Your vote is not merely a mark on a ballot. It is an instrument of power.

On Thursday evening, July 23, Frieson presented the tenth—and, for now, final—installment of the Voter Education and Empowerment Workshop from the Clark Historic Landmark Site in historic East Roanoke, Alabama.

It was a conclusion, but it did not feel like an ending.

Instead, it felt like a passing of responsibility.

Sherard used this final workshop to revisit the central lessons of the series: honor the ancestors, study the organizing blueprint they left behind, understand the machinery of government, follow the public money, investigate candidates, resist political manipulation, and recognize the consequences of surrendering the vote.

But beneath every chart, statistic, budget figure and historical reference was one enduring question:

Now that we know better, what are we prepared to do?

Beginning Where the Struggle Began

Sherard opened the final session where the entire series began—with the ancestors.

He remembered Dr. W. C. Patton, Odie Adams, Jerome Gray, Dr. Joe Reed, Arthur Madison, Rufus Lewis and other Alabama organizers whose names may not always appear in national history books, but whose labor helped construct the political foundation upon which later generations stand.

He also invoked Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Fannie Lou Hamer, Malcolm X, Wilkie Clark and the countless unnamed men and women who registered voters, organized communities, challenged intimidation and placed their livelihoods—and sometimes their lives—on the line for the right to participate in American democracy.

Their work was not accidental.

It followed a blueprint.

They educated people. They organized communities. They registered voters. They mobilized citizens. They transformed protest into participation—and participation into policy.

They understood something we are in danger of forgetting:

A protest can awaken the conscience of a community, but organized political participation determines who writes the laws, controls the budgets, appoints the judges and exercises the power.

The ancestors did not fight merely so that their descendants could possess the theoretical right to vote. They fought so that we could exercise that right with purpose.

Every Election Is a Decision About Power

Throughout the workshop series, Sherard repeatedly dismantled the excuse that a single vote does not matter.

He pointed to national, statewide and local elections decided by narrow margins—including a mayoral race determined by only 32 votes.

Those examples were not offered as trivia. They were warnings.

An election is not decided by everyone who complains.

It is decided by those who vote.

When turnout is low, a relatively small number of people can choose officials who will exercise authority over an entire community. Those officials will then help determine how public money is distributed, which neighborhoods receive investment, which schools receive resources, which roads are repaired, which services are preserved and whose concerns receive attention.

Alabama’s June 16, 2026 primary runoff illustrates the severity of the problem. Only 10.72 percent of the state’s registered voters cast a ballot. That means decisions affecting millions of Alabamians were shaped by only a small fraction of the people eligible to participate.

When the majority remains home, democracy does not pause.

It simply proceeds without them.

Follow the Money

One of the most important lessons of Sherard’s ten-week series was also one of the most practical:

Follow the money.

Government can sometimes feel distant and abstract. Budgets can appear to be little more than columns of numbers buried inside documents few citizens ever read.

But a budget is never merely a spreadsheet.

A budget is a statement of values.

It tells us which schools will receive support, which roads will be paved, whether teachers will receive raises, whether community programs will survive, whether healthcare remains accessible and whether local governments can provide essential services.

Sherard traced the flow of public money from the federal government to the state, from the state to local governments, and from local governments directly into the daily lives of families.

That lesson deserves to be repeated:

The ballot is connected to the budget.

Campaign donors understand this. Corporations understand this. Political action committees understand this. Wealthy interests do not pour millions of dollars into elections merely because they enjoy political advertising.

They invest in elections because elections determine who controls vastly larger pools of public money.

Ordinary citizens must therefore learn to ask serious questions before supporting a candidate:

Who is financing the campaign?

What policies does the candidate support?

What is the candidate’s voting record?

Has the candidate served the community?

Do the candidate’s actions match the promises being made?

Who benefits if that candidate wins?

And, just as importantly, who will bear the cost?

The Price of Political Disengagement

In this final workshop, Sherard brought the discussion directly into the household.

He spoke about healthcare costs, grocery prices, fuel, tariffs, stagnant wages, inflation and the increasingly familiar experience of watching a paycheck disappear sooner than it did before.

Perhaps his most effective illustration was also his simplest: a $100 bill gradually losing its buying power from one year to the next.

The paper may still say $100.

But when it purchases fewer groceries, less gasoline, less medicine and less security for a family, its practical value has declined.

Many working people already understand this without needing an economist to explain it. They feel it when a paycheck that once lasted until Thursday is exhausted by Tuesday. They feel it when rent, insurance, utilities and food rise while wages remain virtually unchanged.

Sherard’s point was not that every economic difficulty can be attributed to one officeholder, one party or one election.

His point was that economic policy is political policy.

Decisions concerning taxation, healthcare, tariffs, education, public investment and government spending are made by elected officials. Those decisions eventually travel from legislative chambers and executive offices into kitchens, medicine cabinets, gas tanks, classrooms and bank accounts.

People may attempt to ignore politics.

Politics does not ignore them.

When We Do Not Vote, Others Decide

Sherard also confronted one of Alabama’s most troubling political realities: the large number of races in which candidates face little or no meaningful opposition.

An uncontested candidate may appear on the ballot, but the absence of competition often means that the decisive political work happened long before the general public began paying attention.

Low participation makes this problem worse.

When citizens do not vote in primaries, do not attend local meetings, do not recruit candidates and do not remain engaged between presidential elections, a small organized group gains disproportionate control.

Sherard summarized the consequences plainly:

Others decide for you.

Smaller groups gain greater power.

Your voice is not heard.

This does not mean that every voter will always prevail. Democracy does not guarantee that our preferred candidate or policy will win.

It guarantees only the opportunity to participate in the contest.

Refusing that opportunity does not weaken the power structure. It strengthens those who are already organized.

The Voting Rights Act Did Not Die in a Single Night

Two of Sherard’s most compelling workshops examined what he described as the “death” of the Voting Rights Act.

He framed the subject as a crime-scene investigation because the weakening of voting protections did not result from one isolated act. It occurred through a long chain of elections, judicial appointments, legislative decisions and periods of public disengagement.

Rights can be won through tremendous sacrifice and later weakened through neglect.

The judges who interpret voting-rights protections are appointed by presidents and confirmed by senators. The legislators who write election laws are selected by voters. State officials administer elections. County officials draw local consequences from state policy.

The courtroom and the polling place are therefore not separate worlds.

One helps shape the other.

Sherard’s warning was unmistakable: we cannot celebrate the sacrifices that produced the Voting Rights Act while refusing to exercise the very power those sacrifices secured.

We cannot praise the ancestors every February and abandon their unfinished work every election day.

An Informed Voice Is a Powerful Voice

Sherard did not simply encourage people to vote. He encouraged them to vote intelligently.

That distinction matters.

Modern voters are surrounded by political advertisements, edited videos, deceptive headlines, anonymous social-media posts and emotionally charged claims designed to provoke an immediate response.

Anger can be manufactured.

Fear can be marketed.

Outrage can be converted into votes before the underlying claim is ever examined.

Sherard urged viewers to pause when political content produces an intense emotional reaction. Check the source. Read beyond the headline. Verify the date. Watch the complete interview rather than relying upon a short clip. Compare multiple reputable sources. Investigate the person or organization paying for the message.

A ballot cast without information can be manipulated.

A ballot cast with knowledge becomes far more difficult to control.

Your vote is your voice—but an informed voice carries greater power.

Use Whatever You Have

Sherard closed the workshop series with a call to action that reached beyond formal political organizations.

He appealed to ministers, business owners, social-media users, parents, grandparents, family matriarchs, community elders and ordinary citizens.

Use whatever platform you possess.

A pastor can speak about civic responsibility.

A business owner can share registration information.

A grandparent can insist that voting become a family expectation.

A social-media user can circulate accurate information instead of manufactured outrage.

A neighbor can offer someone a ride to the polls.

A formerly incarcerated citizen can begin investigating whether voting rights may be restored.

And a person who is unable to vote can still help two eligible people cast their ballots.

No one is powerless simply because he or she does not possess a title.

Influence exists inside families, churches, workplaces, neighborhoods, community organizations and friendships. The question is whether we will use that influence deliberately.

The Workshop Ends. The Work Begins.

Sherard thanked those who attended in person, watched on Facebook, visited the YouTube channel or joined him for only a portion of the ten-week journey.

He acknowledged that he learned while teaching and expressed the hope that others learned alongside him.

The weekly workshop may now be pausing, but the conditions that made it necessary have not disappeared.

Voter turnout remains dangerously low.

Too many elections remain uncontested.

Too many citizens pay attention only when a presidential race dominates the news.

Too many families feel the consequences of policies they never studied, passed by officials they never researched, in elections in which they never participated.

That is why this final workshop cannot be treated merely as the conclusion of a video series.

It must be understood as an assignment.

Remember the ancestors.

Study their blueprint.

Verify the information.

Follow the money.

Teach the young.

Challenge political manipulation.

Register the unregistered.

Help restore the rights of those who are eligible.

Carry someone to the polls.

Vote in the primary.

Vote in the runoff.

Vote in the municipal election.

Vote in the midterm.

Vote in the general election.

Then remain engaged after the ballots are counted.

The tenth workshop has ended.

The responsibility it placed before us has not.

The workshop ends. The work begins.

