There are moments in politics when your principles are tested not by your enemies, but by the people you are more inclined to agree with. This is one of those moments for me. I identify as progressive. I have been openly critical of Donald Trump and much of what he represents politically. I disagree with him on policy, on tone, on governance, and on broader ideology. That has not changed. But if your beliefs are only applied when they are convenient, then they are not really beliefs at all. They are preferences. And in this case, I find myself in the uncomfortable but necessary position of agreeing, at least in part, with something happening under his administration. I believe that James Comey should be held accountable, and I believe the indictment against him deserves to be taken seriously.
This is not about suddenly switching sides or abandoning my worldview. It is about consistency. It is about whether we actually mean what we say when we talk about accountability, justice, and equality under the law. Because if those words only apply when it is politically convenient, then they lose all meaning. And frankly, that is part of what has eroded trust in institutions across the political spectrum.
At the center of this controversy is a social media post. On the surface, some might try to dismiss it as vague, symbolic, or open to interpretation. But I do not see it that way. The message conveyed, whether intentionally or not, carries a meaning that is widely understood. The phrase in question has cultural and colloquial significance. It is not some obscure, meaningless set of numbers. It is something that people recognize. And when you combine that with the context of who posted it, the situation becomes even more serious.
Because this is not just anyone. This is a former FBI director. This is someone who has held immense power within the United States government. This is someone who understands how language can be interpreted, how signals can be perceived, and how public statements can carry weight far beyond their literal wording. You cannot separate the message from the messenger here. And that is exactly why it matters.
If an ordinary person had made a similar post, there is little doubt in my mind that they would face serious consequences. They would likely be investigated. They might be charged. Their intent would be scrutinized, yes, but so would the potential impact of their words. That is how the system operates for most people. And yet, when someone with status, influence, or institutional credibility does something similar, suddenly the conversation shifts. Suddenly it becomes about nuance, interpretation, benefit of the doubt, and political context.
That double standard is exactly the problem.
For years, there has been a growing call, particularly from progressive circles, to hold institutions and those within them accountable. That includes law enforcement. That includes intelligence agencies. That includes people who have historically operated with a level of authority that often shielded them from scrutiny. And I agree with that. I have agreed with that for a long time. Accountability should not stop at the doors of power. If anything, it should begin there.
So when someone like James Comey is accused of making a statement that could reasonably be interpreted as a threat, the response should not be to immediately defend him simply because of who he is or because of who his perceived political opponents are. That undermines the very principle of accountability that so many people claim to support.
Now, to be clear, an indictment is not a conviction. It is a legal process. It means there is enough evidence, in the view of prosecutors, to bring charges and have a case heard in court. That process should play out. Evidence should be examined. Arguments should be made. And ultimately, the legal system should determine the outcome. That is how it is supposed to work.
One of the biggest mistakes people make when discussing high-profile legal cases is treating indictments as either meaningless formalities or as automatic proof of guilt. In reality, they are neither. An indictment sits in a crucial middle ground in the justice system. It is not a conviction, and it should never be treated as one. But it is also not nothing. It represents a threshold being crossed, a moment where the legal system determines that there is enough substance to move forward. And that alone carries weight.
When we talk about the indictment of James Comey, it is important to understand what that actually signifies. This is not just a random accusation thrown into the void. It is the result of a process, one that involves reviewing evidence, assessing legal standards, and determining whether there is probable cause to believe that a crime may have been committed. That is not a trivial bar. It is not the highest standard in the legal system, but it is far from meaningless.
In many cases, particularly federal ones, indictments involve a grand jury. That means a group of citizens, not just a single prosecutor, evaluates the evidence presented and decides whether the case should proceed. That process is often criticized, sometimes fairly, for being influenced by prosecutors. But even with those criticisms, it still represents a step beyond mere allegation. It is a formal acknowledgment that the situation warrants deeper examination within a courtroom setting.
What concerns me is how quickly people rush to dismiss indictments when they involve someone they are inclined to defend. We see this pattern over and over again. If the person being indicted is politically aligned with us, or someone we view as opposing a figure we dislike, the instinct is to downplay the significance. Suddenly, the indictment is framed as politically motivated, baseless, or even absurd. But when the roles are reversed, the same people often treat indictments as deeply serious, as evidence that something must have gone wrong.
That inconsistency is a problem.
