Enough: On Charlie Kirk’s Murder and the Watershed Moment We Face

Charlie’s life was a testament to conviction, and his death a call to conscience—this is our moment to choose compassion over hate and protect the freedom that cost him everything.

Enough.

Charlie Kirk was a son, a father, and a husband.

I am angry—no, furious—about what transpired yesterday afternoon. On September 10th, 2025, Charlie Kirk, the 31-year-old founder of Turning Point USA, was shot in the neck at a public “American Comeback Tour” event at Utah Valley University. I, along with millions of Americans, watched in horror as footage surfaced of him collapsing beneath the tent where he was answering questions.

Those of us who are people of faith dropped to our knees—praying for a miracle that, tragically, never came. Charlie was rushed to the hospital, but the wound proved fatal. He leaves behind his wife and two young children, a baby boy and a little girl who will now grow up without their father.

There’s something uniquely and indescribably heartbreaking about watching an American be shot while exercising his First Amendment rights—while engaging with the very public square our Republic depends upon.

I am not a stranger to tragedy. I cover foreign policy and human rights in the Middle East for a living—places where violence is often daily, systemic, and soul-crushing. I have learned to be stoic, to compartmentalize, to keep my sanity intact.

But this rattled me.

Charlie Kirk was only two years older than I am. I had my political awakening in 2020, rejecting the grievance politics of the far left and re-examining my beliefs from the ground up. That journey cost me friendships. For Charlie, it ultimately cost him his life.

I did not agree with Charlie on everything—and I don’t have to in order to grieve his death as a senseless attack on one of our most basic American freedoms: the right to speak.

We do not yet know who pulled the trigger or why, but it is difficult to imagine a scenario where this wasn’t politically motivated. That reality should send a chill down the spine of every American, regardless of party affiliation. And I wish I were more surprised when I heard the news.

In recent years, I’ve watched friends and acquaintances casually call for the death of Daniel Penny, Donald Trump, and others who hold controversial or unpopular political views. It is easy to say, “Well, they’re just venting” or “they don’t really mean it.”

But some of them do.

The language we use toward one another—the casual dehumanization, the willingness to treat those with different views as enemies rather than neighbors—paves the way for tragedy like this.

And so, as someone who disagreed with Charlie on more than a few issues but concurred on others, I must still stand here today and say: this was evil. And I want justice. I want whoever did this to face the full extent of the law.

But I refuse to turn against my fellow Americans. I refuse to let this moment deepen our divides. Because if we allow ourselves to fracture even more, we are guaranteeing that this will happen again.

This is a moment to come together—to rebuke political violence, to defend the humanity of those we disagree with, and to recommit to the “radical” idea that words are not violence. Debate is not war. Disagreement is not justification for murder.

Charlie Kirk was larger than life—literally and figuratively. At 6’5”, he could command a room simply by walking into it. He was outspoken, unapologetic, and relentless in his pursuit of what he believed to be true. Whether you loved him or loathed him, you knew exactly where he stood. I didn’t know Charlie personally, but I know people who did. His reputation of kindness and tolerance preceded him.

These are qualities we could all use more of: clarity, conviction, and frankly, the balls to say exactly what we mean and not mince words.

Charlie was a disinfectant for many bad ideas, articulating what many of us could not as eloquently and succinctly. He gave voice to millions, particularly young people, who felt unseen. For that, he was despised by some—but he was also respected by many, even by those who disagreed.

I will not give one second of my time to those who celebrate this man’s death, try to qualify it, or politicize it. My plea is to you, the reader: choose compassion. Choose reason.

If our republic is to survive, we must protect not just ourselves but also those who oppose us. The right to speak freely is either for everyone, or it is for no one.

Charlie’s wife, his daughter, and his infant son deserve to live in an America that upholds its ideals—not one where violence dictates who gets to speak. And he deserves for us to not stop fighting for it in his absence.

Violence is a cancer. So are bad ideas. And the only way to defeat both is with light, not darkness.

May Charlie’s legacy be a wake-up call (and a Turning Point™) for all of us. May it remind us that we are human beings before we are partisans, that we owe one another dignity and respect, and that no one should die at 31 for daring to speak their mind.

God bless Charlie’s family. And may God bless America in this hour of grief.

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