They Twisted the Truth. Montana Was Waiting!
Editorial by Contributor Decker McCullough 9/11/25 7:30 pm MST
I want to begin by affirming what must never be forgotten: the lives lost on September 11th. We remember the passengers aboard the planes, the innocent souls in the Twin Towers in New York City, the Pentagon in Arlington, Virginia, and the field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania. We honor the victims on the ground and in the buildings—each life cut short, each story left unfinished
The Decker Editorial
I wasn’t planning to write this. I was planning to shake Charlie’s hand in Kalispell come October. We had a plan. He was going to speak plainly, meet folks face to face, and remind this part of Montana that clarity still matters. That conviction still counts. That you don’t have to be polished to be principled. But that plan won’t be realized. And I’m not just grieving the absence of a man—I’m grieving the way the press twisted his presence before he even arrived.
Let’s get something straight. Charlie Kirk was a good man. Not perfect. Not polished. But good. He spoke with conviction, not calculation. He didn’t pander. He didn’t posture. He didn’t need a teleprompter to tell him what mattered. And for that, the press couldn’t stand him.
What we’ve seen in the last few weeks is not journalism. It’s narrative engineering. It’s the slow, deliberate erosion of truth under the guise of “analysis.” And it’s time we called it what it is: misleading. Not mistaken. Not misinformed. Misleading. Intentional distortion with a smile and a byline.
Mathew Dowd was just the first. He took the mic, twisted the facts, and MSNBC handed him the rope. They didn’t ask for context. They didn’t ask for clarity. They asked for outrage—and Dowd delivered. But when the backlash came, when viewers saw through the spin, MSNBC didn’t defend the distortion. They fired the messenger. Not because they found integrity. But because they got caught.
Let me be clear: Dowd’s firing isn’t accountability. It’s optics. It’s damage control. It’s the press saying, “We’ll sacrifice one to protect the rest.” But the rest are still spinning. Still misleading. Still framing Charlie as something he wasn’t. And I won’t let that stand.
Charlie Kirk wasn’t coming to Montana to stir controversy. He was coming to connect. To speak. To listen. To walk the streets of Kalispell and remind us that national discourse doesn’t have to be distant. That you can bring conviction to a conversation without bringing chaos. That you can challenge the press without being caricatured by it.
But the press didn’t want that story. They wanted a villain. They wanted a headline. They wanted a soundbite they could slice and dice until it fit their frame. And when Charlie gave them clarity, they called it controversy. When he gave them conviction, they called it extremism. When he gave them Montana, they gave him Manhattan spin.
I watched it unfold. I watched the coverage twist. I watched the headlines shift from “Speaker Visit” to “Controversial Figure.” I watched the quotes get clipped, the context get erased, the tone get weaponized. And I watched good people—people who knew Charlie, who respected him—get painted with the same brush.
That’s not journalism. That’s propaganda with punctuation.
And it’s not just about Charlie. It’s about every voice that dares to speak plainly. Every speaker who doesn’t fit the coastal mold. Every thinker who challenges the narrative. The press doesn’t just misrepresent individuals—they misrepresent intentions. They don’t just distort words—they distort meaning.
So let me say this plainly, like Charlie would’ve: If you twist a man’s words to fit your agenda, you’re not reporting—you’re misleading. If you erase context to create controversy, you’re not informing—you’re inflaming. And if you silence voices by caricature, you’re not protecting democracy—you’re poisoning it.
Charlie Kirk was supposed to be here. He was supposed to speak in early October. He was supposed to walk into a room full of Montanans and speak without spin. That plan is gone. But the reason for his visit—the reason he was coming—is more urgent than ever.
Because Montana doesn’t need more pundits. We need more truth-tellers. We need more clarity. We need more voices that don’t flinch when the press flails. And we need to call out misleading coverage wherever it hides—whether it’s in a chyron, a column, or a carefully curated clip.
I’m not asking for agreement. I’m asking for honesty. I’m not demanding praise. I’m demanding precision. And I’m not mourning a canceled event—I’m mourning a missed opportunity for Montana to hear a man who spoke without fear.
The press will move on. They’ll find another figure to twist. Another voice to distort. Another headline to spin. But here in Kalispell, we remember. We remember who Charlie was. We remember what he stood for. And we remember what the press tried to erase.
I live out in eastern Montana, where the wind doesn’t flatter and the land doesn’t lie. Out here, we value grit over gloss, truth over trend, and a man’s word over his wardrobe. Charlie Kirk carried those same values. He didn’t need to prove himself with polish—he proved himself with principle. That’s why I was proud to welcome him to this state. That’s why his absence stings. So this is for Charlie. For the visit that won’t happen. For the words that were twisted. For the truth that still matters. And for every Montanan who’s tired of being misrepresented by media that doesn’t know our streets, our values, or our voices. I won’t let the press rewrite the kind of man he was. Not while I’ve got breath, not while Montana still stands for something.
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