“LET THEM EAT RHETORIC!”
Blocking Hakeem Jeffries: The Political Consequences Cannot Be Ignored
“The belly that is full does not understand the pain of an empty stomach.”
As a principal, I have asked hundreds of now-sorrowful students sitting in my office the same question:
“Before you decided to do X, did you consider the many different possible outcomes that could result from your decision?”
Of course not. That is part of the adolescent psychological and developmental process. And it is our job as educators to help students grow their awareness of that powerful word “after”—as in:
“What can happen after I do X?”
And why we want to ask that question on the front end of a decision, so you don’t end up sad-looking, sitting in my office.
I am thinking back to those days as I read the large number of anti-Hakeem Jeffries social-media postings from individuals who may be able to claim bona fide revolutionary-left credentials but who, beyond memorizing and spouting a few memorable revolutionary phrases, have clearly not seriously studied the complex histories of revolutionary movements. And I am not talking about the fairy-tale, children’s-book versions of those histories. I am talking about the brutally real and honest stories of how revolutionary movements actually organized, operated, struggled, survived, succeeded, and sometimes failed.
There is another problem here, and it is a recurring one in American political history. It takes me back to my political elders and predecessors, who expressed their frustration with the leadership of the Communist Party USA (CPUSA), particularly its inability to take seriously the unique, equally important, and inseparable racial and class dimensions of the American struggle for freedom and liberation.
Attempting to block the advancement of the first Black leader of a major political party in Congress to the speakership is not without potentially devastating consequences. Like an ill-timed split between two groups of political and community leaders who both claim to mean well for the people, this internal struggle—egged on by the GOP and irresponsible members of the news media who make their bread and butter from senseless, unproductive political fights—could have tremendously divisive consequences.
And that, I believe, is why some very wise, patient, and strategically disciplined progressives in Congress are not stepping forward to oppose or challenge Hakeem Jeffries for his leadership position.
Greater Suffering Raises Political Consciousness—No, It Does Not!
Having people suffer from food and housing insecurity, forcing them to endure severe illness, and even allowing them to die in the hope that their suffering will somehow advance a political objective is not a principled organizing strategy.
Thoughtful revolutionaries such as Amílcar Cabral and Liu Shaoqi understood that revolutionary struggle required serious attention to the actual conditions, needs, and well-being of the people.
Yet we still hear variations of this politically seductive proposition:
“The people’s suffering will heighten the contradictions, and they will therefore become more radicalized.”
In my 75 years, I have never found that proposition to be true.
Instead, when people are subjected to tremendous suffering and pain, they quite sensibly devote nearly all their thinking, emotional energy, and working time to trying to remove themselves and their children from those horrible, painful conditions.
And they certainly do not want to be misled by people who are gainfully employed, enjoying the fruits of a wonderful pension-funded retirement plan, eating well, living comfortably in warm homes, or benefiting from excellent health insurance coverage.
And yes, full disclosure: people like me, who have good health insurance and do not have to use a hospital emergency room as our primary healthcare institution, must be especially sensitive to the sacrifices we are asking others to make.
For those of us living in relative comfort, it is always easier to proclaim:
“Sure! Let’s create political upheaval in the process of choosing the Speaker of the House of Representatives! After all, whatever happens, it won’t affect the quality of my life or my comfortable standard of living!”
But what about the people for whom the consequences are not theoretical?
What about the people who have lost their Affordable Care Act healthcare assistance?
What about those who have lost access to federal food assistance?
What about the many people of color who are presently living in fear of being hunted down by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) goons?
What about the young people who may find themselves risking their lives in another senseless war?
And do you realize that there are Black and Latino farmers whose livelihoods are also being threatened by high diesel fuel prices?
What about the many women who cannot access even the most basic reproductive healthcare services?
What about the people who will actually suffer from the many GOP cuts to essential social safety-net programs—even those who, through their own votes, helped bring about the very policies now harming them?
What about the people who cannot afford to treat political upheaval as an exciting intellectual exercise?
Where Is the Compassion for the Struggles of Everyday People?
Or has their suffering simply become a convenient prop for the political word performances of politically immature adventurists?
When people are struggling to make ends meet, when they are forced to make terrible economic choices between paying for housing, heating, food, and medical care, those sexy political slogans do not improve their circumstances.
Consider what a newly elected governor of Georgia, genuinely committed to expanding Medicaid access, could accomplish. That would be real help for real people who desperately need that assistance—including those who voted for a different political outcome by supporting the newly elected governor’s opponent. As a professional educator, I am passionately opposed to all forms of ignorance. But ignorance is not a crime. And so, let all the people of Georgia benefit from the generous heart and public-service commitment that Keisha Lance Bottoms has advocated.
