The Supreme Court on Wednesday will hear arguments in Louisiana v. Callais, a case that could topple what remains of the Voting Rights Act of 1965. At question is whether one-third of our state’s population — Black Louisianians — will continue to have an opportunity to elect representatives of their choice, or if decades of hard-won progress will disappear under the guise of “colorblind” politics.
For over a decade, the Supreme Court’s conservative majority has been chipping away at this landmark civil rights legislation. Now the law’s Section 2, which prohibits voting practices that discriminate based on race, is at risk. If the court declares it unconstitutional, it is all but certain that one of our congressional districts will be dissolved, and quite possibly both districts.
Let’s be clear: Section 2 is still necessary, especially in Louisiana. Despite what some people may argue, there is no evidence to support the idea that our state’s Black voters can elect candidates of their choice without the existence of majority-Black districts.
Critics of the Voting Rights Act would have you believe that protecting the rights of minority voters is by definition redistricting by race. They argue that standards should be colorblind and that America’s strides toward greater racial equality make voting protections unnecessary.
History illustrates the farce of this argument. Grandfather clauses, poll taxes and literacy tests were all technically colorblind. Louisiana’s literacy test is cited in schools across the country as a textbook example of how purportedly neutral standards can be used for discriminatory ends.
Today’s numbers tell the same story. Approximately one-third of Louisiana is Black. In our state’s entire history, only five Black citizens have been elected to the U.S. House and served, out of 171 Louisianans sent to the House. These facts underscore the persistent racial polarization in voting patterns and the enduring need for legal protections that ensure all voices are heard, not just those of the majority.
When Black communities lose representation at both the state and federal levels, their concerns are often ignored or deprioritized. Black elected officials, already too few in number, are left to shoulder the burden of constituents outside their districts who feel they have nowhere else to turn. That’s not how a representative democracy is supposed to work.
The consequences of unequal representation aren’t theoretical. Just seven years ago, Louisianans voted to end the state’s practice — shared by only one other state — of allowing nonunanimous juries to convict people of felonies. The state’s 1898 Constitution enshrined this practice with the explicitly racist intent to limit Black people’s power in the justice system and to make it easier to convict them.
Louisiana’s 1974 Constitution retained these so-called Jim Crow juries, and for decades many didn’t think of them as abnormal. It was Black representation that unearthed the insidious nature of this relic. Under scrutiny by Black members of the State Legislature, an elected district attorney opposing the change stated: “I’ve heard a lot about this system being adopted as a result of a vestige of slavery. I have no reason to doubt that. I’m not proud of that — that that’s the way it started. But it is what it is.”
Sadly, this is not the only artifact of Jim Crow lingering in our government. The South is still a place where people who look like us must pass the statues of Confederate soldiers to enter courthouses seeking justice.
The Voting Rights Act, including Section 2, has garnered bipartisan support. When it was last reauthorized, in 2006, it passed overwhelmingly under a Republican president and Congress. Not a single senator voted against it. At the time, lawmakers across the political spectrum recognized that, left to their own devices, some states would turn back to a time when certain voices did not matter and could be disregarded. That’s just as true today as it was then.
Even though the Supreme Court’s decision isn’t expected until next year, political powers in Baton Rouge, recognizing Section 2 of the law may very well be declared unconstitutional, reportedly took steps to convene a special session of the Legislature in which they originally planned to redraw the congressional map. This move suggests leaders in our state’s capital are eager to create a new map that dismantles our majority-Black districts and disperses our current constituents across predominantly white districts. It should be a warning sign to the Supreme Court that without the Voting Rights Act, state leaders seem intent on denying Black voters fair representation.
America stands at a crossroads. We can either move forward, ensuring that every community — Black, white, urban, rural — has a voice in shaping our future, or we can slide back into a past where the decisions are made by only some.
The Voting Rights Act is not a relic. It is a living promise to all Americans that our democracy belongs to everyone. For nearly 200 years, Black Americans had virtually no representation in our collective governance. Section 2 was enacted to right that wrong.
It remains as vital today as it was when it was first signed into law 60 years ago. The law represents progress on our nation’s trek to a more perfect union. We must not allow the erosion of its promise; not now, not in Louisiana, not anywhere, and not on our watch.
Troy Carter represents Louisiana’s Second Congressional District, and Cleo Fields represents Louisiana’s Sixth Congressional District.
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