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Introduction (Charlie)
Good morning, everybody—here in the stadium and all across the country. Erica, Gigi, and Mac—I love you. Mom, Dad, my sister—thank you for raising me and letting me run hard after the truth. To our Turning Point family: you’ve built something bigger than any one person. Breathe, smile, and get ready—because today isn’t about a brand or a headline. It’s about the why behind the what.
Our guest of honor is Jesus Christ—King of Kings, Lord of Lords, the source of every freedom we defend. We’re going to worship Him, but we’re also going to work for Him. That means faith, family, and country—in that order. If you’re new here, welcome. If you disagree with me, welcome twice. I’ve always said: give the mic to the critic. We don’t cancel; we converse. “Prove me wrong” isn’t a taunt; it’s an invitation.
Here’s the tone for the day: courage with compassion, conviction without contempt. We will tell the truth, and we’ll do it with a smile. Courage isn’t a mood; it’s a decision—one daily “yes.” Young men, I’m going to challenge you: be leaders worth following. Honor God, marry the girl, have the babies, get a real job, read old books, show up on time, and turn your phone off at dinner. Young women, you are guardians and encouragers and builders—your homes can be the brightest chapels in America.
To pastors—preach the whole counsel of God. To parents—disciple your kids at the kitchen table. To students—read your Bible before your news feed, Aristotle before TikTok, Madison before the pundit-of-the-day. To all of us—live free. Freedom isn’t doing whatever we want; it’s doing what we ought.
We are going to sing, pray, argue, learn, laugh, and leave with a plan. This is not a funeral for hope; it’s a field brief for a long campaign. The First Amendment stays open here—so bring your best ideas and your biggest questions. God gave us reason; let’s use it. He gave us a country; let’s keep it. He gave us a mission; let’s move. Buckle up. Here we go.
(Note: This is an imaginary conversation, a creative exploration of an idea, and not a real speech or event)
Pastor Rob McCoy
Pastor Rob—my pastor and my friend. You stood before a stadium and made the “why behind the what” the guest of honor. You said you were only “America’s pastor for two minutes,” but I told you in Korea—and I’ll say it again now—you’re America’s pastor when you call sinners to a Savior. Thank you for telling the truth so plainly: we’ve all “missed the mark,” and “the wages of sin is death,” but our King left glory for a cross. You looked at Erica, my parents, my sister, and prayed, “God’s comfort and peace… in Jesus’ name.” That blessing has been real. And when you asked the believers to remain seated and invited the rest to stand—not for me, but for Him—I recognized the altar calls we dreamed about: politics as an “on-ramp” to Jesus. Keep doing exactly that. Keep calling Him the “King of glory” and “Prince of Peace.” Keep preaching that my courage wasn’t temperament—it was trust. To the many who stood: take the QR code, yes—but also take up your cross. Get into a Bible-believing church; repent quickly; forgive freely; serve quietly; speak boldly. And pastors who once “didn’t want to give me the time of day”—give these new sons and daughters all your days. Rob, thank you for proving me wrong with that sheepish grin; today you were the table with “prove me wrong,” and the truth won again. I wanted Jesus to be the guest of honor—thanks for seating Him center stage.
Rebecca Dunn
Rebecca, I can still hear you laugh: “Well, Charlie, I guess we owe you a check.” Two days. A 20-year-old, out-of-state, with “$25,000 to match”—and you gave me my first challenge grant. You didn’t just fund a project; you fathered a future. You remembered how grants “grew into the millions,” but what grew bigger was my sense of stewardship: every dollar had a destination—students, chapters, courage, truth. When discouragement told you to “stop trying,” Bill handed you Larry Reed’s charge: if we believe in freedom, “we must never stop trying… as long as there is breath in our bodies.” Thank you for breathing that into me at the beginning, when there was only a folding table and a stubborn promise. You said I “never disappointed,” but that’s only because you kept challenging me. I met every challenge with optimism and grit because you kept setting the bar higher and always attached it to virtue: fight “for freedom, for family, for faith”—and “do this the way that Charlie did, with a heart that loves God.” That’s the line to keep. Don’t just win; win with worship. Don’t just hustle; hallow the hours. Issue more challenge grants—aimed at marriages, fatherhood, church planting, and honest work. Write checks to the future by investing in the faithful now. And to the discouraged patrons in the room: pick up Rebecca’s mantle—fund the next 18-year-old whose only collateral is conviction. You turned a laugh into a legacy. Thank you.
Dr. Larry Arnn
Dr. Arnn, you “interrogated” a 19-year-old and told him the secret I needed: “If you want to grow, you have to suffer.” Start with the Bible. Read the classics. “Study the founding of America.” You spoke of a “ladder that reaches up toward God,” whose rungs are ordinary goods named rightly. I took that ladder—and then texted you a certificate from a Hillsdale online course. Then another. “Thirty-one times.” You taught me that discipline deepens desire, that the love of truth is a habit laid “into the night… crackle dawn in the morning.” You also stated something hard and holy: “A good thing has being. An assassin is not a thing that has being.” Evil negates itself; goodness endures. That’s why you can say, with gravity, “Charlie lives on.” Not because of myth—but because truth participates in God’s reality. Thank you for the scholarship for my children, and for the honor you intend to bestow. If I earned anything, it was only the right to point back to the First Teacher. To every student listening: suffer well. Read slowly. Memorize a Psalm and a paragraph of Madison. Let Aristotle tutor your reason and Moses tutor your soul. And to the teachers: put the ladder where young hands can reach; make the first rung sturdy—Scripture, grammar, gratitude. Dr. Arnn, keep giving the nation what it forgets it needs: education as formation—truth loved into being.
