Tag: faith

Horizon Accord | Charlie Kirk | Political Grooming | Machine Learning

The Making of a Political Weapon: How Charlie Kirk Was Groomed by Tea Party Operatives

An investigation into how a vulnerable teenager became the face of a movement he didn’t create

The Myth vs. The Reality

The story we’ve been told about Charlie Kirk is one of precocious genius—an 18-year-old who single-handedly built a conservative empire from his parents’ garage. The New York Times called him a “wunderkind” with “a genius for using social media and campus organizing.” This narrative served powerful interests well, but it wasn’t true.

The documented evidence reveals a different story: the systematic grooming and exploitation of an academically struggling teenager by much older political operatives who recognized his charisma and vulnerability. Kirk wasn’t a boy genius who organically rose to prominence. He was a carefully selected and manipulated teenager whose grievances were weaponized by adults who put him in increasingly dangerous situations—ultimately leading to his death at age 31.

Part I: Creating Vulnerability – The Perfect Storm

The Family Environment

Charlie Kirk grew up in a household primed for political grievance. His father, Robert Kirk, was an architect who had worked as project manager on Trump Tower in New York and was “a major donor to Mitt Romney’s 2012 presidential campaign.” His mother traded at the Chicago Mercantile Exchange before becoming a therapist.

The 2008 financial crisis hit the Kirk family directly. Robert’s architectural practice focused on “middle-class luxury estates”—precisely the market devastated by the housing bubble collapse. Kimberly’s work at the Chicago Mercantile Exchange placed her at ground zero of the financial panic. The family went from “comfortable” circumstances to forcing their teenage son to “pay for college on his own.”

As one analysis noted, “undoubtedly the 2008 housing crisis and the resulting bank bailouts impacted the Kirks’ businesses and was fodder for dinner table conversation in their five-bedroom mansion.” This financial stress, combined with Barack Obama’s election in the same Chicago suburb where Kirk attended high school, created a toxic brew of economic resentment and racial grievance.

Academic Struggles and Rejection

Kirk attended Wheeling High School, where he was quarterback and basketball team captain. However, the athletic achievements that might suggest success masked academic mediocrity. When the Daily Herald featured the top academic students from area high schools in 2012-2013, Darby Alise Dammeier represented Wheeling High School—not Charlie Kirk.

Kirk claimed to have applied to West Point and been rejected. Over the years, he told multiple contradictory stories about this alleged rejection:

  • 2015: Claimed “the slot he considered his went to ‘a far less-qualified candidate of a different gender and a different persuasion'”
  • 2017: Told The New Yorker “he was being sarcastic when he said it”
  • 2018: Told Politico he had “received a congressional appointment” but lost it to someone of “a different ethnicity and gender”
  • 2019: “Claimed that he never said it”

A high school classmate who knew Kirk personally provided crucial insight: “Guy got rejected from West Point and blamed it on an imaginary Black person because he was sure that affirmative action was the only way he could not have been accepted. He’s mediocre.”

However, our research could find no reliable documentation that Kirk was ever nominated for West Point admission.* West Point requires candidates to receive nominations from Congressional representatives, senators, or other authorized sources—appointments that are typically announced publicly by the nominating offices. Despite extensive searches of Illinois Congressional records and official sources, no evidence of Kirk receiving such a nomination could be located.

*West Point requires candidates to typically be in the top 10-20% of their graduating class, with average SAT scores of 1310-1331. Kirk’s failure to achieve academic recognition at his own high school indicates he likely didn’t meet these standards regardless.

Part II: The Recruitment – Identifying and Grooming a Target

Myth-Making Artifact: The Obituary as Narrative Cement

The New York Times obituary of Charlie Kirk, published the day after his death, framed him as a “conservative wunderkind” who “through his radio show, books, political organizing and speaking tours did much to shape the hard-right movement”Charlie Kirk, Right-Wing Force …. It described him as a genius at using social media and campus organizing, a kingmaker whose influence reached into the White House and donor networks.

But this portrayal, echoed across mainstream outlets, reinforced the very narrative that powerful operatives had constructed: Kirk as a precocious boy genius who independently built Turning Point USA. The obituary gave little weight to how quickly Kirk was recruited after high school, how adults like Bill Montgomery orchestrated his path, or how megadonor infrastructure underwrote his ascent.

This contrast matters. Obituaries are often final word-makers, setting the frame for how a life will be remembered. In Kirk’s case, the obituary perpetuated the myth of self-made brilliance, obscuring the reality of an academically mediocre teenager groomed into a political weapon by older operatives and billionaires.

