Do White Lives Matter More? What Charlie Kirk's Murder Reveals About Our Selective Empathy

When Some Deaths Matter More: The September Contradiction That Exposes Our Hidden Biases

On September 10th, 2025, Charlie Kirk was fatally shot during an event at Utah Valley University. Within hours, my social media feeds erupted. Conservative influencers declared him a martyr. Progressive white women—many who had scrolled past countless other tragedies—suddenly posted lengthy tributes, shared memories, and called for justice.

The response confused me. Not because a human life was lost—that's always tragic. But because we lose human lives every single day in this country to gun violence, to systemic injustice, to silence. And not all of them get hashtags, headlines, or viral moments of collective grief.

That same week, two other acts of violence occurred that barely registered in our collective consciousness. A school shooting where the only fatality was the shooter himself was dismissed as another "radicalized rural case." A fatal shooting in a Brooklyn housing project never made it beyond local news. Three incidents of gun violence. Three vastly different responses. One pattern that reveals everything about how social identity shapes our empathy.

This dissonance sparked the latest episode of White Women Wake Up, where my co-host Karen and I explored social identity theory—the psychological framework that explains why some stories grab us by the throat while others slip past with barely a scroll. Understanding this isn't about guilt or shame. It's about recognizing the invisible psychology that determines whose pain moves us to action, and whose suffering we unconsciously dismiss.

Your Brain Doesn't See People—It Sees Groups (And That Changes Everything)

Social identity theory, developed by Henri Tajfel (1), reveals an uncomfortable truth about human psychology. We don't just belong to groups—we derive our self-worth from them. To protect that sense of worth, our brains automatically sort the world into "in-group" (people like us, who are good and deserving) and "out-group" (people unlike us, who are suspicious, distant, or less worthy of empathy).

This sorting happens in milliseconds, before our conscious mind even registers what we're seeing. Race, gender, religion, political affiliation, even socioeconomic markers like clothing or speech patterns trigger immediate categorization. It's not malicious—it's evolutionary. Our ancestors survived by quickly identifying who was safe (their tribe) and who might be dangerous (outsiders).

But in a society built on white dominance, that automatic "us versus them" categorization becomes racialized, gendered, and classed in ways that perpetuate existing inequalities. Proximity to whiteness becomes an unconscious password for compassion. Christian identity signals trustworthiness. Middle-class markers suggest worthiness. These aren't conscious thoughts—they're neurological shortcuts that bypass our stated values entirely.

The Charlie Kirk response fits this pattern perfectly. Even people who disagreed with his politics found themselves emotionally invested in his story because he registered as familiar. White, Christian, conservative, male—characteristics that, for many white Americans, trigger in-group identification regardless of political disagreement.

The Empathy Gap: When Your Brain Literally Cares Less About "Other" People's Pain

The research on this phenomenon is both extensive and disturbing. Studies using physiological measurements have found that Caucasian observers react to pain suffered by African people significantly less than to pain of Caucasian people. This isn't just about conscious bias—it's measurable in brain activity, stress hormones, and automatic nervous system responses.

Neuroimaging studies (2) found that both Caucasian and Asian participants showed stronger neural responses in the anterior cingulate cortex—the brain region associated with empathy—for same-ethnicity targets experiencing pain compared to other-ethnicity targets. Your brain literally processes the pain of people who look like you differently than the pain of people who don't.

This extends beyond race. Research has shown that across racial lines, people consistently assume that Black individuals feel less pain than white individuals, even among healthcare providers who should know better. Similar patterns emerge with gender, religion, nationality, and socioeconomic status. We empathize more with people who share our group identities, and this bias operates below the level of conscious awareness.

Recent interventions show promise though—when teachers completed empathy-building exercises, their students, especially racial minorities, were less likely to be suspended, and the racial gap in suspensions was reduced by 45% (3). Conscious intervention can interrupt unconscious bias patterns.

Media Algorithms Amplify What We Already Care About (Creating Feedback Loops of Selective Attention)

Our media landscape doesn't just reflect our biases—it amplifies them. Social media algorithms show us more of what we already engage with, creating echo chambers that reinforce in-group preferences. When white victims receive disproportionate coverage, it's partly because white audiences click, share, and engage with those stories more frequently.

Traditional media follows similar patterns, often unconsciously. Editors make split-second decisions about which stories deserve front-page treatment based on what they perceive as audience interest. Since newsroom leadership remains predominantly white, those perceptions often reflect white social identity patterns.

The result is a feedback loop where some victims become household names while others remain statistics. Missing white children get AMBER alerts and national coverage. Missing Indigenous women get brief local mentions, if anything. School shootings in suburban white schools generate weeks of analysis and policy debates. Violence in communities of color gets categorized as "gang activity" and dismissed.

This isn't conspiracy—it's unconscious bias operating at scale. And it shapes not just what we know about the world, but what we feel about it.

