Six Months Later: The UVU Class I'll Never Forget

I stepped off the bus at the UVU bus stop just like I had done hundreds of times. But the scene was different. Police cars lined up in front of the university entrance. American flags everywhere. Memorial flowers, signs, and tributes strewn across the lawn. 

This was my first time back at Utah Valley University since Charlie Kirk had been shot there five days prior. I walked into my building and was greeted by fellow social work faculty and staff cutting out hundreds of green hearts and making signs that said “We love our students!” I sat in my office and wiped away a few tears. Tears that spoke of heaviness and loss, and also of the hope of healing.  

Ten minutes later, a student named Ammon knocked on my door. With short, parted brown hair he looked like many conservative men in Utah County. “I’d like to ask permission to skip class on Thursday,” he said. He explained that he really liked Charlie Kirk and had gotten bad reactions from friends and family when they learned he was a fan of Kirk’s work. He was grieving Kirk’s death on his own because he felt he could not talk to anyone without being judged. He was afraid that he would be met with the same reaction in class. He continued, “It would be better for my classmates and for me if I missed class that day.” 

Many of his peers had signed a petition to keep Charlie Kirk from coming to campus. They clearly viewed this man much differently than he did. Then he got emotional, “I don’t know why I’m crying. I didn’t even know him, but I lost someone I admired and felt connected to. I’m just so sad that he died and I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about how I’ve been feeling.” 

I took in what he was saying then said, “If your classmates lose respect for you for liking Charlie Kirk, they won’t be good social workers. I can’t make you come to class, but I think it’s important that you do. And I hope you share with the class the fear you just shared with me.” 

Three days later I sat in a circle with my little class of 12 students. “This has been a hard week,” I began. “Let’s go around the circle and check in about how we’ve been doing.” One by one students shared how they had been feeling since the shooting. Some students talked for 30 seconds, some for multiple minutes. When it was Ammon’s turn I hoped he would share what he had shared with me, but instead he said, “I don’t have much to say,” and let the next student talk. 

After everyone had shared, I said, “Someone in this class told me they were afraid to come today because they were worried they would be rejected if you all knew they liked Charlie Kirk because many of you had signed the petition to keep him from speaking on campus. What would you like to say to that classmate?” 

Emily sat directly across from me. With pink dyed hair and tattoos on her arms, she looked like what AI would come up with if you asked it to draw an edgy liberal white woman. She was the first student to respond to my question. “It was me who shared the petition. And I’m not sorry that I did that. But I’m just now realizing that in doing so I made someone in this group feel othered.” Then she paused as she started to get emotional. “I am so sorry that the petition hurt someone in this class.” 

Emily’s words gave Ammon courage and he shyly raised his hand. “I’m the student who told Ben I didn’t want to come to class today. I’ve really been struggling since Charlie died. I’ve felt really alone and I’ve been so sad.” 

And then the moment of healing. Emily asked, “Could you tell us what you liked about Charlie Kirk?” 

“I’m a dad and a Christian,” Ammon said, “and those are the two most important parts of my identity. Charlie Kirk talked a lot about being a Christian dad and I really resonated with that.” Emily listened sincerely and asked follow up questions. She truly wanted to know why he liked someone she despised. Then Ammon asked why his classmates struggled with Kirk and Emily and other students shared. He listened and asked questions, too. 

Tears ran down my cheeks as I watched my students, on different sides of the political spectrum, come together and sincerely try to understand one another. 

Before class started that day I knew Ammon wasn’t the only student who came to campus nervous. All of them had been on social media and had seen what the political extremes had said about the assassination. Everyone felt hated and attacked by the other side. 

And now here in a classroom at UVU sat students from both sides. But they didn’t hate or attack each other. They were curious. They wanted to understand beliefs different from their own. And as they listened to each other they didn’t change their minds, but they did connect with each other. 

When class was over, many students hugged, including Emily and Ammon. It was a powerful moment. Students had been scared because of extreme reactions online, but in person the reactions were love and care. That night I wrote about the experience in my journal and ended the entry with these words: “I really believe that the world can heal and that we can come together.” 

Healing will come as we vulnerably share our experiences with people who don’t agree with us, and when that vulnerability is met with sincere curiosity. Both of those acts–vulnerability and curiosity–require bravery when we know the other person’s beliefs don’t align with ours. 

As my hero Sharon Eubank said, “I believe the change we seek in ourselves and in the groups we belong to will come by… actively trying every day to understand one other”

Six months later I repeated my daily ritual. I rode the bus to work, walked past the front lawn at UVU, and entered my building. The hundreds of green hearts had long since been taken down and campus felt normal again. And I ran into Ammon. But this time he wasn’t in my office telling me he was scared to come to class—he was talking with Emily in the hallway. This wasn’t odd or out of the ordinary because in the months since that experience in class, I’ve run into them together on campus many times. 

I’ve seen them talking and laughing just like close friends. 

Because by being vulnerable and taking the time to listen to each other…

That’s what they’ve become.