Character, Courage, Charlie

Let me speak plainly, to honor a great man, and to mark this moment with clarity and resolve.

Charlie Kirk was the rarest kind of public man, a son, husband, father, and servant who led with conviction and love in equal measure. He did not simply win arguments, he won people. He built something enduring out of courage, discipline, and an open hand. And now he is gone, taken from us on a stage in Utah, a murder the governor himself called a political assassination. 

I keep replaying who Charlie was, not just what he did. The résumé is staggering by any measure, Turning Point USA at eighteen, a national voice in his early twenties, a cultural force before most men find their footing. He mobilized millions, most of all the young, especially young men who were hungry for truth told plainly and without apology. He changed elections, redirected conversations, and built institutions. But the secret of his influence was not reach, it was virtue. Prudence, justice, temperance, fortitude—he wore them like well-broken-in armor, and he fought the good fight with a smile that disarmed and a mind that never dulled.

Charlie’s faith was not a slogan, it was a root system. He spoke of wanting to be remembered for courage in his faith, and he lived that wish in public and in private. He launched work aimed at souls as readily as he launched voter drives. He welcomed dissent on the very stages he built. Even those who could not abide his conclusions often trusted his character, because he treated them like neighbors, not trophies. And he did it all while loving his wife, loving his children, and loving his God without theatrics, but with consistency that makes lesser men quiet.

I am older than Charlie. In most rooms I walk into, I’m the one people expect to be the spiritual adult, the most mature in his faith. Yet, in the presence of his example, I felt tutored. His discipline humbled me. His charity corrected me. His steadiness strengthened me. If you want to know what good leadership feels like, it is that sensation of being lifted by a man who asks nothing for himself.

I will say plainly what others will dance around: this killing is a confession by those who dehumanize their opponents. When you cannot defend an idea, you reach for force. That is not activism, it is abdication. We must name it and we must reject it, all of us. And still, hear me, our answer cannot be vengeance. Charlie would have met fury with clarity, malice with patience, and lies with truth. He invited argument. He insisted on debate. He believed America worthy of persuasion, not coercion. We honor him by doing the same.

What comes next will test us. There will be calls to harden, to sneer, to repay insult with insult. Resist that. Be vigilant, yes, because the evil of those on the far left is real and it aims to silence. But do not become what you oppose. “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes,” the Scripture promises, and though that day is not yet, it is certain. Until then, we are stewards of Charlie’s unfinished work. 

Let us be specific about that work. Tell the truth when it costs. Build when it is slower than breaking. Win minds without losing your soul. Protect the vulnerable. Strengthen families. Invite your adversary to sit down and speak. Make room on your stage for someone who disagrees and treat them with a dignity that makes slander look small. If you lead, lead clean. If you follow, follow bravely. And in all of it, let faith be more than a word.

Charlie was, in my judgment, is the Martin Luther King Jr. of our time, and his impact may even be greater. He was the most effective conservative communicator of his generation and the single greatest force in rallying the young toward sanity, responsibility, and hope. He may well have been president one day. The loss is that large. But one life, even a giant’s life, does not carry the whole of a cause. The truth he carried is heavier than the man, and it does not fall to the ground when the man is struck. We will shoulder it.

So here is my own vow, written in ink because anger without discipline curdles and love without action fades: I will be more like Charlie. I will speak plainer, pray harder, work cleaner, forgive quicker, and stand longer. I will not answer dehumanization with more of the same. I will answer it with a life that refuses to lie and refuses to hate.

We grieve, yet we do not yield. We remember, and we keep building. We take the long road with clear eyes and steady hands.

When history asks what we did with the torch he carried, let it be said we kept it high, kept it bright, kept it warm. Truth does not die. A taught voice becomes millions of voices. We carry his fire into the morning.

We are, each of us, Charlie.