Clinton’s finger-wagging replies to Black Lives Matter protesters in Philadelphia provided a fascinating glimpse of a major political figure grabbing a political third rail and refusing to let go.   

The former President Bill Clinton apparently was not expecting, when he appeared last week at a campaign event in Philadelphia on behalf of his wife, the former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, to be confronted by Black Lives Matter protesters over the consequences, intended and not, of one of his Administration’s signature bills—the Violent Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act of 1994. Clinton, his voice raised, wanted protesters to believe that it was thanks to this bill that the nation’s crime rate went down, police forces became more diverse, and a federal assault-weapons ban became law, at least until the ban expired, a decade later; he was able recite a fusillade of statistics without it always being clear where they came from or what, exactly, they referred to. The shouting, Clinton’s finger-wagging replies, and the reluctance to accept what others were saying provided a fascinating glimpse of a group with a deeply felt point of view and of a major political figure repeatedly, even stubbornly, grabbing a political third rail and refusing to let go. For all that, as a political actor, he never broke character, never stopped trying to connect, reminding witnesses of his enormous talent as a campaigner, as well as his potentially volatile role in his wife’s race for the Presidency.

In defense of Clinton, he was determined to persuade his audience that the twenty-two-year-old crime bill did some good, and he did attempt to fashion an argument supported by facts. (The inclination of the Republican front-runner, Donald J. Trump, when faced with protesters, is to urge someone to throw them out, the more expeditiously the better; he does not bother with mere argumentation.) Clinton did not exactly reprise his “Sister Souljah moment,” of 1992, when, as the Democratic candidate for President, he offended some supporters (and won many others) by comparing a rap singer’s remarks to the views of the Ku Klux Klan leader David Duke. It was, rather, more of an anti-Souljah episode, showing impatience and irritation with people whose views he seemed unable to acknowledge. It was, above all, a case of the present confronting the past—modern awareness confronting yesterday’s mistakes, such as Hillary Clinton’s use of the term “superpredator” to refer to some of the juvenile criminals who would be most affected by the crime bill’s harsh sentencing provisions. The former President did not say much about how the legislation led to a very bad outcome—the imprisonment of African-Americans, in alarming numbers, for nonviolent crimes. Secretary Clinton was asked about that the other day, when she met with the editorial board of the Daily News, and said, “That was not as apparent at the time, but part of being a responsible decision-maker is to keep track of what’s happening. And now I think it’s clear there were some consequences that we do have to address.” That was a passive way to address mass incarceration, an issue that she came to relatively late. She was not, as her husband told the protesters, “the first one to say, ‘Let’s get these people who did nonviolent offenses out of prison.’ ” (Others, including the former Virginia senator Jim Webb, whose Presidential campaign flickered out quickly early this year, showed more bravery on that subject, years before Clinton addressed it.)

Last week’s confrontation must have been especially hard for Bill Clinton, who loves to speak, hold forth, speak some more, and further explain—none of which is possible when you can’t be heard and you don’t listen. What must have made it harder was listening to his wife’s challenger, Senator Bernie Sanders, whose supporters include Spike Lee and Harry Belafonte, say that “the President owes the American people an apology for trying to defend what is indefensible.” Clinton later said that he was “almost” ready to apologize for the angry tenor of the occasion, which, after all, was intended to bolster black support for his wife generally, and specifically in the now-competitive April 19th New York primary. However much he is helping or harming his wife’s campaign, he’s visibly enjoying his work (on Sunday, he spoke at three Harlem churches), even if his enthusiasm sometimes pushes him over the rhetorical line. His encounter with Black Lives Matter protesters, though, did not help the campaign at all.

Black lives surely also matter to the Republican Presidential candidates, but they have not expressed much sympathy for the movement. “I think they’re trouble. I think they’re looking for trouble,” Trump said. His close pursuer in the delegate race, Senator Ted Cruz, showing off his talent for cold indifference and lawyerly misrepresentation, said, “If you look at the Black Lives Matter movement, one of the most disturbing things is more than one of their protests have embraced rabid rhetoric, rabid anti-police language, literally suggesting and embracing and celebrating the murder of police officers.” Every time you hear that sort of pointlessly provocative thing, from Trump or another candidate, the tyranny of the calendar emerges. It’s just seven months until this slightly rattled, uniquely diverse nation chooses its next President, after which there’s no going back. We’re stuck. The question for Republicans, Democrats, all of us, is where we’re going to be then.