When Violence Silences Voice: A Call for Something Better

A father of two was shot and killed today while speaking on a college campus. 

Charlie Kirk died during what should have been just another speaking event. I've been watching the aftermath unfold on social media. The same predictable pattern is already playing out. Conservatives are angry and blaming liberals like they had anything to do with this murder. Then there are liberals mocking or laughing at it like it's not a human being, a father, who just died, leaving behind a mother and two children. This event isn't helping anyone. Violence of any kind doesn't help foster unity.

How we respond shapes what comes next.

The Cycle We Keep Living Through

Within hours of his death today, Kirk became a symbol instead of a person. His killing became fuel for arguments he can no longer participate in. His children lost their father, and strangers are turning that loss into ammunition for their own political battles. This pattern plays out every time violence silences a voice. The person becomes a political symbol. Their death becomes proof that the other side is evil, dangerous, or wrong. Many people retreat to their corners and find confirmation that they were right about their opponents all along.

I've seen conservatives posting about how this proves liberals are violent extremists. I've seen liberals either staying silent or worse, making jokes about it like someone's death is entertainment. Both responses miss something fundamental. A person died. A family is grieving. Children lost their dad.

We've become so hardened that we can't acknowledge basic human tragedy without turning it into a political weapon. Politics feels like life or death these days. Every issue feels urgent. Every disagreement feels personal. When actual life and death happens, when real violence occurs, we have a choice about how we respond. We can remember that we're all human beings trying to figure this out together, rather than feeding the cycle of blame and hatred.

The Person Behind the Politics

Charlie Kirk was a dad. He had a young daughter and an even younger son. People who knew him said he talked about fatherhood as the thing that mattered most to him, more than any political win or media appearance. He was married to Erika, who had her own career and passions. She ran a podcast, worked in real estate, and founded a nonprofit. They spent their marriage trying to balance public life with protecting their kids. You won't find photos of their children's faces online because they kept that part of their lives private.

Charlie grew up outside Chicago and got interested in politics early. He got accepted to college but dropped out as a teenager to build Turning Point USA full-time. Most people thought he was crazy to skip college, but he believed in what he was doing. The man who debated fiercely on stages across the country was quieter at home. His faith shaped how he wanted to raise his children. He and Erika talked often about the values they wanted to pass down. Friends said becoming a father had changed him, given him a different perspective on what really mattered.

These are the threads that connect him to every parent reading this. The sleepless nights wondering if you're making the right choices for your kids. The weight of responsibility when people depend on you. The hope that your work matters and will leave something good behind. The quiet moments when politics fade away and all that remains is love for the people closest to you. Charlie Kirk was one of us, carrying the same hopes and fears that drive all of us.

What We're Capable of Instead

Violence diminishes all of us, regardless of who the victim is or what they believed. A parent's death leaves children without their father, no matter what we thought of their politics. Honoring someone's humanity says more about us than scoring points ever could. Something remarkable happens when we step back from the arguing. Every parent worries about their children's future. Every person wants to feel heard and understood. Every human being deserves to live without fear of violence, even when we strongly disagree with what they're saying.

Unity doesn't mean we all have to agree. It doesn't mean pretending our differences don't matter or that all opinions carry equal weight. It means recognizing that our shared humanity runs deeper than our political disagreements. When someone dies, honor their humanity without endorsing their ideology. Grieve with their family without adopting their politics. Condemn the violence without claiming their cause as our own. This takes something harder than picking sides. It requires seeing the person behind the position, the human behind the headline, the father behind the political figure. It means acknowledging that the person who killed Charlie Kirk doesn't represent all liberals, just like Charlie Kirk didn't represent all conservatives. It means refusing to let one person's violence become an excuse to dehumanize millions of other people.

When we choose mourning over mockery, compassion over blame, or unity over division, we make the world a little lighter. Every time we remember that our political opponents are still our neighbors, our fellow humans, our shared family on this planet, we plant a seed of something better. The person who took Charlie Kirk's life today silenced one voice. That act doesn't have to silence our capacity for empathy, understanding, and basic human decency. We can be better than the worst impulses this tragedy might trigger. See each other as people first, positions second. Build bridges instead of walls. Respond to violence with an even deeper commitment to treating each other with dignity and respect.

Politics serve people, not the other way around. Our humanity stays intact even when we're fighting for what we believe in. Compassion wins hearts. Understanding solves problems. Treating each other with dignity makes us all safer, happier, and more free. Violence reminds us how precious and fragile life really is, and how much we need each other to build something worth protecting. In choosing compassion over contempt, understanding over anger, and humanity over politics, we discover something beautiful about what it means to be human together. Conservative and liberal, progressive and traditional...these labels fade when we remember that we share the same ancestors and human DNA. Despite all our differences, all our debates, all our disagreements, we are—

One people. One story. Many voices.

We belong.