I recently read a piece about Jesse Jackson, and it made me think. A man who lived 84 years fought for what he called a Beloved Community—a vision of society based on justice, love, and nonviolence. It was not just rhetoric. Jackson truly believed that through collective effort, systemic inequality could be dismantled and a world built where poverty, hunger, and hatred give way to reconciliation.

Today, we are in a completely different reality. Instead of brotherhood and humanism—division based on "us versus them." Instead of inclusivity—dismantling mechanisms that protect minorities. The contrast between what Jackson fought for and what is happening now is simply staggering.

Jackson took hits for the helpless. His life was defined by sacrifice—arrests, threats, exhausting work to build coalitions among people who didn’t always agree but believed in shared dignity. He saw leadership as service, as standing at the end of the line and speaking up first for those who are unheard.

And what do we see now? Politics that narrow the circle of American democracy instead of expanding it. Restrictions on voting access, criminalization of diversity in the federal government, cuts to social benefits for vulnerable groups. ICE deportations tear families apart. Protection for the LGBTQ+ community is dismantled. These are not just political steps—they are a rejection of the very rainbow humanity that Jackson preached from every podium.

What’s especially bitter is that Jackson’s career was about reflecting America’s diversity. The very first day of the new administration brought an order that effectively criminalizes that very diversity and inclusivity. The rainbow coalition he painstakingly built over decades is being dismantled by color.

When Jackson made mistakes, he apologized. When missteps happened, he acknowledged them. Today, we see a person who refuses to say "I’m sorry," even in the most egregious situations. One saw public service as a crusade for justice. The other—as a platform for revenge and enrichment.

Jackson’s life was about empathy. He cried when Obama was elected. Prayed with protesting workers, took hands with immigrants and LGBTQ+ Americans long before it became politically convenient. A masculinity rooted in compassion and brotherhood—that’s what set him apart.

The tragedy is that the man who told us "Keep hope alive" is leaving precisely at a moment when the administration demands capitulation to despair. The rainbow is fading. The voice that called for unity is no longer heard. And this is more than just the loss of one person—it’s the loss of a moral compass that we need now more than ever.