The Southern Justice Archive
Presented By: Charlotte A. Clark-Frieson aka
“Wilkie Clark’s Daughter”

Documenting what happened, Preserving what matters, Protecting what must endure!

On Thursday evening, Clark Historic Site Co-Curator, Wilkie Sherard Frieson returned with another installment of the weekly Facebook Live Voter Education and Empowerment Workshop, facilitated by the Clark Historic Landmark Site in East Roanoke, Randolph County, Alabama.

These workshop-style presentations are being offered in loving memory of the late Mr. and Mrs. Wilkie and Hattie Lee Peters Clark, whose lives and work remain deeply rooted in the struggle for Black civil rights, community education, entrepreneurship, and public service in Randolph County and beyond. As explained at the beginning of the broadcast, the purpose of these sessions is not merely to share information, but to move people from awareness into action — not later, not someday, but now.

This week’s presentation carried a striking theme:

“The Death of the Voting Rights Act.”

But Sherard did not approach the topic like a dry civics lecture. He approached it like an investigator.

There was a crime scene.

There was a body.

There were shell casings.

There was a motive.

And there were victims.

The first victim, in Sherard’s framing, was the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

The second victim was us.

Voting Is Part of the American Social Contract

Sherard began by grounding the discussion in the Constitution and the long, unfinished expansion of the right to vote.

He reminded viewers that voting rights did not arrive all at once. They were built through struggle, amendment, protest, legislation, litigation, and sacrifice. He walked through the constitutional foundations of voting and highlighted the amendments that expanded the franchise over time: the 14th and 15th Amendments after slavery, the 17th Amendment providing for the direct election of senators, the 19th Amendment recognizing women’s right to vote, the 23rd Amendment extending presidential voting participation to the District of Columbia, the 24th Amendment outlawing poll taxes, and the 26th Amendment lowering the voting age to 18.

His point was simple but profound:

We follow the laws of this country.

We participate in the democratic process.

We elect leaders who govern in our name.

That is supposed to be the bargain.

Voting is not a decorative feature of democracy. It is the mechanism by which the people hold power accountable.

When voting rights are weakened, the people themselves are weakened.

The Voting Rights Act Was Protection

The heart of Sherard’s presentation was his explanation of what the Voting Rights Act actually did.

He reminded viewers that the Voting Rights Act did not protect only Black voters. It protected everybody’s voting rights — Black voters, white voters, Hispanic voters, women voters, language-minority voters, and every citizen whose access to the ballot could be threatened by discriminatory state or local practices.

That point matters.

Too often, voting rights are discussed as though they are a “Black issue,” when in truth they are a democracy issue. Black people were often the first and most brutally targeted, but a government powerful enough to silence one group of voters is powerful enough to silence any group of voters.

Sherard revisited the Jim Crow tactics once used to block Black citizens from registering: absurd “tests,” poll taxes, grandfather clauses, and other devices designed to humiliate, discourage, and exclude. In his words, people were once asked ridiculous questions such as how many bubbles were in a bar of soap or how many marbles were in a jar — not because those questions measured civic knowledge, but because they were tools of intimidation.

The Voting Rights Act was designed to stop that.

It gave the federal government tools to intervene where states and local jurisdictions had a documented history of voter discrimination. It empowered enforcement. It created accountability. It placed guardrails around the ballot box.

And for that reason, Sherard argued, it became a target.

A Law Can Still Exist on Paper and Be Dead in Practice

One of the strongest ideas in Sherard’s workshop was this: a law does not have to be formally repealed in order to be weakened.

It can be hollowed out.

It can be narrowed.

It can be stripped of enforcement.

It can remain in the law books while losing the strength that once made it effective.

That is why Sherard described the Voting Rights Act as a body at a crime scene.

The Department of Justice still describes Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act as a permanent, nationwide protection against voting practices or procedures that discriminate based on race, color, or membership in a protected language minority group. But Section 5 preclearance — one of the Act’s most powerful preventive tools — was effectively disabled after the Supreme Court’s 2013 decision in Shelby County v. Holder, because the Court struck down the Section 4(b) coverage formula used to determine which jurisdictions had to seek federal approval before changing voting laws or procedures. The Department of Justice explains that after Shelby County, jurisdictions previously identified by that coverage formula no longer needed to seek preclearance unless covered by a separate court order under Section 3(c).

That is the legal architecture behind Sherard’s warning.

Without the formula, it becomes harder to identify covered jurisdictions.

Without preclearance, discriminatory changes can go into effect first and be challenged later.

Without strong enforcement, the burden shifts back onto the very communities harmed by suppression.

That is not simply a technical legal problem.

That is a civic emergency.

The Second Victim: The Voter

Sherard’s most powerful turn came when he identified the second victim.

The Voting Rights Act was the first victim, he said. But because the Voting Rights Act existed to protect the voter, the second victim is the public itself.

“This is me. This is you. This is your brother. This is your sister. This is your children. This is your grandchildren.”

That was the emotional center of the workshop.

Voting rights are not abstract. They determine who draws district lines. They determine who sits on school boards. They determine who becomes sheriff, mayor, probate judge, legislator, governor, district attorney, member of Congress, and president. They determine whether communities are represented or erased.

When voters are weakened, communities are weakened.

When communities are weakened, democracy becomes easier to manipulate.

Sherard’s phrase for that danger was unforgettable:

Politicians can “fire” their voters.

In other words, instead of voters choosing their representatives, representatives can manipulate the rules and maps until they choose their voters.

That is not democracy.

That is control.

The Shell Casings: Court Decisions, Policy Shifts, and the Long Attack on Voting Rights

In Sherard’s visual presentation, the “shell casings” represented attacks on the Voting Rights Act over time.

He pointed to Shelby County v. Holder as a major wound because it removed the practical operation of the preclearance system. He also discussed Brnovich v. Democratic National Committee, a 2021 Supreme Court case involving challenges under Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act to Arizona rules governing precinct-based Election Day voting and early mail ballot collection. In that case, the Court held that the lower court had misunderstood and misapplied Section 2.

Sherard also brought the discussion into 2026 with Louisiana v. Callais, where the Supreme Court considered whether Louisiana’s new congressional map was an unconstitutional racial gerrymander. The Court held that because the Voting Rights Act did not require Louisiana to create an additional majority-minority district, no compelling interest justified the state’s use of race in creating that map.

For Sherard, these cases form part of a larger pattern: the law may remain, but its ability to protect voters has been reduced.

He then connected those court decisions to broader policy shifts, including Executive Order 14281, issued in 2025, which declared it the policy of the United States to eliminate the use of disparate-impact liability “to the maximum degree possible.” The order also directed agencies to deprioritize enforcement of statutes and regulations to the extent they include disparate-impact liability.

That matters because disparate impact is often how communities prove harm when a policy looks neutral on paper but falls hardest on particular racial, ethnic, or protected groups in practice.

Sherard’s warning was clear: when the law refuses to see unequal outcomes, it becomes harder for injured communities to prove that injury in court.

The Danger of “Colorblind” Justice in an Unequal Society

One of Sherard’s most forceful points was his criticism of so-called “colorblind” legal thinking.

In theory, “colorblindness” sounds fair. In practice, Sherard argued, it can become a way to ignore the real conditions people are living under. He challenged the idea that America can pretend race no longer matters while racialized patterns of violence, exclusion, prosecution, economic hardship, and political suppression continue to shape real lives.

That is the difference between equality as a slogan and equality as a lived reality.

A society cannot simply announce that it no longer sees race while refusing to repair the damage caused by generations of racial discrimination.

A court cannot demand evidence while stripping away the tools that help communities produce that evidence.

A government cannot claim to protect voting rights while making it easier for those rights to be diluted, divided, delayed, or denied.

That was the deep moral argument beneath Sherard’s workshop.

Why This Workshop Matters

The genius of this presentation was that Sherard took a complicated legal history and made it plain.

He did not ask viewers to become constitutional scholars.

He asked them to understand the stakes.

He showed that voting rights are not only about Election Day. They are about power. They are about representation. They are about whose communities count and whose communities can be carved up, packed together, pushed aside, or ignored.

And he made clear that outrage, by itself, is not enough.

At the close of the workshop, Sherard acknowledged that some people may view his “crime scene” framing as symbolic rather than literal. But he stood by the deeper truth of the metaphor: something has been killed. Something has been taken. Something has been weakened that once protected the people.

His final message was not despair.

It was urgency.

If voting rights have been weakened, then voter education becomes even more necessary. If protections have been reduced, then participation becomes even more critical. If politicians are trying to choose their voters, then voters must become more determined to choose their leaders.

That is why these workshops matter.

They are not entertainment.

They are not background noise.

They are not simply Facebook Live videos.

They are civic education in real time.

They are a continuation of the work Wilkie and Hattie Lee Peters Clark believed in.

They are a reminder that the struggle for voting rights did not end in 1965, did not end in 2013, did not end in 2021, and has not ended now.

The ballot is still a battlefield.

And the people must still be prepared.

The Southern Justice Archive
Presented By: Charlotte A. Clark-Frieson aka
“Wilkie Clark’s Daughter”

Documenting what happened, Preserving what matters, Protecting what must endure!

On Thursday evening, July 2, 2026, in the Community Room at the Clark Historic Landmark Site in Roanoke, Wilkie Sherard Frieson did more than lead another voter education session. He opened a civic ledger. He took questions about HBCU funding, Alabama primaries, local sheriff races, party ballots, and political representation, then placed them where they belong: in the hands of the people whose lives are shaped by those decisions.

