Since WWII, It’s Been Taboo To Force Nations To Cede Land After War. Russia Wants To Normalise Conquest Again

BY JON RICHARDSON

VISITING FELLOW, CENTER FOR 

EUROPEAN STUDIES, AUSTRALIAN

NATIONAL UNIVERSITY

A frequent question around peace talks over Russia’s invasion of Ukraine is whether Ukraine should give up land as part of an interim or final settlement.

United States President Donald Trump has often suggested this would be a natural and inevitable outcome, particularly given Ukraine has – in his view – a weak hand of “cards”. When Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky visited the White House last month, Trump told him there was no getting back Crimea, which has been occupied by Russia since 2014.

Trump has jokingly described his motivation for promoting peace in Ukraine as a desire to “get to heaven”. But as the saying goes, the path to hell is paved with good intentions.

Indeed, Trump has aligned himself with many Russian officials on territorial concessions, including Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov, who has said history has many examples of peace agreements that shift borders.

It is important to debunk this notion. Acquisition of territory through war has, in fact, been taboo since the end of the second world war and the establishment of the United Nations.

While there have been many military conflicts, there are no evident examples of a UN member country ceding recognised, independent territory to another UN member following a war or invasion.

Wars and conquest

Until the early 20th century, territorial concessions were the norm after wars, backed by all sorts of narratives about hereditary rights, ancient borders, superior civilisations, punishments for unpaid debts or simple law of the jungle.

A classic example was the Treaty of Guadeloupe-Hidalgo, which ended the Mexican-American War of 1846–48. Mexico was forced to cede 55% of its territory, including present-day New Mexico, Utah, Nevada, Arizona, California, Texas and western Colorado.

In a recent article, Yale academics Oona Hathaway and Scott Shapiro explain that before the first world war, shifting borders was a legally recognised means by which states resolved disputes. They calculate there were more than 150 territorial conquests around the world before 1945.

The end of the second world war saw massive border changes in Eastern Europe. Soviet leader Joseph Stalin shifted the borders of Poland hundreds of kilometres westward at the expense of Germany, while the Soviet Union swallowed swathes of eastern Poland. Italy also lost some of its pre-war territory to Yugoslavia and France.

The Soviet Union also got to keep regions it had absorbed in the wake of the 1939 Nazi-Soviet Non-Aggression Pact, including the Baltic States, Moldova, western Ukraine and parts of Finland. These changes reflected the facts on the ground and were accepted at the Yalta and Potsdam conferences.

But in the broader zeitgeist, it was time to put an end to wars of conquest. This was articulated in Article 2 of the UN Charter, which requires states to refrain from the use of force against the “territorial integrity or political independence” of any other state.

The principle was further cemented in UN Security Council resolution 242 following the 1967 Arab-Israeli Six-Day War, which decrees that acquisition of territory following war cannot be accepted.

That is why the international community has largely rejected any move towards Israeli sovereignty over the occupied Palestinian territories of the West Bank, Gaza and East Jerusalem, along with the Golan Heights. (The United States, however, accepted the latter in 2019.)

The taboo on conquest since 1945

The only successful territorial conquests broadly accepted by the international community since 1945 have been a few cases of newly independent countries in the 1960s taking over enclaves or neighbouring territory formerly held by colonial powers. This includes, for example, India taking Goa from Portugal.

But other seizures of ex-colonial territories have been broadly rejected, or at least strongly contested. The main examples are Morocco’s annexation of Western Sahara and Indonesia’s seizure of East Timor. Indonesia’s takeover of West Papua was accepted by the international community as part of a UN-mandated self-determination process, though this has since been condemned by many as deeply flawed.

South Vietnam’s ultimate takeover by the North might be regarded as a conquest, but neither Vietnam recognised the other as a separate country, seeing the conflict effectively as a continuation of civil war. Neither was a UN member.

Before Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, the most blatant attempt to conquer independent territory was Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein’s invasion and annexation of Kuwait. This was repelled by a UN-sanctioned force.

Global opposition to Russia’s seizures

Distinct from invasions, there have been many unresolved border disputes that have occasionally flared into armed conflict. Russia, however, had no such dispute with Ukraine before its 2014 takeover of Crimea.

After the dissolution of the Soviet Union, Russia and Ukraine negotiated a border treaty to delineate their borders in precise detail. Russian President Vladimir Putin signed the treaty in 2003 and later affirmed that Russia had no territorial claim against Ukraine.

An overwhelming number of UN members have rejected Russia’s annexation of Crimea and four other regions of southeastern Ukraine.

However, the initial outrage at the invasion has weakened over time. Many countries have accused the US of a double standard, given its invasion of Iraq in 2003 (even if that didn’t involve territorial conquest). Trump’s statements about acquiring Greenland, Canada, Gaza and the Panama Canal have only further weakened confidence in US opposition to territorial conquest.

As political scientist Tanisha Fazal argues, the norm against territorial conquest risks suffering a “death of a thousand cuts”. Allowing Russia to keep parts of Ukraine could be a terminal blow.

What a lasting peace should look like

Some commentators have argued for an interim settlement under which Russia would retain control of occupied territory without Ukraine ceding it formally. A final settlement would be left to the future.

Some have called this de facto recognition of Russian annexation, but that is a misguided notion. De facto recognition implies acceptance of a new status quo, along with a return to business as usual.

The outcome of the war will only be partially about territory. Russia has imposed a brutal occupation on these regions, with widespread allegations of torture, killings, disappearances, population transfers and thefts of Ukrainian businesses and homes. Ukrainian language, culture and identity are being erased under a draconian regime.

Ukraine appears willing to accept an interim ceasefire to stop the bloodshed. But its territorial integrity should be fully supported by making clear to Russia that its invasion and occupation remain illegal and unacceptable.

This would include maintaining economic sanctions, demanding accountability for war crimes, returning property stolen from Ukrainians, and allowing Ukrainians transferred to Russia to return home. Ukraine must also be given the means to defend itself against a renewed Russian attack.

Advocates of anything less would be condoning and normalising flagrant territorial aggression. They would merit neither earthly rewards, such as Nobel Prizes, nor divine blessings.

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BOOK REVIEW: How To Do A Midlife Self Review That Actually Works

In Live to 100 and Love It!: An Easy Road Map to Longevity Stacey Colino and the editors of Prevention share a science-backed, six-step routine for redefining your identity after 60.

BY STACEY COLINO

W hen you live for several decades viewing yourself a certain way—as a colleague, as a parent, as a certain type of person—it’s understandable that self-perceptions become solidified. Consciously or not, we all have beliefs about who we are that are based on our behaviors, abilities, feelings, and personality characteristics as well as how others see us and how they respond to us. This is what psychologists call “self-concept”—a reflection of how you see yourself as a person— and it has a powerful effect on the way you act, the choices you make, the attitudes you have, and how you move through life. If you’ve always been known as a go-getter or, conversely, a low-key person, you probably assume you’ll always be that way.

