12 Sep 2025 7 min read Commentary

Murder Isn’t the Last Word.

Words will always survive violence.

Note: This is me working it out as I go, so it's a little scattered. Just pretend I'm ranting and you're sitting across the table nodding along until I shut up.

Three nights ago, my family and I were in a lively debate at dinner (everyone versus my husband) about whether Captain America is to blame for staying back with Peggy in the timeline and setting off the Doomsday series. (He’s team Cap all day, all the way, but for the record, he eventually agreed with us.)

The next night, we were somberly discussing a senseless tragedy, another life needlessly taken, and the rise of political violence in what is supposed to be a free country.

What a difference a day makes.

This tragedy has forced me to lean further into my faith journey, and that’s a road that’s always been a bit rough. Even before I’d lost most of my family, I’d walked away from religion, believing the safest and sanest path was to rely only on myself.

After I remarried, my husband and I started attending a nondenominational church. I even sang with the worship team for a time.

But I could never bring myself to lift my hands in praise. Because that would mean admitting I wasn’t really in control, that I had to rely on a God that I still wasn’t even sure was there and had already ‘failed me’.

Slowly, age and experience keep chiseling away at my pride. I’m still learning to lean on faith because it’s the only thing I have left to cling to. Maybe that’s why this has hit me so hard.

I could never be as staunch as Charlie Kirk or fully align with all his beliefs, but I deeply admired his articulate nature, conviction, and courage to walk into hostile spaces and encourage healthy, respectful debate without malice.

We can and should recognize the value of human life without agreeing with all of someone's beliefs.

When I heard the news, I was genuinely aghast, praying it wasn't true. Then I saw the videos, and I prayed harder, even though I knew it was too late.

I can’t unsee what I saw that day; it’s forever seared into my brain. God, nobody deserves that.

And I found myself crying for someone I’d never even met. And that is so not me, trust me. Maybe it’s just the culmination of the excessive stress I’ve been under, finally finding a good excuse for an outlet.

Or maybe it’s not.

Because this wasn’t just an attack on a husband, father, son, and friend. It was an attack on a fundamental principle of humanity: our ability to speak, to question, to disagree without fear.

It was a heinous murder of a young man who chose words over violence, and we watched his life end horrifically on that campus. That's why so many of us feel jarred, even if we never met him.

Contrary to popular opinion, college campuses are not supposed to be safe spaces for hive mentality. They’re supposed to be arenas where your ideals are challenged through robust, vigorous debate.

Where you test your beliefs against others, and either sharpen them or change them. Or maybe you just learn how to respectfully agree to disagree.

Pipe dreams, apparently.

Many say Kirk used “hate speech”.
No. Speech you hate ≠ hate speech.

He voiced unpopular opinions like: I don’t believe gender is fluid.” … “I think the death penalty should still be used.” … “I believe marriage should only be between a man and a woman.”

These are controversial statements, but they challenge ideas, not humanity.

Actual hate speech attacks the humanity and safety of a group: “Trans people should be eliminated.” … “All [racial slur] are criminals.” … “Women who disagree should be raped.”

You don’t have to like an opinion, but that doesn’t make it hate. Confusing the two is how free speech actually dies.

And now we are learning the truth: this is being reported as a political attack. This makes it even harder not to rail against one side or the other.

But I don’t see myself first as independent, conservative, liberal, or anything else. I’m an American. I’m a human being.

And politics should never supersede humanity. History is littered with bodies that prove what happens when it does, all the way back to Pharaoh Teti of Egypt’s murder in 2290 BCE (yes, I looked it up).

Assassination has always been the tool of cowards, but it never really succeeds in silencing a message, does it?

Which brings me to the present, where the reactions have been…interesting. Politicians and (some) celebrities rushed out statements. Some seem genuine, others, not so much.

Gavin “punch these sons of bitches in the mouth” Newsom’s “senseless and tragic” post hit my X feed, and I’m sorry, but I immediately scoffed.

Maybe he meant it, but c’mon…this man wants the presidency so bad he can taste it, so of course he’s going to “say the things.”