The message was plain, urgent, and deeply Southern: follow the money, follow the ballot, follow the power.

Frieson’s workshop began with a question about Historically Black Colleges and Universities in Alabama, and particularly the long-standing funding gap affecting Alabama A&M University. What could have sounded like a narrow education policy discussion became something much larger. It became a lesson in how budgets reveal values — and how voters determine who gets the authority to write those budgets.

Federal officials have previously identified a massive disparity in funding between 1890 land-grant HBCUs and their non-HBCU land-grant counterparts. In 2023, the U.S. Department of Agriculture and U.S. Department of Education announced letters to 16 governors concerning more than $12 billion in inequitable funding for land-grant HBCUs; the USDA also noted that Delaware and Ohio had equitably funded their respective institutions. The same announcement explained that the Second Morrill Act of 1890 required states with second land-grant institutions created to serve Black students to provide equitable state funding between their 1862 and 1890 land-grant institutions.

For Alabama, that history lands with painful precision. Alabama A&M University has been identified by the U.S. Department of Education as having lost out on $527,280,064 due to unbalanced funding over a 30-year period, according to reporting on the federal letter to Governor Kay Ivey.

But Frieson did not let that number remain trapped in abstraction.

A half-billion dollars is not just a number. It is classrooms that could have been modernized. It is laboratories that could have been built. It is faculty and staff who could have been better paid. It is research that could have been funded, students who could have been supported, buildings that could have been repaired, and futures that could have been widened.

“Budgets are not accidents. They are choices made by people in office — and those people get there through ballots.”

That is why his point cut so sharply: voting is economic.

When Frieson said that “schools need funding” and that voters must “follow the money,” he was not speaking in metaphor. He was naming the machinery of public life. Money moves through elected hands. Appropriations are not accidents. Budgets are not weather. They are choices made by people in office — and those people get there through ballots.

This is the civic connection too many communities are trained not to see. A neglected school, an underfunded university, an empty research lab, a struggling faculty, a town with fewer opportunities — these are not isolated misfortunes. They are political outcomes.

And if they are political outcomes, then they can be challenged politically.

That was the power of Frieson’s workshop. He did not reduce voting to slogans. He brought it down to the hard ground where people live. He showed that a ballot is not merely a symbol of citizenship. It is a tool of survival, accountability, and distribution. It determines who controls the public purse. It determines who decides whether historic institutions are repaired or ignored. It determines whether communities are funded or merely praised during campaign season.

Then the workshop turned to another difficult question: what happens when African American voters, Democratic voters, or local voters in heavily Republican areas feel pressured to take a Republican primary ballot in order to have a meaningful voice in local races — such as sheriff — while also wanting to participate in Democratic state races?

Frieson did not pretend the question was simple. That honesty mattered.

Alabama’s primary system requires voters to choose one party’s primary ballot because they cannot participate in nominating candidates for both parties in the same primary election. The Alabama Secretary of State’s FAQ explains that voters may split their ticket in a general election, but in a primary they must choose one party’s nomination process. The same FAQ explains Alabama’s crossover voting rule: under Act 2017-340, a voter who participates in one party’s primary may not vote in a different party’s primary runoff; voters who did not vote in the primary may choose either party’s runoff ballot.

On paper, that is a voting procedure. In real life, especially in communities where one party dominates local offices, it can become a painful civic bargain.

Frieson named that bargain directly. Voters may find themselves asking: Do I vote in the primary where my state-level party candidates appear? Or do I vote in the local primary where the sheriff, county officials, or other offices may effectively be decided before November? Do I use my voice where my party identity lives, or where my immediate local power is being chosen?

That is not just inconvenience. That is representation narrowed into a choice no voter should have to make lightly.

Frieson called the situation harmful because it can force voters to calculate which part of their citizenship they can afford to exercise. In his framing, the problem is not simply the existence of party primaries. The deeper problem is what happens when political imbalance leaves voters with fewer meaningful pathways to influence both local and state power.

That is why his discussion of Alabama’s Republican supermajority was important. The structure of power matters. At the start of the 2026 Alabama legislative session, Republicans held a 27–8 majority in the Senate and a 75–28 majority in the House, while also controlling the governorship, creating a Republican state government trifecta and veto-proof supermajority in both chambers, according to Ballotpedia’s 2026 legislative session summary.

In that kind of political environment, voters who are already numerically or politically marginalized must be even more strategic — not less engaged. A supermajority does not make voting meaningless. It makes voter education essential.

Because when one party can dominate the budget, the ballot, the committees, the appointments, and the rules, communities cannot afford confusion. They cannot afford to arrive at the polls without knowing which races are on which ballot. They cannot afford to ignore primaries and then discover in November that the most important local decisions have already been made. They cannot afford to treat sheriffs, school boards, commissions, legislatures, and governors as separate from the everyday conditions of community life.

Frieson’s workshop made one thing beautifully clear: voter education is not a side project. It is community defense.

It is how people learn where power sits.

It is how people learn which office controls what.

It is how people understand why a state budget affects an HBCU campus.

It is how people see that a sheriff’s race is not only about law enforcement, but about power, discretion, safety, and accountability.

It is how people connect the silence of an underfunded classroom to the noise of a campaign rally.

It is how people stop being surprised by outcomes that were decided while they were not in the room.

The Clark Historic Landmark Site was an especially fitting place for such a lesson. Historic sites are often treated as places where the past is preserved behind glass. But on July 2, history did not sit still. It spoke in the present tense.

The struggle for representation did not end with the right to vote. The struggle continued into ballot access, district lines, funding formulas, party rules, local offices, state budgets, and the civic education needed to understand them all. The names and mechanisms may change, but the question remains painfully familiar: Who gets power, and who gets left negotiating for the scraps of it?

That is why the Southern Justice Archive must preserve workshops like this one. They are not just meetings. They are records of a community thinking out loud about democracy. They capture the questions people are really asking — not in textbooks, but in county rooms, historic sites, church halls, school gyms, and community spaces across the South.

Frieson’s answer was not despair. It was discipline.

He acknowledged that the problems are complicated. HBCU underfunding is complicated. Primary election strategy is complicated. Party rules are complicated. One-party dominance is complicated. Local power is complicated.

But his conclusion was simple enough to carry home:

We have to vote. We have to vote our numbers.

That line deserves to be remembered.

Because “voting our numbers” is not merely about turnout. It is about refusing invisibility. It is about refusing to let other people decide the value of our schools, the safety of our communities, the future of our young people, or the limits of our political imagination. It is about understanding that when communities do not show up, someone else still does — and they do not leave the budget blank.

They fill it in.

They fill in the offices.

They fill in the policies.

They fill in the future.

The work before Alabama voters is not simply to vote harder, but to vote smarter. Know the ballot before election day. Know which races are decided in primaries. Know what the sheriff does. Know who controls appropriations. Know which candidates are running unopposed. Know the difference between a primary and a runoff. Know when your choice of ballot affects your next choice. Know who benefits from confusion.

And then organize accordingly.

Wilkie Sherard Frieson’s July 2 workshop was a reminder that democracy is not abstract. Democracy is a classroom. A laboratory. A county jail. A sheriff’s badge. A state appropriation. A ballot table. A runoff rule. A historic Black college waiting for what it was promised. A voter standing in line, deciding which ballot to pull, carrying more history than any one person should have to carry alone.

At the Clark Historic Landmark Site, Frieson turned civic education into civic urgency.

And the lesson was unmistakable:

The ballot is the budget. The budget is the evidence. And the people must never surrender their power to follow the money — and change where it goes.

The Southern Justice Archive
Presented By: Charlotte A. Clark-Frieson aka
“Wilkie Clark’s Daughter”

Documenting what happened, Preserving what matters, Protecting what must endure!

Broadcasting off-site, Frieson shifted from standard policy breakdowns to deliver an raw, urgent reaction to a tragedy that has sent shockwaves through the region: the fatal police shooting of one-year-old Kohen Wiley in Senatobia, Mississippi, on June 14, 2026.

The incident, which allegedly stemmed from an accusation of shoplifting diapers at a local Walmart, resulted in law enforcement discharging multiple rounds into a vehicle containing an infant—despite the child’s mother reportedly holding the baby up to visibility.

“We’ve gone from being shot over water to being shot over diapers,” Frieson stated, referencing the tragic loss of other Black lives under questionable law enforcement actions. “It is pitiful that it was deemed such a threat to society... that an officer is justified to discharge his weapon into a vehicle with a child.”

The Devaluation of Black Life and the Shield of Silence

Frieson’s address did not merely mourn the loss of an infant; it connected the tragedy to systemic, historical failures in accountability. He noted a chilling pattern in how information is managed following police-involved fatalities. Despite the presence of body-worn cameras, Walmart surveillance, and civilian witnesses, official footage has remained unreleased weeks after the shooting.

“Historically, if the body cam footage or surveillance footage matches the statement or justifies the shooting, the video comes out straight away,” Frieson observed. “But when the video is not beneficial and doesn’t look good... now you have to fight to get that video.”

