The Politics of Grief

Grief is one of the most universal human experiences, and yet one of the least uniform. We all lose, we all mourn, but we do not all grieve in the same way—or for the same reasons. Some of us weep openly, others quietly withdraw. Some build shrines online, others go silent. Some feel waves of sadness for celebrities they never met, while others cannot summon a single tear even for relatives.

It raises a question: what exactly are we grieving when we grieve?

In my opinion, to grieve publicly is to announce: “This person mattered to me, and I want the world to know it.” A hashtag, a profile picture change, a candlelit vigil…these acts make private sorrow visible. They allow us to share space with others who feel the same, to find community in loss.

Silence is not the absence of grief. Silence can be reverence. It can be protection of one’s inner world.

I didn’t say much of anything on this day 24 years ago. The weight of what happened today seemed too devastating for words. I went to the Tuesday night prayer meeting and shed tears listening to my parents pray comfort and peace down upon us like rain.

Silence is not the absence of grief. It can also be refusal—refusal to amplify someone’s memory in ways that compromise your own integrity.

The method of mourning says less about the deceased and more about the mourner. It reflects what we can bear, what we want to signal, and what we must safeguard.

We grieve because death is disruption. It interrupts our sense of permanence, our illusions of safety, our attachment to stories about who people were and who we were alongside them. We don’t only grieve people

We grieve the narratives they held together.

And sometimes, we don’t grieve at all—not because we are cruel, but because grief would require pretending. Pretending that harm wasn’t done. Pretending that disdain wasn’t expressed. Pretending that proximity to someone else’s loss outweighs our duty to protect our own communities.

Here lies the rub: what does it mean to mourn someone who harmed us—or who harmed the communities we belong to?

What does it mean to watch people you know or love mourn a person who said terrible things about people like you? About Black women? About the very communities that made you who you are? I grew up Christian too- so why doesn’t my Christianity look like THAT!?

Do you bite your tongue and extend grace in the name of “being the bigger person”? Or do you withdraw, knowing your absence will be read as cold or petty or divisive?

It is exhausting that grace is often demanded most from those who received the least of it in return.

And what about those still living? If my friend or associate aligns themselves with someone who showed disdain for me and mine, am I required to keep that friendship alive in the name of appearing forgiving? Christianity? Must I endure their grief rituals, their posts and tributes, at the expense of my own peace?

No… I mean…I don’t have to endure them- and I’m not going to tell a person how to feel or what to say or not say- this is after all about free speech right? But…I don’t have to “endure” them as a friend or an associate either.

And here we go…does that make me cold…petty…part of this country’s problem? Are you asking those questions about yourself? Or just other people? When is the last time you looked in the mirror and asked, “am I part of the problem?

But I digress…

As I try to make sense of the complexities this assassination unleashed, I wonder if maybe it was the shock of it?...

Sometimes, mourning isn’t about the person at all—it’s about the shock of death. The suddenness, the reminder that mortality is undefeated. Death rattles even when the deceased was complicated, even when they were harmful. People grieve because death terrifies us, and grief becomes our attempt to bargain with it.

But shock cannot be the only justification for indiscriminate grace.

So should I have grace? Nah. And no, I’m not answering that question for anyone else- but for me.

Grace is a generous thing, but it is not an obligation. To extend grace to someone who never extended it to you is a choice, not a moral imperative.

Further, grace should not be weaponized as the litmus test for whether or not you are “the bigger person.” In my experience Christians do love this idea of harming folk and then shouting BUT JESUS SAID TO TURN THE OTHER CHEEK OR TO FORGIVE 70 x 7 TIMES…

There are times when grace honors you.

There are times when withholding grace protects you.

Both can be sacred choices.

Mourning is complicated but it is never neutral, never one-size-fits-all.

Mourning someone you did not know personally at the expense of your personal relationships is not a neutral act.

It is a declaration of allegiance, and if that’s not what it is prove me wrong. I assure you I have the brain-processing power to support a nuanced and educated discussion.

I can absolutely say that Charlie Kirk should not have been assassinated, that no one should be gunned down for their opinions. I also will not dishonor the living by extending grace to someone who withheld it from us.

And in the spirit of free speech, which Charlie Kirk himself championed, I get to say all of this.