In the turbulent spring of 1968, the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. shattered the civil rights movement. King's magnetic oratory and unyielding moral clarity had unified disparate voices against injustice, but his death left a gaping void in Black leadership. Into this breach stepped Jesse Jackson, a Chicago-based organizer and preacher whose rhetorical fire and grassroots savvy positioned him as King's natural heir. Jackson, who had marched alongside King in Selma and coordinated Operation Breadbasket, channeled grief into action, founding Operation PUSH and leveraging his charisma to amplify economic justice demands.
He wasn't flawless—critics later accused him of opportunism and divisiveness—but in that moment of crisis, his skills made him indispensable. History often pivots on such successors, who seize the mantle not just to honor the fallen but to reshape the movement in their image.
Nearly six decades later, a parallel fracture grips the American conservative ecosystem. On September 12, 2025, Charlie Kirk, the 32-year-old founder of Turning Point USA (TPUSA), was assassinated in a brazen attack on a college campus—a tragedy that has sent shockwaves through the right-wing youth movement he built from a dorm-room idea into a juggernaut with over 3,000 campus chapters, $100 million in annual funding, and millions of fervent followers.
Kirk's death, amid swirling conspiracy theories implicating everything from deep-state operatives to foreign adversaries, has exposed a leadership vacuum in the MAGA-aligned activist sphere. Kirk wasn't a mere pundit; he was the architect of conservative mobilization on college campuses, blending Trumpian populism with anti-woke crusades. His organizations, TPUSA and TP Faith, aren’t just nonprofits—it's a pipeline for the next generation of Republican operatives, donors, and influencers, boasting a war chest fueled by high-profile backers like the Koch network and Elon Musk.
With Kirk gone, the scramble for his throne has begun, pitting two of the right's most polarizing figures against each other: Ben Shapiro and Candace Owens. Both are skilled orators with ties to Kirk's inner circle, both command millions of followers and eye TPUSA's vast resources, and both have collaborated with the late Andrew Breitbart and Steve Bannon in forging the modern conservative media machine. Yet, in this high-stakes contest, both emerge as failed candidates—ambitious pretenders whose flaws render them unfit to fill Kirk's void, dooming their bids to bitter irrelevance.
Ben Shapiro's credentials as a conservative scion are unimpeachable, at least on paper. A prodigy who launched his first national radio show at 17, Shapiro cut his teeth under Andrew Breitbart, the gonzo journalist whose eponymous news site revolutionized right-wing media in the Obama era. Breitbart, who died suddenly in 2012 at age 43, mentored Shapiro as a firebrand debater, tasking him with eviscerating liberal sacred cows on air. Shapiro repaid the favor by co-founding The Daily Wire in 2015, a Breitbart-inspired outlet that now pulls in $100 million annually through podcasts, films, and subscriptions.
Steve Bannon, the Trump whisperer and Breitbart executive chairman, amplified Shapiro's reach, booking him on Breitbart News and praising his "facts don't care about your feelings" mantra as a weapon against progressive pieties. Shapiro's involvement with TPUSA dates back to Kirk's early days; he keynoted their summits, debated alongside Kirk, and even sat down with Owens and Kirk for a 2018 panel on young women's leadership.
Post-Kirk, Shapiro has moved swiftly: announcing a $1 million Daily Wire donation to TPUSA in Kirk's honor and publicly mourning his "deeply terrifying" loss on Fox News, positioning himself as the steady hand to steward the organization's future.
Shapiro's pitch is clear: He's the intellectual bulwark, a Yale Law grad with 6.5 million X followers and a debate record that leaves opponents in rhetorical tatters. In the Kirk void, he envisions TPUSA as an extension of his empire—a platform to train the next wave of never-Trump skeptics turned MAGA-adjacent warriors. Yet, this is where Shapiro falters as a successor. His establishment sheen, homed in Never Trumper circles before his grudging Trump endorsement, alienates the raw, populist and Christian base Kirk cultivated. Shapiro's fulsome support for Israel—rooted in his Orthodox Jewish faith—has long chafed against the isolationist fringes of the right, a tension that exploded in his 2024 feud with Owens.
Critics like Bill Maher have pilloried him for echoing Kirk's "blood-stained mic" provocations without the charisma to sell them, accusing him of chasing relevance in a post-Trump GOP where purity tests favor fire over filibusters.
Even in the assassination's aftermath, whispers of Shapiro's opportunism swirl; X users decry his donation as a "power grab," with one post likening it to "seizing influence" amid a "stark" competition involving Tucker Carlson and Alex Jones. And with Daily Wire losing money and top talent to layoffs, this money seems to have come out of nowhere.
