The first time I walked into a state capitol, I was 10 years old, holding my father’s hand. It was 1968, and he had just been elected as the first Black person to serve in that legislature since Reconstruction. I remember the sense of awe, the promise of democracy and my belief that public service could be a force for good.
But what I saw inside told a more difficult truth. Every Black worker in that building held a mop or broom, carried food or coffee, or shined shoes. Women were largely confined to clerical roles. The ideals of equality and representation had not yet caught up with reality.
My father worked to change that. He introduced legislation to end a grotesque and now unthinkable practice: labeling blood by race, forbidding transfusions between Black and white patients. During the debate, a legislator repeatedly used racial slurs on the chamber floor to oppose the bill. It was a moment that made national headlines and revealed how fiercely some resisted even the most basic expressions of human dignity.
And yet, progress came.
When I returned nearly 25 years later as a newly elected member of the Louisiana Senate, I witnessed a transformed institution. Black lawmakers were no longer anomalies; they were colleagues. Women and people of color were serving in leadership roles across government. There were still deep disagreements, but there was also cooperation. Lawmakers across party lines worked, argued and ultimately governed in ways that moved the state forward. It was not perfect, but it reflected a broader truth: America’s democracy, at its best, bends toward inclusion.
A few days ago, I returned once again — this time not as a legislator, but as a citizen and civil rights advocate — testifying against a proposed congressional map that reflects the very kind of zero-sum politics that threatens that progress. From where I stood, the debate was not simply about lines on a map. It was about whether we are moving forward as a democracy or slipping backward.
Across the country, we are seeing political fights that center less on solving problems and more on holding power. Battles over representation have become increasingly partisan, often overshadowing the urgent challenges facing communities: underfunded schools, rising healthcare costs, economic inequality and declining life expectancy in too many regions.
From my vantage point leading a national civil rights organization, I hear concerns echoed in boardrooms, community forums and policy discussions alike. Investors, business leaders and everyday citizens are asking the same question: Why are so many policymakers focused on political advantage instead of practical solutions? The answer matters, and not just for governance, but for economic growth, public trust and the health of our democracy.
History offers a cautionary lesson. The leaders who resisted civil rights and inclusion in the mid-20th century are not remembered as defenders of tradition. They are remembered as obstacles to progress. Their decisions delayed opportunity, deepened divisions and left enduring scars.
We stand at a similar inflection point today.
At its core, the current debate over representation is not just about maps or seats. It is about whether we believe power should be shared in a diverse democracy — or concentrated in the hands of a few. True democracy requires inclusion. It demands that different communities, across race, geography and political affiliation have a genuine voice in shaping the future.
That principle should guide our approach to redistricting and beyond.
We need to step back from zero-sum thinking and return to a more constructive path. That means creating processes that are transparent, inclusive and focused on fairness, not advantage. It means bringing people together to find common ground, even when it is difficult. And it means recognizing that the legitimacy of our democratic institutions depends on public confidence that the rules are not rigged.
Just because something can be done does not mean it should be done.
Public service has always required more than ambition. It demands restraint, judgment and a willingness to put the greater good above partisan gain. At the end of the day, the measure of leadership is not simply whether you win, it is whether you advance justice, strengthen institutions and leave your community better than you found it.
I have seen what is possible when leaders rise to that challenge. I have seen cooperation replace conflict, and progress emerge from compromise. Those moments remind us that democracy is not a static system, it is a shared responsibility.
When it works best, everyone has a seat at the table.
The question before us now is not simply how we draw political lines. It is whether we are willing to move forward together, or risk turning back.
Marc H. Morial is president and CEO of the National Urban League and was mayor of New Orleans from 1994 to 2002.