If we are going to be honest about the legal system, we have to acknowledge that indictments matter regardless of who they involve. They are part of the mechanism that ensures accountability. They are how cases move from speculation into structured legal examination. Without indictments, there would be no trials. There would be no formal process for determining guilt or innocence. Everything would remain in the realm of accusation and counter-accusation, with no resolution.
So when an indictment occurs, it should not be brushed aside. It should prompt attention, scrutiny, and serious discussion. It should lead us to ask questions about the evidence, the legal arguments, and the broader implications. But it should not be dismissed outright simply because it is inconvenient or politically uncomfortable.
In the case of James Comey, the fact that there has been a second indictment only amplifies this point. One indictment might be easier for some to write off as a fluke, a one-off event driven by unusual circumstances. But when there is a pattern, when legal authorities return to pursue charges again, it suggests that there is something persistent about the concerns being raised. It indicates that the issue has not simply disappeared or been resolved. It remains active, unresolved, and serious enough to warrant continued legal attention.
Now, this does not mean that the case is automatically strong. It does not mean that the prosecution will succeed. It does not mean that a conviction is inevitable. There are many cases where indictments do not lead to guilty verdicts. That is part of the system working as intended. The burden of proof at trial is significantly higher than the standard required for an indictment. Prosecutors must ultimately prove their case beyond a reasonable doubt, which is a much more demanding threshold.
But that distinction is exactly why indictments are meaningful. They represent the point where the system transitions from preliminary suspicion to formal accusation. They are the gateway to the higher standard. Without that initial step, the rest of the process cannot occur.
There is also a psychological and cultural dimension to this. When people hear that someone has been indicted, it changes the conversation. It shifts the narrative from “Did something happen?” to “What exactly happened, and can it be proven?” That shift is important because it introduces structure and accountability into the discussion. It moves us away from speculation and toward evidence-based evaluation.
Unfortunately, in today’s political climate, even that shift is often overshadowed by partisanship. Instead of focusing on the substance of the case, people focus on who is involved, who is bringing the charges, and what it might mean politically. Those considerations are not irrelevant, but they should not be the only lens through which we view the situation.
If we reduce everything to politics, we risk undermining the very system that is supposed to provide clarity and resolution. We turn legal processes into political weapons, or at least we perceive them that way, and that perception can be just as damaging as reality. It erodes trust. It makes it harder for people to accept outcomes, regardless of what those outcomes are.
This is why it is so important to approach indictments with a balanced perspective. We should neither assume guilt nor dismiss the charges outright. We should recognize that an indictment means something. It means that the case has reached a level of seriousness that demands formal adjudication. It means that there is enough evidence, at least in the eyes of the legal system, to justify moving forward.
In the broader context of accountability, this matters a great deal. If we are going to say that no one is above the law, then we have to be willing to accept that legal processes will sometimes involve people we did not expect, or people we might even sympathize with. We cannot pick and choose when to take those processes seriously.
That principle applies across the board, whether we are talking about political figures, law enforcement officials, or private citizens. The standard should be the same. If there is enough evidence to warrant an indictment, then the case should proceed. And if the evidence ultimately does not hold up, then the system should reflect that as well through acquittal or dismissal.
Another aspect worth considering is the role of precedent. High-profile cases often set the tone for how similar situations are handled in the future. If indictments involving powerful or well-connected individuals are consistently dismissed in the court of public opinion, it sends a message that those individuals operate under a different set of rules. That perception can have long-term consequences, shaping how people view the fairness and legitimacy of the legal system.
On the other hand, taking indictments seriously, even when they are uncomfortable, reinforces the idea that the system applies to everyone. It demonstrates that the process is not just symbolic, but functional. It shows that accountability is not selective, but universal.
This is particularly relevant when discussing someone like James Comey, who has held one of the most powerful positions in federal law enforcement. The expectation of accountability should be at least as high, if not higher, for someone in that role. Their actions carry greater weight, their influence is broader, and their understanding of the system is more sophisticated.
So when an indictment is issued in such a case, it should not be minimized. It should be recognized as a significant development, one that warrants careful attention and thoughtful analysis.
At the same time, it is crucial to maintain the presumption of innocence. This is not a contradiction. It is a balance. We can acknowledge the seriousness of an indictment while still recognizing that the outcome has not been determined. We can take the process seriously without jumping to conclusions.
