Written By: Trish B.
As Montgomery Alabama commemorated the 60th anniversary of the historic Selma to Montgomery March, the city’s first Black mayor, Steven L. Reed, stood at the intersection of remembrance and renewed responsibility. Mayor Steven L. Reed has emerged as a modern torchbearer—Montgomery’s first Black mayor, and a leader whose voice resonates far beyond the boundaries of his city. Since taking office in 2019, Reed has been a vocal advocate for racial justice, civic engagement, and equity. As the son of a prominent voting rights activist and a product of Montgomery’s complex past, he stands at the intersection of legacy and leadership, determined to carry forward the vision first championed on the streets of Selma and Montgomery six decades ago. On the heels of the powerful 60th anniversary commemoration of the Selma to Montgomery March, Mayor Reed reflects on the emotional weight of the moment, the responsibility of leadership, and the call to action that still echoes across the nation.
We had a chance to speak to the Mayor, and here’s what he had to say.
Now that the 60th anniversary of the Selma to Montgomery March has passed, what emotions or reflections stand out most for you personally?
What struck me most was that we’re still in the struggle for voting rights in this country. For every gain we’ve made, many are now under threat—or worse, being rolled back. For me, this weekend was about reconnecting to the struggle and recommitting to the coalition-building that’s required to not only protect but expand voting rights. We can’t just defend the status quo. We need a broader, more inclusive vision—one that builds on past victories like Brown v. Board, but also addresses the setbacks we’ve seen just in the past seven years. That’s the emotion that stayed with me: urgency.
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What was the most powerful moment of the commemoration weekend for you?
Marching. That 28-mile journey from the City of St. Jude to the State Capitol is sacred ground. Walking alongside Jerry LeVias and Martin Luther King III—whose parents helped lead this movement—was deeply powerful. It reminded me how far we’ve come and how far we still have to go.
How do you believe the city of Montgomery showed up to honor this historic legacy?
On one hand, the City of Montgomery offered a warm and welcoming atmosphere for visitors, residents, and activists who came to honor this anniversary. But I’ll be candid—we didn’t turn out in the numbers that we should have. Given what’s at stake in this moment for democracy, I expected 10,000 people—not 1,000. We cannot afford complacency. Efforts are underway every day to erode voting rights, and the level of community engagement should match that threat. Participation matters—because the people who show up shape policy, and that affects lives right here in our city.
What message do you think this anniversary sent to the nation—especially in today’s climate of political and social division?
It should remind us that the fight for voting rights—and for justice more broadly—is far from over. We must be willing to show the same courage our ancestors did, even when they had no Black elected officials, no corporate power, no governmental influence. They stood up anyway. So must we.
Were there any intergenerational conversations or moments between elders and young people that stood out to you during the events?
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Absolutely. At St. Jude Church, we saw elders who were part of the original Voting Rights March standing shoulder-to-shoulder with young people taking the baton. Seeing people like Rep. Shevrin Jones, Shomari Figures, and Martin Luther King III engaging with our youth was moving. A young man named Jeremiah Treece, a senior at Booker T. Washington High School, introduced Mr. King. Personally, talking with my own father—who’s fought tirelessly for voting rights in Alabama and beyond—was one of those full-circle moments. That fight is now mine too.
How do you see Montgomery continuing to honor this legacy beyond just anniversaries and marches? Are there ongoing initiatives tied to this history?
We must move from symbolism to substance. That means policy. State legislators must hold the line against efforts to undermine voting access. As mayor, I’ll continue using my platform to advocate for fair, equitable democracy. Montgomery isn’t just a backdrop to civil rights history—we are the birthplace of the Civil Rights Movement. That legacy carries weight, and we must match it with our actions.
As a Black mayor leading such a historically significant city, what responsibility do you feel in preserving and advancing the legacy of the Civil Rights Movement?
It’s an immense responsibility. I’m living in the shade of trees I didn’t plant. That means I have to honor the sacrifices of those who couldn’t vote, much less dream of holding this office. I carry their legacy with me every day, and I work to open the doors wider for those coming after me.
What do you hope visitors and residents took away from the 60th anniversary events—emotionally, spiritually, or socially?
I hope they left with a deeper understanding of our history and a clearer sense of responsibility. This was about more than honoring the past—it was a call to action. We all have a role to play to ensure the next generation enjoys the freedoms we’ve fought so hard to secure.
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Are there any future plans to invest in education, community engagement, or youth leadership as a continuation of the spirit of the march?
Absolutely. We’re already working with organizations like the Southern Youth Development Leadership Institute, NAACP youth councils, Jack and Jill, fraternities, and sororities to support young leaders. We don’t just want to teach them about history—we want to hear their concerns and ideas now. Their innovation and insight are key to shaping the future of governance, not only in Montgomery, but across this country.
Lastly, if you could say one thing to the foot soldiers and leaders who made that original journey 60 years ago, what would it be?
If I could say one thing to the foot soldiers and leaders who made that original journey 60 years ago, it would be this: Thank you. Thank you for marching when it was dangerous. For believing when hope was fragile. For standing firm when the system was built to knock you down. Because of your courage, I can serve in an office that was once unimaginable for people who looked like us. Because of your sacrifice, my children—and children across this country—have the chance to dream bigger, speak louder, and live freer. I’d also tell them: We haven’t forgotten. And we won’t let your legacy stop at memory—we’re going to move it forward, with the same faith, the same fire, and the same resolve you had in your hearts when you crossed that bridge.