And then you hit middle age, and maybe you start to feel not quite like yourself. One reason may be that your reactions, preferences, needs, values, and expectations have shifted over time, but your self-concept hasn’t kept up. “We tend to think of ourselves as static, but we do change,” says Mark Leary, Ph.D., professor emeritus in the department of psychology and neuroscience at Duke University and author of The Curse of the Self.

Update Your Self Concept

Thinking of ourselves as being one way when we have in fact changed can leave us feeling confused, out of sorts, stuck, or full of self-doubt, says Leary. Research has found that this is a common phenomenon at a certain point in life: Self-concept clarity—the extent to which someone has a clear understanding of their self and identity—increases each decade until the 60s, then begins to decline; after that, “people become less sure of their identity,” the study authors noted, perhaps partly because of shifts in their work, family, and community roles at this life stage. Rediscovering a sense of self has been rated as one of the most challenging aspects of midlife for women, according to a study involving 81 women over 23 years.

Unfortunately, harboring outdated ideas about yourself can end up holding you back from taking smart risks and embracing new challenges when doing so might lead you to feel more fulfilled. “If we’re looking at ourselves through an old lens of who we are, we take those outdated views into our future and make decisions based on that,” says Michele Patterson Ford, Ph.D., a psychologist in private practice and a senior lecturer at Dickinson College in Pennsylvania. On the other hand, updating your self-concept to reflect who and how you are now can help you pursue experiences and activities that feel satisfying and meaningful and skip or minimize those that may not suit you anymore. After doing some self-reflection, you might realize that you’ve outgrown the intense fear of public speaking you used to have and might actually enjoy giving the professional talks you’ve been invited to present. Or maybe you’ll realize that you’ve had enough of the corporate grind and what you really want to do is pursue your artistic talent. And when you have a stronger, clearer sense of who you are now, you’re likely to feel more comfortable in your own skin, maybe even happier, which is valuable in its own right. Ultimately, the goal is to make choices and changes that are in your current best interest, rather than in the best interest of you 10 or 20 years ago. So how can you figure out if you’re working with a self-concept that reflects who you are now? You dig in and do an inventory.

6-Step Self Review

Step 1: Sit down and, in writing, take stock of your current strengths, weaknesses, values, and preferences, suggests Susan Krauss Whitbourne, Ph.D., professor emerita of psychological and brain sciences at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst. Ask yourself questions like these:What are 5–10 things I am good at? These could be anything from talents to work skills to hobbies to interpersonal qualities, etc.

What are 5–10 things I struggle with? These could be daily challenges you have, things you avoid, or where you have trouble with motivation, etc.

What are 5–10 values I closely hold?These might be hard work or kindness.

What are 5–10 things I love? These can be as wide-ranging as hanging out with your dog to working in your business.

Step 2 Ask people who know you well if you’ve got the right idea. Do they think you embody these talents, values, and passions (and struggles) as much as you believe you do?

Step 3 Reflect on their answers. If everything is aligned, move on to step 4. If the answer is no, take a look at how you spend your time so you can make a concerted effort to engage in more activities that reflect the qualities and things you value. Living in a way that aligns with what you value about yourself can help solidify your self-concept, says Ford.

Step 4 Think about what was important to you 10, 20, or 30 years ago and write a letter to your younger self sharing what you’ve learned about yourself over time, how you’ve changed, and what really matters to you now.

Step 5 Stay open-minded. You might have lost some qualities you care about over time. Updating your self-concept is as much about consciously letting go of notions that no longer suit you as it is reclaiming aspects of yourself that you value.

Step 6 Rethink the terms you use or yourself. Tune in to the ways you label or describe yourself— like calling yourself an introvert or an extrovert or seeing yourself as uncreative—and assess whether these terms accurately describe your current behaviors.

Now that you have a better understanding of who you are today, ask yourself the following questions to create a path to the future:What kinds of activities make you feel fulfilled? What do you truly enjoy doing?

What have you always wanted to do or try but haven’t? Can you do it now?

Is your social circle supportive and gratifying? If not, how can you expand it?

When you imagine the future, what do you want your life to look like in five years? Ten years? Fifteen years?

What do you value most in life, and are you living in a way that’s true to those values? If not, what can you do to change that?

What nonmaterial things would you like to have more of in your life?

How would you like people to remember you when you’re gone?

If today were your last day on earth, how would you spend it?

Now think about how you can set yourself up to bring more of these valuable experiences into your life. Assess this on a practical level, as well as on financial, psychological, and emotional levels. Also, think of older people you know who have these elements in their lives. Consider seeking their advice for steps you could take to cultivate them in yours.

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BOOK REVIEW: “The Fall Of Affirmative Action: Race, The Supreme Court, And The Future Of Higher Education,”

YALE LAW SCHOOL

When the U.S. Supreme Court overturned affirmative action in college admissions in Students for Fair Admissions v. Harvard in 2023, conservatives celebrated the decision as a triumph of colorblindness while liberals despaired that it was the end of racial equity. In his new book, Professor Justin Driver argues that both sides have gotten it wrong.

In “The Fall of Affirmative Action: Race, the Supreme Court, and the Future of Higher Education,” Driver examines the consequences of what he calls “the most significant judicial opinion involving race and education since Brown v. Board of Education.”

Despite the opinion’s significance, Driver says SFFA remains profoundly misunderstood. His book sets out to clarify what the decision does and does not mean. He argues that the ruling does not mark the end of racial diversity in higher education but the beginning of a new chapter in the fight for equity.

Driver challenges conservatives by demonstrating that SFFA will create a less desirable admissions system than the old affirmative action model it replaced. He challenges liberals by arguing that their efforts to justify affirmative action have failed to confront powerful objections. Finally, he offers proposals for how universities can adopt innovative policies in the wake of SFFA that foster diversity.

Even prior to publication, the book has garnered significant attention and acclaim. In a front page story about the Trump administration’s efforts to secure university admissions data, The New York Times quoted Driver and mentioned his book. Harvard constitutional law scholar Laurence Tribe recommended the book on X, calling it “a brilliant analysis of a vital issue you may think you understand but almost certainly don't.”

In one chapter, Driver examines Chief Justice John Roberts’ allowance that colleges may award applicants an admissions boost if their personal essays “discuss how race affected his or her life, be it through discrimination, inspiration, or otherwise.” This seems virtually guaranteed to produce results that conservatives will dislike even more than the system that SFFA replaced, Driver writes.

Rather than write essays discussing their passion to study Proust, Plato, or string theory, under the SFFA regime, “Black and brown students are strongly encouraged to produce narratives of racial woe that not only utilize the victimhood mindset that conservatives loathe, but also complicate the tale of America’s racial progress that conservatives prize,” Drives writes. In the new post-SFFA era, even students who would prefer to avoid focusing on race in their essays may now feel compelled to do so, Driver continues.

