Introduction
Harriet Tubman understood something that many still refuse to grasp today: not everyone actually wants to be free. Some people are so bound to the systems that control them that they would rather stay in chains than face the uncertainty of liberation. Freedom demands courage, risk, and sacrifice, and those who hesitate can endanger everyone striving toward it. Tubman knew she could not waste time dragging along the unwilling, because hesitation on a mission meant death. This lesson echoes loudly in today’s political and cultural climate, where sympathizers of hate cling to comfort instead of courage. They weep for oppressors, excuse cruelty, and call it mere “political difference.” Yet politics is about governance and policy, not the denial of human dignity. To mourn for hate is to choose the plantation over freedom.
Harriet Tubman’s Unforgiving Clarity
Tubman’s brilliance was not just in leading people out of slavery, but in knowing when to leave people behind. She recognized that not everyone could handle the responsibility that comes with liberation. Some enslaved people, terrified of the unknown, clung to their masters rather than risk a new life. Tubman could not indulge that hesitation because it risked betraying the whole group. Freedom, to her, was non-negotiable—but it required willing participants. She understood that survival meant moving with those ready to fight for life beyond chains. Today’s culture war reveals the same truth: not everyone is committed to freedom, and some prefer loyalty to power. Tubman’s refusal to carry the unwilling remains a lesson in ruthless clarity.
Mislabeling Hate as Politics
What we are witnessing now is not a clash of ordinary political opinions. Real politics debates taxes, budgets, healthcare, and the size of government. What we are seeing instead is people defending bigotry, violence, and the deliberate dehumanization of others. To dress that up as “political differences” is dishonest. It turns hate into something respectable by giving it a false label. The people clutching their pearls for the fallen figure of hate are not neutral observers—they are participants. By weeping for him, they reveal not their compassion but their alignment. Their loyalty is not to freedom but to the plantation that keeps them comfortable.
The Performance of Loyalty
The spectacle of people mourning someone who thrived on cruelty is performance at its peak. These tears are auditions, staged to prove loyalty to a system that would never protect them in return. They imagine their loyalty earns them status, yet all it wins is scraps from the overseer’s table. This is not Christian grace, nor moral strength—it is submission disguised as faith. True loyalty would mean siding with justice, not cruelty. Instead, their grief becomes a weapon that keeps authoritarianism alive. Every sob signals to power that its abuses will still find defenders. What they call loyalty is actually complicity.
Choosing Chains Over Liberation
The tragedy is not just that people defend hate, but that they choose bondage over freedom. They would rather cling to the familiar cruelty of a master than risk the unknown challenges of justice. Tubman saw this same weakness among those she tried to free. She could not allow their fear to derail her mission, because freedom requires decisive movement. Today’s sympathizers repeat the same cycle of self-imprisonment. They glorify their oppressor and confuse obedience with virtue. By doing so, they betray not only themselves but also every person who longs for justice. Their chains are chosen, and their comfort is their cage.
The System Strengthened by Sorrow
Mourning for oppressors does not weaken their power—it strengthens it. Every time people defend the legacy of cruelty, they give authoritarianism fresh air to breathe. This sorrow is not innocent, because it sends a clear message: hate still has a constituency. Even in death, figures of oppression can manipulate the living through the loyalty of their sympathizers. This kind of grief is not about healing but about preserving power. The tears of the unwilling act as endorsements of the very system that exploits them. Tubman knew that hesitation fed the system of slavery, and the same principle holds today. To cry for oppression is to sustain its grip.
Summary
The lesson Harriet Tubman carried into every mission rings just as true now as it did then: freedom cannot include the unwilling. Some people cling to their oppressors because chains feel safer than change. What we are witnessing in today’s grief for figures of hate is not politics but complicity. These performances of loyalty masquerade as principle but serve only power. Sympathy for cruelty is not a sign of moral depth but of chosen bondage. When people defend hate, they defend the plantation that keeps them small. Tubman’s refusal to drag along the fearful reminds us that liberation requires discipline. Every tear for an oppressor is a vote against freedom.
Conclusion
Harriet Tubman understood that not everyone can walk the path of liberation, and she acted accordingly. She knew that dragging the unwilling risked the lives of those prepared to fight for freedom. Today, we see the same truth unfold in public mourning for oppressive figures, where loyalty to power masquerades as grief. To mistake hate for politics is to lie about the nature of freedom. Those who cry for oppressors show us that they would rather keep their chains than risk the unknown. But Tubman’s example is clear: freedom is for the brave, not for the comfortable. Liberation requires clarity, courage, and a refusal to coddle complicity. If we forget that, the plantation wins again.