On a brisk March evening in Asheville, North Carolina, Congressman Chuck Edwards faced a crowd of thousands—most of them decidedly unhappy with his policies and political stance. The event, a town hall held in March 2025, was remarkable not just for its size or the charged atmosphere, but because Edwards showed up at all. At a time when many of his Republican colleagues were being urged to cancel public appearances, Edwards chose to walk into the lion’s den. According to The New York Times, this willingness to engage, even with those who disagree, speaks volumes about his approach to public service and the value he places on open conversation.
In a WLOS interview prior to September 27, 2025, Edwards summed up his philosophy: “We’ve got to learn as Americans to disagree. We’re never going to agree on everything.” For some, these words might sound like boilerplate political rhetoric. But in today’s climate—where the boundaries of acceptable speech are fiercely contested—they carry real weight. The context is crucial: Edwards’ public embrace of dialogue comes amid a broader Republican push to penalize those who criticize certain conservative figures, most notably the late Charlie Kirk.
Kirk, who was assassinated earlier in 2025, left behind a complicated legacy. He was best known for his twice-yearly tours of universities across the country, where he would perch on a folding chair and invite students to “Prove Me Wrong.” These debates, which tackled issues like abortion and trans rights, became viral sensations on TikTok, YouTube, and Instagram. According to The New York Times, Kirk’s content—often edited to show him “destroying” liberal opponents—racked up tens of millions of views and set a template now adopted by influencers across the political spectrum.
But Kirk’s impact went beyond viral moments. As former high school teacher and current Asheville writer Pat Brothwell noted, Kirk’s rhetoric frequently targeted vulnerable communities, including LGBTQ Americans. Brothwell, referencing a New York Times op-ed by left-wing commentator Hasan Piker, argued that Kirk was adept at “taking advantage of people’s resentments and redirecting them toward vulnerable communities.” As a gay man, Brothwell felt this personally, explaining that Kirk’s vision for America would have relegated LGBTQ people to second-class status, eroding federal protections for marriage and job security.
Despite these criticisms, Kirk has been lionized since his assassination—primarily by conservatives but also by some outside his ideological camp—as a champion of free speech. His widow, Erika Kirk, was elected chair and chief executive of Turning Point USA just over a week after his death, and she’s slated to continue his legacy with a new college tour announced by the organization.
The debates themselves were masterclasses in rhetorical strategy. Kirk’s approach, as detailed by The New York Times, relied heavily on repetition, quips, and calculated provocations. For instance, at the University of Wyoming in April 2025, Kirk dismissed majors like women’s studies as “irrelevant”—a line he’d used at least four times in the previous two years. At Northern Arizona University in October 2024, he discouraged heckling from his MAGA-hat-wearing supporters, enhancing his image as a defender of free speech while still keeping the focus on his own arguments.
At the University of Tennessee in March 2025, Kirk’s debate tactics were on full display. He proposed cesarean sections as an alternative to abortion—a claim widely disputed by medical professionals. Research published in American Journal of Obstetrics and Gynecology and Obstetrics & Gynecology shows that C-sections have more than four times the complication rate of abortions. Undeterred, Kirk pivoted to comparing abortion to the Holocaust, invoking “45 million babies” as a rhetorical device. Debate experts quoted by The New York Times described this as a muscular, emotionally resonant strategy—one that pushed the boundaries of acceptable argument and often left his less-experienced opponents flustered.
Kirk also had a knack for using statistics—sometimes inaccurately. In a March 2024 debate at California State Fullerton, he cited the claim that 80 percent of Black people in America “do not have a stable father around,” a statistic that federal and nonprofit studies show is simply not true. Less than half of Black children live without a father at home, and the number has never exceeded about 65 percent. But in the heat of debate, Kirk’s confidence often forced his opponents to concede ground, even when the facts were not on his side.
He was also fond of making sweeping, unprovable generalizations. At the University of Wisconsin, Madison, in September 2025, Kirk asserted differences between men and women based on stereotypes, a tactic described by debate coach Carl Trigilio as “sensory overload.” The idea: overwhelm your opponent with so many points that they can’t possibly rebut them all, forcing passive concession.
Over the years, Kirk honed his skills, becoming increasingly composed and effective. In a 2018 debate with left-wing pundit Hasan Piker, he lost his cool, but by 2025 he had mastered the art of rapid-fire talking points and rhetorical “turns”—using an opponent’s words to his own advantage. One of his most viral moments came in a debate organized by Jubilee, where he opened with, “Define a woman,” sparking a discussion that has since garnered over 37 million views on YouTube.
At the time of his assassination, Kirk was about 20 minutes into another “prove me wrong” debate, responding to a question about gun violence with a diversion about gang violence. The student who asked the question, Hunter Kozak, has himself become part of the debate economy that Kirk helped create, building a TikTok following of over 40,000 by attending Kirk’s events and interviewing participants on hot-button issues.
The aftermath of Kirk’s death has sparked a fierce debate about free speech and the consequences of political expression. JD Vance, a prominent Republican, has argued that anyone “celebrating” Kirk’s killing should lose their job—a standard he’s applied broadly enough to include late-night host Jimmy Kimmel, who criticized former President Trump’s response to Kirk’s death, not the death itself. Trump, for his part, has suggested that critical television coverage of him should be illegal. These calls for punishment have left many Americans, especially those living paycheck to paycheck—57 percent, according to a December 2024 NerdWallet survey—fearful of professional retaliation for expressing their opinions.
Brothwell, reflecting on these developments, warned that “fear of retaliation for what we say isn’t American. It’s authoritative. And it’s a very slippery slope.” He noted that while celebrities like Jimmy Kimmel have the resources to weather backlash, ordinary Americans do not. The chilling effect, Brothwell argued, threatens to undermine the very foundation of democratic discourse.
Some Republicans, including Ted Cruz and Megyn Kelly, have voiced concerns about the move to restrict free speech, but most have fallen in line. On September 17, 2025, Congressman Edwards marked National Constitution Day on his social media channels, emphasizing that free speech is an “unalienable right.” The Constitution, he reminded his followers, does not limit free speech to what the ruling class dictates.
As the debate over speech and disagreement continues, the legacy of Charlie Kirk—and the response of figures like Chuck Edwards—will shape the contours of American discourse for years to come. Whether the nation can learn, as Edwards urged, “to disagree” without fear remains an open question, but the stakes have never felt higher.