That balance is often missing in public discourse. People tend to gravitate toward extremes, either treating indictments as definitive proof or dismissing them entirely. But the reality is more nuanced. And embracing that nuance is essential if we want to have meaningful conversations about justice and accountability.
In the end, indictments matter because they represent the system in motion. They are a signal that something has reached a level of seriousness that cannot be ignored. They are not the final word, but they are an important step toward it.
And if we are committed to the idea that the law should apply equally to everyone, then we have to be willing to take that step seriously, regardless of who is involved or how it aligns with our personal or political views.
One of the most predictable responses to the indictment of James Comey is the claim that this is an attack on free speech. That argument has already started circulating, and it is not surprising. In a political climate where speech, power, and accountability constantly collide, invoking the First Amendment has become almost automatic. But just because an argument is common does not mean it is correct. And in this case, I think it misses something fundamental about how free speech actually works.
I want to be very clear from the beginning: I believe in free speech. I believe it is one of the most important rights in any democratic society. I believe people should be able to criticize the government, express unpopular opinions, challenge authority, and speak openly without fear of retaliation. That belief does not change depending on who is in power or who is speaking. It is a core principle.
But here is the part that often gets ignored: free speech has limits. It has always had limits. And those limits are not arbitrary; they exist because certain kinds of speech can cause real harm. This is not a new or controversial idea in legal terms. The courts have long recognized that not all speech is protected in the same way. There are categories of speech that fall outside the full protection of the First Amendment, and one of those categories involves threats.
This is where the conversation becomes uncomfortable for some people, especially when the person involved is someone they are inclined to defend. Because if we are being honest, the issue here is not whether free speech has limits. We already accept that it does. The issue is whether we are willing to apply those limits consistently, even when it affects someone on “our side.”
In the case of James Comey, the argument that his post was harmless expression does not hold up under scrutiny, at least in my view. The content of the post, the context in which it was made, and the identity of the individual involved all matter. This is not just about abstract numbers or symbols floating in a vacuum. It is about how those symbols are commonly interpreted, and how they can be understood by the public.
The phrase at the center of this controversy carries meaning. It is not ambiguous in the way some people want to pretend it is. It has a colloquial interpretation that is widely recognized, and that interpretation is not benign. When you combine that with the reference to the 47th president, Donald Trump, the message becomes even more specific. This is not a vague or generalized statement. It is directed, even if indirectly, at a particular individual.
And that specificity matters.
Because when speech crosses from general expression into something that can reasonably be interpreted as a threat toward a specific person, it enters a different category. It is no longer just about opinion or criticism. It becomes something that can have real-world implications. It can influence behavior. It can embolden others. It can create a sense of danger, whether intended or not.
Some people will argue that intent should be the deciding factor. They will say that if James Comey did not intend to threaten anyone, then it should not be treated as a threat. But that argument is incomplete. Intent matters, yes, but it is not the only factor. The impact of the speech, and how it is reasonably perceived, also plays a role.
This is not unique to this situation. In many areas of law, the effect of an action can be just as important as the intent behind it. If someone says something that can reasonably be interpreted as a threat, especially toward a specific individual, the legal system does not simply ignore that because the speaker claims a different intention. It evaluates the totality of the circumstances.
And in this case, the circumstances are significant.
We are talking about a former FBI director, someone who understands the weight of language, the power of symbolism, and the potential consequences of public statements. This is not an ordinary individual posting something without awareness. This is someone who has operated at the highest levels of law enforcement, someone who has been responsible for assessing threats and protecting public safety. That context cannot be ignored.
If anything, it raises the standard.
Because when someone with that level of experience and influence makes a statement that can be interpreted as a threat, it carries more weight, not less. It signals something to the public. It sets a tone. And whether intentional or not, it can contribute to an environment where harmful actions become more conceivable.
Now, I understand that this is where people start to push back. They will say that this is a slippery slope, that if we start interpreting ambiguous statements as threats, we risk chilling speech and punishing people unfairly. That concern is not without merit. It is important to protect against overreach. It is important to ensure that laws are not applied too broadly or too aggressively.
But acknowledging that risk does not mean we ignore clear cases where the line may have been crossed.
And in my view, this is one of those cases.
