I met Charlie Kirk at a Turning Point USA event last year. He had already spent hours on stage, yet still stayed afterward to speak with students one by one. During our conversation, Charlie mentioned he recognized my writing. For someone who had only recently read his first book, that moment carried real weight.
In 2024, during my sophomore year of high school, I was diagnosed with attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder. For years, teachers labeled me lazy, tests often ended in frustration, and school felt like a system where long-term success seemed unlikely. My experience reflected what millions of students across the country face—being overlooked by a public education system that often fails to identify or adequately support them.
My diagnosis and treatment gave me the tools I needed to succeed in the very system that had failed me. After reading my first book, I discovered a genuine passion for politics. Within a year, I was publishing articles in national media.
Kirk’s podcast offered something fundamentally different from what I encountered in school. He emphasized clarity in debate, encouraged open disagreement, and broke down complex political issues in a way younger audiences could understand. At a time when only about 15% of eighth graders are proficient in U.S. history, Charlie’s approach filled a measurable gap.
My newfound passion for learning, which transformed my life within months, made me genuinely excited for college. After all, college is supposed to be an intellectual rebirth, something I had already experienced firsthand and learned to love.
At the same time, I began reading Kirk’s work, including The College Scam, in which he argues that many universities have moved away from their core mission of education toward ideological conformity and credentialism. Charlie’s point is not that higher education lacks value, but that too many institutions no longer prioritize intellectual development.
Through continued reflection, I realized that college has, in many ways, become a waste of time. I would still have to attend—if I wanted to go to law school, college would be required—but it would function more as a necessary credential than a genuine desire.
When it came time to choose a college, I faced two paths. The first was attending a “traditional” university—highly ranked campuses where much of the faculty and student body lean left. Initially, that environment appealed to me. Being surrounded by hundreds of students who disagreed with me seemed like the ideal setting for someone who thrives on debate, argument, persuasion, and the chance to challenge opposing views.
Charlie Kirk built his career by going to left-leaning campuses and debating liberal college students. Wouldn’t he want more conservative students to do the same?
The possibility of facing ideological pressure at these universities initially drew me in. I value conversations with people who are more informed than I am, especially when they challenge my views. In many cases, those conversations have pushed me to research issues more deeply and reevaluate the arguments I heard.
Testing ideas against opposition strengthens reasoning and exposes weaknesses. A campus filled with students who disagreed with me would provide that opportunity every day.
The second option was, admittedly, far less exciting. I could choose one of the few conservative institutions, where I would likely receive a strong education, but the opportunities for direct ideological debate would be more limited.
Education, as the Founders understood it, promotes a classical liberal arts model grounded in Western civilization, constitutional principles, and moral philosophy. Most of all, as George Washington argued in his Farewell Address, education must recognize the importance of religion.
Washington understood that virtue is rooted in religion; without virtue, there are no morals, and without morals, there is no republic. One thing was clear: no left-leaning university would ever view education through that lens.
The decision was not simple. One path emphasized engagement and persuasion. The other emphasized foundation and intellectual development. One view holds that exposure to disagreement produces stronger thinkers, while the other argues that without a strong intellectual foundation, constant debate becomes repetition rather than growth.
If Charlie Kirk were still alive, I would have asked him for advice. I wish I had done so when I had the opportunity.
Kirk’s broader argument about education—shaped in part by the teachings of David Horowitz—was that education should not function as a platform for ideological activism. He did not view education as primarily about teaching skills or information. Charlie believed true education should focus not on what to think, or even what to know, but on how to think.
I chose Hillsdale College, a Christian conservative college that Charlie called the best college in America.
At first, I was reluctant to choose it. I did not want to be surrounded by a student body that largely shared my political views. Where would the debates come from?
That concern faded once I recognized that conservatives are far more intellectually diverse than commonly portrayed. The level of ideological conformity often associated with the left is far less present on the right. Within conservative spaces, there are serious disagreements over issues ranging from foreign policy, including support for Israel, to economic questions such as tariffs and trade. The Right invites discourse, while the Left increasingly suppresses it.
I have always sought learning environments that are truly distinct—places that offer an education that cannot be replicated elsewhere. I learn the most in settings that challenge me in ways no standard classroom can. Hillsdale College is one of those places. No other university in the United States currently offers the same educational model.
I hope I made the right decision. I hope Charlie would have agreed with it, though I will never know. What matters more is trying to live with the same level of discipline and purpose he demonstrated. That standard represents a form of excellence worth striving toward.
Kirk did not tell me where to go. But he left me with a guiding question: instead of asking where I could argue the most, he asked where I could learn the most.
Charlie Kirk was not the only influence on my decision. David Horowitz also played a significant role. His view of education—particularly his argument that classrooms should present competing biases rather than attempt to eliminate them—shaped my thinking. Bias is inherent; it cannot be removed, only confronted and understood.
As I prepare to begin college, I aim to carry forward the principle both Charlie Kirk and David Horowitz emphasized: students must learn how to think, not simply be told what to believe.