From Tragedy to Resolve: Rejecting Political Violence After Orem

A call to protect free debate and reject vengeance

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Yesterday in Orem, Utah, something terrible and heartbreaking happened. Charlie Kirk—an activist who inspired fierce loyalty in some and sharp criticism in others—was shot and killed while speaking at Utah Valley University during his “American Comeback Tour.” He was on stage at a “Prove Me Wrong” table, doing what democracy at its best allows us all to do: debate, question, and disagree in public. A single bullet from a rooftop ended that moment. Police later recovered a high-powered rifle, and the shooter remains at large. This was not just an attack on one man. It was an attack on the very idea that Americans can meet face-to-face to argue and learn without fear.

The shock of this act reaches far beyond those who liked or disliked Charlie Kirk. A democracy cannot thrive when political differences turn into death sentences. The entire purpose of our system—elections, laws, courts, a free press, the right to speak—is to prevent violence. It is designed to channel passion into peaceful change, to let citizens settle their fiercest disagreements without shedding blood. When someone decides instead to kill, they do more than commit murder. They strike at the foundation of self-government itself.

America has faced moments like this before. We remember the assassinations of presidents—Abraham Lincoln, James Garfield, William McKinley, John F. Kennedy—each one an effort to silence ideas with violence. We recall how Ronald Reagan barely survived an attempt on his life. We can list more recent tragedies: the 2011 shooting of Representative Gabby Giffords during a community event, the 2017 attack on congressional baseball practice, the hammer assault on Paul Pelosi inside his own home. The killing and attempted killing of two Minnesota lawmakers. These moments are different in detail but alike in meaning: when political hatred boils over into violence, the entire nation suffers.

In each of those earlier times, Americans had to decide how to respond. Some rushed to blame their opponents. Some used grief as a weapon in the next political fight. And yet, our history also shows people choosing another path—mourning together, demanding justice based on evidence, and recommitting to the principle that no one should die for their beliefs. The way we respond now will show whether we have learned from that history.

Already, there are loud voices are pointing fingers, insisting that this act somehow proves the evil of the other side. But if we give in to the urge to weaponize this tragedy, we only deepen the cycle of hatred. Blame quickly becomes retaliation. Retaliation invites more violence. Step by step, a country that lets grief harden into vengeance begins to slide toward civil conflict or even collapse. There are no winners in that world—only more funerals, more broken families, more fear.

We must refuse that path. That refusal begins in small, human ways. It means resisting the temptation to speak of fellow Americans as enemies or animals, no matter how passionately we oppose their ideas. It means letting investigators gather facts and present proof before we leap to conclusions. It means remembering that the ballot box, the courtroom, the town hall, and the public square are places for argument and action—and that a gun can never be a legitimate form of speech.

It also requires courage from leaders. Elected officials and public figures should set the tone by rejecting inflammatory language, by calming rather than exciting our worst instincts. Media outlets and online platforms must take seriously their power to either inflame or cool tensions. And each of us, in our conversations at home and online, has the chance to model a politics that is fierce but never violent. Democracy is not passive. It asks every citizen to participate, to stay engaged, to keep faith that peaceful change is still possible even when it feels slow or frustrating.

The killing of Charlie Kirk is, above all, a human tragedy. A life has ended, a family grieves, a community is shaken. But it is also a national test. Will we let this moment drive us further apart, or will we honor the very ideals that allow a society of free people to thrive? If we choose to fight one another instead of the problem of political violence itself, we will have failed.

Let this be the time we rise to our better angels. Let this be the day we decide that disagreement will never again be settled with a bullet. We can mourn without hatred. We can demand justice without vengeance. We can prove—together—that our country is stronger than the forces trying to pull it apart. The choice is ours, and the future of our democracy depends on what we do next.