A man, wearing a MAGA cap and a U.S. flag draped around his shoulders, attend a vigil in Provo, after U.S. right-wing activist, commentator, Charlie Kirk, an ally of U.S. President Donald Trump, was fatally shot during an event at Utah Valley University, in Utah, U.S. September 12, 2025. REUTERS/Jim Urquhart

I was a political science student in college when 9-11 happened. Almost overnight, the air in our classrooms thickened with talk of the Middle East—of regimes and sects, of the supposed sickness in other people’s faith. At the same time, I sat in lectures on American government, absorbing lessons on freedom, the separation of church and state, and the principles that anchor a democracy. The story was tidy: Extremism existed “over there,” and here was civility, rationality, liberty.

But even then, I felt the story was too neat. We were trained to see extremism as foreign, an affliction of others. No one asked us to look for it in our own pulpits, in our own chambers of power, where faith is wielded not only as belief but as authority.

For decades, we were told that extremism abroad is born of poverty, oppression, and lack of democracy. That dignity and fair governance could inoculate against violence. Yet here at home, the extremists are not poor. They are not desperate. They are wealthy, white, and privileged, carrying Bibles in one hand and power in the other. These are the people shaping foreign policy, writing the rules of engagement, and insisting that God Himself is on their side.

It is easy to sneer at fundamentalism when it wears a beard and prays to a different God. We do this without noticing how our own leaders claim the same divine sanction. Take Sen. Ted Cruz (R-Texas), who recently said, “Those who bless Israel will be blessed, and those who curse Israel will be cursed,” a statement guiding policy on the basis of religious prophecy. As a result, borders are drawn and redrawn, not by maps or treaties, but by the conviction that scripture demands it. Tanks move forward because some believe the end times will be hastened by the blood spilled today. I have heard lawmakers speak of Israel not as a nation among nations, but as a ticket for their own salvation—a stage for the rapture. Lives are traded away for a promise written in ancient ink. Too often, it is prophecy, not policy, that carries the weight of law.

The divine is always invoked to conquer, to exclude, to strip away the humanity of others.

Charlie Kirk was another voice in this chorus. His platform rested on the claim that his words bore the imprint of Jesus Himself. And that is the mark of fundamentalism: not just to speak, but to declare speech holy. Not just to pass laws, but to claim the laws come from God. When movements convince their followers that every act of war, every border drawn, every vote cast is sanctified, fundamentalism is no longer a fringe—it is the system itself.

This is America’s problem. We imagine fundamentalism as the product of religion alone, but in truth it is about power. It thrives in systems that punish dissent and demand obedience. It flourishes where inequality is already deep, where racism already wounds. Whether it calls itself Christian nationalism or Zionism, the fruit is the same: oppression disguised as divine order.

Christian nationalism, in particular, is theater. Fear of the stranger is the script. The Gospels are props—quoted when convenient, discarded when not. The gun becomes holy; violence is celebrated as sacrament; scripture appears only to bless white entitlement and empire. And somehow, the divine is always invoked to conquer, to exclude, to strip away the humanity of others.

“Love the stranger as yourself” has been rewritten into “expel the immigrant.” “Turn the other cheek” has become “press his cheek into the ground.” The inversion is so stark you can only call it blasphemy.

It is time to see the truth we’ve trained ourselves to ignore: that the politics of faith are not a distant problem but a domestic one. That prophecy and scripture are invoked to shape our laws, and our laws shape our lives. That the moral high ground, so often claimed, is little more than a thin veneer of power and entitlement.

We are not exempt from the damage. We are participants in it. And we cannot keep pretending that America’s fundamentalists are not pulling the strings.