don't shout it when the crime doesn't fit into the scenario of "good guys" and "bad guys" that the norms have imposed today. There, the same society that raised a banner for Floyd falls silent. There, the same justice that functioned as a catapult suddenly falls deaf. And then you understand: it wasn't human life that counted; it was ideology, it was politics, it was color.
If our humanity needs "choices" to awaken, then it is not humanity. It is hypocrisy. And this hypocrisy hurts more than death itself.
And then came another image. A girl, a Ukrainian, who left behind the horror of war, the ruins, the sirens and death. She arrived in her new homeland grateful, thanking God that she was spared, that she was saved, that she could finally live in safety. She entered the subway like thousands of other people, with music in her ears, relaxed, sure that she was not in danger here. And yet, there, in her simplest, everyday step, the absolute evil found her. She was murdered in cold blood.
The crime is barbaric, horrifying. A girl who escaped the war, with music in her ears, with the illusion that here, in this new homeland, she could move around without fear, death awaited her there, in a society that advertises itself as "protecting" the weak.
And what followed? Silence. Cold, defiant silence. No voices in the streets. No global outrage. Not that storm of protest that we knew would rise up for other cases. Only half-truths, only excuses. "Let's give him another chance," was heard. To whom? To her murderer! Why? Because he's black? Because he belongs to a "sensitive" social group? So what now? Does skin color determine guilt? Is the girl's life worth less because it doesn't fit the narrative?
This is not justice. This is an insult. It is a mockery. It is spitting on its own blood that watered the subway floor. When a society judges which victim "counts" and which does not, then we are not talking about civilization; we are talking about decadence. And this decadence is not just silence. It is complicity.
And as if that weren't enough, another murder came. Kirk. A man who spoke. He didn't carry a gun, he didn't attack, he didn't threaten anyone. He just had his voice and his ideas. And that's why they killed him.
One would expect shock. One would expect condemnation from everyone, regardless of ideology. One would expect mourning, silence, even a minimal recognition that violence against speech is the cruelest form of tyranny. Instead of that? You read "may he suffer, he was a far-right." As if they were saying that ideas can become a death sentence, that disagreement is enough to rejoice in the death of another.
Where have we come to? To measure the value of human life based on political camp? To decide who is "entitled" to live and who is not depending on whether it suits us? This is not democracy. This is the most dangerous rot. Because democracy was born so that all voices can be heard, even those that are annoying. Because otherwise we are not talking about freedom of speech; we are talking about a regime that imposes silence.
And you know what it reminds me of? The assassination of Martin Luther King. And he spoke. And he had no weapons, only his belief in his ideas. They killed him because his voice disturbed the system. But then, humanity mourned. It united. It said "never again." Today, when a person is murdered for his ideas, you don't see the same. You don't see mourning. You see glee. You see people smiling and writing "may he rest in peace."
And here lies the greatest irony of history: Martin Luther King became a symbol because he was assassinated for his ideas. Kirk, however, is reviled for the exact same reason. One was canonized because his words fit the narrative of the time. The other is reviled because they don't fit the Woke agenta, in dissolving everything, that there is no value, only interest and what the New Order is going through. In both cases, a man fell dead because he spoke.
If we don't see the similarity, if we refuse to condemn violence when it strikes the "other," then we become complicit. Because today you may celebrate the death of your opponent, but tomorrow it may be your turn. And then who will be left to defend your right to speak?
