This Is the Signal. Now We Move.

When the Voting Rights Act is gutted, community power must rise.

By LaDawn Sullivan

There’s a particular kind of silence that follows a decision like this. Not quiet - because folks are talking, posting, organizing, reacting - but a deeper kind. The kind that settles in your chest when something you thought was at least partially protected suddenly isn’t. The recent decision by the U.S. Supreme Court didn’t just chip at the Voting Rights Act of 1965, it hollowed it out in a way that feels both familiar and deeply unsettling.

And if you’re Black in this country, or part of any community that has had to fight tooth and nail just to be counted, just to be heard, just to exist in policy… you recognize this rhythm. Two steps forward, four steps back. Progress that feels provisional. Wins that come with expiration dates. We celebrate cautiously because history has taught us that every gain seems to come with a quiet asterisk.

We’ve been told for generations to watch for the other shoe to drop. But this? This isn’t a shoe. This is the ground shifting, and we’re being called to move differently.

Let’s be honest about what this means. Representation doesn’t just magically happen because people exist. It is structured, protected, and enforced until it isn’t. And when those protections are weakened, the impact doesn’t land evenly. It never has. It lands where the system has always been most comfortable applying pressure: Black communities, marginalized communities, communities that already had to fight just to get a seat, let alone a voice.

So now the question that keeps circling is the same one we’ve asked before, with different names and different headlines: Where do we go from here?

And more importantly, what is our counter move?

Because if history has shown us anything, it’s that Black communities don’t just endure - we adapt, we organize, we anticipate. We’ve been the proverbial canary in the coal mine long before folks started paying attention to the air quality. We’ve sounded alarms, marched, voted, litigated, built coalitions, built institutions, built whole ecosystems of survival and strategy. Not just when it was popular. Not just when cameras were rolling… ALWAYS.

There’s a reason some of us aren’t shocked right now. Disappointed? Absolutely. Angry? Without question. But surprised? Not so much. When you’ve lived inside systems that were never designed for your thriving, you learn to read the room (and the writing on the wall) early.

Still, there’s a difference between expecting the storm and watching it tear the roof off anyway.

This moment calls for clarity, not just emotion. Because grief without direction turns into exhaustion, and exhaustion is exactly what systems like this rely on. They are patient. They are strategic. And they are counting on people to disengage when it feels too big, too messy, too far gone.

But history also reminds us of something else. As Fannie Lou Hamer said, “Nobody’s free until everybody’s free.” That wasn’t a metaphor—it was a warning and a roadmap. The erosion of rights anywhere has a way of expanding, stretching its reach, testing its limits. What starts with “them” has a way of circling back to “you.”

And then there’s James Baldwin, who reminded us, “Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.” That’s where we are right now—face to face with the reality of what this decision opens the door to.

So what is the counter move? It’s not a single thing. It never is.

It’s legal strategy and grassroots organizing. It’s policy work and community education. It’s showing up in elections—local, state, federal—especially the ones that don’t trend on social media. It’s coalition building that stretches beyond comfort zones. It’s funding the work, sustaining the work, protecting the people doing the work. It’s refusing to let fatigue turn into silence.

And this is exactly why the Black Resilience in Colorado Fund (BRIC) matters in this moment.

Because when systems pull back, community must lean in.

BRIC exists to do what moments like this demand: strengthen Black-led organizations so they can continue to show up, speak up, and serve - even when the ground is shifting beneath them. We bridge relationships between community and capital, because too often the resources don’t flow where the need and the wisdom already live. And we build capacity, infrastructure, leadership so that our communities aren’t just reacting to harm, but actively shaping what comes next.

This is not theoretical work. This is survival work. This is strategy work. This is future-building work.

When voting rights are weakened, it’s not just about ballots. It’s about access, influence, representation, and the ability for communities to advocate for themselves across every issue that touches their lives. Housing. Education. Healthcare. Economic mobility. Safety. Dignity.

Organizations on the ground are already doing this work. They always have. But they cannot AND should not have to do it under-resourced, underfunded, and overlooked.

So if you’re asking, “What can I do?” Here’s your answer: Lean in.

Invest in the infrastructure that sustains communities when policy fails them. Support organizations that are rooted in the lived experience of the people most impacted. Pay attention to where your dollars go, where your time goes, where your voice and connections go.

And if you’re able, JOIN US.

Help us double down our resources so we can strengthen what must be strong, bridge what has been divided, and build what has too often been denied. This is the work of ensuring that progress doesn’t just happen in moments but endures across generations.

Because the truth is…the ground may be shifting but we are still here.

And if history is any indication, we’ve never been a people who just stand still when it does. We move. We rebuild. We reimagine. We respond. Every single time.

The only question left: Who’s building with us?