Utah authorities say 22-year-old Tyler Robinson opened fire during conservative commentator Charlie Kirk’s appearance at Utah Valley University, leaving behind bullet casings etched with internet slogans, trolling jokes and game references. The details, revealed at a press conference earlier this month, have drawn attention to the role of online subcultures in shaping extremist acts.
The slogans on those casings trace back to a lineage of online subcultures. Groypers, the fandom orbiting far-right commentator Nick Fuentes, adopted a bloated variation of the Pepe the Frog meme as their mascot.
They crowded Turning Point USA events in 2019, pressing Kirk with questions designed to drag subtly aimed extreme alt-right political messages or dog whistles into the open, inching Kirk to validate the extremist statements.
Researchers say forums like these often rely on irony, with posts ranging from antisemitic memes to misogynistic jokes. Over time, the repetition can make it difficult to distinguish between humor and genuine belief.
“I was praying that if this had to happen here, that it wouldn’t be one of us, that somebody drove from another state, somebody came from another country. Sadly, that prayer was not answered the way I hoped for,” Utah Governor Spencer Cox said at a press conference announcing details on the suspect in the shooting.
One bullet casing read, “If you’re reading this, you’re gay lol,” a phrase that scholars describe as a “shitpost,” or a provocative post on social media done to upset or distract, mocking any attempt to make sense of it.
Text messages later obtained by The Washington Post revealed that Robinson had grown disillusioned with Kirk himself, reportedly telling his alleged roommate he was “tired of Charlie Kirk’s hate.”
The contradiction reflects a rejection of Kirk’s rhetoric paired with immersion in the same meme-driven communities that some believe helped shape him.
Ebuka Onwuka, a sophomore computer engineering major from Pueblo, Colorado, said memes have become an essential tool of soft power.
“Memes are a simple way to talk without actually having to say words. It’s like an image, a GIF,” he said. “In the same way, after World War II, Japan was able to use Hello Kitty and anime in order to move beyond what they were talking about. Memes are going to be used as a way to exert political power since the internet is the biggest use of propaganda these days.”
Aidan Walker, a content creator whose viral TikToks have drawn broad audiences for his clear explanation of extremist meme culture, described it as layered communication.
“All those layers of irony work like a new dog whistle,” he said. “If they know, they know. If they want to read the hateful message into it, they can. If not, they have plausible deniability: ‘Oh, it was just a joke,’” he explained.
From the outside, the forums can look incoherent. An endless stream of inside jokes, memes and half-serious posts. That incoherence is part of the design, Walker explained, a way to hide in plain sight.
“The incoherence, the humor, the memeness, it’s another kind of dog whistle. You hide what you really are behind it, lure people in,” Walker said.
To outsiders, the randomness appears unserious, even absurd.
“They’re [alt-right memes] on my feed, but it’s not like I’m looking for them. They just kind of pop up because one thing I’ve noticed recently, especially with our current political climate, is that conservatism is in the media heavily,” said Aaliyah Smith, a sophomore psychology major from Stratford, Connecticut.
For those inside, the nonsense fosters intimacy, creating a shared language that serves as a filter.
Walker believes mainstream outlets often have a shared mindset, reducing these spaces to caricature: an image of an isolated young man behind a glowing screen, but argues the reality is messier. Women participate; some identify with the LGBTQ community, others posture as hyper-masculine. What ties them together is not coherence but a commitment to irony, hostility and belonging on their own terms.
“When people feel like they have been ostracized by a certain group of people, they try to create their own community to come together and find some type of acceptance and belonging. Now, these people are coming together and they’re doing these offensive things,” Smith said.
The tension surfaced in the investigation. In text messages obtained by The Washington Post, Robinson said he was “tired of Charlie Kirk’s hate.” Yet the casings he left behind echoed the subcultures that once elevated Kirk, a jumble of meme-coded insults and trolling slogans.
The contradiction reveals a path that is less linear than it appears. Rejecting Kirk’s rhetoric did not mean stepping outside the culture that shaped it. Instead, the same language, symbols and in-jokes remained a framework for identity, even when turned against their original figurehead.
Onwuka noted how radicalization often thrives on inconsistency.
“It’s definitely inconsistent,” Onwuka said. “With Charlie Kirk, people are saying, ‘He was right-wing.’ But it’s the horseshoe theory — if you swing so far one way, you start to develop some traits. The reason Charlie Kirk was killed is that he was not far right enough.”
Copy edited by D’Nyah Jefferson – Philmore