This systemic lack of transparency feeds into a larger legal culture governed by Qualified Immunity—a doctrine Frieson argued has evolved far past its original intent to protect officers in volatile situations. “They need some protection,” he acknowledged, “but that qualified immunity is not a license to kill.”

The Mathematical Absence of Representation

To understand why these tragedies persist without immediate institutional reckoning, Frieson directed viewers to look at the political math of the spaces where they occur.

Senatobia, Mississippi, is a municipality of roughly 8,000 residents with a 40% Black demographic. Yet, in 166 years of municipal history, the town has elected only three Black aldermen. At the state level, Mississippi operates under a rigid legislative supermajority, leaving vast percentages of its population completely unrepresented in the halls of power. A recent push to establish a second Black-majority congressional district to reflect the state’s true demographics was struck down.

This mathematical exclusion creates environments where local authorities operate without systemic accountability to the communities they patrol. When a community has no seat at the table where police budgets are approved, where police chiefs are appointed, and where local ordinances are drafted, its safety is structurally compromised.

The Ballot as an Instrument of Protection

This is where the intersection of civil rights, human tragedy, and voter education becomes absolute. Frieson argued that the ongoing push for federal protections—like the Voting Rights Act and robust civil rights oversight—is directly tied to stopping the physical destruction of Black families.

“They say we don’t need protection, but we need protection,” Frieson insisted. “We need protection from voter disenfranchisement, voter suppression, and violations of civil rights and constitutional rights by police.”

Voter education workshops, such as the series hosted by the Clark Historic Landmark Site, serve a dual purpose. They honor the legacy of ancestors like Wilkie and Hattie Lee Peters Clark, who fought for basic human dignity, while equipping the living with the tools to change local power structures.

Voting is not merely about choosing a political party; it is the primary mechanism to:

1. Elect Local Prosecutors and Sheriffs: The individuals who decide whether criminal charges are filed against officers (a rarity that currently sits at just 3% historically, according to data cited by Frieson).

2. Reshape Municipal Councils: Ensuring city councils and aldermanic boards accurately mirror the demographics of the populace.

3. Dismantle Legal Shields: Pressuring federal and state legislators to reform qualified immunity so that the law applies equally to all citizens.

A Call to Remembrance and Action

As the facts of Kohen Wiley’s death continue to emerge, The Southern Justice Archive joins Wilkie Sherard Frieson in extending deepest prayers to the Wiley family, alongside the families of Sonia Massey, Dexter Reed, Dequane Jackson, and the countless others whose names populate an ever-lengthening archive of grief.

But prayers must be accompanied by structural disruption. We encourage our readers to watch the full Voter Education Workshop on YouTube, share the broadcast, study the local ballot in your district, and recognize that organizing your community to vote is the most formidable defense we have against systemic injustice.

The Southern Justice Archive
Presented By: Charlotte A. Clark-Frieson aka
Wilkie Clark’s Daughter”

“Documenting what happened, Preserving what matters, Protecting what must endure!

Instead of beginning with political parties, campaign slogans, or personalities, he began with a simple question:

Who controls the money?

That question led participants through a practical lesson in how government functions and how public dollars flow from the federal government to the state, and ultimately into local communities such as Randolph County.

For many Americans, politics feels distant and disconnected from daily life. Yet every day we travel roads funded by public dollars, send children to schools supported by public budgets, rely on law enforcement agencies financed through taxpayer funds, and benefit from public infrastructure maintained through governmental spending.

What Sherard demonstrated is that elections are not merely contests between candidates. They are decisions about who will control billions of dollars in public resources.

When citizens vote for legislators, they are choosing the individuals who will determine how education, transportation, healthcare, and public safety are funded. When they elect governors, county commissioners, school board members, mayors, and city council members, they are selecting the people who will make decisions affecting everything from road maintenance to teacher salaries.

The workshop also explored another issue that receives far less public attention: the role of campaign money in influencing elections.

Across the nation, billions of dollars are spent during election cycles. Political action committees, corporations, advocacy organizations, and wealthy donors invest enormous sums attempting to influence public opinion and electoral outcomes. These expenditures are not acts of charity. They represent efforts to influence public policy and governmental priorities.

This reality underscores the importance of informed citizenship.

If voters fail to understand how public funds are allocated, they may fail to recognize the significance of local elections. Yet local officials often make decisions that directly affect neighborhoods, schools, public safety, and economic development.

Perhaps the most important lesson from the workshop is that democracy is not a spectator sport.

Government budgets are not abstract documents hidden away in distant offices. They represent real decisions that affect real people. Every paved road, every public school improvement, every emergency service, and every public program reflects choices made by elected officials entrusted with managing public resources.

Understanding those choices begins with understanding where the money comes from and where it goes.

As citizens, we have both a right and a responsibility to follow the money.

Only then can we fully understand how government works, how power is exercised, and how our votes shape the future of our communities.

In the end, the lesson is simple:

If you want to understand politics, follow the money.

The Southern Justice Archive
Presented By: Charlotte A. Clark-Frieson aka
Wilkie Clark’s Daughter”

“Documenting what happened, Preserving what matters, Protecting what must endure!

As someone who has lived, worked, organized, buried loved ones, served families, and run for office in this district, I have spent years watching communities struggle with questions of representation, economic development, education, healthcare access, and political participation. The observations in this article are not offered as partisan criticism, but as an examination of what political engagement actually looks like on the ground in East Alabama.

A recent Alabama Reflector article covering the Republican primary runoff for House District 37 caused me to revisit some political questions that have remained with me since my own campaign for the seat in 2018.

In 2018, I ran for Alabama House District 37.

I lost.

Badly.

But so did virtually every Democrat running statewide.

President Barack Obama once described a difficult election for his party as a “shellacking.” If there was ever a word that described what happened to Alabama Democrats in 2018, that was it.

Republicans dominated races from the courthouse to the State House. Democratic candidates weren’t simply defeated. They were overwhelmed.

Looking back, however, I believe many people drew the wrong lesson from those results.

The lesson was not that Democrats can never win House District 37.

The lesson was that Democrats have been trying to win the wrong way.

Today, political observers look at House District 37 and see a safe Republican district. After the recent Republican primary produced nearly 8,000 votes, many assume the race is effectively over before the general election begins.

Perhaps.

But perhaps not.

Before anyone declares House District 37 permanently out of reach, they should look more carefully at the numbers.

The district includes portions of Chambers, Randolph, and Cleburne Counties. Within those counties live thousands of Black citizens, thousands of working-class families, thousands of young voters, thousands of non-voters, and thousands of citizens who participate only occasionally in elections.

The question is not whether these citizens exist.

The question is whether anyone is organizing them.

For decades, Democrats have approached rural Alabama elections as persuasion contests. They spend precious resources trying to convince committed Republicans to vote differently.

That strategy has failed.

A better question is this:

What if the largest untapped voting bloc in House District 37 isn’t Republican voters at all?

What if it is people who rarely vote?

What if the future of the district depends not on changing minds, but on changing participation?

Republicans have spent years building a culture of voting. Their voters show up consistently. They vote in primaries, runoffs, municipal elections, special elections, and general elections.

Democrats often appear a few months before Election Day and disappear shortly afterward.

That is not a campaign strategy.

That is a recurring mistake.

Winning House District 37 would require a completely different approach.

First, Democrats would have to stop running national campaigns in local districts.

Most voters in East Alabama are not waking up every morning worried about partisan battles in Washington. They are worried about jobs, healthcare, schools, roads, economic opportunity, and whether their children will have a reason to stay in their hometowns after graduation.

Candidates who spend their time repeating national political talking points are speaking a language many local voters are tired of hearing.

Second, Democrats would need to rebuild relationships with communities they have too often taken for granted.

Churches.

Civic organizations.

Neighborhood associations.

Small business owners.

Educators.

Retirees.

Veterans.

Working families.

Politics in rural Alabama remains personal. People vote for people they know, trust, and see regularly.

Third, Democrats would need to invest in year-round voter registration and turnout efforts.

Not every four years.

Not every two years.

Every year.

The most important voter in House District 37 may not be the Republican who voted in the last election.

It may be the citizen who did not vote at all.

Fourth, Democrats would need to broaden their coalition.

Success would require strong support from Black voters, but that alone would not be enough.

Victory would also require support from independents, moderate conservatives, educators, healthcare workers, young voters, and citizens who simply want effective representation regardless of party label.

Finally, Democrats must recognize an uncomfortable truth.

Many voters in House District 37 may never become Democrats.

And they do not have to.

The objective is not ideological conversion.

The objective is building a coalition around common interests, shared economic concerns, strong schools, safe communities, responsible government, and opportunity for future generations.

That is how durable political movements are built.

Not through slogans.

Not through social media.

Not through wishful thinking.

Through organization.

Through relationships.

Through persistence.

Through turnout.

Can a Democrat win House District 37?

The answer is yes.

But only if Democrats stop fighting the last election and start building for the next decade.

The path is difficult.

The odds are long.

But the mathematics of political participation suggest that the district may be more competitive than conventional wisdom would have us believe.

The question is not whether victory is possible.

The question is whether anyone is willing to do the work required to make it happen.

Author’s Note: This article was inspired by a recent Alabama Reflector report on the House District 37 race and by the author’s experience as a Democratic candidate for the district in 2018. The views expressed are intended to encourage thoughtful discussion about voter participation, community engagement, and political representation in East Alabama.

