“I declare support for the Palestinian liberation struggle.” —Muhammad Ali
 

We must keep talking about the genocide in Gaza.

As Kentuckians, we’re reminding folks that the weapons industry right here in our Commonwealth manufactures weapons that are sold and transferred to the Israeli government and then used during the destruction and slaughter in Palestine.

DID YOU KNOW that Kentucky provides $29 million in our tax dollars to Israel, most of it being used for military aid? Some sources put this number even higher.

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Raytheon/RTX, located in Louisville, Kentucky, is the world’s second-largest military company manufacturing bombs, components for fighter jets, missiles, naval guns, and other weapons systems used by the Israeli military against Palestinians.

On January 4, 2024, dozens of Kentuckians from the Louisville Ceasefire Coalition protested at Raytheon Missile Systems to bring attention to this connection of Kentucky and the killing in Gaza. In February 2024, 15 people were arrested in nonviolent civil disobedience to continue bringing this connection to the public eye. 

We are witnessing an internationally recognized genocide that is resulting in the repression of free speech on college campuses across the United States, the murder of over 200 journalists who have dared to cover the destruction, and the death of over 73,000 people since October, 2023, overwhelmingly civilians, and tens of thousands of them children. These numbers do not include those still buried under the rubble or those who have subsequently died from starvation, or the thousands of others wounded in life-changing ways.

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Sadly, the killing of children is not new. In May 2021, 67 Palestinian children were killed in what was referred to as “an 11-day escalation in hostilities between Israel and Palestinian armed groups in the Gaza Strip.”

As the genocide continues and people around the world still push for peace, we are inviting our community to a special event with Palestinian playwright Ishmail Khalidi about his new book of Palestinian plays, Until I Return. The event will take place on Friday, September 18th from 6:00—8:00 PM at Carmichael’s Bookstore, 2720 Frankfort Avenue, Louisville.

Khalidi’s work takes on the history and present of Palestine and the Middle East, colonialism, displacement, and war. He is the recipient of the Mark Twain Comedy Playwriting Award and The Quest for Peace Playwriting Award.

In his own words, Khalidi has this to say about the genocide:

The war on Palestine is a war of erasure and the question of Palestine is one that is at the heart of the destructive phenomena of settler colonialism and racial capitalism everywhere. Palestine, and specifically gaza, is the infernal epicenter of a ghastly global experiment by the arms, surveillance and tech industries, all of whom are testing their wares (and our moral limits) in an ongoing campaign of genocide against an enclosed indigenous population. Understanding the current moment requires connecting the dots and the history of Palestinians and their century-long resistance to empire. My plays try to capture some of these historical moments and the voices of people who Arundhati Roy reminds us are never voiceless but rather "deliberately silenced or preferably unheard”.

Khalidi will be interviewed by playwright, screenwriter, and McArthur Genius awardee Naomi F. Wallace, who co-authored with Khalidi the critically acclaimed stage adaptation of Returning to Haifa based on Ghassan Kanafani’s novella, and other works with Khalidi about Palestinian history and Occupation.

In Naomi’s own words: 

Ismail Khalidi is one of our very best playwrights. His work is fiercely political, and at the same time intimate. Now is when we need to hear voices like Ismail’s—for guidance and inspiration in our struggle for justice.

The event features Palestinian dessert delicacies as part of the reception and a book signing will follow the program. We will invite donations to benefit the Peace Dove Project and Students for Justice in Palestine.

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A special thanks to the co-sponsors of this event: Louisville Showing Up for Racial Justice, Committee for Peace in the Middle East, Faith in Action with Palestine, Fellowship of Reconciliation (Louisville Chapter) and the Kentucky Poor Peoples Campaign. You can learn more by emailing Louisvillesurj@gmail.com.

You can hear more about the event next Friday, September 11th at 12:00 PM on Attica’s weekly podcast called #AskAttica. 

SOURCES

https://carmichaelsbookstore.com/event/2026-09-18/ismail-khalidi-naomi-wallace

https://www.kentucky.com/opinion/op-ed/article282410468.html

State-to-State cooperation: Kentucky and Israel. (n.d.). Jewish Virtual Library. https://jewishvirtuallibrary.org/kentucky-israel-cooperation

https://www.moh.gov.ps/portal/en/

Attica Scott is a former Kentucky State Representative, civic educator, and political agitator. She breaks down public policy from an insider’s perspective through her #AskAttica podcast and #CivicsIn60 video series.

Pam McMichael is a long time social justice activist and writer. She is a co-founder of the national Showing Up for Racial Justice, and served as the Executive Director of the Highlander Center for 12 years. 

August 8th is more than a date. Juneteenth is celebrated on June 19th. It's a federal holiday that doesn't come with reparations, so don't get too excited. But in places like Kentucky, and in particular western KY, the 8th of August has been celebrated since the 1860s as Emancipation Day and Homecoming Day.
   

Why the 8th of August   

Some say it began in Tennessee when Andrew Johnson, the military governor of the union-controlled state, future member of congress and future president, freed his slaves on August 8, 1863. Y’all, maybe Andrew was like, well, since everybody knows now, may as well free my slaves.

