Jimmy Kimmel’s Return Monologue: A Reflection of Political Polarization

It has been almost a month since Charlie Kirk was murdered on Utah Valley University’s campus. Shooting someone for a difference in political belief demands somber national reflection. Kirk’s murder is not only a tragedy because he left behind a wife and kids, but because the event threatens the important American ideal that anyone of any persuasion be able to speak their mind without fear of violent retribution. 

The day Kirk was murdered, Jimmy Kimmel posted on Instagram expressing disgust at the murder and sympathy for Kirk’s family. About a week later, Kimmel said on “Jimmy Kimmel Live!” that conservatives were “desperately trying to characterize this kid who murdered Charlie Kirk as anything other than one of them.” This was, in my estimation, deeply inappropriate. Kimmel’s comment seemed to imply the death of Kirk — a figure deeply beloved by conservatives — was their own fault. It is somewhat akin to telling someone they were responsible for the death of a beloved family member. Not that I believe this was Kimmel’s intent, but I cannot blame those who took offense. 

The Federal Communications Commission (FCC) Chair responded to Jimmy Kimmel's comments by pressuring Disney — the parent of ABC — to pull Kimmel off-air. This act was a blatant violation of and a threat to the American tradition of free speech — not that such threats have been in short supply.

After a weeklong suspension, Kimmel returned to air with a heartfelt, reconciliatory monologue. I found Kimmel’s monologue remarkable. He did not need to be reconciliatory in his return monologue to be watched worldwide, yet he was. Even if Disney had made this a condition for Kimmel’s return to air, he didn’t have to make a statement that felt real. There are, predictably, those who insist the apology was not authentic, but I do not believe these claims were made in good faith. Kimmel’s monologue was clear, did not deflect, and felt thoroughly human. Kimmel conducted himself with grace, and in a manner that can serve as a model for us all. 

Consider the following excerpts from his monologue: “But I do want to make something clear because it’s important to me as a human. And that is, you understand, that it was never my intention to make light of the murder of a young man. I don’t, I don’t think there’s anything funny about it.” He teared up on “murder of a young man.” He later said, “And for those who think I did point a finger, I get why you’re upset. If the situation was reversed, there’s a good chance I’d have felt the same way.”

I’ve been reflecting on why Kimmel's monologue felt so refreshing to me. After all, it really shouldn't seem that incredible to apologize and clarify that one was not making light of someone’s murder.

There is a mountain of evidence that politics is more  now tribal than ever before — that is, our interactions with politics are shaped more and more by our perception of who is or isn’t within our tribe. Perhaps this explains why it can appear so hard to make concessions across sides relating to things that have nothing to do with political issues. After Charlie Kirk’s murder, almost every major left-leaning politician posted an appropriate statement of sympathy. But among my own network, I noticed that, while no one celebrated his murder, many of my friends on social media (at least those who disagreed with his politics) could not post a straightforward expression of sympathy. Instead, I saw countless reposts of the same few accounts pointing out that other tragedies had occurred that week besides the murder of Charlie Kirk, as if major news outlets covering the murder of a major political figure more than other tragedies represented some malicious bias.

I suspect that acknowledging the straightforward tragedy of the situation felt like making some sort of concession to conservatism — after all, there is nothing about pointing to one tragedy that stops someone from fully acknowledging another. Yet these posts by and large said nothing in the way of remorse for Kirk. This feeling is indicative not of a policy-based relationship with politics, but rather of a tribal one. 

One can call this phenomenon “whataboutism.” “Whataboutism” refers to the deflection of criticism by pointing out something bad about the accusing person or faction. The point is that “whataboutism” is a fundamentally tribal move because it only discredits the person who uses it in the eyes of the people they should be trying to appeal to. Let’s say Jimmy Kimmel goes out on his first night back and says something along the lines of “conservatives were clearly reading my statements in bad faith, and they’ve said stuff that’s way worse, and…” Then, anyone who was offended by his remarks would not think Kimmel’s apology was sincere, which would only reinforce division. Anyone who already disagreed with Kimmel's positions by and large would only be less likely to consider them. “Whataboutism” and similar techniques elevate one's pride and group identity above the credibility that is necessary to ever change a person’s mind.

Not that Kimmel was under any “illusions about changing anyone’s mind,” in his own words from the night of his apology. Patience and grace are ultimately effective dispositions; that does not mean that embracing them will instantly bring anyone to your position. But if you watch Kimmel’s monologue, I think you will also see the sincerity of his apology as he teared up on live television. The truth is, we are inherently tribal, and voicing one’s opinion on  important issues will most likely activate that instinct. However, we are also filled with inherent empathy, and in moments when I have managed momentarily to set aside tribalism to recognize common humanity, I have felt a sense of joy, even as it accompanied grief. These empathetic moments, including the one I suspect Kimmel experienced on his show, are valuable whether or not any persuasion comes of them.

Kimmel proceeded to give a robust but non-combative defense of free speech — a doubtlessly important argument that I think actually aimed at convincing conservatives in its earnest appeal to American values. But Kimmel did well for democracy, even if he convinced no one that night. He did not make Americans hate each other more, and maybe made some hate each other less. Even if it was only half an inch, he moved the country in the direction of understanding — lack of which is the fuel of demagogues like President Donald Trump. 

Acts of reconciliation are contagious. Kimmel concluded his monologue by paying respect to a decision unspeakably more incredible than his own: the decision by Erika Kirk to publicly forgive her husband’s murderer. Kimmel described it aptly as “a selfless act of grace, forgiveness from a grieving widow.” One cannot help but wonder if his palpable respect for her decision helped shape the tone of his monologue. In turn, he reminded his viewers of a preferable alternative to the vicious cycle of tribal “whataboutism.” Of Erika Kirk’s decision, he said: “If there’s anything we should take from this tragedy to carry forward, I hope it can be that and not this.” Indeed. Kimmel certainly has done his part for the cause of grace.