But this idea of using pain as a political teaching lesson is something Mr. Trump and his MAGA acolytes may have come to understand the hard way, through what they and we now perceive as catastrophic election losses—perhaps the only way they are capable of understanding it.
Because their approach—focusing on the wrong words rather than engaging in the right actions—has built-in limitations.
All the hate speech. The othering of people of color. The brutal anti-Muslim rhetoric. The obsessive political focus on transgender student-athletes, a population so small that only a tiny fraction of America’s school principals will ever encounter the issue directly. The video-game-like language celebrating wars of aggression. The disrespect directed toward people and nations of color. The attempt to characterize necessary criticism of a nation’s genocidal conduct as inherently antisemitic.
All of these divisive, hateful political performances may have considerable appeal when people believe that their most basic needs—food, shelter, safety, healthcare, and economic security—are being met.
But hate speech, like all speech, has limited power to put food on an empty table.
It cannot pay the rent.
It cannot fill a medical prescription.
It cannot keep the heat on in the middle of winter.
And it cannot relieve the suffering of a parent who must decide which of those necessities their children will have to go without.
The people’s inability to buy food, pay their rent or mortgage, or obtain medicine for themselves and their family members cannot be remedied with words—no matter how beautiful, soaring, or revolutionary the language—especially when those words ask them to suffer, sacrifice, or even die to make someone else’s political point.
This is going to be a long and difficult struggle.
For more than 50 years, I have told my fellow educators that our work is not a sprint. It is long-distance work, often requiring us to move forward in painfully frustrating, slow-progressing increments.
Our egos sometimes drive us to want to be the finishers of the changes the world so desperately needs.
But an unselfish understanding of history teaches us something different. We are here in this world for only a brief moment—a small dot on humanity’s historical timeline.
Our responsibility, then, is to faithfully run our portion of the relay race, doing everything within our power to leave better conditions for those who will pick up the work after we have transitioned into ancestorhood.
And as I learned during my years as a science educator, principal, and superintendent, there were times when I had to make extraordinarily difficult decisions about aligning and working with people whose political philosophies, personal values, or worldviews differed significantly from my own.
Why?
To save children.
To create the conditions in which they could survive, learn, grow, and thrive—emotionally, intellectually, socially, and educationally.
And I do not regret those decisions for one moment.
Nor, I should add, did the politically progressive parents who entrusted their children to my care complain when those decisions helped their children succeed.
Moving America toward a society that recognizes and honors the sacred personhood of every human being; ending a brutal, vulgar economic system that turns everything—and everyone—into a commodity to be bought and sold on the auction block of everyday life; and ensuring that every person has access to the basic necessities of human existence, not because they have earned the privilege of living, but simply because they were born into our human family:
That is our long-marching, persevering, world-changing work.
One remarkably consistent lesson emerged throughout my entire professional life in education. And I suspect that many of my fellow educators have heard some version of the same message.
I heard it from parents who had studied literature and could quote the great English writers, and from parents who spoke only a few words of English.
I heard it from incarcerated parents and from parents who worked as correction officers.
I heard it from parents who had read Frantz Fanon, Karl Marx, and Friedrich Engels, and from parents who could barely read at all.
Different educational backgrounds.
Different economic circumstances.
Different political philosophies.
Different life experiences.
Yet, in one form or another, they all asked me to do the same thing:
“Can you make my child’s life better than my life?
Can you provide my child with the intellectual power to take advantage of whatever opportunities life presents?
Can you help my child become the very best iteration of themselves?
Can you help them realize their greatest human potential?
Can you help them reach their aspirational dreams—and then actually live in those dreams?”
Not quite the politically sexy, world-changing revolutionary assignment I imagined I was preparing for as a twenty-something student at the City College of New York, studying under the tutelage of people such as Professor John Henrik Clarke and, ironically, given my central subject here, Professor Leonard Jeffries. Yes, life often moves in circles!
But over time, I came to appreciate the profoundly world-changing character of my work.
Because I am changing the world.
I am simply working in my own calling-lane.
Changing the world, one student—one human being—at a time.
That decision, that chosen pathway of action, may never make me famous or financially wealthy. But I have learned something important.
It is much easier to talk about changing the world than to do the difficult, disciplined, often exhausting work of meaningfully changing the lived world of even one human being.
And in today’s social media world, that kind of work will probably not earn you many “likes,” “shares,” or rounds of applause. After all, social media algorithms often seem structured to amplify negativity, outrage, and anti-somebody commentaries.
You can vigorously advocate blocking Mr. Jeffries from a leadership position, but what is your workable alternative? What is your leadership strategy for addressing the immediate needs of our country and its most vulnerable citizens?