Why Charlie Kirk's Death Hit Different (Even for People Who Disagreed With Him)

The massive response to Charlie Kirk's assassination reveals something crucial about how social identity transcends political disagreement. You didn't have to support his views to unconsciously categorize him as part of your broader cultural in-group. If you were raised white, Christian, conservative, or middle-class, he registered as familiar even if you found his politics objectionable.

This familiarity creates emotional shortcuts. Kirk's death occurred during "a period of deepening division and increasingly frequent violence in American politics," which amplified the sense among many white Americans that "people like us" were under threat. The response wasn't just about one man's death—it was about group identity protection.

Meanwhile, victims who don't trigger that familiarity remain abstract. The rural school shooter who died by his own hand was easily dismissed as "radicalized" and "other." The Brooklyn shooting victim never became a person with a name and a story—just another statistic from a dangerous neighborhood that doesn't touch most white people's daily reality.

This pattern repeats constantly. We mourn victims who feel like us, our family members, our communities. We scroll past victims who feel foreign, distant, or somehow different from our lived experience. It's human psychology operating exactly as it evolved to operate. But in a diverse society, it creates profound inequalities in attention, empathy, and ultimately, justice.

The Uncomfortable Truth About White Women's Selective Activism

White women, socialized as caregivers and empathizers, often pride ourselves on our compassion. We organize fundraisers, share awareness posts, and show up for causes we care about. But social identity theory suggests that our caring isn't as universal as we might believe. It's shaped by the same unconscious biases that affect everyone else—we just experience them differently because of our gender socialization.

When a story triggers our empathy, white women tend to respond intensely. We share, comment, organize, and mobilize our networks. We feel deeply and act accordingly. But research suggests we're more likely to feel that intense empathy for victims who share our racial, religious, or class identities. Our social media activism, volunteer work, and charitable giving often reflect these unconscious preferences.

This isn't about conscious racism or intentional discrimination. Many white women genuinely believe they care equally about all victims of violence or injustice. The problem is that "caring" and "acting on that caring" are two different things. Social identity theory predicts that we'll consistently act more urgently on behalf of victims we unconsciously categorize as part of our in-group, regardless of our stated values.

The Charlie Kirk response exemplifies this pattern. White women who rarely posted about police violence, missing Indigenous women, or school shootings in communities of color suddenly found themselves emotionally invested in this particular tragedy. Not because they agreed with his politics, but because he felt familiar enough to trigger their empathy and action.

Breaking the Cycle: From Unconscious Bias to Conscious Choice

Recognizing these patterns isn't about shame or guilt—it's about agency. Once we understand how social identity shapes our emotional responses, we can start making more conscious choices about where we direct our attention and energy. The goal isn't to stop caring about people who share our identities. It's to expand our circle of empathy to include people who don't.

Research shows that empathy, especially around racial issues, can be affected through education about the history and experiences of people of color (4). This suggests that empathy isn't fixed—it's expandable through conscious effort and exposure.

The first step is honest self-examination. For the next week, pay attention to your emotional responses to news stories involving violence, injustice, or tragedy. Notice which stories make you pause, feel something, or take action. Notice which ones you scroll past without much thought. Look for patterns in the victims' identities, the settings, the circumstances.

What do the stories that move you have in common? What about the ones that don't?

This isn't about judging your responses—it's about understanding them. Social identity bias operates below conscious awareness, which means we can't address it until we bring it

into the light. Once you see the pattern, you can start interrupting it.

Expanding Your Empathy Beyond Familiar Faces

Conscious empathy expansion requires intentional effort. Start by diversifying your information diet. Follow journalists of color, Indigenous writers, LGBTQ+ voices, immigrant perspectives, and working-class storytellers. Seek out local news from communities different from your own. Subscribe to newsletters and podcasts that center experiences outside your immediate demographic.

When you encounter stories that don't immediately trigger emotional response, pause and ask yourself why. Is it because the victim doesn't look like you, share your religion, or live in your type of neighborhood? What would you feel if the races, genders, or class positions were reversed? How would you respond if this happened to someone in your immediate family or social circle?

Practice what researchers call "perspective-taking"—actively imagining yourself in another person's situation. When you read about a missing Indigenous woman, spend time thinking about her family's fear and desperation. When you see news about police violence in a community of color, consider what it would feel like to fear for your children's safety during routine interactions with authority figures.

This isn't about performative allyship or virtue signaling. It's about rewiring unconscious response patterns through conscious practice. Studies show that interventions focusing on empathy and compassion can significantly reduce prejudiced and stigmatizing thoughts (5).

Moving From Individual Awareness to Collective Action

Personal empathy expansion matters, but systemic change requires collective action. Use your privilege and platform—however small—to amplify stories that typically receive less attention. When mainstream media focuses intensively on one tragedy while ignoring others, point out the disparity. Share resources about missing and murdered Indigenous women, Black trans victims of violence, immigrant families separated by policy, and other marginalized groups who rarely trend on social media.