In another chapter, Driver examines the competing interpretations of the 14th Amendment’s equal protection clause and its impact on affirmative action. Liberal legal scholars interpret the clause as prohibiting the government from perpetuating racial subordination, therefore making affirmative action constitutional. This anti-subordination theory, however, is far more variable than liberals allow, Driver writes. Many conservatives who oppose affirmative action claim that the programs themselves subordinate Black students. By lowering admissions standards, critics argue, affirmative action policies perpetuate the myth of Black intellectual inferiority.

“Traditional anti-subordination scholars have steadfastly refused to treat these arguments with the seriousness they deserve — or even any seriousness at all,” Driver writes.

Despite the “veritable catastrophe” that SFFA represents, Driver believes the decision leaves universities significant legal room to adopt innovative policies that will foster diversity. He devotes a chapter to outlining how universities could provide preferences for descendants of slavery, members of Native American tribes, immigrants, and applicants from low-opportunity rural and urban communities. “The death of affirmative action therefore need not mean the demise of racial diversity in higher education,” Driver writes.

Wesleyan University President Michael Roth wrote in The New York Times that "one can only hope that university leaders, faculty members and students will consult this worthy book."

Driver is the Robert R. Slaughter Professor of Law at Yale Law School and an expert in the field of constitutional law. His first book, “The Schoolhouse Gate: Public Education, the Supreme Court, and the Battle for the American Mind,” was selected as a Washington Post Notable Book of the Year and a New York Times Book Review Editor’s Choice.

What We Can Know By Ian McEwan Review – The Limits Of Liberalism

BY KEVIN PORTER

The sheer Englishness of Ian McEwan’s fiction may not be fully visible to his English readers. But it is clearly, and amusingly, visible to at least this Irish reader. It isn’t just McEwan’s elegiac, indeed patriotic, attentiveness to English landscapes – to the wildflowers and hedgerows and crags, to the “infinite shingle” of Chesil Beach, to the Chilterns turkey oak in the first paragraph of Enduring Love. Nor is it merely the ferocious home counties middle-classness of his later novels, in which every significant character is at the very least a neurosurgeon or a high court judge, everyone is conversant with Proust, Bach and Wordsworth, and members of the lower orders tend to appear as worrying upstarts from a world in which nobody plonks out the Goldberg Variations on the family baby grand. No, McEwan’s Englishness has most to do with his scrupulously rational, but occasionally and endearingly purblind, liberal morality: England’s most admirable, and most irritating, gift to politics and art.

These thoughts were provoked by a brief passage in McEwan’s future-set new novel that describes the “Inundation” of Britain after a Russian warhead goes off accidentally in the middle of the Atlantic, causing a tsunami that, combined with rising sea levels, wipes out everything but a Europe-wide archipelago of mountain peaks. In these entertainingly nihilistic pages, the fate of that other major chunk of the British Isles is not mentioned. Presumably Ireland, with its dearth of high peaks, fared badly as Europe drowned. But from McEwan’s future history, you’d never know it. I began to think of What We Can Know as another of McEwan’s deeply English stories. It has, I thought, the familiar partialities of vision. Has Brexit, endlessly backstopped by those pesky six counties, taught English liberals nothing?

But I don’t mean to make fun. Insularity, in both senses of the word, is one of McEwan’s themes in What We Can Know. The book is composed of two islands of prose, linked only by the tenuous bridge of a brief note at the end. And it is about being islanded, in time, in space, in life.

The novel is set a century hence, in 2119. Part one is narrated by Tom Metcalfe, who teaches literature at the University of the South Downs, an institution largely focused on science and maths, located on a 38-mile-wide island in the “sleepy ahistorical” republican archipelago that is all that remains of the UK. (To say who narrates part two would constitute a spoiler.) The world is post-catastrophe. The 21st century has unfolded as we all fear it will. The US is now run by rival “warlords”; Nigeria is the hegemonic power. But this is all offstage stuff. As the novel begins, Tom catches various boats to the Bodleian Library, now occupying a Snowdonian peak and accessible by “water-and-gravity-powered funicular”. Here, he trawls the archive of Francis Blundy, a poet of our own time, and allegedly the equal of Seamus Heaney (whose papers at the National Library of Ireland must now be soggy beyond use).

Superficially a quiet, scholarly sort – his opening pages stress how “tranquil” and “smooth” his life is – Tom, like a true scholar, burns within. He is in search of a lost poem, the improbably named A Corona for Vivien, which Blundy wrote for his wife Vivien’s 50th birthday in 2014. Read aloud once at Vivien’s birthday dinner, the sole copy, on vellum, which scholars know of only from contemporary accounts of the dinner, vanished into a credulity-stretching afterlife as the great lost poem of the climate crisis. Alone on the island of his obsession, Tom builds a portrait of the missing masterpiece, and alongside it, a portrait of the early 21st century.

It’s a nostalgic portrait, and Tom’s obsessive nostalgia for our violent and chaotic historical moment is the canniest thing about What We Can Know. Certainly, the plot – turning as it does on the fate of Blundy’s vellum manuscript and a series of shock disclosures about various characters – is absurdly gripping and finally unpersuasive in that familiar McEwan way (you turn the pages hungrily, and then at the end you think: Hang on). “To have been alive then,” Tom writes unironically, “in those resourceful raucous times.” Tom’s nostalgia is not shared by his present-minded students, who see us as having been “ignorant, squalid and destructive louts”.

Beneath his opinionated frankness, we come to suspect, Tom is really a deeply elusive narrator. It is Tom, perhaps, and not his creator, who has the English liberal’s partiality of vision. Crusoed on his regressive scholarly island, he has little time for the needy humanity of the people around him. He views his colleague and sometime lover Rose, for instance, increasingly as a means to an end. Can his nostalgia, or indeed his liberalism, be trusted? Will they ever be enough, now or in the future? What We Can Know gradually reveals itself as an anatomy of, precisely, liberal partiality – of the insularity of a liberalism busily nostalgic for all the wrong things.

At one point, Rose argues that, during the years 2015 to 2030, there was “a crisis of realism in fiction” brought about by the scale of climate disaster: “New forms were needed to frame the physical and moral consequences of a global catastrophe.” We are meant, I think, to view Rose’s theory with some irony. But we are surely also meant to see What We Can Know in Rose’s terms, as an attempt to find a new form in which to speak about what McEwan’s characters, echoing Amitav Ghosh, call “the derangement”. Thus, this is a science fiction novel (McEwan’s second proper one, after Machines Like Me) that is also a novel entirely about our mundane present, with its “metaphysical gloom” about the future. The science fiction scenario, the secret histories eventually disclosed: these are fun, and handled with great brio, but they’re not exactly original. The book’s value lies in what it is prepared to omit – nothing new, this, but a classically realist virtue. What it omits, and makes us work out for ourselves: the “moral consequences of a global catastrophe”. Which we can know only, perhaps, by inference or by imagining.

Liberalism itself, in the early 21st century, feels increasingly archipelagic – confined to the island peaks of a former upland. We may see McEwan, the liberal critic of liberalism, as one of those peaks. Après lui, le déluge?

