Opinion | Mourning Charlie Kirk’s death isn’t partisan

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Charlie Kirk is dead.

Let that sentence sit with you. Not because you agreed with him. Not because you liked what he said or how he said it. But because he was a human being. A husband. A son. A friend. And because in this country, in our country, no one should be assassinated for what they believe.

But yet, here we are. Again.

First, it was Speaker Emerita Melissa Hortman and her husband, Mark. Then state Sen. John Hoffman and his wife, Yvette, were shot and wounded.

Now, Charlie Kirk.

If we don’t stop this now, if we don’t slam on the brakes and turn this ship around, then who’s next?

Let us be very clear: This is not about politics. This is about people. About the basic idea that we should be able to disagree without dying for it.

Kirk was a controversial figure. He pushed boundaries. He made people angry. Still, his killing is not justified. It is not explainable. It is not “understandable.” It is an abomination. If your first instinct was anything other than sorrow and outrage, then something in you has been broken by this culture war we’ve allowed to metastasize.

We often found Kirk’s words deeply at odds with our own beliefs, profoundly so. But the idea that we are now killing each other over disagreements is not just troubling; it’s a seismic moment in American life. This isn’t a political flashpoint. It may be a defining moment for the future of our democracy.

We say this as people who have worked across the aisle, fought political battles and still found common ground.

We failed in our obligation to be better stewards of the great American experiment, and for that, we carry both regret and responsibility.

We say this as people who believe in America, not as a fantasy, but as a fragile, unfinished promise. Right now, that promise is in jeopardy. Not from any single party or politician.

But from all of us, if we allow this to continue.

So what do we do?

We stop feeding the outrage machine.

We stop dehumanizing our opponents and start humanizing ourselves.

We do something real. Tangible. Local. Kind. Brave.

We volunteer. We speak thoughtfully. We grieve with compassion. We show up.

When the Hortmans’ children spoke after their mother and father were killed, they didn’t ask for revenge. They asked us to bake a cake. Walk a dog. Help a neighbor. Choose empathy. Choose action. Choose life.

That choice still stands.

Do not let this moment pass without acknowledging its demands on you.

Go. Do something. Do anything that brings light back into this dark time.

Because if this is the new America, one where political violence is routine, and mourning is partisan, then we’ve already lost. Let’s not lose more.