“Founded by Ben Shapiro and Jeremy Boreing, both of whom previously worked for TruthRevolt, a now-defunct conservative news website funded by the David Horowitz Freedom Center. The Daily Wire launched in 2015 with financial backing from billionaire petroleum-industry brothers Dan and Farris Wilks. The outlet quickly rose to prominence, especially on Facebook, where it became one of the leading news sites. However, it was later suggested that this popularity may have been inflated using bots.” , | May 9, 2025
Shapiro's bid fails because he's too polished for the trenches— a seminar leader, not a street fighter. Kirk thrived on viral stunts and campus chaos; Shapiro debates in boardrooms, leaving TPUSA's millions of Gen-Z foot soldiers craving the unfiltered rage he can't muster.
Enter Candace Owens, the self-styled Black conservative disruptor whose arc mirrors Jackson's in audacity, if not in efficacy. Owens burst onto the scene in 2017 as TPUSA's communications director, handpicked by Kirk to spearhead Blexit—a campaign to "exit" minorities from the Democratic plantation.
At 28, she was Kirk's secret weapon: a Yale dropout turned YouTube sensation with a knack for dismantling identity politics. Her Breitbart ties were ironclad; she credited the site for her red-pilling, and Bannon touted her as the future of diverse conservatism. By 2018, Owens joined Shapiro's Daily Wire, co-hosting shows that drew 4 million monthly listeners. Her oratory—fiery, unapologetic—echoed King's moral urgency, repurposed for anti-abortion rallies and anti-CRT crusades. She and Kirk were inseparable, touring campuses as "brother and sister" in the fight, with Owens later eulogizing him on Facebook as the visionary who "gave me a chance when nobody knew who I was."
Now, in Kirk's shadow, Owens is mounting a ferocious comeback. She's toured with TPUSA post-firing, hinted at "suspicious activity" behind the assassination (fingering Israel and "Jewish donors" in inflammatory YouTube rants), and warned Shapiro against meddling in the organization's succession.
With 5 million X followers and a podcast empire, Owens eyes TPUSA's coffers as her redemption arc: reclaim her "early role" in its founding, per her posts, and steer it toward her brand of cultural separatism.
The competition is visceral; she once challenged Shapiro to a no-moderator debate on antisemitism, crowing that he'd falter against "serious competition."
X buzz frames it as a "rivalry" for Kirk's legacy, with Owens positioning herself as the betrayed insider against Shapiro's interloper.
But Owens, too, is a failed candidate, her ambition torpedoed by self-inflicted wounds. Her 2024 Daily Wire ouster—after months of escalating antisemitic tropes, from "secret Jewish gangs" to defending Kanye West—alienated allies and invited ADL scrutiny.
Kirk himself grew wary; their "long-term friendship" soured by 2019 over her "fiery rhetoric," forcing her resignation from TPUSA.
Post-assassination, her conspiracy-mongering—accusing Bill Ackman of a "Hamptons intervention" on Kirk—has backfired, drawing rebukes from Pastor Rob McCoy and even Bill Ackman, who leaked texts to debunk her claims.
Owens commands followers, but her toxicity erodes trust; X users mock her as "over-emphasizing" her TPUSA glory days while ignoring Kirk's rebuffs.
Like Jackson's later scandals, Owens' edge has curdled into paranoia, unfit for leading a movement that demands unity over infighting.
Their rivalry isn't abstract—it's a zero-sum battle for TPUSA's soul. The organization, now rudderless, holds sway over millions of young conservatives, its events drawing Trump, Carlson, and Bet-David as speakers.
Shapiro's donation signals a corporate takeover; Owens' broadsides a populist insurgency. Yet both fail the Kirk test: He built bridges across the right's fault lines, from evangelicals to libertarians. Shapiro's neocon bent and Owens' conspiracism fracture those bonds, echoing the post-Trump 2024 leadership void where MAGA's triumph exposed institutional rot.
As X chatter notes, this "power grab" feels "premature and unsettling," with outsiders like Tucker Carlson lurking.
In the end, neither Shapiro nor Owens can fill Kirk's shoes. They are echoes—talented, but truncated. True succession demands a unifier, not rivals clawing at scraps. As Jackson learned, voids aren't filled by ambition alone; they demand vision. Until then, TPUSA's millions dangle like a poisoned chalice, and the right risks fracturing further in the shadow of loss.
Editorial comments expressed in this column are the sole opinion of the writer.