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2 Shootings, 2 States, Minutes Apart − A Trauma Psychiatrist Explains How Exposure To Shootings Changes All Of Us

Greater numbers of people are being exposed to horrific violence than in the past, in large part through the amplification on social media. Michael Ciaglo/Getty Images News via Getty Images

BY ARASH JAVANBAKHT

PROFESSOR OF PSYCHIATRY,

WAYNE STATE UNIVERSITY

On Sept. 10, 2025, the nation’s attention was riveted by the fatal shooting of the conservative activist Charlie Kirk on a college campus in Utah. At nearly the exact same time, a state away − in Colorado − an active shooting was underway on a high school campus in a sleepy mountain town, leaving two teens in critical condition and the shooter, a fellow student, dead from a self-inflicted gunshot.

While differing in context, these events share devastating commonalities that will haunt many Americans for decades and possibly generations to come. And they are only the latest of a very long string of violent acts, some politically motivated and some motivated simply by the intention to harm as many people as possible.

I am a trauma psychiatrist and researcher, and I know that the direct and indirect effects of such violence reach millions. While those in the immediate surroundings are most affected, the rest of society suffers, too.

First, the immediate survivors

No two people experience exposure to public violence in the same way. The extent of the trauma, stress and fear can vary, depending on variables ranging from someone’s genetic makeup to where they were during the incident, and what they saw and heard. A hallmark of exposure to such life-threatening experiences is post-traumatic stress disorder.

PTSD is a debilitating condition that develops after exposure to serious traumatic experiences such as war, natural disasters, rape, assault, robbery and gun violence. Nearly 8% of the U.S. population deals with PTSD. Symptoms include high anxiety, avoidance of reminders of the trauma, emotional numbness, hypervigilance, frequent intrusive memories of trauma, nightmares and flashbacks. The brain switches to fight-or-flight and survival mode, and the person is always waiting for something terrible to happen. Survivors of a shooting may avoid the neighborhood where the shooting occurred or the contexts related to the shooting.

When the trauma is caused by people, as in a public shooting, the impact can be profound. The rate of PTSD in people directly exposed to mass shootings may be as high as 36% among survivors. Depression, another debilitating psychiatric condition, occurs in as many as 80% of people with PTSD. Because of the human nature of such events, avoidance often extends to all public situations. In my work as a psychiatrist, I often see people with PTSD socially debilitated to the point they cannot leave home even for grocery shopping.

People may also experience survivor’s guilt, the feeling that they failed others who died or did not do enough to help them, or just guilt at having survived.

PTSD can improve by itself, but many people need treatment. The more chronic PTSD is, the more negative the impact on the brain. Hence, it is important for those who are exposed to receive proper screening, prevention and care when needed.

Psychotherapy and medications offer effective treatments. And new advances in artificial intelligence and mixed reality technologies are allowing me and other clinicians to help people feel safe again in public situations through simulations in the clinic.

Children and adolescents, who are developing their worldview and learning how safe it is to live in this society, may suffer even more. Exposure to horrific experiences such as school shootings or related news can fundamentally affect the way children and youth perceive the world as a safe or unsafe place.

They can carry such a worldview for the rest of their lives and transfer it to their children. Research is also abundant on the long-term detrimental impact of childhood trauma on a person’s mental and physical health through their adult life.

The effect on those close by or arriving later

PTSD can also develop via indirect exposure to others’ severe trauma. People in the vicinity of a shooting may see exposed, disfigured or dead bodies. They may also see injured people in agony, hear extremely loud noises and experience chaos and terror after the shooting.

A group whose chronic exposure to horrific trauma is often overlooked is the first responders. While survivors try to run away from an active shooter, the police, firefighters and paramedics rush into the danger zone. In addition, dispatchers hear firsthand the highly disturbing details of the event as it is underway but may not receive the support needed to process the events.

Many first responders might have their own children in that school or nearby. They frequently face uncertainty; threats to themselves, their colleagues and others; and terribly upsetting post-shooting scenes. This type of exposure happens to them too frequently. As a result, PTSD has been reported in up to 20% of first responders to mass violence.

Widespread panic and pain

People who were not directly exposed to the disaster but who were exposed to the news also experience distress, anxiety or symptoms of PTSD. Every time there is a mass shooting in a new location or setting, such as a synagogue, a concert or a day care center, people may begin to believe that this type of place is no longer safe. People worry not only about themselves but also about the safety of their children and other loved ones.

Repeated media exposure to the circumstances surrounding a tragic event, including images of the aftermath of a shooting, can be highly stressful to survivors, those who lost loved ones and first responders. In my clinic, I hear from affected people that repeatedly seeing the event on the news, and others asking them about their experiences, can bring painful memories to the surface. Some first responders I’ve worked with try to hide their occupation from others to prevent being asked about such events.

However, as the graphic assassination of Kirk shows – videos of it ran unedited on many social media platforms for hours before they were taken down – exposure to violent images now reach a far wider population.

Is there any good to come of such tragedy?

In my book “Afraid: Understanding the Purpose of Fear and Harnessing the Power of Anxiety,” I explain that the combination of toxic politics, a media economy built on fear and outrage, and social media algorithms have brought Americans to a place where half of the population believes the other half is either stupid or evil.

Demonizing or attempting to eliminate those who think differently – literally or symbolically – has become a dangerous norm, which is all too evident in the wake of the Kirk shooting. This violence plays out not only in political rhetoric on the debate stage but also on the streets.

I believe events like these should be a wake-up call before it is too late, a stark agreement that as Americans we still share far more than we differ.

Americans can channel the collective agony and frustration to encourage meaningful change, cooling down the division, making gun laws safer, opening genuinely constructive discussions, informing the public about the risks and calling on lawmakers to take real action. In times of hardship, humans often can raise the sense of community, support one another and advocate for their rights, including the right to be safe at schools, concerts, churches and movie theaters.

Negative emotions carry energy. If left unchecked, they will consume us. But sadness, anxiety, anger and frustration can be channeled into actions such as becoming involved in activism and volunteering to help the survivors and society at large.

Finally, exposure to media coverage for several hours daily following a collective trauma can lead to high stress. Check the news a couple of times a day to be informed, but don’t continue seeking out coverage and exposure to graphic images and news. The news cycle tends to report the same stories without much additional information.

This is an updated version of an article originally published on March 26, 2021 and republished Jan. 23, 2023.

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50 Years Without Coups Or Dictators: How PNG Built A Durable Democracy Based On Dignity And Fairness

From left, Governor-General of Australia John Kerr; Prince Charles; Papua New Guinea Prime Minister Michael Somare (speaking); Governor-General of Papua New Guinea John Guise.

BY BRAD UNDERHILL AND HELEN GARDNER

On April 20 1972, 100 newly elected parliamentarians gathered in Port Moresby for the opening of the Third House of Assembly, Papua New Guinea’s legislative body.

