Politicians must set their aims for the high ground and according

In the commanding and luminous words of Maya Angelou, the poet of conscience and mother of moral clarity, we hear a timeless rebuke and a call to dignity: “Politicians must set their aims for the high ground and according to our various leanings, Democratic, Republican, Independent, we will follow. Politicians must be told if they continue to sink into the mud of obscenity, they will proceed alone.” These are not merely political instructions; they are a moral summons—a reminder that leadership is not measured by power, but by principle, and that the soul of a nation rises or falls according to the integrity of those who guide it. Angelou’s words, like a prophet’s voice, pierce the fog of partisanship to call both leaders and followers to the high ground of decency, the sacred place where justice, truth, and respect abide.

Maya Angelou, who lived through the storms of the twentieth century—the age of segregation, protest, and renewal—spoke with the authority of one who had seen the heights of hope and the depths of human cruelty. She was not merely a poet of feeling but a philosopher of moral responsibility. Her words here, spoken in interviews and essays reflecting on the state of modern politics, were born of grief at the decline of public virtue—at the spectacle of leaders who traded truth for applause, and integrity for convenience. Yet even as she lamented this decay, Angelou’s words are charged with faith: faith that the people, awakened and united in conscience, can call their leaders upward.

When she speaks of the “high ground,” Angelou evokes one of the oldest images in the human imagination—the mountain of righteousness, the summit of moral vision from which truth can be seen clearly. To ascend it requires courage, discipline, and humility. To descend into the “mud of obscenity,” as she warns, is to surrender the soul to the lower appetites of greed, division, and deceit. She calls upon those who lead to remember that their power is borrowed, that their glory is only as bright as their virtue. And to the people—the followers—she gives a sacred charge: do not follow them into the mud. Let those who defile the dignity of their office walk alone, abandoned by the conscience of the nation they betrayed.

History gives us many who have climbed this high ground, and many who refused. Consider Abraham Lincoln, whose heart broke under the burden of a divided country. When the temptation arose to speak to the baser instincts of his age, he refused. He spoke not to fear or hatred but to “the better angels of our nature.” His words lifted a wounded nation upward, calling both North and South to see beyond vengeance toward reconciliation. Lincoln’s greatness lay not in his office, but in his moral altitude. By contrast, history remembers also those rulers who bathed in obscenity—whose lust for power made them cruel, whose vanity made them blind. Their names, though once shouted with cheers, now lie buried beneath the weight of their corruption.

In her wisdom, Angelou understood that politics is not separate from the human spirit. It is the collective reflection of what we choose to honor and what we tolerate. When leaders trade decency for insult, when truth is mocked and vulgarity applauded, the nation itself begins to rot from within. But the rot can be healed—if the people demand better. Her warning, “they will proceed alone,” is not despair; it is the voice of empowerment. It reminds us that in a democracy, power flows not from the politician to the people, but from the people to the politician. We must never forget that leaders rise where the people’s standards rise—and they fall where our expectations fall.

There is a deeper wisdom in Angelou’s imagery of mud and height. The mud is easy to reach—it requires no effort to sink into. It is the swamp of mockery, of cruelty, of cheap victories won by division. But the high ground must be climbed. It is the long road of restraint, honesty, and compassion. Those who climb it—whether politician or citizen—must labor to rise above anger and self-interest. It is hard work, but it is the only work that preserves civilization. For every great movement of progress—the abolition of slavery, the fight for civil rights, the defense of human dignity—has been led not by those who wallowed in mud, but by those who ascended toward light.

The lesson, then, is this: demand virtue from your leaders, and embody it yourself. Do not be seduced by the noise of division or the glamour of outrage. Insist that those who would govern you do so from moral elevation, not from the swamp of insult and greed. Speak truth, even when silence is easier. Refuse to follow where conscience cannot go. For when a people turn their eyes upward, their leaders must rise or perish in shame.

So remember this, O heirs of liberty and children of democracy: the destiny of nations depends not on the loudness of their politics, but on the height of their ideals. Maya Angelou, with the calm authority of a seer, bids us lift our eyes to the high ground—where integrity reigns and dignity leads the way. Let the unworthy walk alone, for a people who know their worth will never kneel in the mud. Strive always for the summit, and you will lead even the mighty there, not by fear, but by the irresistible power of example.