Another argument that is likely to come up is that this is an example of the law being weaponized, particularly under the administration of Donald Trump. People will say that the indictment is politically motivated, that it is part of a broader pattern of targeting opponents, and that it should therefore be viewed with suspicion.
Again, skepticism is healthy. It is important to question those in power. But skepticism should not automatically lead to dismissal. It is possible for an action to occur within a political context and still be justified based on its own merits. These things are not mutually exclusive.
If the underlying behavior meets the legal threshold for a threat, then it should be addressed, regardless of who is in power at the time. Otherwise, we are essentially saying that accountability only matters when it is politically convenient. And that undermines the entire concept of equal justice under the law.
What makes this situation even more significant is that this is not the first time James Comey has faced legal scrutiny. The fact that there is a second indictment suggests that the concerns surrounding his actions have not been resolved or dismissed. It indicates that there is something substantial enough to warrant continued legal attention.
And in many ways, this second indictment carries more weight.
Because the nature of the allegation is more serious. It involves a statement that can be interpreted as a threat toward a specific individual, someone who holds the highest office in the country. That raises the stakes. It is not just about procedural issues or technical violations. It is about the potential risk to a person’s safety.
Even if that person is someone you disagree with. Even if that person is someone you strongly oppose.
That is where principles are tested.
It is easy to call for accountability when it affects people we dislike. It is much harder to apply that same standard when it affects people we are more sympathetic toward. But that is exactly when it matters most. Because if we only apply our principles selectively, then they are not really principles. They are preferences.
I do not like Donald Trump. I disagree with him on a wide range of issues. But that does not mean I am willing to overlook behavior that could be interpreted as a threat against him. Because the standard should not depend on my personal feelings about the individual involved.
If anything, that is the entire point of having a legal system.
It exists to apply rules consistently, regardless of personal bias. It exists to ensure that people are held accountable based on their actions, not based on whether they are liked or disliked. And if we start bending those rules based on our own preferences, we undermine the system itself.
There is also a broader societal implication here. The way we respond to cases like this sets a precedent. It sends a message about what is acceptable and what is not. If a former FBI director can make a statement that can be interpreted as a threat and face no consequences, what message does that send?
It suggests that certain people operate under a different set of rules.
And that is not a message we should be comfortable with.
Accountability is not just about punishment. It is about setting standards. It is about making it clear that certain lines should not be crossed, regardless of who you are. And when those lines are crossed, there should be a process to address it.
That process is already underway.
An indictment has been issued. The legal system is engaged. And now, the case should be allowed to proceed. Evidence should be examined. Arguments should be made. And ultimately, a decision should be reached based on the facts and the law.
That is how it is supposed to work.
And that is why, despite the controversy, I believe this situation should be taken seriously. Not because of politics. Not because of personal feelings. But because of the principle involved.
Free speech is essential. It must be protected. But it is not absolute. It has limits, and those limits exist for a reason. When speech crosses into territory that can reasonably be interpreted as a threat, especially toward a specific individual, it must be addressed.
That is not an attack on free speech.
That is the legal system doing its job.
And if we are serious about accountability, then we have to be willing to accept that, even when it challenges our instincts, even when it involves people we might otherwise defend, and even when it places us in the uncomfortable position of agreeing, at least in part, with those we usually oppose.
Because in the end, consistency matters more than comfort.
One of the most important aspects of this entire situation that I think people are overlooking, or in some cases deliberately minimizing, is the role of influence. Not all speech exists on equal footing. Not all voices carry the same weight. And when we are talking about someone like James Comey, that distinction becomes impossible to ignore.
This is not just a private citizen posting something into the void. This is a former FBI director. This is someone who once held one of the most powerful law enforcement positions in the United States. This is someone who has had access to classified information, who has overseen investigations, who has made decisions that impacted national security and individual lives. That kind of background does not simply disappear once someone leaves office. The title may become “former,” but the influence remains.
People still listen. People still interpret his words through the lens of his past authority. People still assign meaning and credibility to what he says because of who he is.
And that is exactly why a post like this matters more coming from him than it would from an average individual.
Because influence amplifies impact.
When someone with a large platform and institutional credibility says something that can be interpreted as a threat, the potential consequences are magnified. It is not just about what was said, but about who said it and how it might be received. It can shape perceptions. It can embolden certain individuals. It can contribute to an environment where harmful actions become more likely, even if that was not the intent.
That is the reality of influence.
