The Destructive Power of “The Other”

We are living in dangerous times.

The events in Utah on Wednesday, when Charlie Kirk was killed, have shaken me to my core, and honestly, I've been struggling to find the words. As I was trying to process everything, Three Doors Down's song, When I'm Gone started playing, and it really hit me. Usually, when someone is gone, that’s when we really appreciate them, see their humanity, remember that behind the political positions and heated debates was a person—someone's son, someone's husband, someone's friend, someone’s father. Yet I see so many people celebrating this man’s death today and it turns my stomach.

Here's the question that's been burning in my mind all day: How do we get to a place where we can have conversations about humanity, about dignity, about seeing each other as people made in the image of God rather than enemies? How do we get to a place where someone can share an opinion others disagree with and we can have civil discourse rather than violence?

We are such an offendable society. We feel powerful when we have an enemy to fight against, don't we? When we have someone to blame, someone to point at and say, "They're the problem." But here's what I've learned through my own journey: the moment we start treating people as enemies instead of people who hold different views, we've crossed a line that leads us to a very dark place.

There is undeniable power behind identifying an enemy. It gives us purpose, direction, something to rally against. It makes complex problems seem simple—if we can just defeat them, everything will be better. But Jesus was very specific about this: people are not the enemy. The voice they listen to? Yes. The ideas that drive them toward destruction? Absolutely. But the person themselves? Never.

We're at a pivotal time right now where the words we use matter more than ever. And regardless of what side of any issue you fall on, attacking the soul and character of a person is wrong. Period. It's okay to attack actions, to defend against harmful policies, to stand firm on principles—but when we cross the line into making someone less than human in our minds, we've become something we never intended to become.

We take action based on what we believe about others. And if we believe someone is an enemy—truly an enemy and not just someone with whom we disagree—well, what do we do with enemies? Throughout history, the answer has been clear: we eliminate them.

We've become a nation of individual tribes, each convinced that the other side represents an existential threat to everything we hold dear. Conservative or liberal, Republican or Democrat, Christian or secular, urban or rural—we've turned these descriptors into battle lines, and everyone on the other side has become the enemy.

But here's what tribalism does: it makes us forget that the person across from us is someone's child, someone's parent, someone who has dreams and fears and hopes just like we do. Tribalism reduces complex human beings to their worst soundbites, their most extreme positions, their angriest moments.

Here's what I believe is happening: we're all listening to voices, and those voices are shaping how we see the world and the people in it. Some voices call us to see the image of God in every person, to give grace, to seek understanding before seeking to be understood. Other voices whisper that compromise is weakness, that showing empathy to the "other side" is betrayal, that our opponents aren't just wrong—they're evil.

Jesus was clear about this: the enemy isn't flesh and blood. The enemy is the voice that tells us other people are disposable, that violence is acceptable, that ends justify any means. The enemy is the lie that says we're so right that others become less than human.

When I see these ideas on social media, the way we talk about people who disagree with us politically, I see us walking down a path that leads to a place none of us should want to go.

We're normalizing dehumanization.

We’re “meme-ifying” people.

We're making it acceptable to wish harm on people because of their political beliefs.

We're creating an environment where violence becomes not just possible, but inevitable.

But there is a different way forward. There has to be, because the alternative is unthinkable.

It starts with remembering that the person who disagrees with you politically is still a person. They have reasons for believing what they believe, even if you think those reasons are wrong. They have experiences that shaped their worldview, fears that drive their decisions, hopes for their families and communities.

That doesn't mean we don't stand firm on our convictions. It doesn't mean we don't fight for what we believe is right. But it means we fight ideas, not people. We remember that today's opponent might be tomorrow's ally, and that even if they never become our ally, they're still someone God loves.

Instead of asking, "How can I defeat this person?" we need to start asking, "How can I understand where this person is coming from?"

Instead of, "How can I expose their evil?" we should ask, "How can I find common ground?"

Instead of, "How can I humiliate them?" we should wonder, "How can I honor their humanity while still standing for the truth?"

This isn't weakness. This is the hardest kind of strength there is. It's easy to hate. It's easy to dehumanize. It's easy to see enemies everywhere. What's hard is seeing people—flawed, broken, beautiful people made in the image of God—even when they're saying things that make us angry.

We're at a crossroads. We can continue down this path of treating political opponents as enemies and dehumanizing those who disagree with us. But if we do that, we'll only see more tragedy, more violence, and more families destroyed by the very divisions we're feeding.

Or we can choose something different. We can choose to see people as people. We can choose to listen to voices that call us toward unity rather than division, toward understanding rather than condemnation, toward love rather than hate.

The tragedy that shook us this week should serve as a wake-up call. Not just about security or violence or political strategy, but about the kind of people we're becoming. Are we becoming people who see enemies everywhere? Or are we becoming people who see fellow human beings, even in our opponents?

Charlie Kirk’s family is grieving deeply this week, but they are not the only ones. Tyler Robinson’s family is grieving too. Robinson made a decision that destroyed not only Kirk’s family, but also his own. Dozens, hundreds, thousands of people who loved each of these men will never be the same.

I pray we choose wisely, before another family has to grieve, before another community has to heal, before another tragedy reminds us that the person on the other side of the political aisle was someone's everything.

This post is the joint effort of April Kelly and I, because we got to talking about this on our call today. We normally write our blog posts a month or two in advance but we realized that the tragedy that occurred this week needs to be put out in the open in a way that encourages dialogue, not hate. We felt this would be helpful because April and I have fairly different political beliefs, and yet we feel united in this issue.

People are not our enemy—hate, anger, violence, those are our enemies.