Bio: Rising Eagle is a young conservative writer whose political awakening was shaped by the cultural betrayal of unity and the moral collapse of civility. He writes on faith, truth, conservatism, and the spiritual cost of silence. 

For years, conservatives were told to be better. To be gracious in defeat. To be civil in disagreement. We were told that unity was the goal—that if we just listened harder, forgave faster, and softened our convictions, we could heal the nation. But that illusion has shattered.

Charlie Kirk’s death was not just the loss of a man. It was the death of a myth. The myth that unity was ever mutual. That civility was ever shared. That truth could coexist with deception. His assassination marked a turning point—not just for me, but for many young conservatives who watched the mask slip and saw the moral rot beneath.

We were raised to believe that politics was a contest of ideas. But what we witnessed was not debate—it was destruction. And the response from the left was not grief. It was celebration.

I am young. I was raised to believe in civility, in discourse, in the idea that unity—however fragile—was worth pursuing. I believed that if we just spoke clearly, listened patiently, and held our convictions with grace, we could coexist with those who saw the world differently.

But that belief died the day Charlie Kirk was assassinated.

I watched his execution. I saw the blood pour from his neck. And still, they wept—not for him, but for the optics. Their grief was staged. Their remorse rehearsed. And while the cameras panned to solemn faces, many on the left cheered. They applauded his death. They called for more.

This was not politics. This was not disagreement. It was a moral collapse. A spiritual sickness. And for me—and for many others—it was the moment everything changed.

We had been told to take the high road while they laid theirs with landmines. We turned the other cheek while they loaded the next round. We were taught to be better, to be gracious, to be forgiving. But grace without truth is surrender. And forgiveness without repentance is enabling.

Charlie’s death was not just a tragedy. It was a revelation. It exposed the lie that unity was ever mutual. It revealed that civility, when weaponized by those who despise us, becomes a trap. And it awakened something in me that cannot be put back to sleep.

This was never about policy. It was never about disagreement over tax rates or foreign affairs. What we are witnessing is a cultural fracture—a moral divide so deep it can no longer be bridged by civility or compromise.

We believe in God. They mock Him. We protect children. They mutilate them. We build. They burn.

These are not differences of opinion. These are differences of principle, of purpose, of soul. And yet, we are told to coexist. To find common ground. To pretend that the serpent in our house is a guest.

But coexistence without trust is submission. Tolerance without truth is surrender. And silence in the face of evil is not peace—it is complicity.

Charlie’s death was a mirror held up to our culture. It showed us what happens when we mistake civility for virtue, and when we allow our enemies to define the terms of our morality. It revealed the cost of pretending that unity is possible with those who celebrate our destruction.

This is not politics. This is spiritual warfare. And it demands clarity, not compromise.

As a young conservative, I’ve felt the cost of silence. In classrooms, my beliefs were mocked. In conversations, my convictions were dismissed. In institutions that claim to value diversity, my voice was treated as a threat. We are told to be tolerant—but only of what they approve. We are told to speak—but only in the language they permit.

Charlie’s death didn’t just shake me—it clarified me. It reminded me that truth is not a luxury. It is a duty. And that conviction, when buried for the sake of comfort, becomes complicity.

I know I’m not alone. I’ve spoken with others my age who feel the same ache—the same betrayal. We were promised dialogue. We were handed censorship. We were promised unity. We were handed a muzzle.

But we are done pretending.

We will coexist. But we will not trust. We will not help. We will not forget.

Let this be the last time we silence ourselves to soothe their guilt. Let this be the last time we mistake their performance for repentance. Let this be the last time we trade our convictions for their comfort. Let this be the last time they spill innocent blood.

We are done kneeling to their narrative. And we are not coming back the same.