When a Viral Clip Becomes a Mirror: What Juelz Santana’s Comment Reveals About Us

Every week, something new on social media grabs our collective attention, and we react quickly, loudly, and often without much reflection. The most recent example that landed in my feed was a podcast clip of Juelz Santana. The host asked a strangely binary question about which mattered more: literacy or math. Without hesitation, Juelz said reading wasn’t that important, but math was. He went on to say that kids should learn business by the ninth grade. And then shockingly, he added, “We have apps that can read for you.”

That video clip, of course, traveled fast, and the comment section lit up with critiques and jokes. Many people dismissed Juelz as ignorant, out of touch, or simply wrong. Others took it further, using his past struggles with addiction or the fact that his teeth are missing as proof that his perspective shouldn’t even be taken seriously.

Initially, I had a quick reaction too. As someone who has taught English for years, the idea that literacy is optional goes against everything I know about how young people learn and grow to understand this world. Literacy is the foundation for every other form of learning, and it is not negotiable, so I found his comment outrageous.

But then I came across a thoughtful response from Mychal Threets, the librarian who became well known for his library and literacy advocacy in recent years. He pointed out something important: that dismissing someone’s ideas by attacking their past hardships isn’t just unkind; it’s intellectually dishonest. It keeps us from hearing anything beyond our own assumptions, and it shuts the door on meaningful dialogue. That reframed the moment for me.

Because if an adult openly says that reading “doesn’t matter,” the teacher in me doesn’t want to argue for the sake of being right. The teacher in me wants to ask: What happened in school that led you to believe that? What was learning like for you? Who made you feel capable, or not?

Once I took the opportunity to really think about his commentary, I realized that Juelz isn’t alone in this thinking. There are plenty of people who believe literacy is secondary to making money. Plenty who think reading can be outsourced to apps. Plenty who think the arts, humanities, and critical thinking are luxuries rather than necessities. These beliefs don’t emerge in isolation; they come from experiences, and often, from school systems that failed to offer relevant, affirming, or dignifying learning.

I decided to do a quick search and saw that Juelz Santana never finished high school, but it didn’t make me discount him. His perspective made more sense, and it made me wonder what he needed and didn’t receive. It also reminded me of something I’ve seen throughout my career: when someone says a core part of education “doesn’t matter,” what they’re really revealing is a wound.

The question for us as educators, leaders, and anyone who cares about young people is not, “Why would he say that?”
The question is, “What kind of experiences produce that belief?” “What role do we have in these hard truths?”

Social media makes it easy to mock, but mocking distracts from the real issue: our schools are systems. Systems shape understanding. Systems either invite students in or push them out. Systems can be designed to empower young people, or they can leave them believing that reading will never open doors for them because no one ever showed them otherwise.

That’s the part we have to sit with.

Because literacy vs. math is a false choice, education has never been an either/or. And the moment we start treating it like one, we reveal something more profound about how disconnected schooling can feel for the very communities it claims to serve.

So here’s how I see it: I’m actually grateful Juelz said what he said, not because I agree with him, because I don’t, but because his comment reminds us that public conversations about schooling are shaped by people’s lived experiences and by the broken systems so many children have to navigate. His response reveals the realities many students carry with them, including the painful ones they rarely name outright.

And it pushes those of us in the field to keep asking more relevant questions:
-What do students truly need?
-What values guide our instruction?
-How are we designing classrooms where young people walk away believing they are capable, curious, and worthy of every academic opportunity set before them?

One day, someone will ask another generation of young adults what mattered most in their education. Their answers will reflect what we did, or didn’t do for them today.