Tolkkinen: At the end of a Charlie Kirk memorial in rural Minnesota, debate broke out

PERHAM, MINN. - They were grieving, no doubt about that. They were looking for comfort following the assassination of Charlie Kirk, a man they admired and, even though they might have never met him, felt a connection with, as he stood up for their faith and values and broached topics taboo to previous generations.

It was Friday evening in Perham in west-central Minnesota, and about 100 people came together in the tree-shaded square where the city normally holds its turtle races. They were summoned there by Carol and Merle Hexum, local activists who teach Biblical Citizenship classes and who put out a call for prayer in the wake of the murder of Kirk, the controversial podcaster and Trump ally famous for his willingness to debate opponents on college campuses.

While waiting for things to start, Amanda Hansen of Perham expressed uneasiness about the mood of the country and the future in store for her children, ages 3, 5, 14 and 18. She said she feels like a looming threat of political violence remains.

“There’s many, many other people out there like this guy,” she told me. “I think it’s going to be a threat for a while.”

Conservative Christians gathered to memorialize Kirk across Minnesota in recent days. They met in Detroit Lakes, Long Prairie, Hutchinson and Grand Rapids. In Perham, multiple people got up to urge others to be as bold and outspoken as Kirk.

In their view, Kirk, 31, is a martyr for the faith. Carol Hexum compared him to Jesus, who died at 33: “Both of them died on the battlefield standing up for truth.”

A grandmother told everyone how her 13-year-old grandson had decided not to go to college because “Charlie Kirk said you don’t need to go to college.” Kirk, who attended college for one term, was notorious for disparaging college education.

It had the air of a besieged enclave, and the only thing that seemed to matter was them, their group, their heroes and martyrs. That deadly violence has touched Democrats, school children and innocents from all walks of life didn’t come up.

What about Melissa Hortman, I asked Merle Hexum later. Did you hold a group prayer for her when she was assassinated in June? He said they didn’t think of it. He didn’t know her, whereas he felt a connection to Kirk.

I didn’t know Hortman either, but the former Minnesota House speaker’s assassination alongside her husband, Mark, shattered me anyway. As did Kirk’s.

Also missing from the evening was any repentance or rebuke for political allies who posted photos of innocent people on social media, including transgender people, accusing them of being the assassin. There was no soul-searching that the man in custody came from a family very much like the ones gathered in the courtyard: white, religious conservative Trump supporters familiar with firearms.

There lingered an unattractive, persistent belief that conservatives stand for all that is good, pure and holy, while the left is depraved and violent and overlooks crimes against white people. One man told me angrily that Kirk’s assassination was the “pushing point” and that he expected retaliation. When I pointed out that Democrats have also been on the receiving end of political violence, he refused to believe that conservatives were responsible, and walked away with the rest of his family.

I told them that they had missed an opportunity to speak against retaliatory violence. They emphatically disavowed violence, saying that Christians should only use peaceful means to share their faith. Knappen, who had attracted attention during President Trump’s first term in office for a video in which he called for militias and joked about his AR-15 rifle, said that he had just counseled an upset, angry young man to turn away from violence.

We talked for a good long while. It was candid. Respectful, even though we disagreed. It was the kind of conversation I wish would happen more often between fellow Americans. At the end, we parted with hugs.