What happens to the people while you are asking them to suffer and die waiting for your politically progressive Valhalla to arrive?
It is, in many ways, a safer and less demanding form of political engagement.
In fact, it is not an authentic experience of relationship-based service to others.
Because actually changing a human life requires more than the ability to construct a clever political slogan, deliver an emotionally exciting, mic-dropping speech, or post a revolutionary-sounding statement.
It requires showing up.
It requires patience.
It requires discipline.
It requires sacrifice.
It requires accepting responsibility for the consequences of your decisions.
And above all, it requires love.
I saw every one of the thousands of students whose lives intersected with mine as, in some profound way, a living personification of humanity’s evolutionary promise.
Every single one of them.
A Lot of YouTube Gurus Talk About the Popular Notion of “Self-Care.” But What About Community Care?
The question of “What is to be done?” is, at the same time, both simple and extraordinarily difficult.
Simple because the moral obligation is so straightforward:
Serve the people. Do not unnecessarily harm the people.
Difficult because fulfilling that affirming moral obligation requires discipline, humility, patience, and a determination not to inflict even greater pain on the very people we claim to serve.
If what you are doing is not grounded in a genuine love for the people, then perhaps what you are engaged in is little more than callous, self-indulgent, self-satisfying political performance.
A performance that can envision political heaven but cannot endure the long, hard, often unglamorous work required to get there.
Such political adventurists remind me of some of my fellow Christians who desire all the joy and glory of the resurrection without confronting the pain, suffering, and sacrifice of the crucifixion.
And as the gospel song reminds us, “That’s not how the story ends.”
Nor is that how the hard work of human liberation gets done.
To be absolutely clear, Mr. Jeffries and other political leaders must be vigorously challenged when they appear willing to look away from, excuse, or condone the suffering inflicted on the people of Gaza.
They must also be challenged for their silence, complicity, or participation in the many other acts of human degradation, dehumanization, and cruelty being perpetrated both within and beyond America’s borders.
And, to be quite honest, regardless of who is selected as Speaker of the House, I believe the jury is still out on whether House and Senate Democrats will effectively use their newly granted electoral mandate to advance the interests of the people—or whether they will simply revert to their familiar GOP-lite political behavior, seeking a return to so-called “regular working order” in Washington.
And what would that mean?
It could mean that the suffering poor, the disadvantaged, and the disenfranchised will once again find themselves without powerful, determined, and principled advocates in Washington who are genuinely committed to advancing their needs, defending their rights, and fighting for their interests.
Winning political power is one thing. Having the political courage, moral conviction, and principled determination to use that power on behalf of the people who need it most is quite another.
And those who hide behind the false political covering of “moderation”—or, as the news media likes to call it, “centrism”—must not be permitted to escape moral scrutiny. Because moderation in the face of human depersonalization and suffering can become little more than a cowardly way of saying:
“Keep doing those horrible things you are doing to those unfortunate people. Just make sure you pass me my check.”
Blocking Hakeem Jeffries: The Political Consequences Cannot Be Ignored
Blocking Hakeem Jeffries from attaining one of the most powerful political leadership positions in the world—a position for which he has demonstrated the intellectual capacity, professional experience, and political skills necessary to serve—could create tremendous confusion and resentment among large segments of the Black American population.
I am particularly concerned about the message such a political maneuver could send to young Black Americans, especially school-age students and the many students attending Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs) who marched to the polls to cast their votes against racism and bigotry.
Imagine their reaction:
“Wait a minute, grown folks! After we heeded your call, organized, showed up, and voted, you’re now telling us that you want to take down a Brother who is on the verge of attaining one of the most powerful political leadership positions in the country?”
That is a bad political plan, made even worse by its extraordinarily bad timing.
Whatever some of my left-progressive friends may have learned about Black people through their predominantly white institution (PWI) college-trained intellectual frameworks, they should understand this:
Black Americans generally want to see other Black Americans succeed.
And not simply because of some superficial attachment to racial identity, but because of our intimate, collective, historical familiarity with the deeply systemic and culturally entrenched racism that continues to infect the American national personality.
We understand the obstacles.
We understand the exclusions.
We understand the indignities.
We understand the invisibility.
And we understand what it means when a Black American successfully navigates those barriers and reaches a position of extraordinary national influence.
That does not mean we are obligated to support every Black public figure, regardless of their actions, political positions, or moral character.
Far from it.
That hopeful sense of collective expectation can change dramatically when members of the Black community judge public figures such as Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas or Nicki Minaj to have demonstrated, through their public positions and actions, a willingness to advance political agendas that specifically harm the very communities from which they emerged.
