I didn’t agree with Charlie on everything.

Though we held opposing views on many fundamental issues, he extended an invitation for me to speak at Turning Point USA’s Student Action Summit in Tampa.

Standing before an audience of young faces, I shared a message that might have surprised attendees of the premier conservative youth event:

‘Strengthen your minds by embracing diverse viewpoints. Achieving the vision you hold for yourself—and the world—depends on cooperation. It’s not just about winning an argument, but about winning over people. Truly listen to understand.’

That was Charlie’s legacy.

He never treated disagreement as hostility, a rarity in public life. He grasped the crucial role of dialogue in democracy. A thriving society isn’t built by silencing, canceling, or misrepresenting those with differing perspectives. He stood for persuasion over force, and debate over destruction.

Charlie welcomed me on his podcast and shared my posts—whether they discussed health or the value of bridging ideological divides. He didn’t shy away from spotlighting ideas beyond his usual audience.

I wasn’t alone in my admiration. My young son once traveled through three flights just to meet him at a Turning Point event. After a grueling string of 14-hour days, Charlie still took the time to engage with him, shake his hand, snap a photo, and make him feel important.

When I stepped onto that stage and looked out into a sea of young faces, I said something they may not have expected to hear at the world’s premier conservative youth gathering

My young son (pictured) once took three flights just to shake his hand at a Turning Point event

Charlie spoke directly to young men at a moment when so many feel lost or vilified simply for who they are. In a culture quick to tell young men they are broken, Charlie dared to tell them they were needed. He taught them that masculinity wasn’t about dominance but about responsibility. 

He urged them to be protectors and providers, to live with integrity, to embrace faith and duty, to love their families and their country. He reminded them that patriotism wasn’t blind nationalism, but gratitude for freedom and a call to stewardship.

He rooted it all in the idea that each of us carries a responsibility to build something better and to preserve the freedoms we’ve inherited for future generations. At a time when cynicism is fashionable and tearing down America is applauded, Charlie dared to tell young people to stand tall, take pride, and carry the weight of citizenship.

But Charlie was more than a cultural force. He was a husband, a son, and a father—roles that grounded him and shaped the values he carried into public life.

And here lies the irony, and the heartbreak: Charlie died trying to bridge the very divides he spent his life warning against. 

At a moment when legacy media and too many politicians choose demonization over dialogue, Charlie chose engagement. Where others slap labels—’Nazi,’ ‘racist,’ ‘fascist’, ‘bigot’ on anyone who disagrees, Charlie kept talking. Where others profit from outrage, Charlie preached responsibility.

Why is this othering so relentless? Because outrage pays. Division mobilizes. The more we fear and hate one another, the more clicks, votes, and power flow to those stoking the fire. But when you strip people of their humanity—when you tell the world they are monsters—you make violence against them not just possible but, in some minds, justified.

That is why this has to stop. Now. If we continue to let leaders and institutions profit from hatred, we will lose not just individuals like Charlie, but the very fabric of our society.

Unlike so many in public life, Charlie never treated disagreement as enmity. He understood something essential: that democracy depends on dialogue. That was Charlie’s legacy

Charlie, 31, was more than a cultural force. (Pictured with his wife Erika Frantzve, 36, three-year-old daughter and 16-month-old son). He was a husband, a son, and a father—roles that grounded him and shaped the values he carried into public life

We cannot answer hate with hate, nor can we surrender to it. Real resistance means standing firm in principle—rejecting darkness without becoming it. 

That means speaking out. It means demanding better from those in power. It means engaging across divides, even when it’s uncomfortable. 

And it means remembering that most of us, left and right, still want the same core things: safety, opportunity, dignity, and a future for our children.

Charlie’s life should remind us that dialogue is not weakness but strength. That listening is not surrender but courage. And that love—of family, of community, of country—is not something to mock, but something to build upon.

We cannot allow ourselves to be divided into enemies. We cannot lose sight of our shared humanity. And we cannot give up on the hope that this country can still be a place where ideas are fought with words, not weapons.

Rest in peace, Charlie. May we honor you not only in memory, but in action—by carrying forward the best of what you stood for.