By Alexander Lomax
I doubt that I need to tell you about the death of Charlie Kirk. Locally you couldn’t have turned on a TV without seeing something about it, and because of the success of the organization he founded, Turning Point USA, it has become an international story, another example of America seemingly splitting at the scenes, another example of Americans using guns to settle disputes.
But for us, that story is a bit more local and personal, he ties deeper.
Arizona was where Turning Point started immersing itself in campaigns, from federal offices to city council races, and where Kirk married his wife, Erika, who was from the state. The organization, and Kirk himself, cut their teeth on the Arizona State University campus, and the organization has been a mainstay there for years. They were openly supporting and helping elect political candidates everyone has heard of, and many you haven’t. They were pushing back on some of the progressive excesses on college campuses that at first might have seemed like a conspiracy of sorts but now most of us will acknowledge.
And I want to be as transparent as possible: I was no fan of Charlie Kirk. He was a successful provocateur, which in the social media age meant that you had to say some pretty unseemly stuff, all of which has been dredged up since. He helped platform candidates who I felt to be detrimental to our state (Kari Lake, anyone?). I disagreed with him on many issues, and disliked his style.
But the fact that he was as successful as he was actually says some beautiful things about America. That someone was able to build something as a college student that was wholly dependent on utilizing free speech and debate is America at its best. Like him or not, he cut his teeth on one of the most cherished foundations of this great nation. And his assassination isn’t an attack on him as much as it’s an attack on our First Amendment rights and what makes our country great.
Free speech isn’t important because of the speech we like; it’s critical because of the speech that we don’t like.
While I was far from a fan of his, he represented something much greater than conservative politics: he represented the possibilities that America offers, and his death represents something much darker than one silenced voice. And as we go forward, it’s incumbent on us to not silence voices that we disagree with. And now more than ever, it’s critical that we find opportunities to cool rhetoric and learn to disagree agreeably, because until we can learn to do that we may find ourselves continuing to hurtle down a dark, dark path.