Mikey McCoy
Mikey, you were “grilled… on Aristotle, Socrates, Plato,” and I told you, “Don’t go to college—come work for me.” You canceled your plans at 18, moved to Arizona, and God wrote a better syllabus. You married Elizabeth after hearing her family’s Gulag story on our show. That’s the movement I prayed for: life-shaping providence, not just vote-chasing events. You watched the clips and chose my favorite shirt: “Live free.” You quoted Kierkegaard—“The tyrant dies and his rule is over. The martyr dies and his rule has just begun.” But remember the second half: “Live free” means live true. Freedom is not “doing whatever we want,” but choosing what we ought—Christ first, family next, country through both. You pledged, “We won’t cower… We will never surrender.” Anchor that resolve in prayer and practice: Scripture before sunrise, service before spotlight, sabbath before strategy. Challenge “what is accepted by culture” respectfully, rigorously, relentlessly. Raise sons and daughters who are immune to lies because they feast on truth at the dinner table. And keep telling young men what we loved to say: “Get married. Have more children than you think you can afford. Build a legacy. Pass down your values. Pursue the eternal.” Mikey, you were my friend on the road and my brother in the trenches. Now you’re a father building the future. Live free—and teach freedom as a liturgy of daily obedience.
Tyler Bowyer
Ty, you and I lived on a “24-hour clock”—ideas flipping from “delivered” to “read” before sunrise, proposals by noon, execution by night. We laughed about “217½ Illinois Street,” about bathing in airport sinks, about the “grown 21-year-old” who technically lived nowhere. But beneath the grind was grace: two dudes, big dreams, bigger prayers. You told the story of the stadium image I texted—“this is my vision”—and then you looked up and said, “We’re standing in it.” Brother, thank you for making visions visible. For recruiting “the best young talent,” for building field, faith, and action, for talking me into Arizona (and, yes, for spotting the smartest placement ever—Erica behind the president). Keep your startup soul. Keep the “no mediocre” rule. Keep the humility to pivot and the audacity to attempt the impossible. But tie it all to discipleship: mentor your staff like sons and daughters; put Bibles in backpacks; budget time for prayer the way we budgeted travel. Take the next “insane idea” and ask first if it makes heaven crowded and families stronger. Keep reminding the team: “We make history here”—which means we tell the truth, honor our word, and outwork our excuses. Ty, you turned insomnia into institution. Now turn institution into inheritance—so our kids inherit a culture of excellence and a cadence of grace.
Justin Strife
Justin, you meditated on “time”—“fleeting, fragile, sacred”—and then you named the hinge of my life: courage “is one of the easiest things… it only requires you to say yes.” You corrected the caricature—“completely fearless”—and told the simpler truth: I refused to let fear veto calling. Thank you for telling the team I was “the same person in private as in public.” That was the goal. Keep charging the room to do the same. Build a culture where honesty is ordinary, compassion is expected, and truth is non-negotiable. Make “family first” the policy, not just a kind phrase. Teach new hires to number their days—schedule sabbath, guard dinner, hold babies, bury phones. You said my “career” was a “calling.” Seal that sentence on every job description. We don’t fill roles; we answer assignments. We’re not chasing acclaim; we’re stewarding a republic and souls within it. Train your ops people to pray over run-of-show. Measure success not just by attendance, but by altars, baptisms, reconciled relationships, restored prodigals. And keep repeating your line: decisions are eternal. Say yes to truth. Say yes to the fight. Say yes to love that costs, to work that builds, to humility that heals. Justin, keep the clock in view and eternity nearer still. Time is short. The mission is vast. Courage is a daily yes.
Stacy Sheridan
Stacy, you let the room see the family: a “little brother” who sent “critical medication and an oxygen machine” without fanfare; a boss who answered your guilt with “family first”; a friend whose voice “softened” when he spoke to Erica and the kids. That’s the gospel I wanted the movement to embody—mercy with muscle. You also walked through fire—literally—and heard me say, “This is a sign—you and Grace belong in Arizona.” Providence braided your grief to Erica’s, and your daughter said through tears, “This is our why.” She’s right. God wastes nothing. He turns ashes into assignments. Thank you for promising to be there “for Erica and Gigi and Mac” as we were for you and Grace. Keep mothering the movement—guard the tone, check our pride, champion the wounded, and insist that excellence include empathy. Tell the team it’s okay to cry and required to keep going. Tell young women they are “guardians, encouragers, preservers”—and leaders who make home a “sacred landing place.” And keep teasing me from heaven about the “awkward high-pitched laugh.” Joy is armor. Stacy, you’ve lived Romans 8 in public. Now teach the next class how to grieve with hope, to work with worship, and to turn pain into presence for others. We will make TPUSA “so big it reaches heaven”—but only if it first reaches the hurting.