How about fixing California first? I’d actually like to live there someday, if, you know, you can keep the entire state from burning to the ground.

Chris Pratt, on the other hand, posted, “We need God’s grace. God help us.” People are demanding that he be fired for it. Fired. For…praying for everyone.

If Marvel actually punished someone for that (doubtful), I’d never watch another second. Which I’d really hate, because the Guardians franchise has THE best music in the MCU.

I’m also seeing so much of this argument from the “What About” crowd: “But what about Gaza? What about school shootings? What about ___?”

All while mocking and celebrating a man's death. Stop. Just...stop.

Every one of those tragedies is horrific and deserves our attention and grief. But posting a "what about" clapback isn't the same as doing something about it.

If Gaza speaks to you, support the aid organizations on the ground. If mass shootings horrify you (as they should horrify all of us), peacefully push for change in your communities.

Celebrating death while claiming to champion peace is not only hypocritical, it's disgusting. To paraphrase Dean Withers: if you want to end gun violence, you can never celebrate it.

Otherwise, all we’re doing is arguing over which corpses deserve our attention. It’s barbaric, and it solves nothing.

To that end, if a certain event isn't getting the coverage it deserves, stop and ask yourself just who profits from our ongoing division. We don't hate the media (on any side) nearly as much as we should.

I know my two cents won’t change the world, but UB will always be a place for healthy, rigorous conversation from all who wish to participate.

I may hate what you say, and you may hate what I say, but at the end of the day, we should all still be able to go home to those who love us.

Charlie’s family was robbed of that. And society was robbed of someone who cared enough to hear what his enemies had to say, cared enough to have open dialogue.

But as furious as I am at what happened, I refuse to let that anger turn into the kind of mockery I’ve seen online. And I’ve seen a lot of it.

Including a nineteen-year-old who showed up at the memorial dressed like the gunman, and stomped on the flowers and flags until mourners took him down.

That isn't anything close to protest or dialogue, just cruelty for cruelty’s sake.

But whatever. Your jeers and your theatrics mean nothing to me now that I know what makes you cheer. I can only hope to be so productive and successful in my own life that my enemies cheer, too.

Look, I don’t want to fight. I’m tired. I don’t have the energy for this sort of endless outrage.

But don’t mistake our grief or our willingness to turn the other cheek for weakness. It takes more strength to keep choosing faith and decency when the world keeps spitting in your face than it does to stomp on a memorial.

So many are celebrating online that people are getting fired in droves. Think about that: they cheer at a death, then cry about losing their jobs for it.

Actions have consequences. Always have, always will.
But consequences don't mean death. Murder over words is barbarism, not consequential justice.

In the meantime, we all have a choice: to give in to bitterness or to elevate and create something better. And it's already happening.

I’m seeing literal swarms of young people boldly and eagerly stepping into their faith now. Masses gathering in praise and solidarity, lifting their voice in song.

It's happening not just in churches but in the streets. From what I can tell, mainstream media isn’t covering it, but it’s happening.

It gives me renewed hope for the future, and I, inexplicably, feel something new in my heart.

Even though I still struggle with my faith, I feel a call to let go, to choose faith and gratitude over anger and despair.

Which is exceedingly difficult for someone like me who always needs to know what’s happening next. I can’t even make it to the end of a movie without looking it up on Wiki.

But isn’t that the definition of faith? Not knowing but still believing?

My heart aches for his poor wife, his children, his family. And for our country and society as a whole.

But I refuse to let grief become blind anger and hateful words, tempting as it may be at times.

I refuse to let this be the reason to paint any group of individuals with the same brush just because it’s easier than wrestling with the complexities of human behavior.

And I’m asking you to refuse, too.

Some people profit from our endless division, and (as Alfred the Butler once said) some people just want to watch the world burn.

But the rest of us can choose faith, discussion, and hope instead of derision and hate. If this tragedy has compelled so many young people to stand boldly in faith and truth, then I will, too.

In a world this troubled, I stubbornly choose to believe in God, in dialogue, and in the unflinching belief that words will always survive violence.

Murder will never be the last word.