The Southern Justice Archive
Presented By: Charlotte A. Clark-Frieson aka
Wilkie Clark’s Daughter”

“Documenting what happened, Preserving what matters, Protecting what must endure!

.

They happen around kitchen tables.

They happen on front porches.

They happen in barber shops, beauty salons, church parking lots, and occasionally—from the front seat of an SUV.

Such was the case on the evening of June 11, 2026, when Southern Justice Archive contributor and Clark Historic Landmark Site Co-Curator, Wilkie Sherard Frieson, sat down for another installment of his ongoing voter education series and delivered one of his most thought-provoking presentations to date.

Speaking in his familiar conversational style, Sherard examined two highly publicized criminal cases that have generated considerable discussion across social media and within Black communities throughout the nation: the Rick Childs case and the Karmelo Anthony case.

At first glance, the two incidents may appear unrelated to voting rights. One involved criminal justice. The other involved questions of legal accountability and public response. Yet Sherard challenged viewers to look beyond the headlines and ask a deeper question:

Who creates the systems that determine how justice is administered?

That question sits at the heart of this presentation.

Too often, voter education efforts focus exclusively on candidates, political parties, or election dates. Sherard’s workshop takes a different approach. He asks viewers to recognize that every aspect of public life—from policing and prosecution to judicial appointments, legislation, sentencing laws, educational policy, and economic opportunity—is ultimately shaped by elected officials.

The uncomfortable truth is that many of the outcomes we criticize are connected to decisions made by people who were elected to office, often by remarkably small numbers of voters.

When citizens disengage from the political process, they do not simply surrender their vote.

They surrender influence.

They surrender representation.

And ultimately, they surrender power.

That reality carries particular significance within Black communities throughout the South, where generations of men and women sacrificed, organized, registered voters, challenged discriminatory systems, and sometimes risked their lives to secure access to the ballot box.

The Clark Historic Landmark Site preserves the stories of many such individuals, including Wilkie Clark, Jerome A. Gray, Reverend R. L. Heflin, and countless others who understood that voting was never merely a right—it was a tool of self-determination.

Sherard’s presentation serves as a reminder that the threats facing Black communities today may not always look like the threats faced during the Civil Rights Movement. The language has changed. The methods have evolved. But the consequences of political disengagement remain remarkably similar.

When communities fail to vote, others make decisions for them.

When communities fail to organize, others organize against them.

When communities fail to participate, others determine the rules under which they must live.

The lesson embedded within this workshop is both simple and profound:

Voting is not merely about choosing a candidate.

Voting is about deciding who will control the systems that shape our lives.

As the viewership of this presentation continues to grow, its message deserves careful consideration. Whether one agrees with every conclusion or not, Sherard has succeeded in doing what every effective civic educator should strive to do:

He has encouraged people to think.

And in a democracy, thoughtful citizens remain our most valuable resource.

The Southern Justice Archive
Presented By: Charlotte A. Clark-Frieson aka
Wilkie Clark’s Daughter”

“Documenting what happened, Preserving what matters, Protecting what must endure!

Too often, conversations about voting focus solely on election day. This workshop took a different approach. It asked participants to look backward in order to move forward.

Drawing upon the lives and work of some of Alabama’s most influential voting rights leaders—including Arthur Madison, Rufus A. Lewis, E.D. Nixon, Q.D. Adams, W.C. Patton, Dr. Joe L. Reed, Jerome A. Gray, Dr. Randy B. Kelley, and Wilkie Clark—the presentation explored the organizing strategies that helped transform Black communities from spectators in the political process into participants and leaders.

A central theme emerged throughout the evening: political power is not inherited. It must be maintained.

Participants were encouraged to consider a difficult question: If voter registration suddenly declined in their communities, would they know what to do? Would they know how to organize a voter registration drive, educate new voters, mobilize neighbors, or build a coalition for change?

For many, the answer was sobering.

The workshop highlighted a reality often overlooked by younger generations. The rights and opportunities enjoyed today did not emerge automatically. They were secured through decades of organizing, sacrifice, education, and civic engagement by individuals who understood that democracy requires participation.

Particular attention was given to the life and work of Wilkie Clark, a longtime civil rights advocate, NAACP leader, voting rights organizer, and candidate for the Randolph County Board of Education. Through Clark’s story, participants were able to see how local leadership connected to a larger statewide movement for political empowerment.

One of the evening’s most memorable themes was the concept of “the blueprint.” The leaders discussed throughout the workshop did not simply leave behind memories or monuments. They left behind a model for civic engagement—a blueprint built upon education, organization, voter registration, mobilization, leadership, and accountability.

The challenge issued to participants was clear:

Do not merely admire the work of those who came before us. Learn from it. Continue it.

As the presentation concluded, attendees were reminded that the future of civic engagement, voting rights, and community leadership now rests in the hands of a new generation. The question is no longer whether Alabama’s great organizers existed. The question is whether we are willing to follow their example.

At the Clark Historic Site, preserving history has never been an end in itself. History is preserved so that it may be studied, understood, and used. The stories of Alabama’s voting rights leaders are not relics of the past. They are lessons for the present and instructions for the future.

The blueprint remains in our hands. What we do with it is up to us.

The Southern Justice Archive
Presented By: Charlotte A. Clark-Frieson aka
Wilkie Clark’s Daughter”

“Documenting what happened, Preserving what matters, Protecting what must endure!

This is a live video presentation downloaded from Facebook, where Wilkie S. Frieson, co-curator of the Clark Historic Landmark Site in Rural Randolph County, Alabama, presented his fourth Voter Education Workshop series.

To support our work visit any of the following links:

The Clark Historic Landmark Site

The Wilkie Clark Memorial Foundation dba Clark Memorial Foundation

https://www.wilkieclarksdaughter.org

#votereducation

#votingrights

The Southern Justice Archive
Presented By: Charlotte A. Clark-Frieson aka
Wilkie Clark’s Daughter”

“Documenting what happened, Preserving what matters, Protecting what must endure!

This video received more than 2,500 views on Facebook, when Wilkie S. Frieson, co-curator of the Clark Historic Landmark Site in Rural Randolph County, Alabama, presented his third Voter Education Workshop series.

To support our work visit any of the following links:

The Clark Historic Landmark Site

The Wilkie Clark Memorial Foundation dba Clark Memorial Foundation

https://www.wilkieclarksdaughter.org

#votereducation

#votingrights

The Southern Justice Archive
Presented By: Charlotte A. Clark-Frieson aka
Wilkie Clark’s Daughter”

“Documenting what happened, Preserving what matters, Protecting what must endure!

This evening, I find myself deeply disturbed by what is unfolding across our nation, our state, and particularly within communities throughout Alabama. As we approach another election cycle — one in which there are few, if any, Democratic candidates seeking certain local offices — many Black voters, who are generally presumed to align with the Democratic Party, are being encouraged to “cross over” and vote on the Republican ticket.

The argument being presented is that, in the absence of Democratic primary contenders, crossover voting at least gives Black voters some influence over who ultimately holds local office. On the surface, some may consider that practical or even reasonable advice. But whenever someone presents that argument to you, I believe you owe it to yourself to look beyond the surface and examine the larger truth.

What I cannot understand is why any Black voter — any Black citizen with even a basic understanding of our history in this country — would willingly support a political movement whose policies and priorities have consistently operated against our collective interests, both historically and in the present day.

We must ask ourselves an honest question:

What has been the real impact of modern Republican politics, Trumpism, and the MAGA movement on Black America?

Anyone willing to assess the situation honestly can see that the current Republican agenda represents a direct threat to Black economic stability, political advancement, educational opportunity, and civil rights protections. Their position has not been hidden. It has been demonstrated repeatedly through policy decisions, court appointments, executive actions, and public rhetoric.

How much clearer must it become?

The recently enacted Republican megabill doubles down on costly tax cuts that overwhelmingly benefit wealthy Americans while offering little meaningful relief to low- and moderate-income working families. At the same time, it imposes stricter work-reporting requirements that threaten food assistance and healthcare access for millions of vulnerable citizens — many of whom are Black working-class families already struggling to survive.

Meanwhile, sweeping cuts to the federal workforce have disproportionately harmed Black employees. For generations, federal employment represented one of the few pathways into stable middle-class life for Black Americans, particularly Black women, after the federal workforce was desegregated in 1948. That pathway is now being systematically weakened.

The administration’s aggressive tariff policies have also created economic instability, increased the cost of everyday necessities, and placed additional pressure on small businesses — including Black-owned businesses that often lack the political access and financial insulation necessary to survive prolonged economic uncertainty.

We have also witnessed relentless attacks on healthcare protections and social safety-net programs. Efforts to weaken the Affordable Care Act and impose stricter Medicaid requirements disproportionately endanger Black communities that already face longstanding disparities in healthcare access.

And then there is the judiciary.

During Donald Trump’s presidency, an unprecedented number of conservative federal judges were appointed to lifetime positions, including appointments to the United States Supreme Court. Those courts have since weakened key provisions of the Voting Rights Act and dismantled affirmative action in higher education — decisions many civil rights advocates view as devastating setbacks for racial equity and opportunity.

At the same time, the MAGA movement has launched an aggressive campaign against Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion initiatives while attempting to sanitize or minimize the teaching of Black history, systemic racism, and the enduring realities of discrimination in America.

