More than sixty years after President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, the United States government has released thousands of previously classified CIA documents, promising transparency and closure. For some Americans, the files offered long-awaited confirmation of what they already believed. For others, they only reinforced suspicion that the full truth remains hidden. Rather than ending the debate, the disclosures have reignited one of the most divisive arguments in modern American history.

On November 22, 1963, Kennedy’s motorcade passed through Dealey Plaza. Within seconds, gunshots shattered the afternoon calm. Eyewitnesses remember not a single clean moment, but chaos, noise, and shock. One witness, who was just eleven years old that day, recalls standing close enough to see Jacqueline Kennedy’s eyes. When the final shot struck, she says, it was not merely a wound—it was an explosion that filled the car with blood and fragments. To her, the moment was unmistakable, unforgettable, and impossible to reduce to neat conclusions decades later.

The official narrative, established by the Warren Commission, concluded that Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone, firing three shots from the sixth floor of the Texas School Book Depository. Yet public trust in that conclusion has eroded steadily. Polls show that a clear majority of Americans now believe more than one person was involved, with many suspecting the CIA or other powerful institutions. The newly released files were expected to resolve this mistrust. Instead, they complicated it.

Those who personally knew Oswald paint a portrait that clashes sharply with the image of a cold-blooded assassin. Residents of the Dallas rooming house where Oswald stayed describe him as quiet, gentle, and affectionate toward children. He played with neighborhood kids, spoke politely, and never expressed hatred toward the president or the United States. To them, the idea that he was a fanatical revolutionary capable of murdering a president feels absurd.

Skepticism deepens when examining Oswald’s political contradictions. He publicly supported Fidel Castro and even formed a one-man pro-Castro group, while simultaneously approaching an anti-Castro organization that was secretly funded by the CIA. Newly released documents confirm that the CIA was monitoring Oswald more closely than it had previously admitted, including reading his mail and tracking his activities. What remains unclear is whether Oswald was acting independently, being manipulated, or merely seeking attention as a self-styled would-be spy.

At the heart of the controversy is Dealey Plaza itself. Researchers who have studied the site for decades argue that the physical evidence does not support the lone-gunman theory. They question sightlines from the sixth-floor window, note obstructions such as trees, and suggest that other positions—particularly from the grassy knoll—offered clearer, closer shots. Medical testimony adds another layer of doubt. Doctors who treated Kennedy at Parkland Hospital consistently described a massive wound at the back of the head, a detail some say contradicts the official autopsy findings.

Few individuals have devoted more of their lives to this case than Robert Groden, who helped bring the Zapruder film to the public. For years, the graphic footage had been withheld, shown only as still frames. When it was finally broadcast nationally, it shocked viewers and led Congress to reopen the investigation. Groden insists that the film and witness testimony demonstrate shots from both the front and rear, pointing to a conspiracy rather than a lone shooter.

Groden’s pursuit of the truth, he claims, has come at a personal cost. He says his home was firebombed, he was attacked in Dealey Plaza, and he has lived with the belief that exposing inconvenient facts can be dangerous. To him, clearing Oswald’s name is not just about history—it is about civil rights and justice. If the system failed Oswald, he argues, it can fail anyone.

Not everyone agrees. Legal scholars and journalists who have spent years debunking conspiracy theories argue that while the CIA certainly lied to protect its own operations, there is no credible evidence it orchestrated Kennedy’s murder. They point out that intelligence agencies routinely conceal embarrassing failures, particularly related to covert attempts to assassinate Castro, but that deception does not equal guilt in Kennedy’s death.

Experts who have reviewed the newly released CIA files say the long-anticipated “smoking gun” simply is not there. No document outlines a plot, no memo orders an assassination, and no evidence shows Oswald was a CIA operative. In fact, some of the most controversial files fail even to mention Oswald by name. To these researchers, the files confirm a frustrating reality: the CIA obscured its activities, misled investigators, and damaged public trust—but it did not plan the murder.

Still, disbelief persists. For many Americans, the idea that such a monumental crime could be carried out by one troubled young man remains psychologically unacceptable. Each new document release, even when anticlimactic, is reinterpreted as proof that something else must still be missing. And when answers fail to satisfy, suspicion fills the gap.

The release of these files was meant to close a chapter. Instead, it has reminded the nation why the Kennedy assassination remains unresolved in the public mind. Facts, interpretations, memories, and mistrust coexist uneasily, ensuring that no single narrative can dominate.

More than six decades later, the question is no longer just who killed John F. Kennedy. It is whether Americans will ever agree on what truth looks like when history, power, and secrecy collide.