Boycotting the Broadcast

Resisting subtle media programming that normalizes violence and hate

This essay examines how media sensationalism fuels polarization, desensitization, and real-world violence in America. Through events like Charlie Kirk’s assassination and the assault on Rayme McCoy, it traces the cultural consequences of normalizing aggression in news and entertainment. Ultimately, it argues that media literacy and conscious disengagement from toxic narratives are acts of collective healing and resistance.

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On a crisp September day in 2025, while many of us were tuned into broadcasts awaiting the verdict of the Epstein Files, Utah Valley University was alive with the familiar hum of campus life: the rustle of autumn leaves, students crowding walkways between classes, and the earnest chatter of passionate debates. This conservative stronghold in Orem, Utah, with its predominantly Republican-leaning population, was preparing for a political gathering charged with energy and conviction. Charlie Kirk, a prominent conservative activist known for his fiery defense of gun rights, took the stage amid cheers and jeers alike. But beneath the surface of patriotic chants and fervent speeches, a simmering tension hovered—an unspoken prelude to tragedy. Moments after he began addressing the crowd, a single gunshot echoed across the lawn. Charlie Kirk fell, fatally wounded in a political assassination that stunned not only his supporters but rippled across the nation.

This moment, at first glance an isolated act of political violence, serves as a powerful prism through which to view the fractures of contemporary American society. The assassination of Kirk does not exist in a vacuum. It is the visceral outcome of a culture saturated with normalized violence and hate—a culture meticulously shaped and nurtured by the media we consume. 

Charlie Kirk himself embodied the paradoxical nature of American attitudes toward violence and freedom. As founder of Turning Point USA, Kirk's advocacy was unwavering. At a 2023 Faith event, he declared that the cost of gun deaths was a price worth paying to preserve the Second Amendment. "It’s worth it to have a cost of, unfortunately, some gun deaths every single year," he said. His statement starkly underscores a societal choice: to cling to armed liberty despite its undeniable human toll. But this personal conviction, and the irony of paying the price with his own life, sits uneasily beside the media’s role in amplifying a culture where such beliefs flourish—a mediated world where violent images and hateful rhetoric permeate, desensitizing the public and eroding social cohesion.

Violence as Spectacle: From Fight Club to 9/11

On the morning of September 11, 2001, I vividly recall where I was. Lying asleep in my Midtown apartment, I was abruptly roused by the wail of sirens and a barrage of urgent phone calls. Sitting upright, I watched in horror as the second plane struck the World Trade Center, a moment seared into my memory with visceral clarity—a glittering dark cloud billowing into the sky that cast a shadow over the city forever. What adds an eerie layer to this tragedy is how it was prefigured in popular culture. 

The film Fight Club (1999), released September 10th (Italy), just two years earlier, includes a striking scene of a plane crashing into the Twin Towers. Scholars and critics have suggested that Fight Club symbolized a broader cultural malaise and fascination with violence and destruction in late 20th-century America—a cultural artifact reflecting anxieties about consumerism, identity, and social alienation. The film portrays a desire to “go back to zero” through chaos and destruction–and assault on capitalist power structures. Fight Club illustrates how media narratives can blur the boundaries between violent fantasy and reality, shaping collective fears and, perhaps, actions.

The Psychology of Exposure

Psychological research substantiates the impact of repeated exposure to violent and hateful media. Research by Anderson et al. (2003) and Bushman & Huesmann (2006), as well as reviews summarized by the APA and scientific journals, provide evidence that repeated viewing or interaction with violent content alters emotional and cognitive responses, making aggressive behavior more likely and empathy more difficult to access—subtly recalibrating and eventually eroding moral thresholds. This raises a critical question: Are we witnessing a mere reflection of a fractured society, or is the media actively being used to drive the fracture? The relationship is deeply complex. While the media mirrors societal issues, it also shapes perception and behavior, conditioning audiences to  accept—and sometimes even enact—narratives that may otherwise seem outrageous. The interplay between individual agency and systemic influence complicates the landscape; as consumers of media, we both influence and are influenced. 

In 2022, 23-year-old Rayme McCoy, a Black woman, was repeatedly punched in the face by Kevin Troy Williamson, a White man, inside a BP gas station in Jacksonville, Florida, following a brief argument in the parking lot. Meanwhile bystanders stood silently—an incident that underscores how real-life violence unfolds amid widespread apathy. At the heart of this troubling landscape lies the media’s normalization of violence as an acceptable method of resolving conflict. For instance, The Purge television series paints a dystopian world where violence is not only accepted but institutionalized, a nightly annual ritual allowing citizens to vent their darkest impulses with impunity. The last installment, The Forever Purge, depicts themes of an ethnic cleansing and elimination of Mexican immigrants as it’s set along the U.S-Mexican border. This fictional narrative feeds into a cultural feedback loop: real-world aggression finds inspiration in media portrayals, which in turn escalate societal tensions.

Echoes of the Past: From McCarthyism to Modern Outrage

American history is ripe with examples of the media’s ability to shape public perception—and, in turn, incite fear and division. During the McCarthy Era (1950s), newspapers, radio, and the new medium of television didn’t simply report on the hunt for communists; they helped define its urgency. Sensational headlines and dramatic broadcasts portrayed the threat of subversion as ubiquitous and insidious, creating an atmosphere where every neighbor and colleague could be a potential enemy. The steady stream of alarming coverage conditioned the public to accept blacklisting, loyalty oaths, and political persecution as legitimate responses. As reporting focused more on accusations than analysis, anxiety became the dominant mood—and ordinary Americans were swept along, supporting “security” at the cost of civil liberties and trust.

Much as McCarthy-era media encouraged Americans to see enemies around every corner, today’s partisan broadcasts and social feeds reinforce a worldview of stark division. For the supporters rallied by voices like Charlie Kirk’s, relentless messaging shapes not only opinions but emotional realities—stoking a sense of siege and righteousness that can smear the line between passionate dissent and destructive action.

Turning Off the Hate Machine

Yet, there is room for hope. The image of that Utah Valley University campus—the sharp crack of a gunshot, the scattering feet, the stunned silence that followed—highlights a shared vulnerability and invites a collective response. This is a moment to move from passive consumption to intentional choice: to consciously turn away from programming that normalizes violence and division, and to challenge the messages that shape how we see one another. A complete withdrawal isn’t always realistic or necessary but media literacy is pivotal—educating ourselves and our children to critically evaluate content, discern underlying motives, and seek out stories that promote unity over divisiveness. 

The task is formidable, especially in a media ecosystem bolstered by profits dependent on sensationalism and conflict. Yet, on significant dates—such as the anniversary of 9/11—reflection on how the media shapes collective memory and trauma becomes imperative. The stories we consume imprint on our societies and psyches long after the screen fades to black. By collectively pushing pause, we open the door to a new narrative—one where empathy and unity can take root and flourish.