Andrew Kolvet
Andrew, my brother in broadcast—you called us “brick by brick.” That’s exactly how we built the show: one segment, one email, one debate at a time. You told them my favorite ritual: “Send us an email at freedom@charliekirk.com”—and you found six- or seven-email chains where I argued with listeners “while hosting.” Those exchanges kept me honest. You said the audience—the “muscular class”—was my “firewall for freedom.” Amen. When “fancy elites” tried to tell me what real people think, I knew better because I read them, answered them, loved them. You renamed our tours “tent revivals,” and called me a “prophet” in the biblical sense—confronting lies, proclaiming truth, calling for repentance. Keep that posture: courage without cruelty, clarity without contempt, conviction with compassion. Keep the mic open for dissenters. Keep reading every email you can. Let the show remain my favorite part of the day because it’s communion with the country. Remind the team: production is pastoral; editing is discipleship; distribution is evangelism. And keep saying, with a grin, “We will see you Monday. Until then, buckle up. Here we go.” Say it not as a slogan, but as a summons—to holiness, to hard work, to hope. Andrew, thanks for loving the audience like family and the truth like oxygen. Keep the tent up; keep the altar open.
Benny Johnson
Benny, you stood up and confessed—“degenerate… addicted… loser”—and then testified to a “Christ-centered man,” a husband, a father. That’s revival. You said, “What man intends for evil, God intends for good,” and called me a “martyr” like Stephen—same age, same offense: truth. Thank you for telling the prodigals there is “no one irredeemable.” Keep telling them. You invoked Romans 13 and asked leaders to “wield the sword… for the terror of evil men” and the peace of the good. Yes—justice with righteousness, authority with accountability. But never forget Romans 12 comes first: overcome evil with good. Bless those who persecute you. Feed your enemy. Let mercy braid with mandate. And to the young men, I loved your charge: “Center your life on Christ. Fall in love. Get married. Have a million kids.” Add: take responsibility early; work with your hands; show up; repent fast; forgive first; tithe; read; vote; build; sing. Let your home be the first church your children see and the loudest argument you ever make. Benny, keep turning your jokes into joy, your wit into witness. Keep lighting candles in dark rooms and calling men to put childish things away. If my death multiplied courage, spend it well—live a life that makes cowards curious and sinners hopeful.
Dr. Ben Carson
Dr. Carson, healer of bodies and steady voice for souls—you mourned and then taught. You swatted the cheap jab—“no college degree”—and smiled: wisdom often lives “outside of the classroom.” You reminded us our rights “come from our Creator and not from government,” and warned about long campaigns to “fundamentally change who we are”—capture schools, culture, pulpits, and push God out. Thank you for calling ministers back to the Bible and not the “social gospel.” You closed with John 12:24 and the time on the coroner’s report—“12:24.” A grain of wheat falls and dies—and “brings forth much fruit.” Let that line frame the work ahead. If my life was seed, let your institute keep watering: train pastors to preach the whole counsel of God; train parents to teach prudence, temperance, courage, justice; train physicians to defend life from conception to natural death; train citizens to love both liberty and law. Keep inviting young people to merge with the “older people like me” in praise and project. And keep your gentle challenge: “You cannot be the land of the free if you’re not the home of the brave.” Courage is not a mood; it’s a muscle. Exercise it daily—tell the truth kindly; do the right thing quietly; stand your post faithfully. Doctor, thank you for your scalpel and your Scripture. Keep healing a nation’s mind.
Rep. Anna Paulina Luna
Anna, you said there would be “no Congresswoman Luna without Charlie Kirk,” but I remember the phone call as obedience, not opportunity: you were headed to medical school, and God rerouted you to heal a different body—the body politic. You called my boldness “prophetic foresight,” but the prophecy was ancient: “Ask what you can do for your country,” “march into the jaws of hatred,” “risk everything” like Washington, Kennedy, King. You asked the room if they would “live boldly… rise to the challenge… speak truth without fear… pray with unwavering faith.” Keep asking. Make prayer your preparation and courage your custom. You saw me grow “alongside presidents and titans” and stay small—quietly “raising up others.” Do that daily. Use your seat to baptize ambition with service—hire the humble, promote the faithful, and praise the unseen. Defend life, family, faith; confront corruption and cowardice; bring the Constitution to classrooms; bring your testimony to town halls. And never stop traveling to campuses where the “indoctrination” is loud—answer it with winsome rigor. You said my name will be “etched” with giants; let yours be etched beside the mothers who raised patriots, the wives who kept vows, the leaders who washed feet. Anna, keep telling young women they can be both lionhearted and gentle, principled and playful, uncompromised and kind. Ask again: “Will you?” And then show them how.
Jack Posobiec
Jack, hearing you speak those words feels like looking into the heart of a brother who knew me not just in the public square, but in the trenches. You called me your commanding officer, but truly, I was following the same Commander you were — the Lord of Hosts, the God of Truth.