And it raises a difficult but necessary question: how should we hold people accountable when their words carry that kind of weight?
To explore that question, it helps to consider a hypothetical scenario. Imagine that the same kind of statement had been made, not about the president, but about an ordinary person. Imagine that someone with a background in law enforcement or intelligence, someone with the credibility and authority of a former FBI director, made a statement that could be interpreted as a threat toward a private citizen.
What would the reaction be?
It is not hard to imagine. There would be outrage. There would be calls for accountability. People would argue, rightly, that someone with that level of training and influence should know better. They would say that such a statement could put the individual at risk. They would point out the imbalance of power between the speaker and the target. And they would demand that the situation be taken seriously.
And they would be right.
So the question becomes: how is this situation fundamentally different?
Yes, the target in this case is the president, Donald Trump. Yes, he is a public figure with immense power, influence, and protection. Yes, he has access to security resources that most people do not. All of that is true.
But at the end of the day, he is still a person. He is still a citizen of the United States. The fact that he holds a position of power does not make him immune to the effects of threatening language. It does not mean that statements directed at him should be taken less seriously simply because he is who he is.
If anything, the stakes can be higher.
Because when rhetoric escalates around high-profile figures, it can have broader societal consequences. It can increase tensions. It can contribute to an already volatile political environment. It can influence how people behave, especially those who are already inclined toward extreme actions.
And again, this is not about intent. It is about impact.
Even if James Comey did not intend to threaten anyone, the fact that his statement can be interpreted that way, combined with his influence, creates a situation that cannot simply be dismissed. The potential for harm exists, and that alone is enough to warrant serious consideration.
There is also an issue of precedent here.
If someone with the background and influence of a former FBI director can make a statement like this without facing consequences, what message does that send? It suggests that certain individuals are above accountability, that their status shields them from the same scrutiny applied to others. And that is a dangerous message.
Because it does not stay confined to one case.
It spreads. It influences how people perceive the system. It shapes expectations about what is acceptable. And over time, it can erode the idea that the law applies equally to everyone.
This is why consistency is so important.
If we believe that threatening language should be taken seriously, then we have to apply that standard across the board. We cannot say that it matters when it involves a private citizen, but not when it involves a public figure. We cannot say that it matters when it comes from an ordinary person, but not when it comes from someone with power and influence.
The standard has to be the same.
And in many ways, it should be even higher for those with greater influence.
Because they should know better.
They have the experience, the knowledge, and the awareness to understand how their words can be perceived. They have seen firsthand how language can escalate situations, how signals can be interpreted, and how seemingly small actions can have significant consequences. That understanding comes with responsibility.
And when that responsibility is not met, accountability becomes necessary.
Some people might argue that this perspective ignores the reality of political speech, that it fails to account for the intensity and hyperbole that often characterize public discourse. They might say that if we start holding people accountable for statements like this, we risk over-policing speech and limiting open expression.
That concern is not entirely unfounded.
But it also cannot be used as a blanket defense.
There is a difference between passionate, even harsh, political speech and statements that can reasonably be interpreted as threats. Drawing that line is not always easy, but that does not mean the line does not exist. And in this case, I believe it has been crossed.
The influence of James Comey makes that crossing more significant, not less.
Because his words do not exist in isolation. They resonate. They carry weight. They have the potential to shape behavior in ways that the words of an average individual might not. And that is exactly why they should be scrutinized more carefully.
At the same time, it is important to remember that accountability does not mean automatic punishment. It means engaging the legal process. It means allowing the system to evaluate the evidence, consider the arguments, and reach a conclusion based on the law. It means taking the situation seriously enough to investigate it properly.
And that process is already underway.
An indictment has been issued. The case is moving forward. And now, it should be allowed to play out.
Because ultimately, this is not just about one individual or one statement.
It is about the standards we choose to uphold.
It is about whether we are willing to apply those standards consistently, even when it is uncomfortable. It is about whether we believe that influence should come with greater responsibility, or whether it should serve as a shield against accountability.
For me, the answer is clear.
If someone with the background and influence of a former FBI director can make a statement that can be interpreted as a threat, whether directed at the president or at any other individual, it should be taken seriously. It should be examined. And if it meets the legal threshold, it should be addressed through the proper channels.
Because if we are not willing to do that, then we are not really committed to accountability at all.
We are just picking and choosing when it applies.
