Sleepless this night because of Charlie Kirk, and thoughts by Gabe Alves

It's another one of those nights when sleep is a concept, not a reality. I'm sleepless this night because of Charlie Kirk. Some believe Facebook is essentially a waste of time and at times I have agreed. But tonight after spending the last hour scrolling through the posts of some very thoughtful people, and feeling compelled to add something that would somehow make a difference, i.e., have some sort of bell ringing significance, I decided I couldn't share my feelings any better, or more heartfelt, than many of you "out there" have already. So, here is just one Facebook post I stumbled across that says what I might say. But understand there are many more. Nancy Argenziano, Steve Dicks. There are so many more. But, here's one that hit home and I share it for your consideration. It's by a gay person. I am not gay, but to hear such pain with such a calm sense of bewilderment encased in such sincerity and wisdom at what is happening beyond Charlie Kirk, I was struck. Perhaps you will be, too. .... Sandspur

By Gabe Alves

(FB: https://www.facebook.com/grcalves)

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As an immigrant and a gay individual, I’ve been reflecting deeply on the reactions I’ve seen since the news of Charlie Kirk’s death. On one side, there are those mourning, honoring his work, and praising his efforts to shape political life in America. On the other, there are people who—because of the pain he inflicted through his words and actions—are celebrating his death or making light of it.

I’ll be honest: I’ve felt moments of rage seeing people praise a man whose rhetoric so often divided and caused harm for political gain. And I’ve also felt sadness seeing others treat his death as a punchline. Because no matter what he stood for, Charlie Kirk was still a human being. And no one—absolutely no one—deserves to die by gun violence in such a senseless, horrific way.

This post is my attempt to hold space for both realities: to mourn the loss of a life cut short, while not erasing the painful legacy his words left behind.

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The news of Charlie Kirk’s death is undeniably tragic. A life cut short by violence is never something to celebrate. Death by such means leaves behind grief, pain, and unanswered questions—not only for his family and loved ones, but also for the communities who were touched, harmed, or alienated by his words.

As we reflect, it’s important to hold two truths together. On one hand, Charlie Kirk was a son, a friend, and a figure who inspired loyalty among many young conservatives. His passing is a human loss, and compassion must extend to those who are mourning him deeply. On the other hand, his public legacy cannot be divorced from the rhetoric that left many others—immigrants, racial minorities, LGBTQIA+ communities, people outside the Christian faith—feeling targeted, excluded, or diminished.

Some of his most divisive statements left scars:

• Suggesting that the “Great Replacement” is not a theory but a reality—a concept rooted in racist conspiracy.

• Calling Martin Luther King Jr. a “mythological anti-racist creation,” downplaying one of America’s greatest civil rights leaders.

• Claiming Jewish people “control Hollywood, the colleges, the nonprofits,” repeating dangerous antisemitic tropes.

• Declaring transgender identities to be “lies that hurt people and abuse kids,” while calling for nationwide bans on affirming care.

• Comparing abortion to the Holocaust, an analogy deeply painful and offensive to many.

These words were not harmless—they carried weight, they spread widely, and they hurt people. For those who felt dehumanized or erased by them, his death does not erase the wounds of his rhetoric.

Yet, as tragic as this moment is, we are left to imagine the better outcome—the one we do not get. A future where Charlie Kirk lived long enough to confront the pain his words caused. Where he might have chosen to say, “I’m sorry”—to immigrants who were painted as threats, to LGBTQIA+ people told their identities were lies, to minorities who felt erased, to communities of faith outside Christianity who felt excluded. A future where he could have used his powerful platform not to divide, but to heal.

We cannot rejoice in the silencing of any voice by violence. Violence deepens wounds; it never resolves them. The best outcome would have been transformation, growth, and a willingness to recognize the humanity of those he once spoke against. That is the loss beneath the loss—not just of a life, but of the possibility for change.

As we mourn this tragedy, let us hold space for those who are grieving his death and those who are grieving the harm of his legacy. May we commit ourselves, in his absence, to building the bridges he often tore down. May we resist the temptation to celebrate his passing, and instead rededicate ourselves to creating a world where words are used to uplift rather than divide, and where no life is lost to senseless violence.