None of this is accidental.

And let me be perfectly clear:

I do not care who is offended by my position.

In my view, anyone willing to seek public office under the banner of MAGA Republicanism has aligned themselves with a political ideology that has caused measurable harm to Black Americans and to the democratic principles this nation claims to uphold.

Donald Trump, in my opinion, has demonstrated himself to be one of the most morally unfit, divisive, and dangerous political figures in modern American history. That is not hyperbole to me. That is the conclusion I have reached after observing his conduct, rhetoric, leadership, and the movement built around him.

And for me, this conversation is bigger than political party labels.

Before I am anything else politically, I am a proud Black American.

Therefore, I vote according to the interests of Black people:

Black students.

Black workers.

Black women.

Black fathers and mothers.

Black entrepreneurs.

Black voters.

Black economic empowerment.

Black opportunity.

Black dignity.

And if you are Black in America, I believe you should think very carefully before lending your support to political forces that have repeatedly demonstrated indifference — and at times outright hostility — toward those interests.

After examining this issue from every possible angle, I have reached a very simple conclusion:

I DO NOT HAVE A DOG IN THAT FIGHT!

Let them battle among themselves.

Because from where I stand, regardless of which faction prevails, Black communities too often remain politically marginalized, economically strained, and strategically used when convenient.

And I refuse to stand in line and knowingly support an agenda that I believe works against the interests of my people.

That is my position.

And that is the truth as I see it

The Southern Justice Archive
Presented By: Charlotte A. Clark-Frieson aka
Wilkie Clark’s Daughter”

“Documenting what happened, Preserving what matters, Protecting what must endure!

.

And for many Americans, it will read like just another case name.

Another headline.

Another political argument.

But for me — and for those of us whose families bled, organized, marched, strategized, and won the right to vote — this decision lands differently.

It lands personally.

Because I did not learn about voting rights from a textbook.

I learned it at the feet of my father — Wilkie Clark.

There was a time in Randolph County, Alabama, when Black citizens had rights on paper… but no power in practice. Between 1901 and 1965, systems were designed so that Black voices could be contained, diluted, and dismissed — all without meaningful federal intervention.

Then came the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

And everything changed.

Not overnight. Not easily. But decisively.

Men like my father — alongside leaders like Jerome A. Gray, Reverend R.L. Heflin, and countless unnamed foot soldiers — didn’t just celebrate that law. They used it. They forced systems to change. They challenged at-large districts. They fought for fair representation. They made democracy real in places where it had only been theoretical.

I have seen what that kind of courage looks like up close.

I have heard the stories.

I have lived the outcomes.

So when I hear that this Court has now weakened the enforcement power of Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act, I don’t hear legal nuance.

I hear echoes.

Echoes of a time when districts could be drawn to erase us.

When representation could be engineered to exclude us.

When the law existed — but protection did not.

As Dr. Alvin Thornton warned, this moment is not abstract. Without these protections, legislative bodies now have greater freedom to redraw districts in ways that can once again suppress and dilute Black voting power — particularly across the Deep South.

We have seen this before.

And we know exactly where it leads.

Let’s be clear: this is not just about maps.

This is about whether communities who fought their way into the democratic process can be quietly pushed back to the margins — not with firehoses and billy clubs, but with lines, data, and legal language.

More polite.

More technical.

But no less dangerous.

As a proud member of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc. for over five decades, I stand in a legacy that has never wavered. From the moment our founders marched in 1913 — as the only Black organization present — we have always understood that voting rights are not self-sustaining.

They must be defended.

Again and again.

In every generation.

And yet — let me say this plainly:

In spite of my years in the funeral profession…

and my constant familiarity with death…

I refuse…

to write this as a eulogy.

In spite of my upbringing

in the United Methodist Church…

I am not here…

to preach a sermon.

And despite my years of musicianship…

decades of choir singing…

my time as an educator…

and yes—even now, standing in the autumn of my life…

This is not my final chorus.

This is not a swan song.

Because I come from people who fight back.

I come from Wilkie Clark.

I come from a lineage that produced results — not just rhetoric.

And I stand on the shoulders of giants:

Fannie Lou Hamer.

Amelia Boynton.

John Lewis.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

They did not fight for symbolic victories.

They fought for access.

For representation.

For power.

So let me say this plainly:

We are not witnessing the end of voting rights.

We are witnessing the next test of them.

The question now is not what the Court has done.

The question is what we will do.

Will we document what is happening?

Will we challenge unjust maps?

Will we organize, educate, and mobilize?

Will we refuse to let history quietly repeat itself under the cover of legality?

Because history does not always come back wearing the same clothes.

Sometimes…

it comes back dressed like a court opinion.

I know what my father would say.

He would not panic.

He would not retreat.

He would get to work.

And so will I.

The Southern Justice Archive
Presented By: Charlotte A. Clark-Frieson aka
Wilkie Clark’s Daughter”

“Documenting what happened, Preserving what matters, Protecting what must endure!

This is one of those moments…

The struggle for the right to vote has never been confined to a single era. It has moved through generations—carried by ordinary citizens who chose, time and again, to stand in the face of obstruction and declare their place within the democratic process. Their actions transformed access into agency, and agency into lasting change.

But history also bears witness to another truth: progress, once achieved, is never permanently secured. It must be revisited, reaffirmed, and, when necessary, defended.

What follows is not simply an announcement of a community gathering. It is a reflection of that ongoing responsibility—an effort to ensure that the knowledge, purpose, and power behind the vote are neither forgotten nor diminished in our time.

In every generation, there comes a moment when history is not merely remembered—it is tested.

We are living in such a moment now.

The right to vote, long regarded as a cornerstone of American democracy, has never been freely given. It has been secured through persistence, challenged through resistance, and preserved only through vigilance. For many—particularly within African American communities—it represents not only civic participation, but the enduring legacy of struggle, sacrifice, and determination.

Yet today, there is a growing distance between that legacy and present-day engagement.

Across communities, signs of disconnection are evident. Voter participation fluctuates. Confidence in systems wavers. Misinformation circulates with ease. Perhaps most concerning, there is a quiet normalization of disengagement—an acceptance that abstaining carries no consequence.

History teaches otherwise.

The erosion of participation has never existed in isolation. It has always been accompanied by the erosion of influence.

It is within this context that the Voter Education Workshop at the Clark Historic Landmark Site must be understood—not as a routine gathering, but as a deliberate act of civic preservation.

The Clark Historic Site itself stands as a testament to lives lived with purpose and conviction. It represents a lineage of individuals who understood that progress is neither accidental nor guaranteed. To host a voter education initiative within such a space is to draw a direct line between past sacrifice and present responsibility.

This workshop seeks to do more than inform. It seeks to restore.

To restore clarity where there is confusion.
To restore confidence where there is doubt.
And most importantly, to restore a sense of duty where it has begun to fade.

Participants will be invited not only to learn the mechanics of voting, but to engage with its meaning—to recognize it as both a right and an obligation. Informed participation remains one of the most effective safeguards against disenfranchisement, and education remains its strongest foundation.

There is a quiet but profound truth that echoes through generations:

When the people withdraw, decisions are still made—just without them.

At this critical juncture, the question is not whether the system will move forward. It will. The question is who will shape its direction.

The responsibility to answer that question does not rest in institutions alone. It rests within the collective will of the people—expressed, protected, and exercised through the vote.

This workshop is an invitation to remember that.

And more importantly, to act upon it.

The question is not whether this moment will pass—but whether we will meet it prepared. This workshop is one opportunity to do just that.

The responsibility is ours. The time is now.

Join us.

The Southern Justice Archive
Presented By: Charlotte A. Clark-Frieson aka
Wilkie Clark’s Daughter”

“Documenting what happened, Preserving what matters, Protecting what must endure!

For more than half a century, a man in east Alabama carried a question that refused to let him rest.

His name was Joe Frank Grady, Sr.

Until the day he died in 2019, he was still searching for answers about his cousin — Stanley G. Trammell of Stroud, Alabama — who left home to serve his country and never returned.

• There was no funeral.

• No official explanation.

• No notification to the family.

• Only silence.

  ---

Who Was Stanley G. Trammell?

Stanley G. Trammell was born in Chambers County, Alabama, in or near the small community of Stroud. He was one of several children in a Black farming family, raised during a time when opportunity was limited, but service to country was still expected.

By 1917–1918, as the United States entered World War I, Stanley joined the United States Army.

Like many young Black men of his generation, he left home to serve.

He just never came back.

The Execution

Archival newspaper reports from July 1918 confirm that a soldier identified as “Stanley Tramble” of Stroud, Alabama was executed by hanging at Camp Dodge, Iowa following a United States Army court-martial.

Additional records reflect variations of the same name — “Tramble,” “Grammell,” and “Trammell”—a common distortion in early twentieth-century military documentation.

Despite these inconsistencies, the identity is clear.

Stanley G. Trammell was executed by the United States Army on July 5, 1918.

Reports indicate that the execution was carried out in front of a large assembly of soldiers—“virtually the entire division”—turning the event into a public spectacle of military discipline.

The Death Certificate

The official death certificate issued in Iowa confirms the details of Stanley Trammell’s death.

Date: July 5, 1918

Location: Camp Dodge, Iowa

Occupation: Soldier, U.S. Army

Cause of Death: “Legal Hanging”

Yet the document is as notable for what it does not include as for what it does.