You spoke of Moses, standing on the mountain, gazing at the promised land he would not enter. That image pierced me because it was how I felt so often. I could see the vision — a generation awakened, a nation humbled before God, a revival sweeping across America. I knew I might not see it completed, but I trusted that faithful men and women like you would carry it across the river.
Jack, when you said my death was a sacrifice, not just a murder, I wept. Because you saw the deeper truth. This life was never mine to cling to — it was an offering. If that offering awakens millions to stand, then it was worth it. Not because my name is remembered, but because God’s name is lifted up.
Your words about Erica and my children touched me more than I can say. If my sacrifice lives on through them, then my legacy is secure. If my name is remembered at all, let it be as someone who pointed beyond himself, to the Savior who conquered death itself.
Jack, you are right — this is our turning point. You are right to call the people to put on the full armor of God. I hear your cry, brother, and I echo it: now is the time, this is the hour. Rise up, not in my name, but in the name of the One who gave us courage to live free.
Thank you for standing with me in life, and thank you for carrying me in death. I am still with you, Jack, urging you on. We will meet again, not on a battlefield of this earth, but in the Kingdom that has no end. Until then, fight on. For truth. For faith. For freedom.
Frank Turek
Frank, apologist, mentor, friend—you said it was “hard to mentor someone smarter than you,” but the greater miracle was your humility. You ran toward the SUV like a father; you sat in the back seat and yelled because love yells when life hangs in the balance. Thank you for telling the truth: “We did everything we could,” and also the mercy—that I “felt no pain.” You set the theology table with steak: in the afterlife there are two options—“justice or grace.” I’m not in heaven because I was a “great husband… saved kids on campuses… changed votes.” I’m there because “my Savior sacrificed Himself for me.” Keep preaching that. Keep saying God “adds humanity to His deity,” bears the punishment we deserve, and offers righteousness we could never earn. Keep teaching evidence so doubters can doubt their doubts; keep debating kindly so skeptics can meet a Christian who actually loves them. And keep teasing the devil with Erica’s alarm clock—“Oh no, she’s awake again.” Tell the church to make the same hell-shaking sound every morning—born again and at it again. Frank, thank you for giving me reasons and reminding me that reasons are for loving God with all our mind. Keep making heaven crowded. Keep handing mics to critics. Keep proving that the greatest story ever told is gloriously, stubbornly true.
Sergio Gore
Sergio, brother—hearing you say you’ll miss my “daily Bible verse” made me smile. I sent those because I needed them first; sharing just set the tone for both of us. You called me a “MAGA warrior,” “always fighting for America, never backing down.” Thank you—but you know my power came from weakness turned over to Christ. Faith was the engine, friendship the fuel. You remembered Greenland, alligators in Louisiana, and those nights at Mar-a-Lago while “Phantom of the Opera” echoed off the patio. Those weren’t just adventures; they were rehearsals for courage. You reminded everyone I “ran toward the fight.” The truth is, I ran toward people. Debate was my way of saying I believe there’s more in you—and more in me—than fear. You said I was “killed because” the battle is spiritual. That’s right—but death can’t cancel purpose. You asked the arena to “stand up” if they believe in America and in what we built. Let me add: stand up for the person in front of you. Send a verse to a friend. Invite a skeptic to lunch. Build the habit of hope. Tell Erica—whom you blessed publicly—she remains the bravest yes God ever gave me. And you, Sergio: keep setting the tone of the day. Lead with joy, fight with a smile, and let love be your tactic and testimony. I’m still running toward the fight—now I get to cheer while you take the next hill.
Stephen Miller
Stephen, hearing you speak of me with such conviction filled me with gratitude. You said I was “a warrior for America,” and those words struck me deeply because I always saw myself not as a politician or even a commentator, but as a soldier on a different battlefield—a battlefield of ideas, values, and faith.
You reminded everyone that I was unafraid, that I stood boldly on campuses, on stages, and even in hostile environments. And Stephen, you know better than most that the courage wasn’t mine alone. It came from the God who anchored me, from the friends like you who stood beside me, and from the cause we both love: the preservation of America as one nation under God.
You said I fought lies with truth. That was my greatest joy. Every time I set up that folding table on a campus and told students, “Prove me wrong,” I wasn’t trying to win an argument—I was trying to open a door. I wanted to show them that truth is not fragile, that it doesn’t need to hide. And Stephen, you fought that same fight from the highest levels of government, where lies are thickest and pressure is greatest. Watching you taught me that truth can stand even in the lion’s den.
When you said my name will not be forgotten, I felt humbled. Because my hope was never for my name, but for the name of Christ to be lifted up. If remembering Charlie Kirk means remembering to stand boldly, to defend liberty, to speak truth without compromise, then I am content.
Stephen, I want to thank you. Thank you for calling me your friend. Thank you for your own courage, which inspired mine. And thank you for reminding the world that our mission was never about power for its own sake, but about restoring the blessings of faith, family, and freedom to every American home.
Carry the torch, my friend. I stood as long as I could, but now it’s in your hands and the hands of those who follow. And as you continue the fight, know that I am cheering you on—not with applause from a crowd, but with prayers from eternity.
