Bittersweet Eulogy

Well I’ve never prayed, but tonight I’m on my knees, yeah
I need to hear some sounds that recognize the pain in me, yeah

The primary event in the news since September 10th is the assassination of Charlie Kirk. When I first heard that he’d been shot, my first instinct was simply to exclaim, “No way. What?!” It’s always a surreal feeling to know that a prominent figure has been attacked, because at least for my part, it’s difficult to believe anyone would be so blind.

You see, I knew little of Charlie Kirk. I understood that he was relatively influential in conservative spheres, but I’m not conservative and so paid little attention. He lived in another world entirely from me, holding regular debates at college campuses, challenging students to examine their beliefs and maybe reconsider. An interesting pastime or an odd vocation I supposed, but college was decades in my past so his activities never inspired more than mild curiosity. His renown was sufficient for South Park to lampoon him in a recent episode, which is definitely something. Otherwise, he was just another guy doing his thing in the world, like so many others.

After hearing he’d been shot, I scrambled to first disprove the rumor, and then to hope beyond hope that it wasn’t fatal. Both of those wishes were ultimately dashed, even though for a few critical moments, it seemed like he might pull through. When it finally became clear that he would not make a miraculous recovery, I felt stunned and dismayed. Were we so divided now, that a moderate conservative was such a threat that he must be silenced?

This isn’t about my reaction to Charlie’s demise, but what it means for the rest of us. The outpouring of despair and incandescent rage from his followers was palpable. It became clear at that moment that some crucial line had been crossed, that nothing would hold back the reckoning at hand. Something horrible had just happened, and the full consequences of this event will ring for decades to come.

Why would I say that? Because Charlie was the ambassador from the Right. It’s no secret that college and university campuses are bastions of Leftist ideology, and by wading into “enemy territory”, Charlie put forth arguments that were generally unwelcome, but he was also reaching out. To understand, to teach, to learn, to give exposure to a way of life that many Americans embrace, but is otherwise alien to these students. Isn’t that what higher learning is all about?

I watched a few clips of these debates, and something struck me immediately. While stern, he was always respectful, never shouting over his opponents, never deriding them, or scorning them, or resorting to sarcasm and mockery like so many others. He often utilized Socratic Method to have them question their own beliefs rather than browbeating them with his own. This man clearly believed he was given a mission to shepherd the lost, and he did so with abundant patience and grace. I found a man better than myself in almost every degree, nearly 20 years my junior.

It’s easy to see why someone might hate that. Charlie was a man who asked you to face a mirror and look deep within it, to confront your fears, seize your flaws and cast them out. It’s far easier to blame, to seek succor in the comfortable lie, that fault lies elsewhere, that he is evil for scolding you. But that was never his goal. He was begging, pleading for those he spoke with to see the light inside, to look past the pain and scorn, to embrace fully and enthusiastically the best person you could possibly become. That was his calling as a Christian, and he did so with abandon and genuine selfless fervor, qualities that never failed to awe his friends and family. This was a man who asked himself “What would Jesus do?” every single day, and lived knowing he could never match that ideal, but did his best anyway.

What can you possibly say to that? For those lost to envy, jealousy, or pride, it probably looks utterly absurd, some holier than thou hypocrite that should be knocked down a peg or two. Except Charlie was no hypocrite, this guy truly wanted the best from everyone he encountered, and he never doubted their ability to deliver. The problem is that doing so requires a certain amount of honesty most people reflexively retreat from. It’s a self-defense mechanism that says, “How dare you accuse me of not giving my best?”

When I was younger, I mistook every evaluation as a direct attack on my capabilities. My pride made it impossible to distinguish even an innocent status report from an infringement on my honor or skill. I always responded with derision, and not a little scorn. If I were being honest with myself, it’s because I knew I was guilty, a conscience tainted with the knowledge I really wasn’t doing my best, and I utterly despised being called out no matter how tangentially.

From that perspective, I can completely understand why someone would find a kind of glee in seeing the downfall of a man like Charlie. This man who dared to judge you has finally found his comeuppance, and let it be known that all like him will suffer a similar fate. These people celebrating his death never hated him, they hate themselves, prone to lash out to any perceived slight. Charlie was never judging them, but challenging them to consider the world around them and their responsibility as citizens within it. But we are sliding into a society reveling in petulance, and responsibility is scarce in a nation of children.