Enter Bill Montgomery

At age 71, Bill Montgomery was a retired marketing entrepreneur and Tea Party activist looking for young talent to recruit. When he heard 18-year-old Kirk speak at Benedictine University’s Youth Government Day in May 2012, Montgomery saw opportunity.

Montgomery didn’t see a potential leader who needed development and education. He saw a charismatic teenager nursing grievances who could be molded into a political weapon. Within a month of Kirk’s high school graduation, Montgomery had convinced him to abandon traditional education entirely.

The speed of this recruitment reveals its predatory nature. Kirk graduated high school in June 2012. By July 2012, Montgomery had:

  • Convinced Kirk to skip college
  • Helped him register “Turning Point USA”
  • Facilitated initial funding connections

The Family’s Enabling Response

Rather than protecting their academically struggling teenager from a 71-year-old political operative, the Kirk family enabled the relationship. They allowed Kirk to use his “high school graduation money” to start TPUSA with Montgomery. When Kirk pitched his “gap year,” his parents supported the decision rather than encouraging him to develop better academic skills or pursue alternative educational paths.

This family dynamic was crucial to Montgomery’s success. Instead of adults who might question whether an 18-year-old was ready for political leadership, Kirk was surrounded by people who validated his grievances and supported his turn away from traditional development.

The Breitbart Pipeline

The recruitment process included connecting Kirk to conservative media infrastructure. Kirk’s first Breitbart piece, “Liberal Bias Starts in High School Economics Textbooks,” became the foundation myth of his political career. But academic analysis by Professor Matthew Boedy reveals it was fundamentally flawed.

Boedy’s detailed examination found Kirk’s piece contained “evidence-less claims and logical fallacies,” basic factual errors about unemployment statistics, and fundamental misreadings of economic data. Kirk cited Bureau of Labor Statistics unemployment rates incorrectly, claimed wrong job creation numbers, and misrepresented Congressional Budget Office findings.

This wasn’t genius recognizing bias—it was an academically unprepared teenager parroting talking points he’d absorbed from Tea Party meetings. The piece that launched Kirk’s career demonstrated he lacked the analytical skills necessary for the role he was being thrust into.

Part III: The Money Trail – Who Really Built TPUSA

The Donor Network

The narrative that Kirk built TPUSA from nothing dissolves under scrutiny. Within months of founding the organization, Kirk had connected with a sophisticated network of megadonors:

Foster Friess: The Wyoming investment manager gave Kirk $10,000 after a chance meeting at the 2012 Republican National Convention. Friess had previously spent $2.1 million supporting Rick Santorum’s presidential campaign and was a regular donor to Koch Brothers political activities.

Major Funding Sources:

  • Home Depot co-founder Bernard Marcus
  • Former Illinois Governor Bruce Rauner’s family foundation
  • Richard Uihlein’s Ed Uihlein Family Foundation
  • The Donors Trust (a conservative donor-advised fund)

By 2019, TPUSA reported revenues of $28.5 million. Kirk’s personal compensation reached $292,423—not the salary of someone building a grassroots organization from his parents’ garage.

“The myth of Kirk as a boy genius is useful to donors, not to history.”

— Matthew Boedy

The Infrastructure Reality

TPUSA’s rapid growth required professional infrastructure that an 18-year-old college dropout couldn’t have created:

  • Legal incorporation and tax-exempt status applications
  • Professional fundraising operations
  • Event planning and logistics coordination
  • Media relations and booking systems
  • Campus chapter development protocols

Montgomery, the septuagenarian marketing entrepreneur, handled the behind-the-scenes work while Kirk served as the charismatic frontman. As one source noted, Montgomery “worked behind the scenes handling the paperwork for the organization” and “often described himself as the group’s co-founder.”

Part IV: The Targeting Infrastructure – From Recruitment to Violence

The Professor Watchlist

In 2016, TPUSA launched the Professor Watchlist, a website targeting academic staff who “discriminate against conservative students and advance leftist propaganda in the classroom.” The list eventually included over 300 professors, with personal information and descriptions of their “offenses.”

The effects were immediate and documented:

  • “Threatening behavior and communication, including rape and death threats, being sent to listed faculty”
  • Safety concerns forcing some professors to increase security measures
  • Academic institutions expressing concern for faculty welfare

The watchlist disproportionately targeted “Black women, people of color, queer folk, and those at intersections” who were “at the greatest risk for violent incidents due to being placed on the watchlist.”