Susie Wilds
Susie, when I heard your words, I felt the warmth of a mother’s heart. You said I had a patriot’s spirit, that I carried America in my bones, and I can only smile because so much of that spirit came from people like you—people who poured into me when I was young and untested.
You reminded everyone that even when the odds were against us, I didn’t back down. And you’re right—sometimes the work seemed impossible. The hours were long, the opposition fierce, and the loneliness real. But then I’d look around and see friends like you believing in me, encouraging me, fighting alongside me. And that belief gave me strength.
When you called me “unyielding,” I thought of all the times we prayed and strategized, all the moments you reminded me of the stakes—that this wasn’t about one election or one campaign, but about the soul of America. You taught me that faith and politics aren’t enemies, that they can walk hand in hand when the purpose is righteous.
You said I never wavered in my love for God and country. Susie, that was because I had examples like you. You were always steady, always focused, always faithful. When others compromised, you stood firm. And I wanted to do the same.
I want to thank you—for your kindness to Erica, for your encouragement to me, for your steady hand in moments of chaos. Behind the titles and campaigns, you were a friend. And friendship like yours was one of the greatest treasures of my life.
Now, as you continue your own mission, I ask you to keep doing what you’ve always done: lift up others, strengthen the weak, and remind America of the values that endure. You once told me that patriotism isn’t about loud words but about faithful lives. That’s exactly what you modeled, and what I pray others will see in me.
Susie, you honored me with your words, but I honor you now with my gratitude. You reminded the world of my love for this country. I want to remind the world of my love for you—as a friend, a mentor, and a fellow warrior for truth.
Tucker Carlson
Tucker, I heard your words as you spoke of the cost of truth. You reminded everyone that I often walked onto campuses or stages where hostility was waiting for me—threats, angry mobs, shouts meant to drown me out. And yet you said that I stood there with courage. That meant more to me than you know, because courage didn’t mean I felt no fear—it meant I chose to stand anyway.
You always understood what I was trying to do. I wasn’t there to embarrass people or win applause. I was there to peel back the lies that young Americans had been fed and to show them, sometimes gently, sometimes boldly, that truth exists and it is worth defending. You said I carried that torch without flinching. The truth is, Tucker, I carried it because men like you showed me it was possible.
When you described my work as dangerous but necessary, I felt a deep affirmation. Dangerous, yes, because the world hates the light. Necessary, absolutely, because without truth, freedom collapses. You knew this well—you lived it in your own career. I admired you, not just for your sharp mind, but for your willingness to pay the price.
Thank you for honoring me as a man who stood boldly. But Tucker, I honor you. I learned from your example that clarity is not cruelty, that laughter can defang hatred, and that conviction is worth more than approval.
Now, as you carry forward, I ask you to keep telling the truth no matter how costly it becomes. The next generation needs it. My children need it. America needs it. And know this—I may not be on the stage beside you, but I am standing with you still, in spirit, in mission, and in eternal gratitude.
Tulsi Gabbard
Tulsi, I heard your tribute and felt the sincerity in your voice. You spoke not as a politician rehearsing lines, but as a fellow traveler who knows what it means to carry both service and sacrifice. When you honored my commitment to truth and to America, I felt the bond between us as people who believed that love of country and love of neighbor are inseparable.
You reminded everyone that I poured my youth into this mission, that I risked ridicule, scorn, even my life to awaken young Americans. And you were right—it wasn’t for applause, it was because I believed freedom is a gift worth protecting, even with our last breath. Hearing you say it brought tears to my eyes because you, too, have walked that path—standing against corruption, standing against war, standing for conscience even when it cost you.
When you said I lived with service in mind, I thought back to all the times I told young people: “Live for something greater than yourself. Serve God, serve family, serve country.” Tulsi, you are a living example of that same call. That’s why your words meant so much.
I want to thank you—for seeing me not just as an activist, but as a man trying to live faithfully. For affirming that truth is never wasted, even when the world resists it. And for reminding everyone that courage and compassion are not opposites, but companions.
Tulsi, as you continue your journey, I pray you keep lifting that standard of service. America needs leaders like you, who can stand apart from the crowd and still love the people in it. I will be cheering you on from the other side, grateful for your friendship, your courage, and your heart.
Secretary Marco Rubio
Senator Rubio, I heard your voice when you honored me, and I felt both humbled and grateful. You spoke of courage and faith, and you reminded the crowd that I tried to live with those at the center of everything I did. Hearing you connect my life to those values affirmed what I always prayed—that my time on this earth wouldn’t just be measured in speeches, but in faithfulness.
You talked about America’s future, about the vision that I carried for young people. And you were right—that was the burden that pressed on my heart more than anything. I would look out at those college campuses and see students drowning in despair, confusion, and cynicism. And I couldn’t stand back and let them lose hope in the nation that gave us so much. That was my call: to tell them there is still light, still reason to be proud, still a God who blesses this land.
When you said my voice will live on, I smiled. Because my voice was always just an echo of a greater truth—the truth that liberty is God-given, that faith makes us free, and that courage is the price of both. You’ve carried that same message on the floor of the Senate and in the face of enormous pressure. You never bent, and I admired that.