Support organizations doing long-term work on behalf of communities that don't typically capture widespread empathy. Fund directly when possible rather than waiting for viral fundraising campaigns, which tend to benefit people who already have social media platforms and networks. Research shows that GoFundMe campaigns for white victims raise significantly more money than identical campaigns for victims of color—a pattern we can consciously interrupt through intentional giving.

Have uncomfortable conversations within your own social circles. When you notice friends, family members, or colleagues showing selective empathy, gently point it out. Ask questions like "I noticed we all shared posts about X tragedy, but didn't mention Y tragedy that happened the same week. What do you think accounts for the difference?" These conversations plant seeds that can grow into broader awareness over time.

Most importantly, hold yourself accountable for sustained engagement rather than momentary emotional responses. It's easy to feel bad about bias and promise to do better. It's harder to maintain that awareness and commitment over months and years, especially when it requires ongoing emotional labor to care about people who don't naturally trigger your empathy.

The Challenge: Interrupting Autopilot Empathy

Social identity theory suggests that selective empathy isn't a bug in the system—it is the system. Our brains evolved to care more about in-group members than outsiders because that's what helped our ancestors survive. But we're no longer living in small tribal groups where everyone who looks different represents a potential threat. We're living in a diverse democracy where equality and justice require expanding our circle of moral concern beyond people who happen to share our demographic characteristics.

This expansion doesn't happen automatically. It requires conscious, sustained effort to notice our biases, question our responses, and actively work to empathize with people outside our comfort zones. It means sitting with discomfort when we realize we've been unconsciously dismissing certain victims or causes. It means using our privilege to amplify voices and stories that wouldn't otherwise reach our networks.

The goal isn't perfection—it's progress. Every time we pause before reacting, question our assumptions, or consciously choose to engage with a story that doesn't immediately grab us, we're interrupting unconscious bias patterns. Every time we use our platforms to share overlooked stories, support marginalized voices, or have difficult conversations about selective empathy, we're working toward a more just distribution of attention and care.

Your Empathy Audit: The Seven-Day Challenge

For the next seven days, conduct an honest audit of your empathy responses. Before sharing, commenting, or emotionally reacting to any news story involving violence, injustice, or human suffering, pause and ask yourself these questions:

What identities does this victim/person hold? How similar are they to me in terms of race, religion, class, nationality, gender, or other characteristics? Would I respond the same way if the demographics were different? What stories have I scrolled past this week without engaging? What patterns do I notice in the stories that move me versus the ones that don't?

Then make conscious choices. If you realize you've been unconsciously prioritizing certain types of victims, actively seek out and engage with stories you might normally overlook. Share resources about missing people of color, support organizations working with marginalized communities, or simply spend time learning about experiences different from your own.

This isn't about becoming a perfect ally overnight or carrying guilt about natural human psychology. It's about becoming conscious of unconscious patterns so you can make more intentional choices about where you direct your attention, energy, and care.

Because in the end, social identity theory reveals both the problem and the solution. Yes, we're hardwired to care more about people who seem like us. But we're also capable of expanding our definition of "us" through conscious effort and practice. The question is whether we're willing to do the work.

Take Action Today:

Support Not Our Native Daughters working to raise awareness for Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women, Girls, Two-Spirit, and Indigenous Relatives. Donate to The Okra Project supporting Black trans lives and stories rarely centered in mainstream media. Follow Equal Justice Initiative documenting the history of racial violence and working for systemic change. Support gun violence prevention through Sandy Hook Promise working to prevent school shootings and gun violence, and Everytown for Gun Safety advocating for comprehensive gun reform legislation. Subscribe to news sources that center marginalized voices and cover stories mainstream media overlooks.

Join the Conversation: Building Conscious Community

This post was inspired by Episode 42 of White Women Wake Up: "Inside and Out: How Social Identity Shapes Our Reactions." Karen and I dive deeper into these patterns, sharing our own biases and the uncomfortable realizations that come with this work. Listen wherever you get your podcasts, and join the conversation at hello@whitewomenwakeup.com.

What patterns have you noticed in your own empathy responses? How has social identity shaped what you care about and act on? Share your reflections honestly—this work requires vulnerability from all of us. Let's wake up together, one uncomfortable conversation at a time.

Stay curious, stay open, and keep waking up.

-Jonelle

References:

1. Tajfel, H., & Turner, J. C. (1979). An Integrative Theory of Intergroup Conflict

2. Xu, X., et al. (2009). "Do you feel my pain? Racial group membership modulates empathic neural responses."

Journal of Neuroscience

3. Okonofua, J. A., et al. (2016). "Brief intervention to encourage empathic discipline cuts suspension rates in half

among adolescents." Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences

4. Todd, A. R., et al. (2011). "Anxious and egocentric: How specific emotions influence perspective taking." Journal of

Experimental Psychology

5. Avenanti, A., et al. (2010). "Racial bias reduces empathic sensorimotor resonance with other-race pain." Current

Biology