As an alumna of Point Loma Nazarene University (PLNU), class of 2021, I never imagined I’d be writing yet another lament for the school that shaped my early adulthood.
But here we are: For the third time, PLNU has denied students the chance to form an official chapter of Turning Point USA (TPUSA), the conservative student organization founded to champion free markets, limited government, and individual liberty on campuses across America.
This latest rejection, announced via email from University President Kerry Fulcher on November 5, 2025, isn’t just a bureaucratic hiccup—it’s a glaring symptom of an institution that has lost its way, prioritizing “campus climate” over the very diversity of thought it claims to foster.
Let’s rewind for context, because this isn’t a one-off grudge.
Back in 2021, during my senior year, I rallied a group of like-minded students to launch a TPUSA chapter. We saw it as a natural fit for a Christian university: a space to equip young believers with tools to engage the culture boldly, unapologetically defending biblical truth in a world gone mad.
Our application? Shot down flat.
The reason? It supposedly didn’t “align with the university code of conduct.”
Meanwhile, the LGBTQ+ pride club, whose events and messaging often clashed head-on with Nazarene doctrine on human sexuality, waltzed away with the “Diversity of the Year” award that same year. Hypocrisy doesn’t get much thicker than that.
Fast-forward to now, and history rhymes with excruciating precision. The current crop of applicants, over 200 students strong, including freshmen, juniors, and everyone in between, poured their hearts into a polished proposal.
Elected leaders like Ginger Friess, the would-be president, cited her grandfather’s early support for TPUSA as inspiration, emphasizing a mission to “create loving people” rooted in Christ.
Luke Cole, the prospective secretary, described the email rejection as a gut punch: “I felt silenced when I got that email. I felt like I couldn’t speak anymore.”
Brooklyn Stratton, the vice president hopeful, nailed the stakes: “College is our formative years… I feel like not giving people the opportunity to explore which side of politics they’re on doesn’t align with free speech at all.”
What sins did this group commit to earn the boot?
According to the Associated Student Body (ASB) Board of Directors, which holds veto power over clubs, the application echoed language from TPUSA’s Professor Watchlist—a tool that exposes educators pushing radical ideologies in the classroom. Even though the students explicitly disavowed participation in it, the mere whiff of similarity was enough to deem it a threat to “constructive communication” between students, faculty, and admins.
Oh, and the proposed tie-in with TPUSA Faith? That’s out too, for supposedly duplicating campus ministry efforts and advancing an agenda to “eliminate wokeism” in the church. Never mind that PLNU’s own “B.R.E.A.K.” club dives deep into “privilege” and “gender justice,” or that the Center for Justice and Reconciliation hosts sessions on “immigration and racial justice” that sound like they were scripted by AOC’s staff.
Those get a green light, complete with funding from the student activities pool. TPUSA? Crickets.
This denial lands especially hard in the shadow of Charlie Kirk’s tragic passing in September of this year.
As I wrote in an open letter to PLNU shortly after, the campus’s silence on his death was deafening—a man who built TPUSA into a beacon for young conservatives seeking to live out their faith without apology. Instead of mourning a brother in Christ, some students and even faculty celebrated his demise, turning grief into a rallying cry for the very chapter now rejected.
Friess put it bluntly: “I watched students and faculty, who identified as Christian, celebrate human death on campus… and I was deeply troubled by that.”
Stratton echoed the isolation: After Kirk’s death, she and others felt “targeted,” desperate for a community to process it all. In a place billed as “Christ-centered,” where chapel once promised spiritual formation, this feels like outright betrayal.
And let’s not kid ourselves about the progressive creep I’ve witnessed firsthand. During my time at PLNU, chapel devolved from worship to a social justice seminar: Lyrics scrubbed of “He” or “Father” for God to appease the gender-fluid crowd; guest speakers preaching lefty takes on abortion as “bodily autonomy,” open borders, and Pride parades. My New Testament professor docked points for daring to say “mankind” instead of “humankind.”
I stayed quiet too long, cowed by the ridicule; hearing slurs whispered in dorms, watching peers self-censor out of fear. It wasn’t until my final year that I mustered the guts to fight for my voice on my campus. Years later, former classmates confessed they agreed with me but lacked the spine to say so. That’s not education; that’s indoctrination.
The double standard scorches.
PLNU bends over backward for clubs that amplify woke narratives—environmental justice outfits partnering with leftist NGOs, racial equity groups hosting “anti-whiteness” workshops, feminist collectives framing traditional marriage as oppression. None trigger hand-wringing over “divisiveness” or “mission misalignment.” But let conservative students ask for a table at the club fair, a shot at the activities budget, or a room for a speaker like Kirk? Suddenly, the floodgates of caution open wide.
Associate VP Lora Flemming’s spin, that this isn’t a “rejection of conservative perspectives” but a nod to “truth and grace,” rings hollow when the grace flows one way. As Stratton asked, “Is my administration… giving a space for not only diversity of being but diversity of thought?” The answer, tragically, is no.
This infuriates me. It frustrates me to my core.
As a conservative Christian, I chose PLNU expecting a haven where faith and freedom intertwined—a place to grow as salt and light, not to tiptoe around offense. Watching my alma mater muzzle the next generation of bold witnesses? It’s a gut-wrenching abdication of the gospel’s call to “not conform to the pattern of this world” (Romans 12:2).
These students aren’t radicals; they’re patriots yearning to explore ideas, debate policies, and defend life, liberty, and the unborn without apology. Denying them that space isn’t neutrality—it’s suppression.
Yet—and this is the bitter pill many on the right won’t swallow—PLNU is private.
It takes no federal dollars, so no First Amendment cudgel forces its hand. The trustees, donors, and denominational brass can curate their ideological garden however they please. If they’ve decided TPUSA’s flavor of conservatism is too spicy for their Nazarene palate, that’s their legal right. Private entities get to err, to equivocate, to even cower.
We’ve spent years as conservatives championing that freedom: Bakers declining wedding cakes, photographers opting out of same-sex shoots, platforms moderating as they see fit. “Live and let live,” we preached, until it’s our ox being gored. Now, with boycotts brewing and donor revolts afoot, some demand PLNU “bend the knee.”
That’s not principle; that’s payback. True conservatism honors association even when it stings, trusting that sunlight and scrutiny—not state mandates—will expose the rot.
Still, sunlight demands we shine it.
To PLNU’s leaders: Heed Matthew 5:11-12—”Blessed are you when people insult you… Rejoice and be glad.” Jesus didn’t build safe spaces; He built truth-tellers. To the students: Rise like Esthers and Davids. Meet off-campus if you must; your voices can’t be vetoed forever.
And to donors and parents: Vet your tuition dollars. A “Christian” university that silences the gospel’s unashamed heralds (Romans 1:16) isn’t worth the coastal view.
PLNU, you were once my cliffs-edge sanctuary. Don’t make me mourn what you’ve become. Open the door—or watch the next generation walk out it for good.
While all facts presented in this article are accurate and supported by credible sources, any opinions or independent views expressed herein are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of any affiliated organizations or publishers.