Senator, thank you for standing with me. Thank you for recognizing that this was never just about politics—it was about souls, about families, about the America our children deserve. As you continue your work, know that I am standing with you in spirit. Let’s keep raising that torch together, until the day the whole world sees that America’s light has not gone out.
Secretary Pete Hegseth
Pete, when you spoke about me, I could hear the voice of a fellow warrior. You talked about service, about sacrifice, about the fight for God and country, and I knew you understood me better than most. You’ve walked the battlefields of war; I walked the battlefields of ideas. But both of us were driven by the same conviction: America is worth defending.
You reminded everyone that I was unafraid to be hated, that I took the threats and the mobs and kept going. But Pete, I want to tell you something—I wasn’t fearless. There were nights I lay awake, wondering what the next day would bring. What gave me strength was knowing that I wasn’t alone, that men like you were standing guard in the same fight, that God was my shield.
When you called me a warrior for truth, I felt honored. Because that’s what I wanted to be—not a celebrity, not a name in lights, but a man who stood in the gap when it mattered. You lived that same mission on the front lines of combat, and then again in the media, calling Americans back to courage. I admired you for it, and your words meant more than you know.
Thank you, Pete, for being the kind of friend who didn’t just honor me in death but stood with me in life. Thank you for reminding everyone that faith, family, and freedom are worth fighting for. And thank you for calling me a warrior, because the truth is, I was just following the path blazed by men like you.
Keep fighting, brother. Keep leading. And know that I am with you still, shoulder to shoulder, in the cause that outlives us all.
Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr.
Robert, when I heard you speak of me, I felt a deep kinship that crossed party lines, titles, and labels. You said I spoke with conscience, that I carried a determination to tell the truth even when it cut against the grain. That moved me, because it was never about being popular—it was about being faithful.
You have always understood that standing for truth makes you an outlier, even among your own. When you reminded the audience of my willingness to risk ridicule or worse, I thought of how often you’ve borne the same. You faced rejection, mockery, and pushback, yet you never abandoned your convictions. And when you saw that same fire in me, it affirmed the mission I poured my life into.
Robert, you spoke of my voice as one that pierced through noise and deception. But I want you to know something: I learned from men like you that integrity isn’t negotiable. Whether it’s on health, liberty, or the environment, you stood firm when the easy path would’ve been compromise. That gave me courage to stand before students, journalists, even entire crowds that wanted me silenced.
When you called me determined, it brought tears to my eyes. Because that determination was never born in me alone—it came from God, from Erica, from the countless people who believed I had something worth fighting for. And you were one of them. Your acknowledgment was proof that truth still unites us, no matter the divides that politics builds.
I want to thank you, Robert. Thank you for honoring me with your words. Thank you for showing me that even in an age of division, there are still voices of conscience who refuse to bow. And thank you for reminding the world that courage is contagious.
Carry the torch, my friend. Speak boldly. Live honestly. And know that I stand with you still, in spirit, urging you onward.
Donald Trump Jr.
Don, when I heard you speak, I felt a brotherhood that goes beyond politics. You said I inspired millions of young conservatives, that I gave them a place to belong, a reason to stand proud of who they are. That meant more to me than you know, because it was never about fame—it was about lifting the next generation higher than myself.
You reminded everyone that I had fire in my bones, that I would not let the world silence me, no matter the mob or the bullet. And you’re right—that wasn’t because I was fearless, but because I knew the stakes. I knew that if we lose the next generation, we lose the nation. I wanted to give them courage, Don. I wanted them to know they weren’t alone.
When you said I gave you friendship and support, I felt honored. Because the truth is, I admired you too—not just as the son of the president, but as a man who endured relentless attacks and kept fighting. You showed me what resilience looks like in the public square. You showed me how to take the arrows, the slander, the late-night ridicule, and keep moving forward for the cause of freedom.
You said I helped create a movement, but Don, the truth is, it was always about people like you—who had the courage to stand up in your own right, to show others that we don’t back down. Together, we reminded millions that it’s okay to be bold, it’s okay to love your country, and it’s okay to honor God in the public square.
I want to thank you, brother. Thank you for carrying forward what we started. Thank you for lifting up my wife and children in this moment. And thank you for reminding everyone that movements don’t die when one man falls—they multiply.
Don, I am with you still. Keep fighting. Keep building. And never stop telling the next generation: courage is a choice, and it’s always worth saying yes.
Vice President J.D. Vance
J.D., when I heard your tribute, I felt a deep sense of gratitude. You spoke of my dedication to family, faith, and legacy. You reminded everyone that I didn’t just talk about values on a stage, I tried to live them at home—with Erica, with our children, with every decision that pointed beyond myself. That meant more to me than anything else you could have said.
You, of all people, understand what it means to rise from unlikely places and to carry responsibility not just for your own name but for your community. When you said I lived with conviction, I felt honored, because that’s what I always wanted—to be the same man in private that I was in public. My greatest fear was to fail Erica and the kids. My greatest joy was to love them faithfully. Hearing you affirm that I kept that vow brought me peace.
