When the Voices Fall, the Chorus Rises: Reflections on the Assassinations of JFK, RFK, MLK & Charlie Kirk

Another young leader is gone. The news of Charlie Kirk’s assassination last week hit like a punch in the gut - not just for his supporters, but for anyone who cares about freedom of speech, the pulse of democracy and the power of dissent. It’s a familiar echo, tragically, in the American story: a vibrant voice silenced, and the question hanging in the air—what now?

History may not always repeat itself, but it does rhyme. The assassinations of John F. Kennedy, Robert F. Kennedy, and Martin Luther King Jr. didn’t just end the lives of these three men; they defined the 1960s. The bullets, meant to stop movements, instead, sparked a decade of protest, soul-searching, and transformative change. The intention, whether by lone actors or nefarious networks, was always clear: to stop a movement by removing its figurehead, and silence a message by erasing the messenger. But it rarely works out that way.

When the life of JFK was cut short, the country reeled, but the dream of a “New Frontier” of public service, and youth in politics, didn’t die. If anything, it became more potent, lighting fires in those who’d grown up under his optimism. When RFK was gunned down, his call for justice and reconciliation didn’t die. It haunted the airwaves, shaped future campaigns, and lit a fire in the belly of tomorrow's reformers. And after Dr. King was killed, his movement didn’t wither; it roared, transforming his legacy from the voice of one preacher to the anthem of millions.

Charlie Kirk’s death should be no different. The people who wanted him gone may have imagined that taking out a leader would stop a movement. But that’s never how it plays out. The shock instead, wakes people up, catapulting them into action. Suddenly, those who were silent find themselves unable to remain quiet. The assassination becomes a catalyst, not a conclusion.

As a party and as a people, we must be diligent and mindful right now. We are at a crossroads. If we want to honor Charlie’s legacy, we have to embrace his message of peace - just as so many tried to do for JFK, RFK, and MLK. The unrest of the '60s wasn’t just a reaction to violence; it was a demand for something better. That same choice is now before us.

There’s pain, of course - real, raw, visceral grief. But underneath, the fact remains: You can kill the dreamer, but never the dream. Those who attempt to snuff the voice of change end up amplifying it; creating martyrs, and crusaders of noteworthy causes.

We’ve seen this play out before, and we’re seeing it again. When young leaders are cut down, the grass grows taller around their memory. People search for answers, they hunger for change, and, most importantly, they demand a future where ideas aren’t met with violence.

The American story is littered with terrible turning points. And yet, time after time, the attempt to silence becomes the reason new voices rise. The would-be silencers never learn: the aftermath of violence is not silence, but the thunder of a suddenly-awakened chorus. If we are wise, we won’t just remember Charlie Kirk’s words - we’ll carry them forward, live his message and let his call for peace shape what comes next.

Best regards,

Frank Pallotta

Frankly Speaking, NJ

Former Congressional Candidate, NJ05

Wall Street Veteran