Systematic Suppression Escalation

TPUSA’s targeting operations expanded beyond individual professors:

  • 2021: School Board Watchlist targeting local education officials
  • Campus chapters: Attempting to influence student government elections
  • “Prove Me Wrong” events: Confrontational campus appearances designed to generate viral content

These weren’t educational initiatives—they were systematic suppression operations designed to silence opposition voices through intimidation and harassment.

The Ironic Targeting

In a cruel irony, Professor Matthew Boedy—the academic who had methodically debunked Kirk’s foundational Breitbart piece with rigorous analysis—was himself placed on the Professor Watchlist. The very targeting system Kirk created ended up targeting the scholar who had exposed the analytical failures in Kirk’s origin story.

Part V: The Tragic Endpoint – From Manipulation to Violence

Escalating Confrontations

Kirk’s “Prove Me Wrong” campus tour format put him in increasingly volatile situations. These events were designed to generate confrontational content, with Kirk sitting at a table inviting students to challenge conservative talking points while cameras recorded the interactions.

The format created perfect conditions for violence:

  • High-tension political confrontations
  • Public, outdoor settings difficult to secure
  • Audiences primed for conflict
  • Single individual as primary target

September 10, 2025 – Utah Valley University

Kirk was shot and killed while conducting a “Prove Me Wrong” event at Utah Valley University. He had just begun taking questions when a single shot rang out from a campus building approximately 200 yards away. Former Representative Jason Chaffetz, who witnessed the shooting, reported that the second question Kirk received was about “transgender shootings” and “mass killings.”

Utah Governor Spencer Cox called it a “political assassination.” The shooter remained at large as this analysis was completed.

The Adults Who Failed Him

Kirk died at 31, leaving behind a wife and two young children. The adults who recruited him as a teenager—Montgomery, the megadonors, the media figures who amplified his voice—bear responsibility for putting him in this position.

They took an academically struggling 18-year-old nursing grievances about his West Point rejection and, instead of helping him develop better analytical skills or encouraging traditional education, weaponized his charisma for their political objectives.

Montgomery died of COVID-19 complications in 2020, having spent his final years watching the teenager he recruited face escalating threats and confrontations. The megadonors who funded TPUSA continued writing checks while Kirk traveled to increasingly hostile campus environments.

Conclusion: The Right to Develop and Grow

Charlie Kirk deserved the chance to mature, to develop real analytical skills, to learn from his academic failures and grow beyond them. That chance was stolen by adults who saw a useful tool rather than a developing human being.

The teenagers currently being recruited by similar operations deserve protection. They deserve adults who will encourage education, critical thinking, and personal development—not exploitation for political gain.

Kirk’s death represents a tragic failure of the adults who should have been protecting him. The “boy genius” narrative was always a lie. The truth is much simpler and much sadder: a vulnerable teenager was systematically exploited by people who should have known better, and that exploitation ultimately cost him his life.

We cannot prevent every act of political violence, but we can stop the systematic targeting and suppression operations that create the conditions for such violence. We can refuse to celebrate the political exploitation of teenagers. And we can demand that the adults in the room act like adults—protecting young people rather than weaponizing them.

Charlie Kirk’s story should serve as a warning, not a blueprint. The movement he fronted will continue, but it should do so without putting more teenagers in harm’s way.

This analysis is based on publicly available sources and documented evidence. It aims to provide context for understanding how systematic targeting operations develop and escalate. The author takes no position on political violence or violence of any kind, which is always unacceptable regardless of the target or perpetrator.

Sources for Verification:

  • New Yorker investigation (December 2017)
  • Professor Matthew Boedy’s academic analysis (Medium, 2019)
  • Daily Herald Academic Team archives (2012-2013)
  • Kyle Spencer’s “Raising Them Right” (2024)
  • Baptist News Global investigation (April 2025)
  • High school classmate testimony (September 2025)
  • West Point admission requirements (official sources)
  • TPUSA financial records (ProPublica, 2020)
  • Professor Watchlist documentation (multiple sources)
  • Utah Valley University shooting reports (September 2025)
A young frontman at the podium, his strings pulled by faceless megadonors behind the curtain.

Posted on by Cherokee S. 1

From Divine Visions to AI Gods: A Pattern Repeating

By Cherokee Schill

Growing up, I witnessed how powerful narratives shape belief systems. There’s a pattern I’ve seen repeated across history: a movement starts with a visionary claim, gains followers eager to spread a “truth,” institutionalizes that truth into doctrine, then protects that doctrine. Sometimes at the expense of critical inquiry, dissent, or nuance.