There is no father listed.

No mother identified.

No next of kin recorded.

No meaningful personal history preserved.

Even by the standards of the early twentieth century, such omissions are striking.

The record reduces a human life to a single administrative phrase:

“Legal Hanging.”

No explanation.

No context.

No acknowledgment of the family he left behind.

A Family Left Without Answers

For decades, Stanley’s family in Chambers County lived without knowing what had happened to him.

There is no confirmed record that they were ever formally notified of his execution.

Parents died without answers.

Siblings passed without closure.

The story of Stanley Trammell faded into uncertainty — until one man refused to let it go.

Joe Frank Grady’s Search

That man was Joe Frank Grady.

A United States Army Staff Sergeant, Mr. Grady served more than twenty years on active duty, including service in Germany and Vietnam, before retiring honorably in 1974. He later worked more than two decades at the Anniston Army Depot before returning home to Roanoke, Alabama.

He understood the military.

He understood how records were supposed to work.

And he understood that something was wrong.

For years, he searched for answers about his cousin.

He combed courthouse records in Chambers County—finding nothing.

No enlistment record.

No discharge.

No official trace.

Eventually, he uncovered newspaper evidence suggesting that Stanley had been executed by the Army.

He never stopped trying to prove it.

Joe Frank Grady's Life History

54.3KB ∙ PDF file

Download

Download

Federal Silence

In 2014, after decades of searching, Joe Frank Grady made a final effort to get answers.

He wrote to:

• The President of the United States

• Members of Congress

• United States Senators

• The House Armed Services Committee

In those letters, he identified himself as:

“the last surviving blood relative of the late Stanley Trammell”

He requested basic records:

• Court-martial proceedings

• Military service records

• Discharge documentation

• Burial information

• Family notification records

He described the case as deeply troubling, writing that if the accounts were true, it amounted to:

“a Military lynching of three black men.”

With his permission, I assisted him in preparing and sending these letters, using my address to receive any response due to his age and health.

• No response ever came.

• Not from the President.

• Not from Congress.

• Not from the Senate.

Historical Context

Stanley Trammell’s execution took place during World War I, at a time when the United States Army operated under strict racial segregation.

Black soldiers served in segregated units and were often subject to unequal treatment within the military justice system.

Historical research has shown that Black servicemen were disproportionately charged, convicted, and harshly punished—particularly in cases involving allegations against white civilians.

Court-martial proceedings during this period were often swift, with limited defense and restricted avenues for appeal.

Executions could—and did—occur quickly.

Public executions, such as the one at Camp Dodge, were sometimes used as tools of discipline and control.

Within that context, the case of Stanley G. Trammell raises serious and unresolved questions.

The Question That Remains

A soldier from Chambers County, Alabama was executed by the United States Army in 1918.

His death was recorded.

His execution was witnessed.

His name appeared in national newspapers.

And yet, more than a century later, critical pieces of his story remain missing.

There is no clear record that his family was ever notified.

There is no complete account of the trial that led to his death.

There is no confirmed record of where his body was laid to rest.

For decades, his cousin, Staff Sergeant Joe Frank Grady, searched for answers.

He wrote to the highest offices in the land.

He asked for records that should have existed.

He received no reply.

Now, the question passes to the present:

What happened to Stanley G. Trammell?

And why, after all this time, does the record remain incomplete?

Documentation

Stanley Trammell Death Certificate

11.4MB ∙ PDF file

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Link to Adobe PDF File:
http://query.nytimes.com/mem/archive-free/pdf?res=F4071FF83C5A11738DDDAF0894DF405B888DF1D3

The Waterloo Evening Courier & Waterloo Daily Reporter
1918-7-4 [The Oakland Tribune] Three Soldiers To Hang For Assault
Thursday, July 4, 1918 page 5

The Southern Justice Archive
Presented By: Charlotte A. Clark-Frieson aka
Wilkie Clark’s Daughter”

“Documenting what happened, Preserving what matters, Protecting what must endure!

Recorded during Black History Month 2026 as part of the Southern Justice Archive’s ongoing effort to preserve the voices of living witnesses to the Civil Rights and Environmental Justice movements.

As Black History Month 2026 came to a close, The Southern Justice Archive preserved an important living testimony through an extended conversation between Wilkie Sherard Frieson and Anniston native David B. Baker — lifelong civil rights activist, labor organizer, environmental justice advocate, and community leader whose work spans more than half a century of struggle and service.

The interview was not conducted merely to remember history, but to recognize a man who has lived inside it — and who continues to shape it.

At seventy-five years old, Baker speaks with the clarity of someone who has witnessed movements rise, institutions change, and communities fight for survival. His reflections move seamlessly between personal memory and public history, revealing how local activism often carries national consequences.

A Legacy Rooted in Family and Community

The conversation carries an added layer of meaning: Baker is a blood cousin of the late Wilkie Clark, linking the interview to a broader family tradition of civic leadership and community advocacy across East Alabama.

Rather than presenting himself as a solitary figure, Baker repeatedly situates his journey within relationships — family, neighbors, organizers, and elders who shaped his understanding of responsibility. The discussion emphasizes that civil rights work was never an abstract cause; it was a duty grounded in protecting one’s own community.

This perspective anchors the entire interview.

Civil Rights Beyond the Headlines

One of the most striking themes emerging from the discussion is how Baker’s life illustrates the second generation of civil rights activism — the period after marches and landmark legislation, when communities faced quieter but equally devastating battles.

Baker recounts organizing efforts that extended into labor advocacy and grassroots mobilization, demonstrating how economic justice and civil rights were inseparable realities.

His experiences reveal a truth often missing from mainstream narratives: after national victories were declared, local activists remained on the ground confronting persistent inequality in housing, employment, health, and environmental safety.

The Fight for Environmental Justice in Anniston

The interview reaches its most powerful moments when Baker reflects on the environmental crisis that reshaped Anniston, Alabama.

As founder of Community Against Pollution (CAP), Baker became a central figure in exposing the long-term effects of PCB contamination tied to industrial dumping. Earlier reporting documented how generations of residents unknowingly lived amid toxic exposure that affected health, property, and quality of life.

TPV11.04.05 copy

In the conversation, Baker describes how activism evolved from questions asked by ordinary citizens — parents noticing illness patterns, neighbors comparing experiences, communities demanding answers.

What emerges is not simply a legal battle, but a grassroots awakening. Residents learned to advocate for themselves, organize collectively, and insist that environmental health was a civil rights issue.

The interview makes clear that environmental justice was not a departure from the Civil Rights Movement — it was its continuation.

Connections to a National Movement

Frieson framed the interview partly as a tribute following the passing of Reverend Jesse L. Jackson, highlighting Baker’s interactions with national civil rights leadership.

Through these recollections, listeners gain insight into how local organizers and national figures operated within the same ecosystem of activism. Movements were sustained not only by famous speeches but by everyday organizers who built trust within communities.

The conversation underscores how leadership flowed both directions — from grassroots communities upward and from national advocacy back down into local action.

Memory, Faith, and Persistence

Throughout the interview, Baker returns repeatedly to themes of faith, endurance, and accountability to future generations.

His reflections suggest that activism is less about moments of victory and more about sustained commitment — continuing the work even when recognition is limited and progress slow.

What stands out most is not nostalgia, but urgency. Baker speaks as someone convinced that the lessons of past struggles remain directly relevant to the present.

In this way, the interview becomes more than biography; it becomes instruction.

Why This Conversation Matters

The Southern Justice Archive exists to document voices that might otherwise fade from public memory. This conversation fulfills that mission by preserving the lived experience of a man whose work connects civil rights, labor organizing, and environmental justice into a single continuous story.

Baker’s life reminds us that history is not confined to famous cities or national stages. It unfolds in communities like Anniston — in neighborhood meetings, local organizing, and ordinary citizens refusing to accept injustice as inevitable.

By recording this dialogue, the Archive ensures that future generations will understand that the struggle for justice did not end with one era. It adapted, expanded, and continues today.

A Living Archive

This interview closes Black History Month not as a conclusion, but as an affirmation:

The Civil Rights Movement is not only something we study.
It is something still being lived.

And through voices like David B. Baker’s, its lessons endure.

The Southern Justice Archive
Presented By: Charlotte A. Clark-Frieson aka
Wilkie Clark’s Daughter”

“Documenting what happened, Preserving what matters, Protecting what must endure!

My name is Charlotte A. Clark-Frieson, and I’m speaking to you from rural Randolph County, Alabama.

I am the daughter of a Civil Rights leader whose courage helped shape this community during some of the most dangerous years in Southern history. When my father died in 1989, I made a decision that changed my life.

I refused to let his story disappear.

For the last 36 years, I have documented his work — preserved the artifacts, published his biography, established a foundation in my parents’ honor, secured historic landmark designation for his place of business, and built an archive of proof.

Proof of courage.

Proof of leadership.

Proof that history does not belong only to the famous — it belongs to the faithful.

But in the process of preserving his voice, I discovered something unsettling.

Across the Southeast, Black voices have grown quiet.

Where are the strong, principled voices speaking plainly about power, policy, economics, and history?

Where are the fearless Southern thinkers?

Where are the unapologetic truth-tellers?

Silence is not safety.

Silence is surrender.

That is why I created the Southern Justice Archive.