Many of these members were young and some were new to politics: Chief Minister (later Grand Chief) Michael Somare was 37, Minister of Finance Julius Chan was 33, and Josephine Abaijah, the only woman, was 32.

Within three years, these trailblazers would steer the country from a colonial territory of Australia to a newly independent nation, declared on September 16 1975, 50 years ago this week.

As they moved from colony to self-government to independence, the members of the Third House of Assembly held sophisticated debates on decolonisation.

Leaders did not simply inherit Australian institutions. They reimagined them, arguing about land, law, unity, culture and what the concept of “development” should mean in a Melanesian society.

These speeches and debates are captured in Debating the Nation: Speeches from the House of Assembly, 1972–1975, the recently published book we co-edited along with Keimelo Gima, a historian at the University of Papua New Guinea.

The formation of the ‘mother law’

Papua New Guinea prepared for independence with a radical approach to the drafting of its constitution. The task fell to the Constitutional Planning Committee (CPC) — led in practice by Bougainville priest-politician John Momis.

Over three years, the committee held meetings across the country, gathering the “raw materials” of people’s views on citizenship, governance and development. The result was a constitution known as the “mother law”. It was one of the most inclusive in the world, and, in Momis’ words, a truly “home-grown” document.

At its heart was a redefinition of development in the context of PNG. Momis believed progress should not just be measured in gross domestic product (GDP) and prestige projects, but also in the continuation of the traditional values of PNG – liberally sprinkled with the progressive ideals of the 1970s, which celebrated small-scale societies.

Momis declared that true development was “integral human development” – measured by people’s wellbeing, not wealth or power.

This was a radical stance in the 1970s. It defined development in terms of human dignity, fairness between regions, grassroots participation and the preservation of cultural and spiritual values. It foreshadowed the “Melanesian Way”, the celebration of Melanesian communalism developed by another central figure in PNG independence, the esteemed jurist and philosopher Bernard Narokobi.

This concept remains strikingly relevant today. Allan Bird, the governor of East Sepik province, recently invoked the spirit of this philosophy in an address to students at the University of Papua New Guinea’s 60th anniversary symposium last month.

Putting policy into action

If the constitution set out the vision for the nation, the Eight-Point Plan put forth by Somare, who would become the country’s first prime minister, translated it into policy.

It called for Papua New Guinean control of the economy, decentralisation, support for village industries, equal participation for women and self-reliance. Somare warned against foreign dependency and of a “very rich black elite [emerging] here at the expense of village people.”

Turning ideals into practice also required new institutions. That task fell in part to Chan, the finance minister, who in 1972 delivered the first budget by a Papua New Guinean — a symbolic moment in the transfer of power.

For Chan, controlling the purse strings was the foundation of self-government, and he insisted the country must “look to its own resources” if it was to pay its own way. Within three years, the Central Bank and the kina were also in place.

Citizenship proved explosive. Many Australians living in the territory feared they would be expelled from an independent PNG and were loud in their demands. Parliamentarians such as Ron Neville urged an open, multi-racial citizenship model to attract investment.

Momis argued, however, that three million Papua New Guineans “had nothing” and needed protection from Australian control. United Party leader Tei Abal rejected dual citizenship for Papua New Guineans and Australians and insisted the law should be “firm but not racist”.

The eventual compromise — single citizenship, no automatic rights for expatriates, but scope for naturalisation — reflected the balancing act between inclusion and integrity. But if citizenship defined who belonged to the new nation, the harder question was whether the nation itself would hold together.
The trials of decolonisation

Unity was not guaranteed. Secessionist movements such as Abaijah’s Papua Besena, which advocated for an independent Papuan state separate from New Guinea, threatened the territorial integrity of the new nation, but it was not the only threat.

At the same time, leaders on the island of Bougainville pushed for their own secession, citing grievances over the Panguna copper mine, which began production in 1972 under a subsidiary run by Rio Tinto.

Somare declared, however, that unity was not up for negotiation. He staved off the disintegration of the nation by introducing provincial governments and a federalised system in the months before independence.

Holding the country together was only part of the challenge. Independence also demanded a deeper transformation — freeing PNG from the colonial institutions and mindsets that still shaped daily life.

As Momis argued in 1974, true freedom was a difficult task when education and the very institutions of nationhood were all created by the colonial regimes, first under the Germans and British, and then the Australians. Decolonisation meant more than simply raising a new flag – it entailed building a society grounded in justice, dignity and local values.

Those ideals still shape PNG today, but they also matter for Australia. PNG’s independence is part of Australia’s story.

When PNG became independent in 1975, many people on both sides of the Torres Strait feared fragmentation or chaos. But despite secessionist pressures and economic challenges, PNG has remained a parliamentary democracy for 50 years: no coups, no military takeovers, no descent into dictatorship.

That outcome was not inevitable. It was the product of hard debates and principled choices in the 1970s. Leaders such as Somare, Chan, Abel, Momis, Abaijah and John Guise fought over unity, land and development — but they fought in parliament, not through violence.

Half a century later, their words still resonate. At the University of Papua New Guinea symposium we attended in August, speaker after speaker referred to the ideals of the founders. They reminded us the constitution was never just a legal framework. It was a profound statement about what development actually means. This is not simply growth, but dignity, participation, fairness and cultural identity.

That is a legacy Australians should not forget.

Yes, This Is Who We Are: America’s 250-Year History Of Political Violence

Punishment by tar and feather of Thomas Ditson, who purchased a gun from a British soldier in Boston in March 1775. Interim Archives/Getty Images

BY MAURIZIO VALSANIA

PROFESSOR OF AMERICAN HISTORY,

UNIVERSITA DI TORIN O

The day after conservative activist Charlie Kirk was shot and killed while speaking at Utah Valley University, commentators repeated a familiar refrain: “This isn’t who we are as Americans.”

Others similarly weighed in. Whoopi Goldberg on “The View” declared that Americans solve political disagreements peacefully: “This is not the way we do it.”

Yet other awful episodes come immediately to mind: President John F. Kennedy was shot and killed on Nov. 22, 1963. More recently, on June 14, 2025, Melissa Hortman, speaker emerita of the Minnesota House of Representatives, was shot and killed at her home, along with her husband and their golden retriever.

As a historian of the early republic, I believe that seeing this violence in America as distinct “episodes” is wrong.

Instead, they reflect a recurrent pattern.

American politics has long personalized its violence. Time and again, history’s advance has been imagined to depend on silencing or destroying a single figure – the rival who becomes the ultimate, despicable foe.

Hence, to claim that such shootings betray “who we are” is to forget that the U.S. was founded upon – and has long been sustained by – this very form of political violence.

Revolutionary violence as political theater

The years of the American Revolution were incubated in violence. One abominable practice used on political adversaries was tarring and feathering. It was a punishment imported from Europe and popularized by the Sons of Liberty in the late 1760s, Colonial activists who resisted British rule.

