Losing Malcolm-Jamal Warner is losing family, says Van Jones

CNN

22-07-2025

The loss of Malcolm-Jamal Warner is devastating.
For millions of us, especially those of us who grew up Black in America during the 1980s, he wasn't just an actor. He was family. He was possibility. He was hope.
Before Barack and Michelle Obama entered the White House, we had the Huxtables. Before college tours or career fairs, we had Theo. And for me — and for so many other young Black men — he was the first person we saw on TV who looked like us, lived like us, and was expected to become something great, not despite being Black, but while fully owning it.
When The Cosby Show premiered, it was revolutionary. Not because it had Black characters — that had been done before — but because it showed a Black family thriving. Cliff was a doctor. Clair was a lawyer. They were raising smart, funny, ambitious kids. And in the middle of it all was Theo, the every-kid: imperfect, relatable, learning life's lessons with charm and humility.
That mattered.
It mattered because, for decades, portrayals of Black people on television were painfully narrow: butlers, maids, addicts, criminals, punchlines. But Theo wasn't any of that. He was a teenager with dreams, a good heart, and two parents who demanded excellence. The image of a middle-class Black household striving together on national TV was so new, so powerful, that it drew tens of millions of viewers a week. It helped shift the national imagination.
And it shifted mine.
I had two professional parents. I wasn't living in a junkyard like on Sanford and Son or hustling like The Jeffersons. I saw my story in Theo's. He made me feel seen — and not alone.
But Malcolm-Jamal Warner didn't stop with Theo. He went on to build a thoughtful, artistic, and courageous career. He didn't chase cheap fame. He didn't trade dignity for ratings. Instead, he used his platform to speak up about mental health, about nuance in the Black experience, about our full humanity. He invited honesty into a culture that too often demands invincibility. And he did it all with class. With grace. With quiet, unwavering strength.
That kind of consistency is rare in Hollywood — or anywhere. Malcolm weathered the pressures of child stardom with integrity. While so many struggled under the spotlight, he matured, grew and gave back. His work — from Malcolm & Eddie to his Grammy-winning music to his podcast — always carried a message: we are complex, we are diverse, we are worthy.
His passing hits hard. For those of us in our 40s, 50s, even early 60s, this feels like losing a brother. He represented an era when we had shared cultural touchstones, when families across the country sat down at the same time to laugh, learn, and witness something groundbreaking.
And yes, The Cosby Show has become complicated by the fall of its patriarch. But the contributions of its cast, especially its young stars, endure. Lisa Bonet. Tempestt Bledsoe. Keshia Knight Pulliam. And Malcolm. They carried that show's legacy forward — not with scandal, but with substance. They embodied the excellence it promised.
It's okay to mourn this loss loudly. It's not 'playing the race card' to remember how stunningly rare it once was to see a Black kid on TV who wasn't in chains or trouble. It was a revelation. It was dignity in primetime.
Malcolm-Jamal Warner gave us that, and so much more. He started high. And he went higher.
May we honor him not just by remembering Theo, but by continuing the conversations he sparked, the truths he told, and the humanity he championed.
Rest in power, brother.