The first time I ever heard the word Columbine, I was young enough that the details felt distant, almost unreal. A high school should be filled with lockers slamming shut, sneakers squeaking on tile floors, and the chatter of teenagers comparing homework and weekend plans. Instead, that name became synonymous with horror. It was the beginning of a new kind of fear, one that has lingered in the halls of America’s schools ever since.

Over the years, that fear has only deepened. Virginia Tech, Sandy Hook, Parkland, Nashville, the names blur together, but the grief remains sharp. Each time we tell ourselves it is an exception, but the truth is, violence in our schools and on our campuses has become a tragic rhythm in the background of our national life. Metal detectors, clear backpacks, active shooter drills: these are the new accessories of childhood, woven into routines that should never have required them.

Today, that rhythm sounded again, and this time the headlines carried the name Charlie Kirk. At Utah Valley University, during what was supposed to be a stop on his “American Comeback Tour,” a man raised his hand not in debate, but in violence. A gunshot cracked through an event meant for dialogue, striking Kirk in the neck. Students and attendees who came to hear a speech were suddenly witnesses to chaos. Some screamed, some ducked beneath their seats, and others ran for safety as campus officers rushed to secure the scene.

Kirk is not an unknown figure. At only 18 years old, he co-founded Turning Point USA, an organization that has since become a major player in conservative youth politics. Now in his early thirties, he leads multiple branches of the movement, hosts a popular talk show, and frequently appears on national media outlets. To his supporters, he represents a bold and unapologetic voice challenging what he sees as liberal dominance on college campuses. To his critics, his rhetoric is often confrontational and polarizing. Either way, his presence in higher education spaces has been unmistakable, and his events have drawn both enthusiastic crowds and fierce opposition. That is what made today’s attack not only a personal tragedy, but also a symbol of how deeply division has seeped into our public square.

Division has become one of the most dangerous forces at work in our nation. Where there was once room for disagreement, there is now contempt. Where dialogue could have sharpened our ideas and deepened our understanding, hostility has taken its place. What once was a marketplace of ideas now feels like a battlefield where no one walks away unscathed. Political conversations that should happen with reason, humility, and respect are too often shouted down or silenced by anger. In this atmosphere, the very concept of constructive debate is being replaced with threats and, far too often, physical violence. When words are no longer trusted as tools for persuasion, people reach for weapons to make their point. The result is a country where ideology is not just defended, it is enforced through fear.

Political leaders from every side spoke out today, condemning what happened in Utah, calling for prayers, and calling for unity. But words, like security cameras and locked doors, can only do so much. The anger rising in our politics, the loneliness that leaves people vulnerable, and the way our culture too often places power above responsibility are not problems that can be fixed overnight. What is required runs deeper: a willingness to restore respect, to return to civil discourse, and to teach the next generation that strength is best shown through character, not intimidation.

I think back to that day in 1999 when Columbine changed everything. We told ourselves then that it was an aberration. But here we are, decades later, still stunned by headlines, still mourning victims, still trying to figure out how to keep our children safe. The tragedy is not just that violence keeps happening, but that it no longer surprises us.

And so the question lingers: what will it take for us to change the story? To make schools and campuses places where learning, not fear, writes the narrative? Today, as Charlie Kirk fights for his life, and as yet another event joins the list of places forever marked by violence, the weight of that question feels heavier than ever.

If we want our children to inherit campuses filled with curiosity instead of fear, we must begin again to teach the art of listening, the courage of dialogue, and the possibility of change. That responsibility does not rest in government programs alone, but in families who raise their children with discipline and love, in churches that remind us of grace and truth, and in communities that look out for one another. We will not erase violence entirely, but we can strengthen the foundations that hold a society together. Faith, family, and responsibility are not outdated ideals; they are the anchors that can steady us in this storm.