Charlie Kirk should be alive today. He should be at home tonight with his beautiful wife and their two little children—three bright futures entwined with his own, now stolen away forever. He should be grinning that irrepressible grin, telling stories, cracking jokes, and planning his next campus stop. Instead, he was gunned down in Utah while doing what he always did: speaking directly to anyone willing to listen.
Charlie had a gift that made him unique in our movement. He carried himself like everyone’s little brother — fearless, approachable, quick with a smile. He walked into hostile rooms and faced jeers, insults, and ugly words with a kind of radiant good humor. And then, instead of lashing back, he answered with questions. He wanted to draw people out, to meet them where they stood, to turn confrontation into conversation. Often he didn’t change minds, but he left behind something just as valuable: respect.
Charlie valued all lives, regardless of color, creed, or nation of birth. But he had a special place in his heart for the smallest and most defenseless — the unborn, the voiceless, the forgotten. That conviction animated everything he did. He believed America could still be a place where truth mattered, where faith mattered, and where human dignity mattered.
I don’t remember ever seeing him without a smile. Even when he was under attack, even when the words were venomous, he seemed to carry joy as a weapon. He feared nothing and no one, and he made friends wherever he went — on the right, and yes, even among some on the left who couldn’t help but like him despite their politics.
And now he’s gone.
Charlie Kirk is dead — murdered in Utah during what should have been a routine campus event. That sentence alone should be enough to unite Americans in grief and outrage. But it hasn’t.
On Twitter, the progressive crowd erupted in celebration. Memes, jokes, cheers — many of the same people who preach about compassion and “our shared humanity” couldn’t resist mocking the death of a man who devoted his life to building conservative institutions and defending ordinary Americans. On MSNBC, hosts and guests blamed everyone but the shooter. In Congress, when the Speaker of the House tried to hold a moment of silence, Democrat radicals shouted him down.
This was not just another tragedy. It was a revelation.
For years, conservatives have described liberals as misguided, wrong, or naïve. We thought they were mistaken but basically well-intentioned. Liberals, on the other hand, increasingly painted conservatives as evil — racist, fascist, subhuman. That imbalance shaped our politics: one side wanted to persuade, the other side wanted to destroy.
But with Charlie Kirk’s murder, that asymmetry collapsed. Conservatives watched in real time as prominent voices on the Left celebrated the death of a man they despised. The mask of “tolerance” slipped, and underneath was malice. Today, conservatives are saying what we once resisted: they are not just wrong. They are evil.
That recognition is a cultural turning point. The death of Charlie Kirk is not just the silencing of a voice — it is the beginning of a new conversation on the Right. A conversation about what it means when our opponents openly cheer our destruction. A conversation about how we respond when politics ceases to be a contest of ideas and becomes, in their eyes, a war of elimination.
The Left has chosen its posture. They have declared who they are. And now, conservatives must decide how to live in a country where half of our opposing political class celebrates the murders of conservatives.
Charlie Kirk’s voice is gone. But the silence left behind speaks louder than words.
Editor's Note: Our culture just changed. Our fight is more important than ever. Join PJ Media VIP and use promo code FIGHT to get 60% off your membership.
Join the conversation as a VIP Member