The Riot That Never Was

Did you see or participate in the mass protests and riots staged by “right wing extremists” after the assassination of Charlie Kirk?

No? Me neither.

That’s because they didn’t happen. Not even a single trash can fire or a looted Dollar General. Not a single shoe store cleaned out, unless you count that one guy in Tulsa who bought his own boots on sale and went home happy.

It’s funny, in the sad kind of way, that whenever tragedy strikes one side of the fence, the media bristles for fireworks—whole newsrooms leaning forward in their chairs, like dogs waiting for the dinner bell. They’re poised to show you smashed glass, stolen flat-screens, and folks running around in masks carrying things they didn’t buy.

But when the bell doesn’t ring—when all you get is prayer vigils, casseroles, and a bunch of folks hugging each other in church basements—the cameras somehow get very shy. Instead of riots, we got quiet.

We got folks meeting in living rooms and bowing their heads in prayer. We got grandparents telling their grandchildren why faith doesn’t falter just because the world takes away a man.

You’d think, in a sane world, that would be news. That peace would be headline-worthy.

But peace doesn’t sell ads, and it doesn’t whip up fear, and it doesn’t keep people glued to the television waiting for the next firebomb. Peace, by its very nature, is boring to people who don’t live in it.

I can hear the critics now: “Well, they just didn’t care enough to riot.”

Hogwash. It’s because the critics cared more about the message than the man.

Charlie didn’t tell people to fight in the streets. Said to stand, to speak, to reason, and to pray. That doesn’t translate to bricks through windows, no matter how much a headline-writer might wish it did.

You know what happened? Moms hugged their sons a little longer before sending them off to work. Dads sharpened their old tools and reminded themselves that raising a family is the real resistance. Neighbors waved at each other across fences, not because they agreed on everything, but because they knew life is too short to stew in hatred.

Meanwhile, on social media, there was plenty of gnashing of teeth. Folks posted memes, wrote long rants, and some unfriended each other—because apparently nothing says “I love free speech” quite like hitting the block button.

But that was about as violent as it got. If you count words as bullets, then maybe, yes, there was a firefight. But if you count peace as strength, then we stood unshaken.

The truth is, restraint is harder than rage. Anybody can light a match; it takes a grown-up to put the lighter down.

Anybody can scream; it takes discipline to whisper a prayer. And when you’re hurting, restraint looks like weakness—but only from the outside, because on the inside, it’s a furnace, roaring to keep you from freezing solid.

So no, I didn’t see a riot. I saw folks take their grief and aim it heavenward.

I saw people choosing to live out the values Charlie debated rather than stain them with the same violence they’d condemned in others. And if that’s boring, then give me boring all day long.

Someday, someone will write the history of this moment, scratching their head, wondering why the “angry extremists” stayed home. And if they’re honest, they’ll see the answer was simple–because love doesn’t need to burn down a city to prove itself.

And if they’re dishonest, well, they’ll probably still say there were riots, but you and I will know better.