If Michael Steele doesn't make you sad, well, then there's radio

Hear now the words of David Shuster, who, in the fire of political discourse, declared: “If Michael Steele doesn’t make you sad, well, then there’s radio host Rush Limbaugh, no longer content with wanting the President to fail, Rush is now calling out Mr. Obama as a girly man.” Though spoken of a moment in American politics, these words carry a weight that transcends their time. They reveal the sorrow of leadership diminished, the degradation of public debate, and the tragedy of voices that tear down rather than build up.

The heart of the saying rests first in sadness—the sadness of seeing leaders and influencers abandon the noble task of guiding people toward truth and justice, choosing instead the shallow path of insult and mockery. When Shuster speaks of Michael Steele “making you sad,” he does not speak of personal grief, but of the collective sorrow felt when those entrusted with platforms use them without wisdom or dignity. Leadership, in any form, is a sacred trust, and when it falters, the people suffer a wound.

Then he turns to Rush Limbaugh, whose words in that moment embody the darker side of rhetoric. To label the President not with argument but with insult—calling him a “girly man”—is not the act of reason but of derision. This, Shuster suggests, is the corrosion of public dialogue, where debate becomes theater, and the exchange of ideas gives way to the exchange of taunts. Such actions, though they stir emotion, do not elevate the people; they drag them down into the mud of contempt.

History shows us this pattern often. Consider the fall of the Roman Republic, when political discourse turned from the art of persuasion to the art of insult. Cicero, once the greatest orator, lamented that the Senate was filled not with reasoned voices but with clamor, mockery, and threats. From that corruption of speech came the rise of tyranny, for when men cease to reason together, they are ripe to be ruled by force. Shuster’s lament, though directed at his time, is thus an echo of an ancient truth: the decline of discourse is the decline of a nation’s spirit.

And yet, there is more than condemnation in these words. Hidden within is a call to awareness—that the people must recognize when public voices lead them astray. If the airwaves and pulpits of politics resound only with mockery and personal attack, then the people themselves must demand better. For the fate of dialogue is not only in the mouths of leaders but also in the ears of listeners. To reward insult is to encourage its growth; to reject it is to starve its power.

The lesson for us is plain: guard the dignity of speech. Whether in politics, in community, or in the home, resist the temptation to trade insult for insight. Let arguments be measured by truth and not by scorn. For when words are used to belittle rather than to persuade, the bonds of society weaken, and the path of progress is lost. True leadership, whether in public life or private, uplifts rather than tears down.

Practical is this counsel: listen with discernment. Do not be swayed by those who shout the loudest or mock the fiercest. Ask yourself: does this voice bring clarity or only division? Speak yourself with care, remembering that words have power to heal or to wound. If you must oppose another, do so with strength and reason, not with contempt. In this way, you defend not only your dignity but also the dignity of the community you share.

So remember Shuster’s lament: “If Michael Steele doesn’t make you sad, then there is Rush Limbaugh…” It is not merely a remark on two men of politics, but a warning to all ages. When the leaders of discourse abandon reason for ridicule, it is a sad day for any nation. But when the people rise to demand truth, respect, and dignity, then the spirit of dialogue may yet be restored, and with it, the strength of the land.