Bringing change to Selma

Selma is a small city with a complicated past. In 1965, the “Bloody Sunday” march that took place on the city’s iconic bridge transformed Selma into a national civil rights landmark. (One of the marchers, activist Amelia Boynton Robinson, died this week at the age of 104.) Every year, on the anniversary, Selma overflows with politicians, tourists and news crews to commemorate the event. In 2007, Martin led the closing prayer for a ceremony attended by over 100,000 people, including former President Bill Clinton. When these commemorations end, however, visitors abandon Selma to the problems that have plagued it for decades. Fifty years on, Selma is still deeply divided by race, and, like many other small Southern cities, it is struggling with poverty and entrenched, divisive politics. These are the cycles Martin hopes to break.

On a recent morning, Martin drove to a small, nondescript brick house outside Selma's city limits to meet Jeff Cochran, the executive director of the local branch of the nonprofit United Way. She wanted to talk about what Cochran sees as Selma’s most urgent problems. “There are so many needs, it’s like being on a sinking ship,” Cochran, the office's only employee, said of the city. “You can't raise your hand and say 'I'm sorry, I'm the cook and I'm cooking, I'm not going to bail water.'” For the first 20 minutes of the conversation, Martin said nothing. She just listened to Cochran speak.

Cochran tried to trace a path back to the root of Selma's problems: There was the closing of Craig Air Force base in 1977, which leached thousands of jobs and federal money from the city. Then in 1990, the firing of the city's first black school superintendent led to protests and the re-segregation of the city's schools. Cochran told Martin that he sees education as key to turning everything around. Better education, he said, will raise the dismal unemployment rate, staunch the flow of young people and families from Selma, and eliminate crime.

Education and employment statistics reflect the troubling state of affairs in Selma. Only 14 percent of the residents of Dallas County, of which Selma is the seat, have finished college. For years, the unemployment rate has been one of the highest in the state. In July, it was 11.6 percent in Dallas County, more than double the national average. Poverty is widespread. According to 2013 survey by the Census Bureau, out of a total population of 20,000 people, 48 percent of Selma's nearly 16,000 black residents lived below the poverty line, compared to 14 percent of the city's white population. Among children in Dallas County, the numbers are even worse: Almost half live in poverty.

Yusuf Salaam, a local lawyer and seasoned politician who first encouraged Martin to run for office, sees a clear explanation for these statistics. “Selma is still suffering the effects of the plantation economy,” he said, explaining that the majority black population was never fully integrated into the former manufacturing economy, and isn’t being integrated into the tech economy now.

If elected, Martin plans to ask Cochran, Salaam and other community leaders to be on her advisory board. She wants them to be her “Wise Folk,” an idea she borrowed from Harry Truman, who sought counsel from a group he called the “Wise Men.”

The way Martin sees it, there are currently two Selmas: A poor, mostly black part of town with few opportunities for residents, and a white part of town that seems far removed from the problems of its other half. On Sundays, Martin often drives between these two Selmas. In the morning, she preaches at a Presbyterian church in the white part of town, and in the evening she prays with a group of women in jail. Their stories, Martin says, are “the American nightmare” — full of drugs and desperation, hungry children and few options. During her drives, Martin started thinking about ways to connect the two Selmas, and came up with a plan to pair low-income residents with successful business leaders for job training and advice. “A lot of people, especially in low-income communities, don’t have pride in Selma, they barely have pride in their own communities, because they feel like they have been overlooked,” she said.

“I walk around the George Washington Carver homes — those are the people that marched on Bloody Sunday — now it’s one of the worst place for drugs and crime,” Martin explained. “I ask them how they feel about local government — they laugh, ‘You couldn’t pay the mayor to come out here and talk to us.’”

The 2016 mayoral race hasn’t officially started yet, but Martin is already getting ready. Her approach is thoroughly grassroots. One night in August, nine of Martin’s family members and closest friends sat around the dining room table in her aunt’s living room to plan the announcement of her campaign. The doorframes of the house were lined with pictures of kids, grandkids and framed photos of Martin with former presidents Clinton and Obama taken on their respective trips to Selma.

“We need to stress your listening,” said Randy Williams, who runs a local radio station and paper. When the conversation turned to the city’s problems, the tone of the room changed. Referring to a sinkhole that had recently closed off part of a street downtown, Williams lamented, “Our potholes have turned into sinkholes.”

In Selma, political options are few. Former Mayor James Perkins and current Mayor George Evans have already stated that they plan to run in next year’s election. Over the past 50 years, there have only been three mayors. Former Mayor Joseph Smitherman ran the city for 35 years, from 1965 until 2000. Since then, Perkins and Evans have alternated in the top spot. Perkins became Selma's first African-American mayor in 2000, and eight years later, Evans stepped in.

“Here's what's happened in Selma,” explained Dane Shaw, the president of a local business incubator. “There is an established order that's been here forever. The person who you would think would be in office gets in office.” But, Shaw says, this may be starting to change. “[Now] you're seeing these young people say, 'We don't want to sit back anymore, we want to make change in politics. And we will do it from a grassroots perspective.’ ”

Selma politics, however, are fiercer than the city's population might indicate, and even some of Martin’s supporters are worried about how tough the race will be on her. “[Martin is] a high speed sports car, ready to go,” Cochran said. “But in Selma, you are on a dirt road. How long is a high-end Ferrari going to last on a bumpity-bumpity, crappy, country dirt road? The dirt road's going to beat you up. You need to be a pick-up truck.” A recent editorial said Martin needs more experience — perhaps on city council — before vying for the mayoral seat.

Whatever the outcome of the election, Martin plans to play a role in the public life of the city for years to come. As a teenager, she played the quad drum in the band, a heavy instrument traditionally reserved for male students. Despite complaints from the boys in the band, her former instructor Bailey Dawson recalls that Martin fought to become section leader. Dawson sees Martin’s tenacity and goodwill as the qualities that could help her navigate a difficult political culture. “Selma is very divided and people have a tendency to group together,” he said. “She’s going to have to do what she has been doing and break the trend.”

Martin says she has long been preparing for this run for mayor. She's moving fast, in part to show the older generation that marched with Martin Luther King Jr. that there is hope for the city. “We owe it to our elders — our grandmothers and grandfathers — to make [Selma] something that they can be proud of again.”