In the aftermath of Charlie Kirk’s killing, I saw a video from a leftist commentator framing the issue in terms of an “empathy paradox.” The argument was that it’s somehow contradictory to show empathy for someone who was not a good person, who actively caused harm, who dedicated his life to pushing a destructive ideology. And yet, I could not disagree more. There is no paradox here. That framing itself is built on a misunderstanding of what empathy actually is.
Empathy is not a reward. It is not a luxury item that we give to people we like and withhold from those we despise. Empathy is the basic recognition of humanity, the ability to see another person not as an abstraction or a villain or a political tool, but as a human being. If empathy is conditional, it ceases to be empathy at all—it becomes just another form of politeness or niceness, those surface-level courtesies that evaporate the moment someone crosses us. Niceness is shallow. Politeness is situational. But empathy and compassion? They run deeper. They are not about liking someone. They are not about agreeing with them. They are about affirming the basic truth that every life, even the lives of people we profoundly disagree with, carries inherent human weight.
Charlie Kirk was not a good person. He spread harmful ideas, he contributed to division, he made life harder for countless marginalized people. None of that is erased by his death. Accountability for his actions and critique of his politics are not only justified, they’re necessary. But accountability and empathy are not opposites. Holding someone accountable for what they’ve done does not require dehumanizing them. It does not require celebrating their suffering. It does not require stripping them of compassion. The idea that empathy must be suspended in the face of wrongdoing is one of the most corrosive beliefs in our culture, because it feeds the very cycles of violence and hatred we claim to want to escape.
There is no paradox because empathy is not the same thing as approval. To empathize with someone is not to condone their actions. It is not to excuse their ideology. It is not to pretend harm wasn’t done. Empathy simply says: this is a human being, and their life and death matter. That recognition is the foundation of any ethical politics. Without it, we risk becoming mirror images of the cruelty we oppose. Without it, justice curdles into vengeance, and vengeance becomes indistinguishable from the violence we condemn in others.
Too many people confuse empathy with politeness. They assume that to be empathetic means to be “nice,” to smooth things over, to avoid hard truths. But empathy has nothing to do with comfort. In fact, real empathy is often uncomfortable. It forces us to see humanity where we would rather see an enemy. It forces us to recognize complexity where we would prefer simplicity. It forces us to wrestle with the humanity of people whose actions we despise. Politeness can be selective and shallow. Empathy cannot. Compassion cannot.
When we say there is a paradox in empathizing with someone like Charlie Kirk, what we’re really saying is that our empathy is conditional. That we’re willing to humanize some people, but not others. That some lives are worth mourning, but others are not. That some suffering is tragic, but other suffering is deserved. And that is the very logic that has fueled dehumanization throughout history. Once we accept the premise that empathy can be rationed, it becomes frighteningly easy to justify cruelty, indifference, or violence against those deemed unworthy.
But empathy is not a transaction. It is not something that must be earned. It is not contingent on good behavior. It is not an endorsement. It is a recognition. To see a human being as a human being, regardless of what they’ve done or what they represent, is the bare minimum of ethical existence. It doesn’t mean we stop fighting harmful ideas. It doesn’t mean we stop holding people accountable. It doesn’t mean we forget the damage they caused. It simply means we refuse to lose our humanity in the process.
That is why I reject the framing of an “empathy paradox.” There is no paradox here. There is only a choice. Do we treat empathy as conditional, reserved for those who pass our ideological tests, or do we treat it as unconditional, extended to all human beings no matter how difficult it may be? For me, the answer is clear. Conditional empathy is not empathy at all—it is just another mask for cruelty. Unconditional empathy, even when it is uncomfortable, even when it is painful, is the only way to build a politics rooted in humanity rather than vengeance.
If we are serious about creating a better world, we cannot afford to treat empathy like a privilege. We cannot afford to make compassion negotiable. Because the moment we do, we have already surrendered the moral ground we claim to stand on.