All Charlie wanted was for us to grow up. Probably the most cliche aspect of the Right is that of a patriarch, urging his children to mature and become responsible for the next generation. We’ve coddled ourselves into such a protracted adolescence that we never escape it, and our collective tantrums are threatening to destroy the Western World. It’s all want, and deserve, and need, but almost no give, no grace, no thought of the future. Charlie’s mission was to break that cycle, and he knew we are all capable adults with that strength within us, should we simply embrace it.

When you stop having a human connection with someone you disagree with, it becomes a lot easier to want to commit violence against that group. What we as a culture have to get back to is being able to have a reasonable disagreement where violence is not an option.

Despite understanding the compulsion to cheer for his demise, I cannot condone it. Everyone must be taught right from wrong. Children should not be in charge of the world, making decisions that affect the lives of others. No doctors, teachers, those in government, police, or many other vocations have the luxury of throwing a tantrum without far-reaching repercussions. These people have the potential to harm many, and so have a responsibility to wield their power wisely.

Finding glee in the death of another human being is something a child might do because all they can comprehend is that something which made them feel bad is gone. In an adult, it’s utterly ghoulish and inexcusable. There is no wisdom in that kind of untethered disdain and lack of decorum. Such doctors may knowingly harm patients with whom they disagree, teachers will unjustly punish children of opposing parents, lawmakers and police will abuse their position to arrest and destroy those who dare to disagree with them. These are the making of a broken society.

Shortly after Obama was elected, some acquaintances from work posted a meme that bemoaned the recent death of several favored celebrities, with the punchline, “Well… now Obama is my favorite president!” The implication was that they hoped Obama would also die soon. I immediately called them out, disgusted at their churlishness. Celebrating the death of Charlie Kirk is no different. Even your opponents deserve a modicum of respect, and if you can’t even deliver that much, you are being childish. Unlike Charlie, I will judge that kind of behavior, and I have no space in my life for shameless evil.

And that’s the real tragedy here. For his faults, Charlie was at least willing to talk, to guide if necessary, and bestow almost endless grace to all in the hope they would learn. That is an incredibly rare quality, and some would argue a naive position that eventually led to his death. Sometimes an ugly soul peering into a mirror doesn’t see inspiration to become better, but an unfounded accusation from a person who deserves to be destroyed. And so he was, after being accused of all sorts of hyperbole, guilty of merely being a moderate conservative.

In doing so, in murdering the man willing to reach out in peace and understanding, one of the few willing to have an open dialog, it sends a message to those that come after. It says, “We don’t want your kind. You’re Nazis and Fascists!” to people who are nothing of the sort. It dilutes the meaning of those words, and causes an impenetrable rift between people who would otherwise get along. Without an ambassador to bring people together, they’re doomed to be driven apart.

With no Charlie, the world is left with the rest of us who are woefully short on patience by comparison. I say “the rest of us,” because even Centrists are lumped together with the Right in these trying times. Even some on the Left have realized with growing horror that they’re surrounded by Demons who bay and cry for the blood of their opponents, or anyone who dares to question any fragment of the current orthodoxy. As an Agnostic, I’m not one to believe in literal Demons, but if I were to label behavior bordering on orgiastic bliss at the death of another human being who just wants the best for everyone, it’s Demonic. And if Demons are real, maybe I need to reexamine the rest too.

With no peacemaker, there can be no peace. That was what I felt when I learned Charlie Kirk had died. I can only hope that the legacy of his enterprise spawns a worthy successor with the same charisma and effortless grace. Without that, I fear the two clearly delineated sides will descend into utter mayhem. Without the peacemaker, what remains will be less gracious, less forgiving, and far more vengeful.

I can only hope that Charlie has inspired enough acolytes, enough people who have embraced a mission of bettering themselves and the world, to avert that disaster. As little as I knew him, I understand his mission, and maybe have grown a bit myself and become more willing to cast out my faults and exceed my own expectations. I can honor him by demanding more of myself, further embracing the responsibilities I’ve avoided for so long. Maybe some small good can come of his untimely death. Even if I disagreed on every possible position he held—which I don’t—I respect his dedication, idealism, and conviction.

Those are all things the world could use a little more of.

Until Tomorrow