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Mr. Charles Mauldin was 17 years old when he crossed the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama, on March 7, 1965. He was the sixth person walking behind John Lewis in a group of 600 marchers.
The demonstration was violently disrupted as Alabama State Troopers beat and tear-gassed the peaceful marchers, including Mr. Charles. That brutal day, now known as Bloody Sunday, shocked the conscience of the nation and led to the Voting Rights Act of 1965.
61 years later, Mr. Charles, this humble, heroic foot soldier of the Civil Rights movement, is still fighting for democracy, and making the case directly to voters why the rights he faced violence to help establish are so necessary to exercise in this moment.
My conversation with Mr. Charles Mauldin and David Domke, Associate Director of Development and Education at Common Power, started with a powerful anecdote.
While Mr. Charles was knocking doors with Common Power in Kansas, a young man who wasn’t registered to vote questioned the benefit of voting. Mr. Charles told the man his story, and he was so moved, Mr. Charles thinks he’s going to register to vote.
Mr. Charles and David Domke joined me from inside Monroe Elementary School in Topeka, Kansas, the school Linda Brown attended that became the catalyst for the Brown v. Board of Education case that desegregated schools. It’s a national park site now. The brick wall behind Mr. Charles was part of the history we were talking about.
Mr. Charles and David Domke are on a six-state tour, knocking doors for Democrats, meeting with candidates, and inspiring voters to be civically engaged in this moment. They were in Tennessee and Iowa, now they’re in Kansas. Next up is Nebraska, Ohio, and Michigan.
I first met Mr. Charles a couple of years ago in Selma on a Learning Tour. His story is one of the reasons I decided to join Common Power after a decade in journalism. Having this conversation, as he continues his activism during this particular moment in our history, inspired me beyond belief.
What he laid out over the hour was a case for the vote as an inheritance. His generation bled for it. Some of ours have stopped believing it matters. Mr. Charles has a way of changing their minds, and he did it on a porch in Topeka and will continue to inspire many more with his story.
I appreciate those of you who tuned in live and contributed so much to the conversation. I saw so many of you were as moved as I was. This is truly the best community on Substack. If you’re just catching it now, feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments and smash that like button.
You can watch our full conversation above and read key takeaways below. And, as always, thank you for supporting independent media.
Check out Common Power at commonpower.org to find out how you can get involved.
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The Young Man On The Porch
I had a question ready about what Mr. Charles would say to voters who’ve given up on the vote. Before I could ask it, Mr. Charles answered it with a story from that day.
The fight never ended. I opened by asking what drives him to knock doors 61 years after Selma. He said the fight started in Selma and hasn’t ended. The conditions his generation worked against starting in 1962 are just as evident in 2026.
A choice at 78. After 60-some years of demonstrations and protests, he said, he had to decide what his contribution would be at this stage of his life. When David mentioned a six-state trip, Mr. Charles decided to get in the car and find out if he could give more.
The door in Topeka. That day he met a young man who wasn’t registered to vote and didn’t see the benefit. Mr. Charles usually keeps his background to himself at the door. This time he told this young man that his mother and father were the first and second people to register to vote after the Voting Rights Act passed, and that he was sixth in line on Bloody Sunday.
The young man was moved. By the time they left, he thanked them for stopping by. Mr. Charles thinks he’ll likely register. I said I’d have run to the registration office if that was me.
An us story. Mr. Charles said the moment showed him he should tell his story more. Six hundred people marched that day, so he calls it an us story, and that young man could see himself in it. The work, he said, is reaching people on the sidelines by touching something meaningful to them, never by pushing.
Here We Are Again
Mr. Charles has never been surprised by this moment. What he wants the country to see is what it’s doing to a new generation of children.
A moment in Marion. When we first met, we talked in Marion, Alabama, where Jimmie Lee Jackson was shot. Mr. Charles told me then that he wasn’t satisfied with where the country was, but he wasn’t surprised. Trumpism, and him being back on the road 60+ years later, are part of the same process he responded to as a teenager.
Treated the way we were. I brought up his ProPublica interview, where he talked about being tear-gassed on Bloody Sunday and watching young people face the same brutality protesting ICE today. He said those young people are being treated the way his generation was. Joanne Bland was 11 that day. Mr. Charles was 17.
Trauma buried deep. Children were tear-gassed, beaten with billy clubs and trampled by horses 61 years ago. He said the trauma was buried so deep that he’s spoken more about that day in the last four years than in the 57 or 58 before it. The 600 marchers never got the professional help to deal with it.
Permanently damaged. Now he sees children, many of them Hispanic, watching their parents get snatched off the streets and getting tear-gassed themselves. Mr. Charles said it compels him to sound the alarm. Those children risk being permanently damaged, and we aren’t taking that into account.
