I must begin with a confession: before this week, I knew very little about Charlie Kirk. Even now, what I know is minimal. And perhaps that is part of the point. This is not about politics, nor about whether one agrees or disagrees with his views. This is about something deeper—about what it means to be human, about the dignity of life, and about the fragile but essential foundation of freedom that we share.
When news broke of Charlie Kirk’s assassination, I expected grief, outrage, and lamentation. What I did not expect, yet have encountered across much of the public response has left me astonished and deeply unsettled. The level of insensitivity—the cruel jokes, the mocking memes, the smug satisfaction—has been nothing short of chilling. This has revealed something about us, not just about him.
We live in a time when a person’s life, and even their tragic death, can be flattened into a political talking point or dismissed as a momentary blip in the endless churn of social commentary. The humanity of the individual—his face, his family, his story—gets lost in the noise.
But here is the unshakable truth: a man was killed. A wife has lost her husband. Two little girls will grow up without their daddy. Friends and extended family are plunged into grief that will stretch far beyond the news cycle. For them, this is not politics. This is pain.
And yet, what concerns me most is not only the loss of one life, tragic as it is, but the loss of our collective compassion. The fact that death itself can be celebrated—merely because we disliked someone’s words or beliefs—reveals a dangerous sickness of the soul. When we rejoice at the silencing of another, we begin dismantling the very freedoms that allow us to speak at all.
Free speech is not the right to say only what pleases the crowd. It is not a privilege reserved for voices we affirm or welcome. It is, by its very nature, the right to speak even when others disagree—even when they disagree vehemently. When we cheer at the destruction of a life because of its words, we are sending a chilling message: your right to speak ends where my offense begins.
That path leads only to tyranny. Because if disagreement justifies dehumanization, then eventually, no one is safe.
This is not about Charlie Kirk. It is about us. It is about who we are becoming in an age when contempt so easily overrides compassion, when mockery drowns out mourning, and when politics eclipses humanity.
We must remember that every human being, regardless of belief or ideology, carries within them an inviolable dignity. We may debate their ideas. We may reject their worldview. But we cannot—and must not—rejoice in their destruction.
In moments like this, we must pause and ask ourselves: Who are we, if we cannot grieve the loss of a fellow human being? What kind of society do we build, if tragedy becomes fodder for laughter rather than lament? And what legacy do we leave, if our children learn from us that hatred is an acceptable response to death?
We are at a crossroads. One road leads us further down the spiral of bitterness, division, and dehumanization. The other road calls us upward—toward empathy, compassion, and a fierce defense of both freedom and humanity.
For the sake of our future—for the sake of our children—we must choose the higher road.
So let us remember Charlie Kirk not primarily for his politics, but for his humanity: a husband, a father, a friend. Let us choose to guard not just our own freedoms, but also the freedoms of those with whom we disagree. And let us resolve, even in our disagreements, to respond with compassion, with empathy, and with respect.
Because in the end, it is not the easy agreement that defines us. It is how we treat one another when we differ. It is how we respond with empathy to the tragedy of those whom we oppose.
If we lose that, we lose far more than one voice. We lose what it means to be human.
