In recent weeks, much of the nation has been embroiled in a pseudo-legal civil war over a process that remains obscure in the minds of many Americans: redistricting. The state of Texas, at the urging of President Donald Trump, moved to redraw its congressional districts to extract five more Republican-leaning seats, and in return, Governor Gavin Newsom of California pushed a ballot measure for November that would similarly create new Democratic-leaning districts in California.
To those following Louisiana politics, however, the battle over congressional districts is anything but new.
One of the cornerstones of American civil rights law is the Voting Rights Act of 1965 (VRA), passed during the civil rights movement and which contains numerous provisions protecting minority communities’ access to the ballot box. One of these provisions is a prohibition on districting plans that disenfranchise minority communities. Under the VRA, if a minority community within a state is concentrated enough, votes consistently against the majority and comprises a significant portion of the population of the state, they must be put within a district wherein they have a realistic chance to elect one of their own representatives.
Since 2023, the State of Louisiana has been embroiled in a legal dispute with groups like the NAACP and the ACLU over the addition of a second majority-black district to the House map. Louisiana, at the direction of federal courts, added that district, but on Aug. 27, the state backpedaled and announced it would challenge the additional district in court, arguing any form of race-based districting is unconstitutional.
I find this about-face turn rather comical. While the additional district absolutely does deprive the ruling Republicans of an additional seat, the broader system of redistricting, including majority-minority districts, has been used for decades to insulate the state’s ruling class from any actual political competition.
House elections in Louisiana have, over time, become effectively pointless gestures. For the past 30 years, there have been just 12 times when a race was won by less than ten points. Constrict that to just those who won by less than ten in a general election, as opposed to the sometimes-chaotic jungle primary, and that statistic almost halves. The average citizen has a better shot of making it onto the Pelicans than attempting to run for the House in Louisiana.
The reason why is apparent by even a cursory viewing of our state house maps. They frequently snake through our cities in jagged lines, sometimes protruding out to envelop a cluster of neighborhoods. Take, for example, LSU itself. My apartment is only a bit over a half mile from campus, yet we are in different districts. In my hometown of Gonzales, where I vote, my representative is Troy Carter of the 2nd Congressional District. My aunt, who lives just across the highway? Hers is Steve Scalise, of the 1st Congressional District.
Human populations don’t just exist as colors on a map, free to be drawn and apportioned as one pleases. We exist in communities, and we need to legislate and organize ourselves as such. When I lived in Gonzales, my family commuted to Baton Rouge almost every day for either work or school, and I knew dozens who commuted either into Baton Rouge or to Prairieville, which is similarly within Baton Rouge’s economic orbit. My quality of life was far more dependent on events and policies affecting Baton Rouge, yet both of Gonzales’ representatives are primarily based in New Orleans.
And Gonzales is one of the luckier cities. At least my representatives’ main offices are, at most, two hours away with bad traffic. If you’re in Shreveport, you may be represented by Cleo Fields, whose primary Baton Rouge office is over three-and-a-half hours away. This deepens disconnection between voter and representative.
That’s not to impute the character or quality of service of any one politician. However, sometimes communities need to approach issues as a united front. Different cities and regions have different issues. Furthermore, broad economic legislation, infrastructural packages and, critically, taxes, can all impact different areas in different ways. Instead, our districts are designed to deliver the optimal outcome for one specific party.
Gerrymandering, especially in the South, is a difficult and complex issue to grapple with. Minority communities absolutely deserve the right to have not only a voice in the election process, but a guarantee that their voices will actually matter.
However, you can’t artificially create solidarity by stitching together bits and pieces of separate communities. By concentrating opposition voices across the state into one amalgamated district, Republicans face next to no real Democratic force in their districts. Similarly, the need to connect Baton Rouge and Shreveport to create the new district means that the many Republican communities in between are dominated by their larger-city political machines. In both instances, neither candidate is actually incentivized to pursue policies to sway voters, because they are almost assured of election or re-election as long as they maintain the support of the party apparatus.
Majority-minority districts are an excellent idea on paper. However, in practice, they are gerrymandering all the same as any other district. They are fundamentally uncompetitive and provide voters little real choice in their representatives. Louisiana must pursue real anti-gerrymandering reform.
Gordon Crawford is a 19-year-old political science major from Gonzales.