Healing, unfinished. I said the trauma of state-sponsored violence doesn’t get addressed or talked about enough. A viewer asked about mental health resources then versus now, so I asked whether talking publicly and being back in the work is healing him or retriggering him. He said the healing has started but isn’t complete. If he’s still processing it 62 years later, he said, we have to deal with how it’s affecting people right now.
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Brown v. Board, Westboro & The Choice In Between
David brought the setting into the argument. In Topeka, the best and worst of America sit about two miles apart.
Where we were. David walked us down the hallway at Monroe Elementary, where Linda Brown went to school in the late 1940s. Her case reached the Supreme Court and was decided in 1954, declaring racial segregation in public schools unconstitutional. It was unanimous, 9-0.
Today’s Court. David said he’s certain today’s Court wouldn’t rule 9-0. It might still get the decision right, but he wasn’t even sure of that. At best, he guessed, it would be 7-2 or 6-3.
Kansas, of all states. I pointed out that Kansas usually isn’t seen as a state Democrats can compete in. This political moment is changing that. A pro-democracy groundswell is making it possible, and a Selma foot soldier knocking doors in Topeka is part of it.
Westboro is small. That morning, David and his Common Power colleague Beth Chronister visited the Westboro Baptist Church, the hate group known for attacking gay and lesbian Americans. Given the national waves it has made for 30 years, he pictured something enormous. It’s a small church on a street corner, fenced in to keep people out.
Shrinking and radiating. The Brown site is small too, but it has been expanded to celebrate what happened there. Beth calls it radiating. David said Westboro is shrinking and barely hanging on, while our side has to be big and radiate because that’s what the times call for.
A choice. David said both places exist in America, and they’re never far apart. What we do about it is a choice. He named Trump’s antisemitic slur in Wichita two nights earlier and Vivek Ramaswamy’s ad in Ohio as things nobody can stand aside on. I called it the moral arc in action: hate shrinks, and justice radiates, but only because people on the ground push it there.
Passing The Torch To The New Foot Soldiers
Mr. Charles is still marching. But he spent much of the hour talking about the people coming up behind him.
A freedom ride. From Tennessee to Iowa to Kansas, Mr. Charles called the trip almost like a bus ride, following in the footsteps of Freedom Riders like John Lewis.
Justin Pearson. In Memphis, the team knocked doors for Justin Pearson, who is running for the U.S. House. David noted that Pearson is one of the two Justins expelled from the Tennessee legislature in 2023 for fighting for gun safety. At a campaign rally, Mr. Charles told him he admired his courage and commitment, and that he’s one of the new foot soldiers.
Back on the bridge. On the Edmund Pettus Bridge last week, Mr. Charles spoke to young people from across the country through a Common Power program called Action Academy, some from as far away as France. He told them his generation did its job. At 78, it’s time for them to take the torch and cross the bridges in front of them. With people like Justin leading, he said, we’re in good hands.
Why I’m here. I’m 33, and I told Mr. Charles his story is one of the reasons I joined Common Power. I want to be in the fight and in the work, instead of commentating on it. It’s our turn to carry on the fight for the rights he crossed that bridge for.
Movements make you bigger. Mr. Charles shared what he told a young Common Power organizer from Georgia who has already done about two tours. Being in a movement is like being around smart kids in college, because you use different muscles and get smarter. You end up the main beneficiary of your own work. He told me I’ll find that out at Common Power.
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Tired, But Not So Tired He Can Stop
Mr. Charles has never struck me as a cynic. His optimism comes from having watched this country turn before.
Ebbs and flows. I asked what he’d say to someone who feels there’s no point to any of this. He gave the same answer he gave me years ago: life ebbs and flows, but it persists. Change is going to come, because nothing lasts forever, not even a long, long time.
The reality of American life. Mr. Charles said Trumpism, and every ism that comes with it, can only persist for so long. Then it’ll be our time again. He called that the reality of American life.
This election and the next. I told him I share his optimism. We have this election, and 2028, to turn the tide back.
Tired but stronger. David said the trip was supposed to last six days and will end up running nine or 10, with Nebraska, Ohio, and Michigan still ahead. They’re tired but stronger, and somehow the two coexist. Being on the ground shows you America’s beauty and its warts, he said, and it makes him love the country more.
No state left behind. Asked whether he was tired, Mr. Charles said yes, but not so tired that he can stop.
Bottom Line
Sixty-one years ago, Mr. Charles was tear-gassed on a bridge in Selma so people like his parents and future generations could vote. At 78, he’s crossing the country to protect the rights that march won. On a single porch in Topeka, his story moved a young man who had given up on voting. That’s the power of Mr. Charles Mauldin’s story.
We’re 12 days from Election Day. If a man who marched on Bloody Sunday is still knocking doors, none of us have an excuse. Go to commonpower.org and find a way to volunteer.
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