In seaport towns such as Boston and New York, mobs stripped political enemies, usually suspected loyalists – supporters of British rule – or officials representing the king, smeared them with hot tar, rolled them in feathers, and paraded them through the streets.

The effects on bodies were devastating. As the tar was peeled away, flesh came off in strips. People would survive the punishment, but they would carry the scars for the rest of their life.

By the late 1770s, the Revolution in what is known as the Middle Colonies had become a brutal civil war. In New York and New Jersey, patriot militias, loyalist partisans and British regulars raided across county lines, targeting farms and neighbors. When patriot forces captured loyalist irregulars – often called “Tories” or “refugees” – they frequently treated them not as prisoners of war but as traitors, executing them swiftly, usually by hanging.

In September 1779, six loyalists were caught near Hackensack, New Jersey. They were hanged without trial by patriot militia. Similarly, in October 1779, two suspected Tory spies captured in the Hudson Highlands were shot on the spot, their execution justified as punishment for treason.

To patriots, these killings were deterrence; to loyalists, they were murder. Either way, they were unmistakably political, eliminating enemies whose “crime” was allegiance to the wrong side.

Pistols at dawn: Dueling as politics

Even after independence, the workings of American politics remained grounded in a logic of violence toward adversaries.

For national leaders, the pistol duel was not just about honor. It normalized a political culture where gunfire itself was treated as part of the debate.

The most famous duel, of course, was Aaron Burr’s killing of Alexander Hamilton in 1804. But scores of lesser-known confrontations dotted the decade before it.

In 1798, Henry Brockholst Livingston – later a U.S. Supreme Court justice – killed James Jones in a duel. Far from discredited, he was deemed to have acted honorably. In the early republic, even homicide could be absorbed into politics when cloaked in ritual. Ironically, Livingston had survived an assassination attempt in 1785.

In 1802, another shameful spectacle unfolded: New York Democratic-Republicans DeWitt Clinton and John Swartwout faced off in Weehawken, New Jersey. They fired at least five rounds before their seconds intervened, leaving both men wounded. In this case, the clash had nothing to do with political principle; Clinton and Swartwout were Republicans. It was a patronage squabble that still erupted into gunfire, showing how normalized armed violence was in settling disputes.

Gun culture and its expansion

It is tempting to dismiss political violence as a leftover from some “primitive” or “frontier” stage of American history, when politicians and their supporters supposedly lacked restraint or higher moral standards. But that is not the case.

From before the Revolution onward, physical punishment or even killing were ways to enforce belonging, to mark the boundary between insiders and outsiders, and to decide who had the right to govern.

Violence has never been a distortion in American politics. It has been one of its recurring features, not an aberration but a persistent force, destructive and yet oddly creative, producing new boundaries and new regimes.

The dynamic only deepened as gun ownership expanded. In the 19th century, industrial arms production and aggressive federal contracts put more weapons into circulation. The rituals of punishing those with the wrong allegiance now found expression in the mass-produced revolver and later in the automatic rifle.

These more modern firearms became not only practical tools of war, crime or self-defense but symbolic objects in their own right. They embodied authority, carried cultural meaning and gave their holders the sense that legitimacy itself could be claimed at the barrel of a gun.

That’s why the phrase “This isn’t who we are” rings false. Political violence has always been part of America’s story, not a passing anomaly, and not an episode.

To deny it is to leave Americans defenseless against it. Only by facing this history head-on can Americans begin to imagine a politics not defined by the gun.

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A New World Order Isn’t Coming, It’s Already Here − And This Is What It Looks Like

Elderly residents in Chongqing watch a live broadcast of China’s Victory Day military parade. Cheng Xin/Getty Images

BY JOHN RENNIE SHORT

PROFESSOR EMERITUS OF PUBLIC

POLICY, UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND,

BALTIMORE COUNTY

On Sept. 3, 2025, China celebrated the 80th anniversary of its victory over Japan by staging a carefully choreographed event in which 26 world leaders were offered a podium view of Beijing’s impressive military might.

The show of strength was deliberate and reignited a debate in Western media over whether we are on the cusp of a China-centric “new world order” to replace the U.S.-dominated international “rules-based order.”

But as someone who writes about geopolitics, I believe we are already there. It might be in flux, and the U.S. still has a big role in it, but a new world order has begun – and as it develops, it will look increasingly different than what it’s replacing.

A brief history of world orders

Global history can be understood as the rise and fall of different orders, defined as a given era’s dominant power relations and attendant institutions and norms.

From 1815 to 1880, the United Kingdom was the undisputed world superpower, with an empire and navy that spanned the globe. The period from 1880 to 1945 was one of imperial rivalries as other countries – largely European and the U.S. – sought to copy Britain’s success and replace its dominance. Supplanting that was the bipolar world of two competing superpowers, the Soviet Union and the U.S., marking the period from 1945 to 1991.

The fall of the Soviet Union was the beginning of a brief period, from 1991 to 2008, of a unipolar world centered on U.S. global dominance, military power and economic might. With the retreat of global communism, the U.S. increased its influence, and that of the international rules-based order it helped establish after 1945, through institutions such as the World Trade Organization, World Bank and International Monetary Fund.

It did not last long in the face of a long war on terrorism, the fiasco of the invasion of Iraq, the long occupation of Afghanistan and finally the 2008 global financial crisis that undermined U.S. strength and weakened domestic support for Washington’s role as the world’s policeman.

Toward a multipolar world

In recent years, a new multipolar world has emerged with at least four distinct sources of power.

The U.S. remains central to this world order. It is blessed with a huge territory, a dynamic economy and the strategic luxury of large oceans on its east and west and much smaller powers to its north and south. The U.S. had a global military presence in the previous bipolar and unipolar order. But the cost of this imperial overstretch has prompted Washington to shift the cost burden toward its former allies, leading to a new militarization in Europe and East Asia where most countries now aim to increase military spending.

There is also a change in economic arrangements. In the unipolar order, the U.S. promoted a frictionless free trade arrangement and economic globalization. This resulted in the global shift of manufacturing that in turn created a populist backlash in those countries where manufacturing employment was hollowed out.

Now, economic nationalism is becoming a much more common refrain than free trade. Long the promoter of purportedly open markets, the U.S. is now leading the way in resurrecting tariff barriers to levels that haven’t been seen on the global stage in decades.

The military realignments and growing trade barriers will make it increasingly difficult to assemble durable alliances. In the short term the U.S. can leverage its existing power to its advantage, but over the long term other countries will likely pivot away from too much reliance on the U.S. The American Century that publishing magnate Henry Luce famously described in 1941 has to all intents and purposes come to an end.

China is now a peer competitor to the U.S. in both economic and military power. Increasingly, under the powerful leadership of Xi Jinping, China openly seeks a more Sino-centric world order with institutions and a global arrangement to match. To that end, it is assembling an axis of resistance to a U.S.-dominated world order. Russia, suffering from post-imperial syndrome, is an important member but not an equal partner.

