Many West Virginians are angry with Congressman Riley Moore over his now-viral “thumbs up” selfie while touring the CECOT prison facility in El Salvador. Others, however, are praising the photo and appreciate that he shared it for all to see.
Moore appeared on MetroNews Talkline Friday to explain, saying:
“Look, I’m giving an affirmative gesture that ‘Yes, I think this is working. I’m supportive of what the president is doing. I’m supportive of what President Bukele is doing,’” referring to El Salvador’s President Nayib Bukele.
He continued:
“But I do want to say this. I know people have found that picture offensive. That was not my intent. It was not my intent to upset people with that picture whatsoever.”
When asked if he regretted posting it, Moore said:
“No, I don’t regret posting it. I regret the reaction to it and a lot of the misinformation that’s out there where people think U.S. citizens are being sent to this facility. There’s no U.S. citizens down there.”
Now, let’s talk about anger. Anger is not inherently bad. It’s a natural reaction to something that feels wrong, real or perceived. But when anger festers and doesn’t translate into meaningful and appropriate action, it can curdle into hate. And hate? That helps no one.
So, if you’re angry about Congressman Moore’s photo—if you’ve taken offense that’s tilting toward resentment—do yourself a favor. Let it go. Not the concern, but the bitterness. Channel that feeling into something constructive. You’ll sleep better for it.
President Abraham Lincoln was famous for writing scathing letters he never sent, tucking them away in a drawer instead. Today’s version might be drafting a fiery post on social and never hitting publish. Try it.
And then, remember this: politics isn’t personal. Or at least, it shouldn’t be. Politics works best when it’s transactional much like a commodity—when voters evaluate whether a politician’s actions align with their expectations, values, or interests. That’s how it’s supposed to work.
OpenSecrets reports that more than $15.9 billion was spent on congressional and presidential races in the last election. A record. Not a single penny of that money was spent for no reason; it was all aimed at persuading someone in some way. Yet it’s often in the unscripted, unpolished moments—not the advertisements—that voters get the clearest view of who a candidate really is. Embrace the silver lining and the opportunity it provides.
This isn’t to say one moment defines a politician. But a collection of those moments? They matter. They add up. And if you’re paying attention, they help you decide what kind of leader you’re really voting for or voting against depending on your evaluation of a candidate.
Which brings us to you, the voter. In the 2024 General Election, just under 64 percent of registered West Virginians cast ballots. Historically, maybe that’s not terrible. But when you consider the responsibility that comes with living in a republic, that number is far too low. It’s shameful.
If we want politics to remain transactional—not emotional, not tribal—we must participate. Otherwise, disappointment festers. Pulling a lever or punching a digital button is as much a cleansing mechanism as it is an electoral responsibility. Fail to vote and you’re not just letting America down, you’re withholding a cure for your own wellbeing and inviting things to become personal again. Your feelings must manifest in some manner or another.
Whether furious with Riley Moore or fully on board with him, take note. Keep watching. Take more notes. And come November 2026, cast your vote. That’s how democracy works. That’s how anger becomes something useful; how satisfaction yields a greater result. That’s how politics stays in its rightful place—serving the people, not consuming them.