Michelle Obama Blasts America: “Not Ready” for Female President? Clyburn Doubles Down

Paul Riverbank, 12/8/2025Michelle Obama and Rep. Clyburn confront America's struggle—and hope—for a woman president.

She kept going. “That’s why I’m, like, don’t even look at me about running because you all are lying. You’re not ready for a woman.” Glances darted, some expressions stiffened, and a handful of heads nodded as if she’d declared out loud what others only whispered in frustration. There wasn’t room for misunderstanding. The challenge was clear—maybe even a little raw.

By Sunday, Rep. James Clyburn was in the NBC studio, facing Kristen Welker. She got to the heart of it immediately, asking if he agreed with Obama’s unfiltered take: Is the country ready for a woman president? Clyburn didn’t hedge. “Michelle Obama is absolutely correct. If you look at the history, we demonstrated that we were not ready.” He was, as ever, precise in tone but unblinking in delivery. He brought up Hillary Clinton and Kamala Harris—not just in passing, but as evidence, as living examples. “These are incredible women who have run—Hillary Clinton and Kamala Harris.”

Something hung in the subtext: disappointment, measured not in percentage points, but in the weight of repeated experience. Clyburn shared that Harris herself had told him something similar: the headwinds she faced weren’t just isolated to one campaign—they were ingrained, pernicious. “History is prologue,” he reminded, summoning old wounds that don’t heal fast, especially for those who have spent their entire careers inside the machinery of American politics.

He pressed further, describing American politics in terms not of elections, but tectonic shifts—forces that have kept certain doors just barely ajar. “Entrenched bias, whether based on gender, race, or that sometimes toxic intersection between them,” he said. It isn’t simply a numbers game or a line graph flattening out; it’s a whisper campaign, a dismissal embedded in the definition of ‘likable’ or ‘presidential.’

What set Clyburn apart in that moment wasn’t gloom—it was the insistence that the struggle itself is integral to the story. “Just because it doesn’t seem that we are ready doesn’t mean we should stop the pursuit.” He said it the way someone would who knows the road is longer than it looks—a perspective earned not just through his own 1992 election, but through a family history stretching back to Reconstruction and the stubborn, cyclical nature of progress itself.

Clyburn’s new book, "The First Eight," traces out those loops of effort and setback. He sounded a warning: with the Supreme Court casting a shadow over the Voting Rights Act, the risk is real that history could echo itself in ways that are uncomfortable, even dangerous. His analogy was sharp: we could be “repeating what took place in the previous century in 1877,” when Reconstruction’s fragile hopes collapsed.

Even with cause for dismay, Clyburn refused resignation. He drew attention to history’s habit of lurching forward after its dark chapters, not despite the struggle, but because of it. “We may be in a dark moment as it relates to women serving as president, but we may be in that moment just before dawn when a woman will serve.” He leaned on lived experience, pointing out that every hard-won advance felt, at the time, improbable.

It’s tempting to focus on the disappointments. The memory of Clinton’s loss still stings—there are people for whom that particular night remains unfinished business. Harris’s journey, too, felt like history stuttering instead of marching forward. The sense of falling short persists for many, especially among the young who thought they’d be handed progress on a straight path.

But stopping at disappointment? That misses the pulse. What Clyburn, and Obama before him, insisted on was persistence—an argument that refuses to let uncertainty paralyze hope. If history teaches anything, it’s that readiness is less a matter of public opinion and more about who keeps showing up, year after year, election after election.

Here’s the truth: America isn’t abstractly “ready,” or not. Readiness is shaped, sometimes forged, by the everyday work of pushing forward anyway. The door doesn’t swing wide open on its own. For now, at least, the pursuit remains unfinished—a project worth continuing, even when the dawn seems slow to appear.

In a packed auditorium, Michelle Obama’s voice didn’t so much rise as it pressed down, steady and weighty. “As we saw in this past election, sadly we ain’t ready.” The words didn’t bounce around the room—they landed with a thud. You could almost hear the breath hold, and within moments, her remarks were already ricocheting onto group chats and the evening news—a shot across the bow that few could ignore.She kept going. “That’s why I’m, like, don’t even look at me about running because you all are lying. You’re not ready for a woman.” Glances darted, some expressions stiffened, and a handful of heads nodded as if she’d declared out loud what others only whispered in frustration. There wasn’t room for misunderstanding. The challenge was clear—maybe even a little raw.By Sunday, Rep. James Clyburn was in the NBC studio, facing Kristen Welker. She got to the heart of it immediately, asking if he agreed with Obama’s unfiltered take: Is the country ready for a woman president? Clyburn didn’t hedge. “Michelle Obama is absolutely correct. If you look at the history, we demonstrated that we were not ready.” He was, as ever, precise in tone but unblinking in delivery. He brought up Hillary Clinton and Kamala Harris—not just in passing, but as evidence, as living examples. “These are incredible women who have run—Hillary Clinton and Kamala Harris.”Something hung in the subtext: disappointment, measured not in percentage points, but in the weight of repeated experience. Clyburn shared that Harris herself had told him something similar: the headwinds she faced weren’t just isolated to one campaign—they were ingrained, pernicious. “History is prologue,” he reminded, summoning old wounds that don’t heal fast, especially for those who have spent their entire careers inside the machinery of American politics.He pressed further, describing American politics in terms not of elections, but tectonic shifts—forces that have kept certain doors just barely ajar. “Entrenched bias, whether based on gender, race, or that sometimes toxic intersection between them,” he said. It isn’t simply a numbers game or a line graph flattening out; it’s a whisper campaign, a dismissal embedded in the definition of ‘likable’ or ‘presidential.’What set Clyburn apart in that moment wasn’t gloom—it was the insistence that the struggle itself is integral to the story. “Just because it doesn’t seem that we are ready doesn’t mean we should stop the pursuit.” He said it the way someone would who knows the road is longer than it looks—a perspective earned not just through his own 1992 election, but through a family history stretching back to Reconstruction and the stubborn, cyclical nature of progress itself.Clyburn’s new book, "The First Eight," traces out those loops of effort and setback. He sounded a warning: with the Supreme Court casting a shadow over the Voting Rights Act, the risk is real that history could echo itself in ways that are uncomfortable, even dangerous. His analogy was sharp: we could be “repeating what took place in the previous century in 1877,” when Reconstruction’s fragile hopes collapsed.Even with cause for dismay, Clyburn refused resignation. He drew attention to history’s habit of lurching forward after its dark chapters, not despite the struggle, but because of it. “We may be in a dark moment as it relates to women serving as president, but we may be in that moment just before dawn when a woman will serve.” He leaned on lived experience, pointing out that every hard-won advance felt, at the time, improbable.It’s tempting to focus on the disappointments. The memory of Clinton’s loss still stings—there are people for whom that particular night remains unfinished business. Harris’s journey, too, felt like history stuttering instead of marching forward. The sense of falling short persists for many, especially among the young who thought they’d be handed progress on a straight path.But stopping at disappointment? That misses the pulse. What Clyburn, and Obama before him, insisted on was persistence—an argument that refuses to let uncertainty paralyze hope. If history teaches anything, it’s that readiness is less a matter of public opinion and more about who keeps showing up, year after year, election after election.Here’s the truth: America isn’t abstractly “ready,” or not. Readiness is shaped, sometimes forged, by the everyday work of pushing forward anyway. The door doesn’t swing wide open on its own. For now, at least, the pursuit remains unfinished—a project worth continuing, even when the dawn seems slow to appear.