Final Reflections of Barney Frank
In his closing months, Barney Frank cautioned Democrats about the potential risks posed by the left.
Frank, who served as a Massachusetts congressman for 16 terms, passed away on May 19 at 86 years old. He promoted a forthcoming book titled, “The Difficult Road to Unity: Why We Must Reform the Left to Save Democracy,” set to release in September.
His title conveys much. Frank had warned fellow Democrats about losing touch with voters. Although he held progressive views, he recognized that certain habits within the party could hinder its effectiveness and potentially jeopardize the nation.
To clarify: this isn’t a memorial for the co-author of Dodd-Frank, a figure not without his share of controversies, including some connected to personal scandals. I’m not here to extol Frank’s life. Instead, I want to highlight crucial lessons on politics: understanding its nature and the dynamics of winning and losing.
For over 30 years, Frank propelled leftist agendas, from advocating for gay rights and anti-discrimination laws to promoting financial regulations and a proactive federal presence in American life.
But he didn’t push aggressively at the onset.
In one of his last interviews, he expressed to CNN’s Jake Tapper that while Democrats successfully positioned inequality at the forefront of their agenda, this success had allowed some to leverage it for broader social changes that the public wasn’t yet prepared to embrace.
His caveat, “the people are not ready,” is a significant point.
To many activists, a public hesitance may seem like bigotry or ignorance. For Frank, it was a political reality. Voters aren’t simply shaped by academia, nonprofit organizations, or online critiques. They require persuasion, assurance, and gradual shifts in perception.
Politics is fundamentally about persuasion, and that process can take years.
Frank never equated delay with defeat; he viewed it as a strategic cost of achieving lasting success. This was the true essence of his often-misunderstood call for moderation—something his left-leaning critics either failed to grasp or deliberately overlooked. He didn’t ask for the left to abandon its aims; rather, he urged them to avoid jeopardizing those aims.
His extensive career serves as a constructive critique of our political dialogue. Politicians often attain “moderate” labels simply by appearing less extreme than their peers. However, Frank was not a moderate in his convictions. His moderation lay in his timing and an understanding of risk.
Take same-sex marriage, for example. Frank championed gay rights long before they gained mainstream acceptance. Yet, he understood that before initiating discussions about redefining marriage, the movement needed to address discrimination at its core.
“During our fight for gay rights, a campaign I believe we largely won, we recognized that some issues garnered more public support than others,” Frank noted in a New York Times piece a week before his passing. “So we began with the more popular initiatives: allowing gays in the military, securing employment rights. We didn’t immediately push for same-sex marriage; we held that off until much later.”
He compared it to the controversial issue of biological males competing in women’s sports, suggesting it should be postponed as it was contentious. “Let’s wait on these matters until broader support is achievable,” he advised.
Notice what he didn’t say: he didn’t claim that individuals involved in women’s sports crossed lines. Instead, he highlighted how the left mismanaged the timing of their advocacy, urging them to prepare the groundwork first and galvanize support without overwhelming the public.
Call it what you want, but don’t label it timid moderation. It’s an astute grasp of politics.
This practical approach was evident in his congressional strategies as well. In 2007, he backed the removal of gender identity protections from employment discrimination laws, reasoning that the votes weren’t there for more sweeping reforms. While activists branded him a traitor, Frank responded pragmatically: “Do what you can at present and tackle the rest later.”
Frank was a strategic figure within the establishment. He comprehended the mechanics of committees, votes, and public sentiment. He could be assertive and partisan but never mistook morality for legislative prowess.
This distinction set him apart from figures like Senator Bernie Sanders. Sanders often frames politics as a moral battle, accusing the system of corruption, while Frank learned how to navigate within that very system.
Then there’s Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, who burst onto the scene as a democratic socialist yet adapted her approach within the political framework. While Frank may not have viewed her as an ally, he might have recognized her path toward political sophistication.
Another fitting comparison could be Jerry Brown. The former California governor evolved significantly from the caricature associated with his early years. By the end of his tenure, he showcased greater discipline and a practical understanding of political dynamics, illustrating that adaptability can lead to success.
Politicians like Brown and Frank offer lessons not for emulating their goals but for grasping their methodologies. Recognizing the strategies of those we oppose is essential. If a political movement fails to accurately assess its adversaries, it cannot hope to prevail.
Frank’s final caution to the Democratic Party was straightforward. The louder elements among the left should refrain from treating every unpopular position as a measure of moral validity. Understand the dynamics, build consensus where possible, and act when there’s a solid foundation to do so.
This advice also extends to conservatives. The most effective agents of change don’t always embody extreme ideologies. Sometimes, they look like individuals urging revolutionaries to listen, count votes, and be patient.
