America, Where Are You?

I was in fifth grade when the world stopped turning. At the time of 9/11, my mom worked in the World Trade Center of Fife — just a few stories high, nothing to do with the Towers in New York, but in my child’s heart, the name was enough to scare me. So I begged her to stay home, and adamantly refused to go to school. I planted myself on the couch, eyes fixed on the news as smoke poured across the screen. In those moments, I understood that history was no longer a story someone else told. It was mine.

That day planted something deep within me. I was young enough to cling to my parents in fear, yet old enough to know that what I was watching would shape me forever. That day, and in the aftermath, I began to love this country — not in a vague, flag-waving way, but in the kind of way that takes root in your very being. I saw people who put politics aside, strangers carrying each other’s burdens, and a nation bound together when it mattered most.

That love carried me into a passion for politics, into studying (and eventually teaching) the ideas that knit this country together, into believing that America was - and is - worth fighting for.

But yesterday, on the eve of 9/11’s anniversary, my heart broke again. Charlie Kirk was assassinated.

I didn’t agree with everything he said, nor did I follow his every move, but I trusted his mission to call America to something higher. And yet, here we are, living in a country where a man is killed because of what he believed, and people take to the internet not to mourn, but to celebrate.

America, where are you?

On that September day, America came together. Today, in moments of catastrophe, we come apart.

After 9/11, unity surged through us like a lifeline. For a moment, America remembered who she was. We stood together, shoulder to shoulder, and it was beautiful. But now, instead of unity in the face of crisis, we meet death with mockery. Instead of standing up for each other, we tear each other down. That is not strength. That is a sickness.

But I still have faith in a better way.

This country is great because we disagree. How lucky are we to live in a place where different voices can speak freely, where freedom of conscience still beats at the heart of the land? Disagreement should never be a death sentence.

I remember my dad’s words to me on the night of 9/11. I was crying before bed, and he said, “Nik, it’s okay to cry, but it’s not okay to live in fear. If you do that, the enemy wins.” He was talking about terrorists that night, but I hear his words echo again now. If we live in fear of one another, if we let violence or hate dictate how we see our neighbors, then the enemy - the devil himself - wins.

And Jesus weeps with us. He always has. He wept at Lazarus’s tomb, He weeps over broken nations, and I believe He weeps today. But I hold fast to what Charlie Kirk himself said, that “Jesus defeated death so [we] can live.” And that means there is still hope. It’s never too late - for me, for you, for this country - to live more like Him.

So today, I grieve. I grieve for Charlie Kirk, for his family, for the unraveling I see around us. I dare to hope that America can be a country of love again. We can love our neighbors in small ways that add up. We can choose unity over division, dignity over disdain.

And we must.

Because if I learned anything from that September morning in 2001, it’s this: America is strongest when we love one another.

America, where are you? I pray we find you again, and soon.