What I hate about the word ‘hate’

When my siblings and I were little, my parents forbade us from using the word “hate.” For a while, I viewed it as equal in offense to uttering a curse word (none of which I knew in kindergarten, of course) and would be shocked whenever someone else used it. It didn’t take me long to realize, however, that “hate” is a pretty common word. People used it all the time, and soon young five-year-old me was using it, too — often without even noticing I was doing so.

Sometimes I still think about this, how often we casually toss around the word “hate.” From discussing this weekend’s football game (“Man, I hate the Razorbacks”) to commenting on the dining hall food (“Everyone hates South Dining Hall right now”) to gossiping about others (“Don’t you just hate when she does that?”), “hate” is seriously ingrained in our vocabulary. Rather than reserve it for subjects of especially strong aversion, we have come to use “hate” to describe anything that remotely irks, annoys or bothers us to the slightest degree. In many ways, the word has lost much of its potency, so to speak — it’s been watered down to such an extent and overused so frequently that, as a result, we often forget what true hatred is.

Recently, we have received several very strong reminders that deep, real hatred — not just mere dislike — is alive and well in the world. I am of course referring to recent acts of violence, including the Annunciation Catholic School shooting, the murder of Iryna Zarutska, the Evergreen High School shooting and the assassination of prominent conservative leader Charlie Kirk. These tragedies are clearly fueled by a hatred much deeper than plain distaste, and, in a way, that puts everything in our lives into sharp perspective. After all, how can we claim to “hate” anything when our dislike for trivial things pales in comparison to the sort of hatred which would drive someone to commit the heinous crime of murder? It makes us realize just how little we understand what it really means to “hate.”

Being so unfamiliar with the subject raises the question: How should we respond to real hatred? Is it better to fight back, fueled by our anger, or be subdued in the name of peace? While fighting fire with fire seems guaranteed to escalate the situation, failing to respond at all doesn’t seem like a good way to achieve peace either; in fact, the second option essentially permits violence under the guise of avoiding conflict. As Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. once said, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” If we are to take his advice, it seems necessary to respond with love. But what does that really mean?

I found my answer on Sept. 21, when Erica Kirk spoke at her husband’s memorial service in Arizona to tens of thousands of people gathered from all over the world. Just 11 days after Charlie Kirk’s assassination, evidently still in the throes of grief, she stood tall at the podium, faced the sea of mourners and spoke a message of hope. Aside from her courage and personal strength, what impressed me most were the three words she directed to her husband’s killer: “I forgive you.”

When I heard her speak those words, my jaw literally dropped. I was shocked. Her husband was brutally murdered not two weeks ago and yet there was not a trace of hatred in her heart. I think most of us, myself included, would struggle to do what Erica Kirk did.  Personally, I know that if one of my family members was killed, I would be outraged. As much as I’d like to say otherwise, I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t harbor resentment and anger in my heart, probably for a long time. And part of me thinks I’d be justified in doing so. But then I look at Erica Kirk, who did not wish for revenge, nor did she call for violence. Instead, she offered an olive branch of love and forgiveness to a man who did her family great wrong. Her actions truly embody MLK’s words: driving out hate with love.

I cannot help but notice the contrast between Erica Kirk and other Americans in the ways they have reacted to Charlie Kirk’s assassination. For example, we have seen an explosion of vile responses online saying he deserved to be killed or that they even enjoyed watching his demise. Still others have sought to make themselves the victims of his death; for instance, Rep. Jasmine Crockett recently refused to vote in favor of a congressional resolution which “condemns the assassination of Charlie Kirk, extends condolences and sympathies to his family, and honors his commitment to civil discussion and debate,” citing Kirk’s “rhetoric that specifically targeted people of color” along with his criticisms of Crockett’s work as her reasons for doing so. While I can understand Crockett’s reluctance to support a man who criticized her work, her refusal to publicly participate in legislation denouncing Kirk’s death is what I take issue with. The fact that we as a society cannot unanimously condemn the gruesome murder of a young father is incredibly discouraging. I also find it particularly ironic that Erica Kirk, the one person who undoubtedly has suffered the most from Charlie Kirk’s death, does not call herself a victim but forgives his killer, while others who never even knew him watched him die, and their first reaction is to feel sorry for themselves.

This entire situation reveals something I truly hate about hatred: It divides rather than brings us together. We should be able to unite over a shared hatred for violence, injustice and the deaths of innocent men, women and children. Even if we have nothing else in common, we should all be universally disgusted by the murder of innocent people. Instead, we wrongly direct our hate toward the deceased victims and toward each other.

Suffice it to say, I don’t think hatred should disappear. It is healthy, normal and good for society to hate objectively horrible things — murder, persecution and poverty, to name a few. But we need to stop the epidemic of self-victimization and remember how to hate what really matters. We need to put aside our differences and condemn acts of violence as one. And we need to respond to hatred like MLK, like Erica Kirk — with love.