The Illusion of Progress, the Reality of Control

Brothers and sisters, let me make it plain: when they talk about democracy, when they talk about justice, when they talk about progress—too often, they are not talking about you. They’re talking about the institutions that keep you in line. They’re talking about the machine that eats off your labor while denying you a real voice. And if you want proof, look no further than Minnesota politics this week.

First, we saw a so-called workgroup hearing on gun violence. It was supposed to be about saving lives, about addressing a crisis in our communities. But what happened? The whole thing dissolved into the same old partisan bickering. DFL lawmakers pointed their fingers at Republicans for not bringing forward proposals. Republicans pointed their fingers right back. Meanwhile, who’s left in the crossfire? Black folks, poor folks, working-class families—the people who can’t afford to play games while bullets rip through their neighborhoods.

Now, while they were busy arguing over power, another committee brought in members of the public to testify about fraud inside the Department of Human Services. Real people, who had the courage to step forward, saying: “This system is broken. It’s corrupt. It’s stealing from the very people it’s supposed to serve.”And how does the state respond? Meetings, hearings, paperwork, investigations that drag on and on while the people still suffer. See, fraud is not just some crook filling out a false form. Fraud is a system that takes taxpayer dollars, mismanages it, and then has the nerve to point the finger at poor folks like they’re the ones draining the system. That’s the trick they play on you.

And what about so-called justice in the courts? Hennepin County Attorney Mary Moriarity announced they’re pausing prosecutions on low-level traffic stops. She says it’s about aligning with a consent decree. They dress it up like reform, like progress. But ask yourself: why now? For decades, Black drivers have been harassed, pulled over, ticketed, arrested—all for the so-called “low-level” stops. How many jobs were lost, how many lives disrupted, how many men and women got records over this? And now, suddenly, when the courts and the feds are breathing down their neck, they say: “We’ll pause.” That’s not justice—that’s politics. That’s not reform—that’s damage control.

And then they parade the Lowertown Project in front of us. They call it “affordable housing.” But affordable for who? These units are being marketed to people making up to 120% of the Area Median Income. That sounds good on paper, but let’s do the math. If you’re working a minimum-wage job—$15, $16 an hour—you’re not qualifying for those apartments. They’re not building for you. They’re not building for the cashier, the bus driver, the nursing assistant, or the single mother trying to stretch every dollar. They’re building for the middle class while telling the poor to be grateful. Brothers and sisters, this is not affordable housing. This is gentrification dressed up in the language of inclusion.

So what do all these stories have in common? Gun violence hearings that produce no solutions. Fraud oversight hearings that protect the system more than the people. Paused prosecutions that come too little, too late. “Affordable housing” that’s not built for the poor.

It all comes back to one thing: the disenfranchised voter. You see, they don’t care about your vote until they need it. They don’t care about your community until it’s an election year. They don’t care about your children until tragedy forces their hand. And even then, they’re not working for you—they’re working for themselves, their party, their donors, their careers.

The reality is this: democracy in America has always been selective. It has always worked for some while excluding others. They’ll let you vote, but they won’t let you decide. They’ll let you speak, but they won’t let you be heard. They’ll let you exist inside the system, but they’ll never let you control it. That’s why you see us fighting the same battles our grandparents fought, demanding the same rights they demanded, standing in the same streets they stood in.

So when you hear them argue in the state capitol, when you see them hold up affordable housing projects that don’t serve the poor, when you hear them talk about reforms that come only under pressure—remember this: your power is not in begging them to change. Your power is in organizing, in uniting, in speaking with one voice so strong they can’t ignore it.

Because the truth is, brothers and sisters, if you are not at the table, you are on the menu. And the disenfranchised voter has been on the menu for far too long. It’s time to flip that table over. It’s time to remind them: you cannot keep ignoring the people, silencing the poor, and exploiting the working class without consequence.

This is Da Urban Conservative. This is the Disenfranchised Voter. And the struggle continues.