The Supreme Court’s recent decision regarding the Voting Rights Act didn’t disenfranchise any black voters. Instead, it began dismantling the practice where politicians and activists manipulated demographics to create oddly shaped voting districts, all under the guise of fairness.
I’ve noticed how Congressional maps have become increasingly absurd over the years. They twist and turn along highways, cross rivers, and squeeze through narrow strips of land, all to connect disparate black communities. It’s not about neighborhoods with commonalities; it’s about race. Politicians pick a black area here and link it to another one miles away, just to hit a racial quota.
That has always frustrated me. The very advocates for equality seem content to splinter the black community into bits on paper. They ignore families, churches, schools, and genuine communities, opting instead to see only demographic blocks and skin colors. They call this representation, but to me, it feels far deeper in its perversion. It suggests that black individuals can’t be politically self-reliant; that our existence in democracy requires these artificial boundaries created by a racial system.
Now, with the case of Louisiana v. Calais, the Supreme Court has pushed back against much of this. The Court has redefined how Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act is utilized for redistricting, curbing the race-based rationale that has defined many maps. The Voting Rights Act wasn’t abolished; no one is losing their voting rights. It’s not saying that black Americans can’t vote or hold office—what’s clear is that the government shouldn’t prioritize race over community cohesion when forming electoral districts.
You wouldn’t gather that from the left’s reaction, though. Almost immediately, familiar voices were treating this as if it were a grim return to the 1950s in the South. They claimed the Voting Rights Act had been dismantled. It felt as though we were back where literacy tests and poll taxes were the norm.
Even more troubling is how some perennial race hustlers are seizing on this moment. These individuals manipulate the situation, amplifying their voices with allegations of racism to sell their narrative. Some casually toss around terms like “white supremacy,” leading to a point where the term starts losing its real significance.
They weaponize the ghosts of past racism for their gain. It’s exploitative and unethical.
What frustrates me most is how both some black opportunists and white liberals seem unwilling to let this moment reflect genuine progress—a chance for real equality. For the first time, there’s a movement away from a system that ties black political influence to artificial racial distinctions imposed by the government. Instead of celebrating this, they seem intent on sullying it, resurrecting fears of systemic racism to argue that black citizens can’t succeed under the same rules as others.
That’s truly disheartening.
These performers, in their desperation, won’t safeguard our interests. They cling to what matters to them. As black individuals begin to view this as an advancement toward a singular definition of citizenship—where our votes are valued as citizens, not as parts of fragmented districts—those who profit from grievances begin to lose their grip. They panic, and suddenly it’s all “white supremacy” or “Jim Crow.” The real fear is about losing their relevance.
Once, the term “black” held significant meaning here. It symbolized pride, resilience, and strength in the face of adversity. It meant perseverance and self-respect—values instilled by parents teaching children about hard work, faith, and maintaining dignity. But too many voices claiming to represent black America today seem to be more about self-interest than empowerment. They thrive in front of cameras, spouting notions of an irredeemably racist America, all while existing freely within a system that allows them to voice their grievances.
That’s quite tragic. Instead of inspiring unity, they’re suggesting survival hinges on being categorized by race. They refuse to see our potential as builders—continuously labeling us as victims.
As a pastor, I reject that narrative. Our dignity is inherent, and our political strength comes from organizing, persuading, and collaborating with those who share our communities and values—not solely based on skin color. I want black people to recognize their true empowerment. This isn’t about complaints; it’s about having genuine power.
We need to believe in our own capacity to influence change, trust our voices, and possess the courage to stand as equals before the law, just like everyone else.
We are Americans, and that is not racism. It’s progress.
