Sixty years ago, in 1965, Americans marched toward justice, forging a new path for those unconstitutionally disenfranchised to gain a fairer shot at participating in our democracy. Only sixty years ago, the nation bore witness to the brutal attack on peaceful demonstrators crossing the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama—a moment that galvanized public support for voting rights and led to significant gains for a community long deserving of them.

As someone who appreciates American history, walking across that bridge in 2025—led by foot soldiers and dignitaries alike—was a stark reminder that the fight is not over. Today, we are confronted by a movement and an administration weaponizing that very progress against those who fought for it—an effort with generational impact and dire implications for the future, including my son’s. Standing on that same bridge alongside the ordinary heroes who still walk among us is not just an act of remembrance; it is a charge. It begs the question: Is it crossing time, again?

History does not repeat itself exactly, but it certainly rhymes, and coincidences are unavoidable. Looking back at 1965, America was grappling with the complications of integration, having only been 100 years removed from slavery. In 1865, General Robert E. Lee surrendered, ending the Civil War, but the notion of unity and African American rights was met with hostility, reinforced by the shackles of Black Codes and Jim Crow. A century later, in 1965, landmark legislation like the Voting Rights Act expanded civil rights, economic opportunities, and political representation for African Americans. The Selma to Montgomery marches dismantled voter suppression tactics, while federal policies—such as Executive Order 11246, which advanced racial equity in federal hiring, and Housing and Urban Development reforms—addressed housing discrimination and provided resources to historically marginalized communities. Yet, progress was met with resistance.

Sixty years later, in 2025, the echoes of backlash from Reconstruction and Jim Crow reverberate louder than ever. Just as Rutherford B. Hayes’s 1877 compromise withdrew federal troops from the South—abandoning Black Americans to white supremacist terror, lynchings, and voter suppression—the current administration seeks to erase, criminalize, and dismantle the hard-won progress that allows me to write this piece. Because, remember, this progress is only 60 years old. The ideology of supremacy and its tactics have evolved, but the intent remains the same: to uphold a system designed to deny rights to African Americans and other marginalized groups. Yet, our government does not have to operate this way.

Mr. Charles Mauldin, a foot soldier and patriot of the movement, was just 17 years old when he marched in Selma. Though he considers himself an ordinary American, his story is one of extraordinary courage and must be heard. He stood sixth in line on that fateful day—not for recognition, but because he had learned the truth about his country, recognized injustice, and understood that it didn’t have to be that way. He made the decision to act. Sixty years ago, he and others faced batons, tear gas, and mounted police ordered by Alabama Governor George Wallace to prevent the march—yet they still continued.

The march from Selma to Montgomery was 54 miles. But today, we must consider a national march—not just across a bridge, but from every city, township, village, and hamlet in this country—to finally put supremacy to rest. We must prove that America can thrive not by taking from one another, but by lifting each other up. Only then can we truly become the beacon of hope, the beacon of democracy, and a nation where the “American Dream” stands for liberty and justice for all.