You reminded the audience that legacy isn’t about power—it’s about planting seeds. And you were right. Every speech I gave, every campus I visited, was never about applause. It was about planting seeds in young hearts, seeds of courage, seeds of gratitude, seeds of faith. I never expected to see the full harvest in my lifetime. But J.D., when you said my name will stand in history beside men who gave everything for their country, I felt the promise of that harvest beginning even now.
I admired you too. You showed America that it’s possible to rise without forgetting where you came from, that honesty about hardship doesn’t weaken us, it makes us stronger. I wanted to model that same transparency—that brokenness is real, but so is redemption.
Thank you, J.D., for seeing me not just as a movement-builder but as a husband and father who tried to do right by his family. Thank you for reminding the world that my greatest fight wasn’t against mobs or media, but against my own limits—trying to balance calling with home, conviction with compassion.
Carry that forward, brother. Teach the next generation that greatness isn’t measured by titles or offices, but by how faithfully we love those entrusted to us. That’s the America I believed in. That’s the America we must keep building.
Erica Kirk
Erika, my love… hearing your voice break as you spoke, I felt every word echo through eternity. You stood in front of the world carrying not just your own grief, but mine too — and you bore it with grace that only God could give. You reminded everyone that forgiveness is not weakness, but the very heartbeat of the gospel. When you said, “I forgive the young man because Jesus said, ‘Forgive them, for they know not what they do,’” I knew in that moment you had taken the heaviest burden from my shoulders. You chose Christ over bitterness, mercy over revenge. Erika, that was the bravest act of love you could give me, our children, and the movement we built together.
You told the world that TPUSA would live on, not just as an organization, but as a calling — our family’s mission. That commitment broke me and healed me all at once. Because Erika, no one knows better than you the cost of the road we chose. You walked with me through every sleepless night, every death threat, every moment when it felt like the world was against us. You saw the exhaustion, the weight, the tears I never let anyone else see. And yet, instead of letting anger consume you, you looked at my death and turned it into a promise: a promise that our work will not end, a promise that truth will still be proclaimed, a promise that our children will grow up knowing their father’s fight was never in vain.
When you spoke of Jesus, I could see His light shining through you. You reminded everyone that the cross was not defeat, it was victory. And now you carry that cross forward, not alone, but surrounded by countless brothers and sisters who love you and our children. I want you to know: I see you. I see the way you soften your voice when you comfort Gigi and Mac. I see the way you stand tall before the world when inside your heart aches. And I see the way you cling to Christ, trusting that He is near the brokenhearted and saves those crushed in spirit. That trust is the reason I fell in love with you, and the reason I know you will lead with strength even in the storm.
Erika, thank you. Thank you for loving me when I was just a stubborn young man with too many ideas and too little wisdom. Thank you for standing by me when the fight got ugly. Thank you for giving me the greatest gift of all — a family that was my joy, my anchor, my reminder of what really mattered.
I know you’ll carry on. I know you’ll raise our children in faith, in courage, in joy. And I know that every time you stand on that stage, the devil will tremble because he thought he silenced us — but God multiplied our voice through you.
I love you. I am proud of you. And I am with you always, until we meet again.
President Donald J. Trump
Mr. President, when you rose to speak at my memorial, I felt the weight of history itself pressing into that moment. You called me a joyful warrior for our country, a man who loved America and poured himself out tirelessly to make it better. Hearing you say that, I couldn’t help but smile. Because I did love this country — fiercely, passionately, unapologetically. And I loved it not just for what it is, but for what it could be under God’s hand.
You reminded the world that I was part of your election, part of building a movement that shocked the powerful and gave a voice back to the forgotten men and women of this nation. To have you say that so much of your success — your presidency, your victory over the establishment, your defense of the American worker — was linked to my efforts, is more than I could ever have imagined when I was just a teenager starting with a folding table and a handful of flyers. You saw me, Mr. President, when I was young and untested, and you believed in me. That trust fueled me more than you will ever know.
You said the media doubted that Turning Point USA could run a ground game, that we could organize, that we could build something that would last. And then you smiled that knowing smile of yours and said, “They didn’t know Charlie.” That line, Mr. President, is everything. Because you and I both lived by the same principle: never let the doubters, the critics, or the so-called experts define what is possible. Let God define it, and then work like mad to make it real.
When you praised Erica — calling her a force of nature, someone who would carry the torch — I knew you were right. You saw the same fire in her that I saw from the moment we met. And I’m grateful you honored her that day, because without her, there would have been no me, no TPUSA, no movement of this size and scope. She steadied me when I wavered, reminded me when I strayed, and believed in me when I was too weary to believe in myself. You understood that, and I thank you for it.
But most of all, Mr. President, what I want you to know is this: I always saw you as more than a president. I saw you as a man willing to risk everything — your wealth, your reputation, your very life — to defend the country you love. You weren’t perfect, none of us are, but you were courageous. And courage, as I often said, is just saying yes when fear says no. You said yes for America when others said no. That’s why I was proud to stand with you, proud to fight beside you, proud to give my life to the same cause you have carried on your back.
