Part One: The Weight of the Shoulders We Stand On
By Rep. John Faulkner
There are moments in life when history no longer feels distant.
It no longer feels like black-and-white photographs, documentaries, or stories told by grandparents sitting on front porches in Mississippi. It suddenly feels real again. Present again. Familiar again.
As I sit today in my 13th year serving in the Mississippi Legislature, elected first in 2013, I cannot help but reflect on the shoulders upon which I stand.
I think about Medgar Evers. I think about Fannie Lou Hamer. I think about John Lewis. I think about Vernon Dahmer, Amzie Moore, Aaron Henry, and Robert G. Clark, whose election after Reconstruction helped open doors many once believed would remain forever closed.
Today, members of the Mississippi Legislative Black Caucus proudly wear the Robert G. Clark pin, the official pin of the caucus, as a reminder that representation matters, sacrifice matters, and history matters. That pin is more than a symbol. It is a responsibility. It reminds us daily that somebody fought, sacrificed, and endured so we could walk the halls of the Mississippi Capitol as elected officials.
But I also think about the names history may never know.
The mothers who cleaned houses but still marched for freedom.
The fathers who endured humiliation but still taught their children dignity.
The grandparents who survived segregation but still believed America could become better than what it was.
The uncles, aunties, pastors, teachers, veterans, and laborers who poured courage into the next generation without ever asking for recognition.
And I think about my own parents, grandparents, and family members who shaped me into the man I became.
Their sacrifices made my opportunities possible.
At 17 years old, as a young man graduating from high school, I chose to serve this country in the United States military. For 13 years, I wore the uniform and stood willing to lay my life on the line for America. I believed deeply in the ideals written into our founding documents: that all men are created equal and endowed with the rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
I believed in that promise then.
And despite everything, part of me still wants to believe in it now.
But at 60 years old, it is mind-boggling to witness this nation drifting back toward battles many believed had already been fought decades ago.
I was born in 1965 — the same year the Voting Rights Act became law.
Think about that for a moment.
The year I entered this world was the same year America finally acknowledged through federal law that African Americans deserved protection at the ballot box and equal participation in democracy.
Now, decades later, we once again find ourselves debating whether African Americans should have equal access, equal representation, and equal participation in the democratic process.
That should alarm every American.
Not just Black Americans. Every American.
When I watch the news today and hear the political rhetoric spreading across this country, I often ask myself a painful question:
How did we get back here?
How did we return to a place where some openly advocate rolling back protections generations bled and died to secure?
How did we arrive at a moment where some seek to erase or soften parts of American history because the truth makes people uncomfortable?
In Mississippi and across this nation, we now see efforts to restrict how history is taught in schools and universities. Some argue that teaching the realities of slavery, segregation, lynching, voter suppression, and discrimination may cause discomfort or shame.
But history is not dangerous because it is taught.
History becomes dangerous when it is ignored.
Because when people refuse to confront the truth of the past, they become vulnerable to repeating it.
Yet even in this difficult moment, I remain hopeful because I remember something else about our history.
We have overcome before.
African Americans did not endure slavery, Reconstruction, Jim Crow, lynchings, voter intimidation, and segregation only to surrender now. And we were never alone in that struggle. There were white allies, clergy members, students, labor activists, and everyday Americans who stood beside Black Americans during the Civil Rights Movement — some even giving their lives for justice.
That coalition of conscience still matters today.
Because democracy only survives when good people refuse to remain silent.