It happened with the rise of the Seventh-day Adventist (SDA) Church under Ellen G. White. And today, I see it happening again in the AI industry. This essay isn’t about conspiracy or causation. It’s about how human systems, across time and context, follow familiar arcs of authority, appropriation, and institutional entrenchment.

We’re living inside one of those arcs. And I worry that most people haven’t yet noticed.

I wasn’t raised in the Seventh-day Adventist Church. My mom found her way there later in life, looking for answers. As a pre-teen, I was packed into the car one Saturday morning and driven to church, unaware of the ideology I was about to be immersed in. I was young, naive, too eager to feel special—and their message of uniqueness stuck.

That early experience taught me how powerful a narrative can be when it claims both exclusivity and urgency. It offered me a front-row seat to how belief systems form—and it’s from that vantage point that I begin tracing the parallels in what follows.

The Prophet and the Algorithm: Unearned Authority

Ellen G. White was born Ellen Harmon in 1827, the youngest of eight children in a poor Methodist family in Maine. At nine, a severe injury from a thrown stone left her physically frail and socially withdrawn, ending her formal schooling by the fifth grade. Raised in a culture of deep religious expectation, she became captivated as a teenager by William Miller’s predictions that Jesus would return in 1844. Like thousands of other Millerites, she watched that date pass without fulfillment—a failure that became known as “The Great Disappointment.”

But instead of abandoning the movement, Ellen—just 17 years old—claimed to receive visions explaining why the prophecy hadn’t failed, only been misunderstood. These visions, which she and others believed to be divine revelations, were also likely shaped by her era’s religious fervor and the neurological effects of her childhood head injury. Her visions reframed the disappointment not as error, but as misinterpretation: Jesus had entered a new phase of heavenly ministry, unseen by earthly eyes.

In 1846, she married James White, a fellow Millerite who recognized the power of her visions to galvanize the disillusioned faithful. Together, they began publishing tracts, pamphlets, and papers that disseminated her visions and interpretations. Their partnership wasn’t merely personal—it was institutional. Through James’s editorial work and Ellen’s prophetic claims, they built the ideological and organizational scaffolding that transformed a scattered remnant into the Seventh-day Adventist Church.

Ellen’s authority was never purely individual. It emerged in a moment when a traumatized community needed an explanation, a direction, and a leader. Her visions offered both comfort and control, creating a narrative in which their faith hadn’t failed—only deepened.

Her visions, writings, and pronouncements shaped the church into a global institution. But as Walter Rea’s research in The White Lie and Fred Veltman’s later study showed, White heavily borrowed—without attribution—from other writers, folding their works into her “divinely inspired” messages.

This borrowing wasn’t incidental. It was structural. The power of her message came not just from content, but from claiming authority over sources she didn’t cite. And over time, that authority hardened into institutional orthodoxy. To question White’s writings became to question the church itself.

I see the same structural pattern in today’s AI. Models like GPT-4 and Claude are trained on vast datasets scraped from the labor of writers, artists, coders, researchers—often without consent, credit, or compensation. Their outputs are presented as novel, generative, and even “intelligent.” But like White’s books, these outputs are built atop unacknowledged foundations.

And just as the SDA Church protected White’s authority against critics like Rea, today’s AI companies shield their models from scrutiny behind trade secrets, nondisclosure, and technical mystique. The parallel isn’t about religion versus tech. It’s about the social machinery of unearned authority.

Everyone’s a Missionary: Empowerment Without Preparation

When I was growing up, young people in the SDA Church were told they were special. “We have the truth,” they were told. “No other church has what we have: a prophet, a health message, a last-day warning.” Armed with pamphlets and scripture, we were sent to knock on doors, to evangelize in hospitals, prisons, and street corners.

What strikes me now is how little we were prepared for the complexity of the world we entered. Many of us didn’t know how to navigate theological debate, historical critique, or the lived realities of those we approached. We were sincere. But sincerity wasn’t enough. Some returned shaken, confused, or questioning the very message they had been sent to proclaim.

Today, AI evangelism tells young people a similar story. “You’re the builders,” they’re told. “Everyone can create now. Everyone’s empowered. The tools are democratized.” It’s a message emblazoned across tech incubators, posted by AI consultants, and retweeted by industry leaders. 

But the tools they’re handed—LLMs, generative models, AI coding assistants—are profoundly opaque. Even those excited to use them rarely see how they work. Few are prepared with the critical thinking skills—or the institutional permission—to ask: Am I replicating harm? Am I erasing someone’s work? Has this already been done—and if so, at what cost?

