Can we have conversations anymore?

An Ode to Charlie Kirk

As someone who loves talking and writing about how our differences make relationships richer, I’m a little anxious to admit on this blog that I was deeply saddened by the murder of Charlie Kirk. Many dismissed him as hateful for his traditional views on race, sexuality, or gender (among other things), but I admired his courage in showing up to campuses across the country and engaging students in spirited debate.

In one of the many text exchanges I had after Kirk’s death, a friend confessed: “It makes me more nervous to share my real political beliefs and engage in robust dialogue.”

I admitted I felt the same: “Yeah…I don’t even feel like I can say I was a fan.”

That night I spoke with another friend whose politics I knew were very different than mine. At first I hesitated to share what I was feeling, but eventually I mentioned how upset I was at Charlie Kirk’s untimely passing. To my surprise, it was both encouraging and cathartic to grieve his death with someone who didn’t share his views. The conversation never slipped into political debate–we simply agreed that it was tragic for him to die so young, leaving behind a wife and two little kids.

That moment stayed with me. As a conservative Christian living in Silicon Valley, I don’t always feel comfortable saying what I really think. But that phone call reminded me that honesty is worth the risk, and gave me the courage to write this post–to risk saying what I admired about him, even knowing it might cost me something. And it reinforced something I already believe: friendship is built on more than just shared views; it’s built on real interactions and mutual respect. If I only surround myself with people who think exactly as I do, I’ll end up in an echo chamber–or worse, a cult.

We live in a time when even voicing admiration for someone controversial feels dangerous, when holding the “wrong” opinion can cost you friendships or even a job. But if we can’t talk honestly with one another—if we can’t say, “I liked this person” or “I disagreed with that idea” without fear—what kind of society are we building?

Disagreement shouldn’t be a death sentence for dialogue. If anything, it should be an invitation to listen more carefully, to seek understanding, and to resist the lazy caricatures of people we don’t like.

I mourn Charlie Kirk. Not just because of who he was, but because his death has become another dividing line. My hope is that, in my own conversations and friendships, I can resist that divide.

Because if we lose the ability to talk to each other—even across our deepest differences—then we’ve already lost something bigger than a single life.

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If you disagree with me about Charlie Kirk, that’s okay. I still hope we can be friends—and at the very least, agree it’s tragic that he died this way. As a conservative Christian, I know my views won’t always match yours. But I’d rather risk the tension of honesty than the silence of pretense. If you want to talk about specific views of his that you take issue with, I’d welcome that conversation. I’d probably prefer to have it face-to-face, where tone and nuance aren’t so easily lost online, but let’s begin that conversation.