The Last Word Simone Biles Never Spoke
For years, Simone Biles carried her silence like a crown. In 2021, the world watched as she stepped away from Olympic finals in Tokyo, shaking the very foundations of elite sport. To some, it was bravery incarnate. To others—like conservative firebrand Charlie Kirk—it was betrayal. Kirk’s words cut sharper than any injury: he called her “selfish,” “a disgrace,” and the emblem of a “weakened America.” The sting lingered, even as Biles returned to dominate the Paris 2024 Games, collecting gold with the grace of a phoenix reborn.
Through it all, she never answered him. No tweet, no statement, no revenge interview. Just silence. And in that silence, her legend only grew.
But silence has a way of echoing louder when the world shifts.
September 10, 2025. Charlie Kirk was gunned down onstage during his “American Comeback” tour at Utah Valley University. The chaos was instant: blood on the podium, screams in the crowd, headlines that erupted across every screen in America. Republicans mourned him as a martyr. Democrats condemned the violence but refused to canonize his message. And in the storm, a rumor ignited—a viral Facebook post claimed Simone Biles had finally spoken, unloading years of bottled fury in a raw blog entry. “She waited years to have the last word,” it read.
The post was fake. But the idea, intoxicating. Millions wanted it to be true.
Simone Biles never wrote those words. Instead, she let the silence speak again. Her refusal to engage became its own kind of thunder. To her fans, this was the ultimate act of power. “Her success is the clapback,” one follower tweeted, “and her silence is the kill shot.”
Still, the vacuum begged to be filled. And into that vacuum stepped a surprising voice: Karoline Leavitt, the 28-year-old White House Press Secretary under Trump’s second administration. Known for her icy composure and sharp defense of controversial policies, Leavitt had never before been linked to Simone Biles. Yet on September 15, just days after Kirk’s death, she posted five words on X that ricocheted through the nation:
“Respect her legacy, honor ours.”
The message was cryptic, almost poetic. Leavitt didn’t mention Biles by name. She didn’t mention Kirk. But everyone understood. Within hours, the post had half a million likes, TikTok edits layered her words over slow-motion footage of Biles’s vaults, and cable news panels dissected her intent.
Was this the beginning of a cultural truce?
Leavitt doubled down the next morning at a press briefing. “Simone Biles has inspired millions,” she said carefully. “But patriotism isn’t measured in gold medals. It’s measured in unity.” Coming from a woman who had built her career defending Trump’s hardline stances, it was shocking, almost cinematic—a moment where politics blinked and remembered its humanity.
Critics called it opportunistic. Supporters called it historic. But no one could deny the impact. In that fragile instant, the gymnast who chose silence and the press secretary who chose restraint reshaped the conversation.
And so, the “last word” never came from Simone Biles’s mouth. It came in her silence, and in the unlikely echo of an administration voice trying to bridge a fractured nation.
Perhaps that is the lesson: greatness is not measured by who shouts loudest, but by who resists the need to.