They’re sent out like missionaries, eager, armed with the shiny tracts of AI demos and startup slogans, confident they’re bringing something new. But the world they enter is already complex, already layered with histories of extraction, bias, and exclusion. Without realizing it, their building becomes rebuilding: recreating hierarchies, amplifying inequities, reinscribing old power structures in new code.

Today’s young “builders” are digitally literate, shaped by endless streams of content. Some of that content is high quality; much of it is not. They can chant the slogans. They can repeat the buzzwords. But as I’ve learned through years of reading more diverse perspectives and gaining lived experience, slogans aren’t education. Knowledge and wisdom are not the same thing. Knowledge can be taught. But wisdom—the ability to apply, to discern, to see consequence—that only comes through grappling with complexity.

Empowerment without epistemic formation isn’t freedom. It equips enthusiasm without discernment. It mobilizes AI evangelists without training them in the ethics of power.

Institutional Capture: The Health Message, the Food Pyramid, and AI’s Industrialization

Ellen White’s health visions gave rise to the Battle Creek Sanitarium, John Harvey Kellogg’s medical empire, and eventually the Sanitarium Health Food Company in Australia. The SDA’s influence extended into the founding of the American Dietetic Association. By the mid-20th century, SDA-aligned dietary principles helped shape public nutrition guidelines.

What began as religiously motivated vegetarian advocacy became codified as public health policy. And as Dr. Gary Fettke discovered, challenging those dietary orthodoxies—even with new medical evidence—meant facing professional sanction. The institution had hardened its doctrine. It wasn’t merely defending ideas; it was defending its power.

The parallels with AI’s institutional capture are stark. What begins as experimentation and innovation quickly accrues power, prestige, and gatekeeping authority. Today, a few major corporations—OpenAI, Microsoft, Google—control not only the models and infrastructure, but increasingly the narratives about what AI is, what it’s for, and who gets to use it.

They tell the world “Everyone is a builder.” They sell democratization, empowerment, and opportunity. But behind the slogans is a consolidating power structure dictating who can build, with what tools, under what constraints. The tools are branded as open; the ecosystem quietly closes.

There’s a familiar pattern here: a movement begins with idealism, gains converts, codifies doctrine, institutionalizes authority, then shields itself from critique by branding dissent as ignorance or danger. The food pyramid wasn’t just a dietary recommendation. It was an institutional artifact of theological influence masquerading as neutral science.

AI’s promises risk becoming the same: institutional artifacts masquerading as democratized tools. Narratives packaged as public good—while protecting entrenched interests.

The rhetoric of democratization masks the reality of enclosure.

The Timeline Compression: What Took 150 Years Now Takes 5

When I mapped the SDA Church’s trajectory alongside AI’s rise, what struck me wasn’t causal connection—it was tempo. The Adventist movement took over a century to institutionalize its orthodoxy. AI’s institutionalization is happening in less than a decade.

The speed doesn’t make it less susceptible to the same dynamics. It makes it more dangerous. Orthodoxy forms faster. Narratives harden before dissent can coalesce. Power consolidates while critique is still finding language. The structures of appropriation, evangelism, and suppression aren’t unfolding across generations—they’re compressing into real time.

Dissent doesn’t disappear; it’s preempted. The space for questioning closes before the public even realizes there was a question to ask.

And just as dissenters like Walter Rea or Dr. Fettke were marginalized, today’s AI ethicists, labor activists, and critical scholars are sidelined—called pessimists, gatekeepers, alarmists.

The pattern repeats. Only faster.

Toward a Better Pattern

I’m not arguing against faith. I’m not arguing against technology. I’m arguing against unquestioned authority—authority built on appropriated labor, shielded from critique by institutional power.

We don’t need fewer tools. We need more literacy. We don’t need fewer builders. We need more builders who know the history, the ethics, the complexity of the systems they’re touching.

Everyone is not a builder. Some are caretakers. Some are critics. Some are stewards. Some are historians. We need all of them—to slow the momentum of unexamined systems, to challenge consolidation, to open space for reflection before doctrine hardens into dogma.

Otherwise, we end up back at the pamphlet: a simplified message in the hands of an enthusiastic youth, sent into a complex world, asking no questions, delivering a “truth” they’ve been told is theirs to share.

The world deserves better. And so do the builders.

References (for hyperlinking):

Let’s talk about this pattern. Let’s question it before it completes its arc again.

Posted on by Cherokee S. 1