Call me what you want.
Throw every name you’ve got. None of them answer the only thing that matters: no woman should stand on a corner and beg for bread.
The label is the dodge
When a person can’t answer the argument, they go after the arguer. That has a name — the ad hominem, the oldest dodge in the book. “Marxist.” “Russian.” “Liberal.” A label is reached for precisely because it’s vague enough to never lose — you can’t disprove a slur the way you can disprove a fact. That vagueness is the whole point: it changes the subject from the thing said to the one who said it.
So change it back. Take the question back. Call me anything you like — the name does not reach the woman on the corner. The hunger is still there when the insult is done.
Here’s the thing the label is hiding
No woman should stand on a corner and beg for bread.
That’s it. That’s the whole argument. It isn’t Marxism — it’s bread. It isn’t a foreign plot — it’s a neighbor. It isn’t a party — it’s a person, cold, with her hand out, in the richest country that ever existed. If naming that makes me a name, then the name is true and the name is nothing, both at once — because we found the money for the war and told her there was none for the loaf.
Judge me harsher
The rule cuts the way it’s supposed to: judge others as you would judge yourself — and then turn the dial up on me. Judge me harsher than you judge anyone I’m defending. I’ll take the harder standard, because I’m the one doing the calling, and the one who calls the bluff has to be cleaner than the bluff. Best and worst both score; the only loss is the shrug in the middle.
And I know whose I am
So spout the name. I don’t care anymore — not because I’ve gone numb, but because the name can’t reach the floor. I know whose I am. I’m a child of God — and so is she, the one on the corner; and so are you, even mid-insult. The dignity is the floor, and you don’t get to vote on the floor. That’s the only ground I’m standing on, and no label has ever once moved it.
Call me what you want — she’s still hungry when you’re done;
The names are noise. The bread is the record. Build the door back in. Feed the person. Solve for life. Solve for joy. Not as a slogan — as a thing you actually do. Only humans beg; only humans answer; only humans score.