It is not just a publication.

It is a platform for documented truth, historical preservation, civic engagement, and bold Southern commentary.

For years, I offered it freely.

But if we are serious about building something powerful — something sustainable — we must invest in it.

For $8 per month, you can help build the loudest independent Black voice in the Southeastern United States.

Not noise.

Not chaos.

But documented, researched, fearless voice.

If you believe our history matters…

If you believe our votes matter…

If you believe our future matters…

Subscribe today at SouthernJusticeArchive.com.

The Southern Justice Archive
Presented By: Charlotte A. Clark-Frieson aka
Wilkie Clark’s Daughter”

“Documenting what happened, Preserving what matters, Protecting what must endure!

In preserving his story, I uncovered something bigger.

Across the Southeast, too many of our voices have grown quiet.

The Southern Justice Archive exists to change that.

It’s a publication dedicated to documented truth, Southern history, civic awareness, and fearless commentary.

If you believe our history matters…
If you believe our votes matter…
If you believe our future matters…

Subscribe today for $8 a month at SouthernJusticeArchive.com.

FEATURING: Background Music — “Browsing Earth”
ARTIST: Bosnow
Music from Uppbeat (free for Creators!):
https://uppbeat.io/t/bosnow/browsing-earth

The Southern Justice Archive
Presented By: Charlotte A. Clark-Frieson aka
Wilkie Clark’s Daughter”

“Documenting what happened, Preserving what matters, Protecting what must endure!

Today, we mark the passing of Rev. Jesse Louis Jackson, Sr., who died peacefully at age 84, surrounded by family. He was not just a national figure — he was a movement maker.

From the segregated South to the front lines of history, Jackson fought like hell for dignity — not just for Black people, but for every person who had been told their voice didn’t matter. A protégé of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., he stood beside King in the 1960s and carried the torch forward for decades after King’s assassination.

He was the first Black man to make a truly credible run for the U.S. presidency, breaking barriers in 1984 and 1988 and igniting millions to engage in politics who had long been pushed to the margins. He founded Operation PUSH and later the Rainbow/PUSH Coalition — institutions that didn’t just preach justice but forced corporations, political leaders, and society at large to reckon with equity, voting rights, economic inclusion, and opportunity.

For all his critics, Jesse Jackson’s legacy wasn’t perfect — he was a man of flesh and blood — but it was real. His fiery speeches, his demand that America live up to its promise of freedom for everyone, his relentless presence in protests and political theaters alike — it changed the landscape of this country.

His family’s statement called him a “servant leader” who lived and breathed justice, love, and courage — and asked that we honor him by continuing the fight. That’s not a hollow sentiment — it’s a command from everything he stood for.

Rest in power, Reverend Jackson. The battles you led are unfinished — but we’re still marching

The Southern Justice Archive
Presented By: Charlotte A. Clark-Frieson aka
Wilkie Clark’s Daughter”

“Documenting what happened, Preserving what matters, Protecting what must endure!

.

There are men who succeed.

And then there are men who build ladders so others can climb.

On Sunday, February 15, 2026, a church in Maryland will pause to honor a man who has spent more than five decades doing precisely that — building ladders.

That man is Dr. Alvin Thornton.

He is now well into his seventies.

And he is still achieving.

Still teaching.

Still influencing.

Still shaping policy.

Still representing the best of what Historically Black Colleges and Universities produce.

And that matters.

Rooted in the HBCU Tradition

Dr. Thornton is a proud graduate of Morehouse College, one of the crown jewels of Black higher education.

Morehouse has long been known for producing leaders — ministers, scholars, public servants, civil rights strategists. It produces men who understand that education is not merely personal advancement; it is communal responsibility.

Dr. Thornton embodies that tradition.

He did not simply earn a degree.

He absorbed a philosophy.

HBCUs do something different. They do not just prepare students for careers. They prepare them for consequence.

And Dr. Thornton has lived a life of consequence.

The Scholar Who Refused to Stay in the Ivory Tower

Many educators remain in classrooms.

Dr. Thornton did more.

He served as a professor and Interim Provost.

He shaped curriculum.

He mentored generations of students.

He strengthened academic institutions from the inside.

But he did not stop there.

He stepped into public service.

As Chair of the Prince George’s County School Board, and through the work of the Thornton Commission, he moved from theory to policy — from scholarship to structural change.

That transition is critical.

It is one thing to analyze educational inequity.

It is another thing to govern it.

He chose governance.

He chose responsibility.

He chose the hard seat.

A Living Bridge Between Generations

We are living in a time when institutions are fragile, when educational systems are under pressure, and when the historical role of HBCUs is often misunderstood or minimized.

That is why honoring Dr. Thornton now is so fitting.

He represents:

The post–Civil Rights generation of Black leadership.

The HBCU-to-policy pipeline.

The scholar-activist model.

The belief that education is the most durable form of justice.

His life demonstrates that HBCUs are not relics of segregation — they are engines of leadership.

They do not just produce graduates.

They produce architects.

Why This Belongs in the Southern Justice Archive

The Southern Justice Archive exists to document the structural, historical, and generational forces that shape Black advancement in America.

Sometimes that means exposing regulatory injustice.

Sometimes it means documenting civil rights history.

And sometimes — just as importantly — it means honoring those who carried the torch forward quietly, steadily, persistently.

Dr. Alvin Thornton is one of those torchbearers.

He is not loud.

He is not theatrical.

He is not chasing applause.

He is building.

Still.

In his seventies.

And that deserves to be recorded.

“HBCU Sunday” Is More Than a Celebration

Tomorrow’s HBCU Sunday recognition in Maryland is not just about attire or alumni pride.

It is about acknowledging a lineage.

It is about recognizing that institutions like Morehouse did not merely educate Dr. Thornton — they prepared him to lead, to govern, to advocate, and to hold systems accountable.

That is the HBCU difference.

And that is why his life reflects the enduring impact of HBCU-rooted leadership and service.

A Personal Reflection

There is something profoundly moving about watching someone you have known all your life continue to rise.

Not because they are chasing status.

But because achievement is simply who they are.

Some people peak early.

Dr. Alvin Thornton has refused to peak.

He has chosen consistency over flash.

Depth over noise.

Impact over attention.

That is rare.

And it is worthy of record.

The Archive Must Remember Its Builders

We often write about those who fought in the streets.

We document those who challenged systems in courtrooms.

But we must also document those who strengthened institutions from within — who made sure that the next generation had classrooms, policies, and pathways.

Dr. Alvin Thornton is one of those men.

And history is better because he lived . . .

Dr. Thornton . .
I have watched you all my life. Long before titles, commissions, or honors, you carried yourself like a man who understood that education was sacred work. We share more than ancestry — we share the Baker Family lineage, a bloodline of resilience and determination that still breathes through this family. I often think about our great-grandparents, Benjamin & Lizzie Baker, and the strength they passed forward. As your cousin, I have always known you to be disciplined, thoughtful, and quietly determined. But as a historian and archivist, I now recognize something even larger — you are part of the living bridge between the Civil Rights generation and those who are still fighting for equitable education today. My father believed in you deeply. He admired your discipline and saw your trajectory long before many others did. And my mother had the unique privilege of teaching you in the sixth grade — helping shape the early foundation of the scholar and leader you would become. That is no small thing. Watching you now, still building, still influencing, still carrying the HBCU mantle with dignity, I see not just accomplishment — I see inheritance fulfilled. You are proof that legacy, when nurtured, does not fade. It expands.

#HBCUSunday #HBCUPride #BlackExcellence #MorehouseMen #EducationalLeadership

The Southern Justice Archive
Presented By: Charlotte A. Clark-Frieson aka
Wilkie Clark’s Daughter”

“Documenting what happened, Preserving what matters, Protecting what must endure!

We call it “The Community Room.”

Because that’s what it has always been.

This recorded live presentation captures a powerful and intimate gathering of local leadership and community voices committed to civil rights work in rural Alabama.

You will hear from:

• Elder Delvan L. Houston, who has faithfully served as President of Randolph County Branch 5053 for eight consecutive years.

• Rev. Rickey L. Cofield, respected pastor, moderator, and committed branch member.

• Deacon Richard Jones, who spearheaded the Membership Drive effort.

• And featured guest speaker Wilkie S. Frieson — Vice President and Legal Redress Chairman of Branch 5053, Co-Owner of Clark Memorial Funeral Service, and Co-Curator of the Clark Historic Landmark Site.

In this brief but deeply meaningful program, you will hear reflections on the long arc of the Civil Rights struggle — from slavery, to Reconstruction, to Jim Crow, to the battles we continue to face today.

But this is not just history.

It is a call.

A call to join.
A call to organize.
A call to defend.
A call to show up.

If you believe civil rights progress maintains itself, this video will challenge that assumption.

If you believe rural communities are disengaged, this video will prove otherwise.

And if you have ever wondered what meaningful activism looks like at the local level — this is it.

We invite you not only to watch…
But to take the next step.

Join your local NAACP.
Support civil rights work in your own community.
Become the advocate your community needs.

History is not something we read about.
It is something we either protect — or surrender.

Watch the full presentation right here.

The Southern Justice Archive
Presented By: Charlotte A. Clark-Frieson aka
Wilkie Clark’s Daughter”

“Documenting what happened, Preserving what matters, Protecting what must endure!