Russian power is limited to establishing a Eurasian sphere of influence across its former Soviet republics and disrupting liberal democracies. But in that, Russia is more of a spoiler than an architect of the new order.

And then there is Europe, facing what British Prime Minister Keir Starmer referred to as a “generational challenge” as the U.S. pivots away from Europe toward the Indo-Pacific just as Russia poses a more serious threat to Europe, especially for its easternmost states.

Europe is remilitarizing after decades of demilitarizing. Sweden and Finland joined NATO in 2023 and 2024, respectively. In the coming decades, Europe could emerge as an independent source of both economic and military power with a different agenda from the U.S. – more keen to confront Russia, less willing to support Israel, and perhaps more willing to engage with China.

But all three power centers – the U.S., China and Europe – will struggle with similar and unique internal challenges.

All of them have sluggish economies and aging populations. The U.S. faces growing inequality and political instability as it shifts from a liberal democracy to competitive authoritarianism. China has an untested military, a looming demographic crisis, a faltering economy and a forthcoming succession struggle.

Finally, Europe is beset with a nationalist populism and growing social welfare costs just as military expenditures are set to increase.

The growth of the Global South

This threefold division is strangely reminiscent of the tripartite global division in George Orwell’s “1984,” where Oceania, Eurasia and Eastasia fought a permanent war of shifting alliances.

But Orwell was writing at a time when much of what is now called the Global South was either under the informal or formal control of the superpowers. That is no longer the case in the Global South, especially in the case of the larger countries such as Brazil, India and Indonesia.

The Global South is not yet a coherent bloc, more an informal arrangement of independent actors that tend to hedge between the major powers.

A world in flux

Yet none of this new global reality means that things are now fixed. Indeed, the new world order is in a state of disruptive flux that promises years of growing pains. Both the U.S. and China need allies, and countries in the Global South will continue to hedge between the competing powers.

As such, the world is in for a process of constant jostling as the major powers seek alliances while dealing with domestic pressures. In that messy status quo, many questions remain: Who will be most effective in building durable alliances? Will China manage its internal challenges? Will Europe get its act together? Will Russia continue its disruptive ways? Could a post-Trump U.S., post-Putin Russia and post-Xi China move the world in yet a different direction altogether?

And there is one large question above all others: Can the major powers manage their competition through shared global interests, such as combating climate change, environmental pollution and pandemic threats? Or will mounting conflict in the newly contested areas of the Arctic, cyberspace, outer space and the oceanic realm, and in ongoing geopolitical hot spots provide the trigger for outright conflict?

All world orders come to an end. The hope is the old one is doing so with a whimper rather than a bang.

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Why Journalists Are Reluctant To Call Trump An Authoritarian – And Why That Matters For Democracy

Armed National Guard soldiers patrol near the Labor Department in Washington, where a banner of President Donald Trump is displayed, Aug. 26, 2025. AP Photo/J. Scott Applewhite

BY KARRIN VASBY ANDERSON

PROFESSOR OF COMMUNICATION 

STUDIES, COLORADO STATE UNIVERSITY

In an authoritarian state, the leader engages in unconstitutional or undemocratic practices for the purpose of consolidating power.

Key components of authoritarianism include rejecting democratic rules; denying the legitimacy of opponents; tolerating or encouraging political violence; and curtailing the civil liberties of opponents.

Since he took office for a second time, President Donald Trump has sent National Guard troops to Los Angeles and Washington, named other cities run by Democrats as targets for military intervention, deployed masked and unidentifiable agents in immigration raids, explicitly threatened the city of Chicago with a military invasion and used government power to persecute his perceived political enemies.

But many journalistic outlets have yet to call him what he is – an authoritarian.

As a political communication scholar, I study how media framing shapes people’s understanding of the world.

Because authoritarianism is most visible in hindsight, people often don’t recognize it until it’s too late. Erica Chenoweth, a Harvard political scientist, notes that when it comes to democratic backsliding, “there are no bright lines … people often find out the world they’re in after the fact.”

That’s why it’s particularly important for journalists to label authoritarians as such when the evidence warrants. In Trump’s case, I believe the U.S. is well past that point.

Trump’s authoritarianism

Scholars with expertise in authoritarianism have been sounding the alarm about Trump for years.

Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt’s book “How Democracies Die” describes how, during the 2016 campaign and his first presidential term, Trump exhibited the key indicators of authoritarian behavior. He undermined the legitimacy of elections Republicans lost, baselessly described his rivals as criminals, refused to unambiguously condemn violence committed by his supporters, and threatened to punish critics and members of the media.

Levitsky and Ziblatt argue that “no other major presidential candidate in modern U.S. history, including Richard Nixon, has demonstrated such a weak public commitment to constitutional rights and democratic norms.”

That intensified when Trump returned to office in 2025.

Levitsky and Lucan A. Way documented Trump’s “path to American authoritarianism” for the journal Foreign Affairs in early 2025. In March, Levitsky told New York magazine that things were going worse than even he expected, asserting, “We’re pretty screwed.”

Levitsky is not alone in that view. In a February 2025 survey of political scientists conducted by Bright Line Watch – an academic organization that researches democratic health – the percentage of scholars plummeted who said that the U.S. “mostly or fully” meets the standard for democratic health.

That was before Trump, via social media, promised to go to war in Chicago. When asked about his post, Trump said, “We’re not going to war. We’re going to clean up our cities,” but he did not back away from the intent to deploy troops against the wishes of Illinois Governor JB Pritzker.

Pritzker responded to Trump’s post by noting, “This is not a joke. This is not normal.”

On Sept. 7, 2025, New York Times opinion columnist Ezra Klein itemized some of Trump’s authoritarian actions, concluding, “This is not just how authoritarianism happens. This is authoritarianism happening.”

What journalists have been saying

Although other opinion journalists like Jamelle Bouie, M. Gessen, Jonathan Chait and nearly every MSNBC anchor have been labeling Trump an authoritarian for some time, much hard news coverage of the Trump administration has not.

When Trump deployed troops to Washington, The Atlantic’s Quinta Jurecic dismissed it as “farcical” and “not a likely prelude to full authoritarian takeover.”

A CNN analysis similarly minimized the action as a “gambit,” a “distraction” and a “neat political trick.” CNN characterized concerns about authoritarianism as “hyperbolic warnings of looming tyranny that circulate all day on liberal media programs — whatever Trump does” and asserted that such reports “don’t really help voters understand what is going on.”

The New York Times’ Aug. 3 story by Peter Baker on Trump’s “tendency to suppress facts he doesn’t like and promote his own version of reality” bore a headline that read “Trump’s Efforts to Control Information Echo an Authoritarian Playbook,” suggesting that his actions were authoritarian without applying the label to Trump directly.

During the April 14, 2025, broadcast of CNN News Central, anchor Jessica Dean spoke with Nikolas Bowie, a Harvard Law School professor participating in a lawsuit against the Trump administration.