And that is a standard that ultimately benefits no one.
But acknowledging that process does not mean we have to pretend that the situation is trivial or that the concerns are baseless. It does not mean we should dismiss the seriousness of the allegation simply because it is politically inconvenient.
There is also a broader cultural issue at play here. We are living in a time where rhetoric has become increasingly heated, where lines between metaphor and implication are often blurred, and where the impact of words is sometimes downplayed depending on who is speaking. That inconsistency fuels division. It creates an environment where people feel that rules are applied unevenly, and that perception can be just as damaging as reality.
When people see that certain individuals appear to be above consequences, it erodes trust. It makes it harder to believe in fairness. It makes it easier for others to justify their own behavior by pointing to perceived hypocrisy. And that cycle continues, deepening polarization and weakening the very institutions that are supposed to uphold justice.
This is why consistency matters so much. If we are going to say that threatening language is unacceptable, then it has to be unacceptable across the board. It cannot depend on political alignment. It cannot depend on whether we like or dislike the person involved. It cannot depend on whether holding someone accountable might inadvertently align us with people we normally oppose.
Because the alternative is worse.
The alternative is a system where accountability is selective. Where rules are flexible depending on who you are. Where justice is seen not as a principle, but as a tool. And once you reach that point, it becomes very difficult to maintain any sense of legitimacy.
I understand that some people will view this situation through a purely political lens. They will see the involvement of Donald Trump and immediately assume that the indictment must be politically motivated. And to be fair, skepticism toward those in power is healthy. It is necessary. Governments should be questioned. Decisions should be examined. Motives should be scrutinized.
But skepticism should not automatically translate into dismissal.
It is possible for something to occur within a political context and still be valid on its own merits. It is possible for an action taken by a controversial administration to still be justified in a specific instance. These ideas are not mutually exclusive. And recognizing that does not mean endorsing everything that administration stands for.
It simply means evaluating the situation based on its own facts.
Another point worth considering is the message this sends about responsibility. When someone holds a position of power, or has held one in the past, there is an expectation that they will act with a certain level of awareness. Their words carry weight. Their actions have implications. That responsibility does not disappear once they leave office. If anything, their continued public presence means that their influence remains significant.
So when someone in that position makes a statement that can be interpreted as a threat, it is not unreasonable to expect accountability. It is not an overreaction. It is not political persecution by default. It is a reflection of the standards we claim to uphold.
And yes, I recognize that this is a controversial stance, especially coming from someone who identifies as progressive. There is often an expectation that political alignment should dictate perspective. That if you oppose one figure, you must automatically defend anyone perceived as opposing that same figure. But that kind of thinking reduces complex issues into simplistic binaries. It turns politics into a team sport, where consistency and principle are sacrificed for the sake of alignment.
I do not think that is a healthy way to engage with these kinds of issues.
If anything, this moment highlights the importance of stepping outside that framework. Of being willing to say, “I disagree with this person on almost everything, but in this specific case, I think they are right.” That does not weaken your position. It strengthens it. It shows that your views are based on principles rather than loyalty.
It also opens the door for more honest conversations. Because when people see that you are willing to apply your standards consistently, even when it is uncomfortable, it becomes harder to dismiss your perspective as purely partisan.
Of course, there will be disagreement. There always is. Some will argue that the interpretation of the message is too subjective. Others will argue that intent matters more than perception. These are valid points to debate. They are part of the legal and philosophical discussion that will likely unfold as the case progresses.
But acknowledging those debates does not negate the core issue. The statement was made. It carries a widely recognized meaning. And given the context and the individual involved, it raises legitimate concerns that warrant serious consideration.
Ultimately, this comes down to what kind of standard we want to uphold. Do we want a system where accountability is consistent, where power does not grant immunity, and where actions are evaluated based on their substance rather than their source? Or do we want a system where those standards shift depending on political convenience?
For me, the answer is clear.
I believe in accountability. I believe that no one should be above the law. I believe that positions of power come with increased responsibility, not decreased scrutiny. And I believe that those principles should be applied consistently, even when it challenges my own political instincts.
That is why, in this instance, I support the idea that James Comey should face consequences if the allegations are proven in court. Not because of who is pursuing the case. Not because of broader political dynamics. But because the principle itself matters.
And if we are serious about building a more just and equitable system, then that principle has to come first.