On September 10, Charles Kirk passed away. The news spread quickly, and with it came the extreme reactions we have sadly come to expect. For some, his death marked the end of a controversial voice, a symbol of ideas that unsettled people. For others, it was a moment of mourning for someone with loyal followers. In any case, without the media spotlight, this would likely have stayed a private matter. Instead, it quickly became a public spectacle. Jimmy Kimmel, on his late-night show, made comments and jokes about Kirk. Some applauded the humor, while others saw it as an unforgivable lack of respect. The response was immediate: the show was suspended, and accusations of censorship followed. To complicate matters further, Donald Trump publicly praised the decision, turning the moment into another opportunity to fuel his ongoing cultural battles. A death, a personal tragedy, had become material for the media circus and another episode in the endless mix of politics and public outrage.
We are living in what might be called the last age of tolerance. And I mean “last” deliberately, because signs of its erosion are everywhere. The numbers tell the story: in the past ten years, hate crimes and acts of ideological or religious intolerance have increased significantly across many Western democracies. Spaces that should foster debate have become arenas, and social media, once envisioned as open squares for discussion, have turned into digital trenches where dialogue has been replaced by attacks. Contradiction, once a sign of democratic vitality, is now seen as a threat. Differences, once a source of enrichment, have become reasons to divide.
It is worth pausing to ask: what does freedom of expression mean today? For decades, a simple idea circulated: my freedom ends where another’s begins. It is a neat phrase, easy to repeat, but much harder to live by. Today, it seems to have been replaced with a different version: my freedom only ends when I can shout louder than everyone else. We live in the age of the megaphone. The one who yells the loudest wins. Arguments are optional. Reasoning is a luxury. Consensus feels like a relic, outdated according to Gen Z.
The Kirk/Kimmel/Trump episode is just one reflection of this reality. Some celebrated Kirk’s death as a victory over an ideology. Some elevated Kimmel as a martyr for free speech. Others, like Trump, saw a golden opportunity to stir the battlefield further. Three perspectives, three narratives, but all with the same obsession: turning opinion into a weapon. And we, the audience, watch, unsure whether we are still living in a democracy or in a digital boxing ring, where survival depends on enduring the most blows of empty arguments.
Tolerance is not about canonizing Kirk or punishing those who admired him. It is not about shielding Kimmel from criticism, but about letting him speak – and yes, even letting him make mistakes. Tolerance means living alongside people who unsettle us, who disagree with us, who push us out of the comfortable bubble of mutual approval. It means recognizing that opinions are not laws, that privilege does not make others lesser, and that vulnerability is not an excuse to silence the world.
This is why I write this manifesto: not as a lesson, but as an appeal. An appeal to the tolerance of those who disagree with Kirk but do not celebrate his death. An appeal to the tolerance of those who support Kimmel without thinking him infallible. An appeal to the tolerance of those who understand that the world is full of differences and that democracy is, above all, the art of managing them. Tolerance is about acknowledging that realities differ – some shaped by privilege, others by its absence – but none diminishing the dignity of another.
In the end, the question is simple: do we want to live in a society where the loudest voice dominates, or in one where there is still room to listen? The first seems easier, more immediate; just turn up the volume. The second requires effort, humility, and courage. It may be asking a lot. But as a comedian once said, probably one who can no longer say it on air: laughing can be risky, but living without the ability to laugh is intolerable.
André Alves, Brand & Digital Marketing Diretor at CATÓLICA-LISBON