Bowie repeatedly called Trump an authoritarian for illegally freezing federal research funding awarded to Harvard.

When Dean noted that the “Trump administration says it’s doing all of this in an effort to combat antisemitism on campus,” Bowie responded that “antisemitism is really just a pretext for what is really an authoritarian attack on higher education.” Federal Judge Allison Burroughs later agreed with that interpretation in her ruling against the Trump administration.

Dean, however, sidestepped that interpretation, saying, “What I’m hearing is you think that enough was done to combat antisemitism, that this is about something else.”

Competitive authoritarianism

There are reasons why journalistic outlets may hesitate to identify the “something else” as authoritarianism, or portray it as a looming threat rather than a current danger.

Trump’s propensity to sue journalists, and large media corporations’ decisions to settle even when the law was on their side, have likely made journalists and editors hesitant to describe Trump as an authoritarian.

And the imperative for balance sometimes results in a “both sides-ism” that misrepresents what authoritarianism actually looks like.

When California Gov. Gavin Newsom gave a speech asserting Trump’s military response to immigration protests in California was an assault on democracy, the New York Times covered it, quoting Newsom at length about the danger Trump presented. The article also quoted Republicans who alleged that Newsom’s public health directives during the COVID-19 pandemic made him “the ultimate authoritarian.”

But the particular nature of the authoritarianism the U.S is facing in the 21st century also plays a role.

Levitsky and Way have written about “competitive authoritarianism,” a new version of authoritarianism that doesn’t look like 20th-century fascism.

Many laypeople associate the word authoritarianism with military dictatorships and totalitarian rule. In competitive authoritarian regimes, however, there’s a constant push and pull between democratic and autocratic impulses. Levitsky and Way write that elections are held, but they may not be fair. The authoritarian regime uses power gained democratically to break democratic norms, undermine democratic institutions and tilt the playing field in its own favor.

Constraining free speech

Journalistic norms of independence can pressure even ethical journalists into acquiescence to competitive authoritarianism because they want to avoid looking partisan when all coverage that falls outside the authoritarian’s approved message gets characterized as resistance.

Paramount settled what one free speech advocate described as a “widely derided lawsuit brought by Donald Trump against ’60 Minutes,’” and CBS recently pledged to stop editing recorded interviews on “Face the Nation” after complaints lodged by Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem.

The Paramount and CBS cases suggest that, left unchallenged, a competitive authoritarian leader will use their leverage to influence what should be independent journalism.

Words matter. And how a democratic society responds to its leaders can make the difference between a free society and one in which a leader increasingly suppresses the voices, rights and will of the governed.

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Charlie Kirk’s Assassination Is The Latest Act Of Political Violence In A Febrile United States

Charlie Kirk speaks before he is shot during Turning Point's visit to Utah Valley University in Orem, Utah, on September 10, 2025. TESS CROWLEY / AP

BY JARED MONDSCHEIN

DIRECTOR OF RESEARCH, US STUDIES

CENTER, UNIVERSITY OF SYDNEY

In yet another shocking act of political violence in the United States, Charlie Kirk, who came to prominence as a conservative influencer and supporter of Donald Trump, was assassinated while debating with students at a university in Utah.

The 31-year-old, who came to fame by doing just that – debating whoever wanted to engage with him – was undeniably the most influential figure in young conversative politics.

News of his killing sent social media into an all-too familiar frenzy, with opposing political camps blaming each other for the increasingly febrile environment in contemporary America. It has also raised fears it may provoke even more violence.

Who was Charlie Kirk?

The meagre tent in which Kirk would set up shop on university campuses around America to engage in debate with university students should not be mistaken for meagre support.

Kirk’s political organisation, Turning Point USA (TPUSA), had a revenue of US$78,000 (A$118,000) when he founded it in 2012. As of last year, its annual revenue had grown to US$85 million (A$129 million).

His podcast, The Charlie Kirk Show, boasted between 500,000 and 750,000 downloads for each episode, ranking it as one of the top 25 most listened to podcasts in the world. Even Kirk’s 7 million X account followers is greater than MSNBC’s 5 million.

Outside the online world, TPUSA today has a presence in more than 3,500 high school and college campuses, with more than 250,000 student members, and more than 450 full- and part-time staff. But perhaps the most important metric is the fact that a TikTok survey of users under 30 found that, among those who voted for Trump, they trusted Kirk more than any other individual.

As much as Kirk’s many detractors abhorred his views and his conduct – particularly his views of Black people, Jews, trans people and immigrants, as well as his efforts to denounce professors engaging in “leftist propaganda” – there was no denying he was willing to debate practically anyone.

Whether it was in storied lecture halls at Oxford University or a progressive university campus in the US, Kirk engaged in political debate with anyone willing to come to the open microphone at his events, encouraging students to “prove me wrong”. The dissemination of clips of these interactions – typically an unwitting progressive student asking Kirk a question only to have Kirk counter-argue – garnered hundreds of millions of views across a variety of social media channels.

Support for Trump

Kirk first came to prominence championing more conventional Republican politicians, including Texas Senator Ted Cruz and former Wisconsin governor Scott Walker. But he eventually came around to supporting Trump in 2016, and never looked back.

Indeed, when many – particularly within the Republican party – sought to distance themselves from Trump after incidents such as the infamous Access Hollywood tape in 2016 or the violence at the US Capitol on January 6 2021, Kirk stayed the course.

The combination of his unceasing loyalty to Trump and his increasing popularity among young voters saw him increase his power within conservative circles. This power saw his organisation contribute millions of dollars to various Trump-aligned campaigns. TPUSA also bolstered support for embattled cabinet nominee, and now defence secretary, Pete Hegseth, and initiate efforts to oust former chair Ronna McDaniel from the Republican National Committee.

But perhaps Kirk’s most notable political win was harnessing a record number of young people to vote for Trump in 2024, despite the fact he was the oldest ever person to lead the Republican presidential ticket.

US political violence

Some may look at yet another instance of deadly US political violence and wonder whether it would have any sort of lasting impact. After all, the creation of the US followed an act of political violence known to Americans as the Revolutionary War. And this founding preceded more political violence, including the Civil War, Reconstruction and Civil Rights movement, among others.

Yet, as much as the entirety of US history is filled with such incidents, there is no denying that for the past generation in particular, it has also grown worse.

Numerous studies have found that the number of attacks and plots against elected officials, political candidates, political party officials, and political workers is exponentially higher now than in recent history. In examining 30 years of data, the Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS) found the number of attacks and plots in the past five years is nearly triple that of the preceding 25 years combined.

But beyond the numbers, US politicians themselves increasingly cite the spectre of violence as a reason why they have either retired from politics or – perhaps more worryingly – changed their votes.

Ultimately, there’s little question as to whether the US will continue to suffer from political violence. The greater question is to what extent and at what cost.

Kirk’s death will affect far more than just his friends and his family – including his widow and two young children. Today marked the loss of a unique leader in the US conservative movement.

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