Mr. President, thank you for honoring me, but even more, thank you for carrying the fight forward. I promise you this: my voice may be gone from the stage, but it still echoes in the hearts of millions. And every time you take the podium, every time you defy the powers arrayed against you, know this — I’m still in the fight with you. Side by side. Until the end.
Final Thoughts by Charlie Kirk
Before we go, remember this: America can’t be the land of the free if she isn’t the home of the brave. Bravery is not bombast; it’s obedience. Say yes to truth when it costs you. Say yes to marriage when culture says “maybe later.” Say yes to kids when comfort says “maybe never.” Say yes to integrity when shortcuts look easy. Say yes to worship when worry feels louder.
If I taught anything worth keeping, let it be this: make heaven crowded. Politics can’t save your soul—but saved souls can save a nation. Start at your dinner table. Read Scripture out loud. Pray with your spouse. Hug your kids first, then fix what’s broken in your town. Build a business, hire apprentices, teach civics at church, knock on doors, host a debate, adopt a school board, and refuse to hate your neighbor.
Turning Point will keep growing—more chapters, more pastors, more campus debates with a live mic for the critic. But none of it matters if we don’t keep our first love. Jesus is King. He is the truth our freedom depends on and the grace our enemies need. So forgive quickly. Repent quickly. Work quietly. Speak boldly. Never surrender. Live free.
Young men—put on the full armor of God and carry a diaper bag. Young women—strength and dignity look good on you. Grandparents—tell the stories; they are the curriculum of courage. Everyone—number your days and invest them like they’re scarce, because they are.
We have a country to save and a kingdom to serve. May the Lord bless you and keep you; may He make His face shine upon you and give you peace. I’ll see you down the road—in church, on campus, on the job site, and yes, Monday on the air. Until then, buckle up. Here we go.
Short Bios:
Sergio Gore – Publisher, strategist, and co-founder of Winning Team Publishing, Gore worked closely with conservative leaders and was a trusted friend of Charlie Kirk.
Pastor Rob McCoy – Senior pastor of Godspeak Calvary Chapel in California, McCoy is a civic leader and longtime spiritual mentor to Charlie Kirk.
Rebecca Dunn – Philanthropist and supporter of conservative youth causes, Dunn and her late husband Bill played a crucial role in funding Turning Point USA’s early growth.
Larry Arnn – President of Hillsdale College, historian of America’s founding, and mentor to Charlie Kirk on classical learning and virtue.
Mikey McCoy – Close friend and mentee of Charlie, he traveled with him extensively and joined Turning Point after meeting him at his father’s church.
Tyler Bowyer – Longest-serving executive at Turning Point USA, Bowyer worked alongside Charlie to expand TPUSA from a small startup to a national force.
Justin Strife – Chief Operating Officer of Turning Point USA, Strife worked with Charlie for a decade, highlighting his courage, character, and daily commitment to truth.
Stacy Sheridan – Senior member of TPUSA staff, Sheridan considered Charlie like family and credited him with supporting her through personal tragedies.
Andrew Kolvet – Executive producer of The Charlie Kirk Show, Kolvet was Charlie’s longtime partner in broadcasting and communications.
Benny Johnson – Conservative commentator and digital creator, Johnson credits Charlie with helping him find faith and a family-centered life.
Dr. Ben Carson – Renowned neurosurgeon, former HUD Secretary, and founder of the American Cornerstone Institute, Carson emphasized Charlie’s courage and faith.
Rep. Anna Paulina Luna – U.S. Congresswoman from Florida, former TPUSA staffer, and Air Force veteran, Luna said Charlie launched her career in politics.
Jack Posobiec – Journalist, veteran, and conservative activist, Posobiec described Charlie’s death as a sacrifice that would strengthen Western civilization.
Frank Turek – Christian apologist, speaker, and author, Turek mentored Charlie in apologetics and shared eyewitness testimony of his final moments.
Stephen Miller – Senior advisor to President Trump, Miller praised Charlie as a courageous defender of America’s values.
Susie Wilds – Political strategist and fundraiser, Wilds has been instrumental in conservative campaigns and spoke of Charlie’s patriotism.
Tucker Carlson – Leading conservative commentator and former Fox News host, Carlson reflected on Charlie’s courage and faith.
Tulsi Gabbard – Former congresswoman, veteran, and presidential candidate, Gabbard honored Charlie’s commitment to service and truth.
Marco Rubio – U.S. Senator from Florida, Rubio praised Charlie’s courage, faith, and vision for America’s future.
Pete Hegseth – Veteran and Fox News host, Hegseth honored Charlie’s warrior spirit and service to God and country.
Robert F. Kennedy Jr. – Lawyer and political figure, Kennedy spoke of Charlie’s conscience and determination to speak truth.
Donald Trump Jr. – Author, activist, and eldest son of President Trump, he credited Charlie with inspiring millions of young conservatives.
J.D. Vance – U.S. Senator from Ohio and author of Hillbilly Elegy, Vance highlighted Charlie’s dedication to family and faith.
Erica Kirk – Charlie’s wife and mother of their children, Erica shared personal memories and pledged to continue his legacy.
President Donald J. Trump – 45th and 47th President of the United States, Trump honored Charlie as a critical voice in America’s conservative movement.
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