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The Public Intellectual
2010–2020 · Occupy · Ferguson · The Tight Rope
he decade that followed the memoir found West everywhere and nowhere—everywhere on the
American scene, and nowhere near the center of respectable opinion. He spoke at Occupy Wall
Street encampments, where his call to link economic injustice and racial injustice electrified a
new generation of radicals. In October 2014, during the “Ferguson October” protests following the
killing of Michael Brown, West was arrested in St. Louis; he emerged from the experience with charac-
teristic defiance, insisting that any preacher of justice must be willing to put his body where his theol-
ogy pointed.
His political independence became more pronounced. West had long criticized both major parties, argu-
ing that they served the wealthy and the powerful while ignoring the poor. In a 2011 interview, he dis-
missed President Barack Obama—whom he had once supported—as “a Rockefeller Republican in black-
face,” a phrase that detonated across the political world and which West later said he regretted. The re-
mark, however regrettable, captured something essential about him: he would not be a court philoso-
pher to any president, and he measured every leader against the standard of the least of these.
In 2017, West co-founded
The Tight Rope
, a podcast and YouTube program with the scholar Tricia Rose, cre-
ating a space for long-form, unfiltered conversation about race, culture, and power—the kind of conver-
sation network television could no longer hold. The show became a hub for Black intellectual life, draw-
ing guests from politics, music, and the academy. In the same year, West returned to Harvard—not to the
Faculty of Arts and Sciences, but to Harvard Divinity School, where he took a professorship and contin-
ued his lifelong work of joining philosophy to faith.
Through the Trump years, the pandemic, and the uprising following the murder of George Floyd, West’s
voice became, for millions, a kind of national conscience—a reminder that America’s crisis was not a mis-
take but a confrontation with its founding sins. He insisted, against both despair and triumphalism, that
the only honest posture was the tragicomic one: grief and joy, judgment and hope, held together like a
gospel chord. “I’m a prisoner of hope,” he said again and again—and somehow, even in the darkest
hours, he made the sentence sound like a plan.
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