We live in a time where words travel faster than ever. A single statement made on television or online can ripple through society with consequences we can’t always predict—or worse, consequences we can predict all too clearly.

Recently, Fox News host Brian Kilmeade said that homeless people should be euthanized. Let that sink in for a moment. On national television, he suggested that some of the most vulnerable among us—the poor, the desperate, the unhoused—should be put to death. What he may have intended as a throwaway line or a piece of shock commentary carries weight far beyond the studio lights. Words like these do not vanish into thin air. They lodge themselves into the cultural imagination, and sometimes, into the actions of people who are already teetering on the edge of violence.

Not long after Kilmeade’s words aired, tragedy struck. A young homeless man, Cory Zukatis, was found hanging from a tree. His death is heartbreaking, not only because of the loss of his life, but because of what it says about how invisible, how disposable, we allow certain people to become in our society. In another part of the country, a mass shooting unfolded at a homeless encampment, shattering what little sense of safety existed for those already living in fear and precarity. These are not coincidences. They are the bitter fruit of a culture that allows dehumanization to go unchecked.

When someone with a massive platform says that homeless people deserve euthanasia, it is not just talk. It is permission. Permission for cruelty. Permission for neglect. Permission for violence. We live in a society already stretched thin by rage, political unrest, and a dangerous loss of empathy. Throwing gasoline on that fire is not just reckless—it is deadly.

And yet, notice the double standard. Brian Kilmeade has faced little, if any, consequence for his words. Contrast that with a Black female journalist who lost her job simply for repeating a Charlie Kirk quote. The message is clear: some voices are protected no matter the harm they cause, while others are silenced for far less. That isn’t just unfair—it is racism. It is inequality. It is white supremacy at work. The fact that a white man with a national platform can call for the death of unhoused people and keep his position, while a Black woman is fired for far less, shows us exactly how power and privilege are unevenly distributed in this country.

This cannot stand. Brian Kilmeade should not be allowed to keep his seat at the table of public discourse after using it to call for the extermination of human beings. If a person with his reach can say something so violent, so dangerous, and face no repercussions, then what does that say about who we are as a people? Accountability cannot be selective. It must be consistent. It must be real. And in this case, accountability means removing him from his position at Fox News.

Words shape worlds. They can heal, or they can wound. They can build communities of care, or they can justify violence against the most vulnerable. What we choose to say—and what we allow others to say without accountability—matters more than we want to admit. If we want a more just society, accountability cannot be optional. It must be demanded.

So here’s the challenge: before we speak, before we hit “post,” before we amplify someone else’s rhetoric, we should ask ourselves: Who might these words harm? Who might take them as license to act? What kind of world am I helping to create with the language I allow into the public square?

Our society does not just need better policies—it needs better conversations. Conversations where dignity and humanity are the baseline, not the exception. Conversations that refuse to treat people as disposable. And maybe most of all, a collective prayer for compassion to rise again where cruelty has taken root.

If this resource spoke to you—if it made you feel seen, challenged, or just a little less alone in a world slipping further into authoritarianism—please consider becoming a paid subscriber to The Quollective. We’re not backed by billionaires or corporate sponsors. We’re funded by people like you. People who believe in truth-telling, justice, and the power of art and intellect to fight back.

Your monthly or yearly subscription helps us amplify the voices that white Christian nationalism wants to silence—historians, journalists, queer and Black creators, poets, satirists, and ex-theologians who know this beast from the inside.

If you believe in what we’re doing, don’t just read. Stand with us. Subscribe now.