Two Americas: How We Grieve, How We Rage

On September 11th, 2001, America was attacked. Nearly twenty-five years later, most of us still remember where we were. But what many also remember is what stood out even more than the flames and the falling towers: the way people came together. Neighbors who had never spoken embraced. Democrats and Republicans bowed their heads side by side. There was no thought of “which side are you on?” when the entire nation was in tears.

Fast forward to today, and the assassination of Charlie Kirk. He was a husband, a father, a man of God. He believed debate was better than destruction, words better than weapons. And when he was taken in cold blood, how did those who loved him respond? With vigils. With silence. With prayer. Thousands gathered not to riot, not to burn, but to grieve.

The difference is staggering when you compare it to how the left has reacted to the deaths of those they call heroes. Consider Michael Brown, who tried to kill a police officer, or George Floyd, whose life tragically ended during an arrest. Their deaths sparked riots across America. Businesses destroyed. Cities burned. Innocent people were attacked. Police officers ambushed. What was supposed to be mourning turned into a spree of chaos, destruction, and violence.

The truth is simple: the right holds vigils, the left burns cities. The right gathers in prayer, the left smashes windows. The right weeps, the left riots.

And yet we must go deeper, because this is not just about politics; it is about the heart of a nation.

When Charlie Kirk was killed, the right remembered him as a family man, a Godly man, a man who encouraged dialogue even with his harshest critics. They did not storm buildings or loot businesses in his name. They gathered in silence and reverence, the way human beings are meant to honor the dead.

But the left has been conditioned to see every tragedy as a spark for revolution, every death as fuel for division. It is not remembrance that matters; it is power. It is not healing that matters; it is hate. They claim to seek justice, but justice cannot come from fire in the streets or from businesses destroyed that never had anything to do with the crime.

And yet here is the irony: when the left burns cities after the death of George Floyd, they call it righteous anger. When the right holds a vigil after the death of Charlie Kirk, they are mocked as weak. The same voices that praise destruction condemn reverence. The same people who shout about “love and tolerance” cheer with laughing emojis when a man is gunned down in front of his family.

What does that say about the spirit that drives them?

This is not the America of 9/11, when grief brought us together. This is not the America where loss made us one people under God. Today, grief has become just another battlefield. One side sees death as a chance to mourn; the other sees death as a chance to conquer.

But the truth will always cut through the smoke: the way you grieve reveals who you really are. And in this moment, the difference could not be clearer.

If America is ever to heal, it will not come through violence. It will not come through lies, name-calling, or mobs in the streets. It will come through the simple, holy acts of prayer, remembrance, and unity, the very things that followed Charlie Kirk’s assassination.

So let us ask ourselves: when tragedy comes again, and it will, will we be the America that prays, or the America that burns?