But here is the distinction I am making.
In my view, Mr. Jeffries, despite what I regard as his serious moral deficiencies concerning his compassionate concern for the people of Gaza and Palestinians more broadly, has not yet crossed the threshold of becoming an openly hostile political adversary of Black community aspirations. Nor have I concluded that he harbors any particular animus toward Muslims or the Palestinian people.
And that distinction matters.
It matters politically.
It matters historically.
And it matters strategically.
Those of us working toward a better world must continue to lean forward, walk forward, and struggle forward.
But we must do so without harboring illusions about the nature of the freedom struggle in which we are engaged.
We must have no false expectations about a GOP that has made racism and bigotry central features of its political organizing and operating practices, or a Democratic National Committee that too often seems to lack the courageous, principled soul and conscience required to authentically confront those practices.
Yes, temporary alliances with people who do not completely share our values, political philosophies, or long-term visions may sometimes be necessary.
But those alliances must be principled, purposeful, and strategically disciplined.
And they must never cause us to lose sight of our overarching moral mission:
Work for the future. Do no present harm.
During my years in educational leadership, I accepted support for my students from pharmaceutical companies, technology corporations, and other businesses; from Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics (STEM) foundations; and from politicians associated with both the Democratic and Republican parties.
I worked with colleges, universities, religious institutions, undergraduate and graduate professional schools, and organizations such as SUNY Downstate Medical Center.
I received support from countless community and cultural institutions, including the Brooklyn Academy of Music, which generously provided free fundraising space for my students’ programs over many years.
And then there were the many individual human beings who stepped forward to help.
People representing different faith traditions, nationalities, ethnicities, economic circumstances, and political perspectives.
Some belonged to political parties I opposed.
Some may have held views I strongly disagreed with.
And for many others, I had absolutely no idea which political party they belonged to—or whether they shared any of my political convictions.
I did not require a political-philosophy examination before accepting their willingness to help my students.
I wanted the greatest amount of legal, ethical, and principled support I could secure for the children entrusted to my care.
That was my mission.
That was my responsibility.
That was my calling.
Did I always know why a particular individual, corporation, foundation, political figure, or organization decided to support my students?
No.
In some cases, perhaps I understood their motivations.
In others, perhaps I only thought I understood.
And in still others, I may never know.
But I knew why I was there.
I knew what I had come into this world to do.
And as long as I could pursue that calling with professional integrity, moral clarity, and an unwavering commitment to the well-being of my students—and yes, there were offers of help that I refused on principle—I was prepared to accept the final judgment that history might render on my life.
Because in the end, I would rather be judged for the imperfect, difficult, and at times uncomfortably complicated work of actually improving human lives than be celebrated for delivering beautiful revolutionary rhetorical speeches while the people I claimed to love continued to suffer and die—physically, mentally, educationally, and spiritually.
And so, in the end, the question is not simply whether Hakeem Jeffries becomes Speaker of the House, whether one political faction defeats another.
The far greater question is this:
What did we actually do with the opportunities, influence, resources, and power entrusted to us during our brief moment on this earth?
Did we feed the hungry?
Did we protect the vulnerable?
Did we stand with the oppressed?
Did we make life more bearable for those who were suffering?
Did we leave this world, even one small corner of it, more humane, more compassionate, more just, and more hopeful than we found it?
Or did we spend our precious time perfecting the language of human liberation while neglecting the difficult, unglamorous, and sometimes politically uncomfortable work of actually liberating human beings from their suffering?
I have lived long enough to understand that history will not necessarily remember our most eloquent speeches, our cleverest political slogans, or the number of people who applauded our declarations of revolutionary purity.
But the people whose lives we touched will remember whether we showed up when they needed us.
And the children, those precious, vulnerable, extraordinary living promises of humanity’s future, cannot afford to wait for us to finish arguing about the perfect political alliance before we decide to act.
They are not being educated today.
They are hungry today.
They are frightened today.
They are suffering today.
And some of them will not survive until tomorrow.
So, yes, let us struggle for a radically better world. Let us challenge ill-used political power, confront injustice, and refuse to surrender our highest moral aspirations.
But let us never become so intoxicated with the rhetoric of tomorrow’s liberation that we become indifferent to the human suffering taking place right before our eyes today.
Because the ultimate measure of our political convictions is not how beautifully we describe the world we hope to create. It is how courageously, compassionately, and effectively we serve the human beings who must live in the world as it exists right now.
And if we cannot answer that moral challenge with something more substantial than another speech, another slogan, or another promise of a glorious future, then perhaps we should stop pretending that our political rhetoric is feeding anybody.
The people cannot eat rhetoric.
And neither can their children.