When They Go Low, We Can’t Afford to Stay Polite

Michelle Obama’s famous words — “When they go low, we go high” — were meant to inspire moral strength in the face of cruelty. Dignity in the face of degradation. Grace when others chose pettiness or hate.

But over the years, that phrase has been co-opted. Watered down. Used as a tool of respectability politics. Too often, it’s invoked not to encourage integrity, but to demand quiet.

Especially by white progressives who have little to lose in this fight, “go high” has been weaponized to tone-police the very people living the consequences of inequity. It’s become a shield against discomfort — a way to maintain civility even when civility is complicity.

The Comfort of Civility

Let’s be honest: in rooms where educational equity and racial justice are being debated, “going high” is often code for “don’t make people uncomfortable.”

But justice requires discomfort. Disruption is the point.

When advocates, educators, or parents of color raise hard truths about funding inequities, racial disparities in discipline, or biased curriculum policies, we are often told — in words or in tone — to “be constructive.” To “stay collaborative.” To “find common ground.”

Those words may sound pragmatic, but they carry an edge: Be polite. Be digestible. Don’t scare people who hold power.

That isn’t going high. That’s going quiet.

Civility has become the soft armor of privilege — something worn by those whose safety, food, education, and futures are rarely up for debate.

For communities of color, dignity doesn’t always look calm. Sometimes it looks like outrage. Sometimes it looks like saying, “No more.”

The Politics of Tone Policing

In my years of leading work around educational equity and school finance, I’ve seen how tone policing keeps systems intact.

When I testify about inequitable funding formulas or how poverty disproportionately impacts students of color, there’s always someone who says:

“We agree with your goals — but your tone feels a bit harsh.”

Translation: We could support you if you made us more comfortable.

But there’s nothing comfortable about inequity. There’s nothing polite about generational underfunding of schools that serve Black, Brown, and Indigenous students.

If we are serious about justice, then we must be serious about truth — even when it’s loud, even when it’s angry, even when it’s inconvenient.

The call for “going high” has too often been a call for quiet compliance.

Grace Without Truth Is Performance

The women and leaders of color I know — in classrooms, nonprofits, advocacy spaces — have been “going high” for decades. We’ve shown up with data, solutions, coalition building, and grace. We’ve gone high by being patient with systems that grind progress into process.

And yet, equity gaps remain.

Because systems do not change through politeness. They change through pressure.

Grace without truth is performance. Civility without justice is compliance.

We can hold compassion without coddling privilege. We can model dignity without absorbing disrespect. And we can absolutely love our communities fiercely and refuse to soften our truth to make others feel better about it.

When “Going High” Protects Power

For many white progressives, “going high” is a moral identity — a way to differentiate themselves from overt bigotry or cruelty. But when that identity becomes more important than impact, it reinforces the same hierarchies it claims to oppose.

In practice, it sounds like this:

• “Let’s not make this racial.”

• “We need to hear all sides.”

• “You’re alienating allies.”

Each statement sounds reasonable. Each one centers fragility over justice.

Going high should never mean protecting the comfort of the powerful at the expense of those who are suffering. It should never mean diluting urgency to keep peace in rooms where peace was built on inequity.

Equity Requires Courage, Not Politeness

Real equity work is rarely polite. It demands naming what systems prefer to obscure — budgets that reward privilege, schools that normalize exclusion, leadership tables that remain overwhelmingly white.

When people say, “Let’s rise above,” I want to ask: Above what? Above inequity? Above harm? Or above accountability?

Because sometimes “rising above” is just another way of saying look away.

True leadership — the kind that heals and transforms — doesn’t rise above hard truths. It sits in them. It stays in the tension long enough to turn it into change.

Holding Dignity and Disruption Together

There is still value in Michelle Obama’s call. The spirit of “going high” — choosing integrity over vengeance, purpose over ego — is deeply powerful. But integrity does not mean passivity.

We can “go high” by refusing to mirror hate, but we cannot confuse that with refusing to confront it.

Going high might look like staying strategic when others descend into chaos. But it can also look like raising your voice, drawing a boundary, walking out, or saying “no” when everyone else is nodding along.

Dignity and disruption can coexist. Anger and grace can live in the same body. Resistance can be righteous and responsible.

The Moral High Ground Is Courage

In this moment — when schools are under attack, when equity is being rebranded as divisive, when funding gaps widen while the rhetoric of fairness grows louder — “going high” cannot mean staying silent.

We need leaders who will name inequity even when it costs them. Educators who will speak up even when it endangers funding. Boards who will hold the line even when it makes meetings uncomfortable.

Because the real moral high ground isn’t politeness — it’s courage.

It’s the courage to say:

• Our children’s humanity is not negotiable.

• Our schools’ funding is not a bargaining chip.

• Our right to name racism out loud is not up for debate.

Courage is what builds a just future. Politeness only preserves the status quo.

If Not Now, When?

We can still honor the dignity that Michelle Obama modeled — but we must redefine what it means. Dignity is not docility. Grace is not silence.

When they go low, we don’t have to crawl down there with them. But we also don’t have to float above it, untouched and unmoved. We can stand firm, grounded in truth, hands in the soil, building something better.

Because transformation requires tension. Progress requires friction. And courage requires voice.

When they go low, we don’t go high.

We go forward.