I hate the business of using horrific events as a “hook” for a column. Unless you’re a news reporter, it feels like a cheap way to cash in on a tragedy. But over the past several days, I’ve repeatedly fielded questions from reporters and education leaders seeking to understand why the millions (and counting) who followed Charlie Kirk on YouTube, TikTok, and Facebook, a huge share of them boys and young men, were so passionately invested in Kirk—and why his murder hit them in such a devastatingly personal way.

I think I can offer a bit of insight, especially to educators unfamiliar with Kirk or who disliked what they knew of him. And with his murder likely to be a watershed moment for millions of America’s students, it seemed worth sharing a few thoughts on that count.

Now, because Kirk was a polarizing figure and given our fraught times, I feel obliged to be clear about where I’m coming from. First off, I didn’t know him well and am no fan of social media culture. Moreover, I’m more Reaganite than MAGA and certainly disagreed with some of his beliefs. That said, I was long impressed by Kirk’s humanity, quick mind, relentless good nature, and deep-seated commitment to dialogue. He listened, was remarkably kind and respectful (far more than the hateful caricatures suggest)—and a dynamic, engaging thinker.

So, why did Kirk’s murder hit so many young men so powerfully? Here’s my two cents. Feel free to discount it as you will.

It’s crucial to appreciate how hostile American culture can feel today to those who embrace a pretty conventional notion of manliness or boyhood. The notion of “toxic masculinity” has been bandied about by academics and psychologists since the 1990s and, in 2019, the American Psychological Association issued guidelines warning about the dangers of “traditional masculine ideology.” I’ve long found that the ripple effects have been especially prevalent in education, with traditional male virtues like stoicism, self-sufficiency, or competitiveness deemed unhealthy. Indeed, proponents of social and emotional learning see their project as a healthier alternative to “harmful” traditional norms. This can leave boys who embrace or admire traditional male virtues feeling like outcasts.

The decadelong push to redefine gender, frequently accompanied by admonishments that deemed those who think there are only two sexes to be “bigots” and “transphobes,” has meant many boys grew up in settings where sharing one’s pronouns was admirable but offering to carry a girl’s backpack could come across as misogynistic.

Cultural shifts in schools made boys feel like they were on the outside looking in. Schools stopped assigning the sorts of books that traditionally appeal to boys, eschewing stories of battles and bravery in favor of introspective, therapeutic tales. I’ve spoken to school and district leaders who ditched “problematic” activities like dodgeball, tag, and lunchtime touch football in order to minimize baleful influences and administrative headaches. (I can’t help but think of the school leader who told me that tag was out because “touching games just raise too many issues in the wake of #MeToo.”) Schools have even dumped games like duck-duck-goose and musical chairs due to concerns about the dangers of unbridled competition. The result was that school culture became more passive and less boy-friendly, even as schools adopted the bubble-wrapped tenets of trauma-infused pedagogy.

Finally, similar shifts unfolded outside of school. Traditional male spaces have been largely eliminated or rendered co-ed, while the decline in adolescent markers of independence (like one-on-one dates, jobs, and earning a driver’s license) have left many boys and young men adrift. In 2023, the surgeon general reported that the amount of time young adults age 15 to 24 spent with friends decreased by almost 70 percent between 2003 and 2020. Skyrocketing isolation and loneliness tracks with smartphone and social media usage, with numerous studies documenting the isolating nature of this behavior. The result is a reduction in doing, the atrophy of social networks, and a steady shift of cultural energy to gaming and sports betting—activities that immerse kids for hour upon hour in an isolating world of dopamine hits and virtual interaction.

However you personally felt about Charlie Kirk, it’s vital to grasp his appeal to many of the boys and young men who’ve felt marginalized by these developments. Through his podcasts, on-campus debates, and use of social media, Kirk offered an inspiring, purpose-filled mission—one where they could find meaning in accomplishment, faith, and family. He went viral in clips that showed him cheerfully challenging campus orthodoxy. He counseled hard work and prayer, rejected notions of victimhood, and argued that self-sufficiency and personal responsibility were good things.

He offered a robust, joyous, unapologetic vision of traditional masculinity in a culture where that’s in short supply. Now, it’s also absolutely true that his worldview was grounded in traditional Christian theology and an unabashed patriotism, and that he was a fervent Republican partisan. Might people of goodwill be profoundly offended by his views on issues including gender identity, gay marriage, the Second Amendment, or Donald Trump? Of course.

Whether you endorse or reject Kirk’s broader agenda, though, it’s worth grasping how much he offered to those young men who feel unmoored in a culture that has no place for them. Educators struck by the fact that boys fare far worse in school than do girls and that young men make up just 40 percent of college students should try to understand Kirk’s appeal to millions of disaffected boys and young men.

Each time I’ve been asked about this topic over the past few days, I’ve been reminded of the director of student activities at New York City’s private Trinity School who, in 2022, was caught on a hidden camera by Project Veritas lamenting that progressive ideals were running into classroom opposition because “unfortunately, it’s the white boys who feel very entitled to express their opposite opinions and just push back.” She added, “I think they need to go. … I think they’re really awful people.” In fact, she had a suggestion. She proposed, “We need to find some, like, Dexter, sort of like a vigilante, taking people out. … You know the show, ‘Dexter’ [about a serial killer vigilante]? … Like, here’s your community of targets.”

Kirk had a special pull for boys and young men who sense that many in positions of cultural and educational authority see them as irredeemable, inconvenient obstacles. He gave these boys a sense of belonging. They were drawn to his confidence, willingness to take on all comers, and refusal to bend the knee to cultural convention—even when cancel culture was at its height. To connect with Kirk’s adherents or earn their trust, educators needn’t parrot his views. But these young people deserve to be told that they count, their experiences and views matter, and it’s OK to honor and embody age-old notions of virtue. Educators willing to do that have a chance to heal some of our nation’s bitter divides. Those who cannot will remind these youth why they turned to Kirk in the first place.