Others say that news of the Emancipation Proclamation, issued on January 1, 1863, did not arrive in some communities until August 8th.

As a Kentuckian who lived in east Tennessee, I find these accounts interesting. But wait, there’s more.

In an article from the Kentucky Historical Society:

Paducah's chosen emancipation day is somewhat unique. According to the August 8, 1905, edition of the "Paducah Daily News-Democrat," that day was chosen because it was when slaves in Santo Domingo (Haiti) earned their freedom. Haiti was the first black republic established in the Western Hemisphere after a slave uprising that began in 1791.

The "Paducah Daily News-Democrat" also explained that the city's "Emancipation Day is heralded far and wide as the greatest event of the year for the colored race, and it attracts [N]egroes from hundreds of miles away." Trains ran extra cars to transport passengers from towns such as Hopkinsville and Henderson. African Americans from Cairo, Illinois, Evansville, Indiana, and Martin, Jackson, and Memphis, Tennessee, also attended the festivities.

However it began, y’all need to capitalize that “B” in Black. The 8th of August is a day for gathering, honoring our ancestors, and remembering that freedom is a journey. Here’s a video I’ve shared in recent years about the day.

The 8th of August quickly became a Homecoming event in many western KY counties whose Black populations were roughly 40% in the years following the civil war. That percentage has dwindled to around 24% (and about 1% in rural western KY).

Despite that population drop, which is understandable because KY is cruel to Black folks, here’s a list of 8th of August celebrations according to KET:

1) Hopkinsville: The famed 8th of August celebrations in Christian County can be traced to nearby Crofton in the beginning of the 20th century. The spirit of the festival is kept alive today by the Minority Economic Development Initiative, which sponsors a historic African-American business tour. “A lot of those locations and sites that we’re visiting are from post-slaves that were part of Reconstruction era after the Civil War,” said Henry Snorton III.

2) Russellville: This Logan County town hosts what has become the largest of the celebrations in the state, partly because of the West Kentucky African American Heritage Museum, which draws tourists and returning family alike. Organizer Paulette Smith said the celebration, with its music, basketball and softball tournament, and church services, helps knit the community together. “You should know who you are, where you’ve been and where you’re going, and this tells all of that,” she said.

3) Paducah: Paducah can trace its 8th of August history back to at least 1886. Betty Dobson, historian and manager of the historic Hotel Metropolitan, said that in the early 1900s, newspapers reported crowds of more than 10,000 coming in by rail and by steamboat. Paducah features a parade for the 8th of August. James Otis Trice Jr., the grand marshal in 2013, said it was an honor. “This is my 69th trip down to Paducah on the holiday. I don’t miss it,” he said.

4) Allensville: This Todd County community claims to have been celebrating the 8th of August the longest—since 1868. In 2013, Clarence Morton Sr. celebrated his 100th birthday on Aug. 8. Baseball games were the key component of the celebration, as Morton remembered. “My dad was a ballplayer, and he always come to play ball on the Eighth of August.”

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Drop your community’s 8th of August event in the comments and hype it up!

I have attended 8th of August events in Paducah and Russellville over the years, and threw down on some Hotel Metropolitan beans and cornbread. I’ll have to get to the ones in Allensville and Hopkinsville next year. In the meantime, I’ll be spending this weekend chatting it up on my #AskAttica podcast with a former Lexington city council member, back in Paducah at Hotel Metropolitan, in Ohio County for its “We The People Rally,” and back home in Louisville for several events. Holla at me if you see me in these Kentucky streets!

SOURCES

1. KET, The Eighth of August, accessed August 5, 2026, https://ket.org/program/kentucky-life/eighth-of-august-34260/

2. Tim Talbott, “8th of August,” ExploreKYHistory, accessed August 5, 2026, https://explorekyhistory.ky.gov/items/show/383

3. IndexMundi, Kentucky Black population percentage by county, accessed August 5, 2026, https://www.indexmundi.com/facts/united-states/quick-facts/kentucky/black-population-percentage#map

Attica Scott is a former Kentucky State Representative, civic educator, and political agitator. She breaks down public policy from an insider’s perspective through her #AskAttica podcast and #CivicsIn60 video series.

I write this as a Black woman who was raised in Beecher Terrace, in Louisville’s west end, who has spent my adult life showing up 10 toes down for folks across Kentucky. I write this as someone who served in the state legislature alongside one of the two known democrats who want to be governor. I write this as someone who believes, all the way down to my bones, that we are not free until we abolish poverty in our Commonwealth.

This is a love letter. Love doesn’t mean silence. Love means telling the truth about what it will actually take to deserve us.

OK, we now have two recognizable democratic candidates for governor in 2027, so far. Both come out of the current administration. I’ve written before about how Kentucky democrats keep missing the mark. How backbone that only shows up in year three or seven of an administration, after the political cost has already been paid by the people who needed protecting years earlier, is not backbone at all. It’s calculation. I don’t want a governor who finds their courage after they’re safely in office. I want a governor who brings it with them on day one, because they already have it. Here’s what that looks like.

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Thank you to all of my #AskAttica subscribers. Your donations help to keep these articles coming.

I am tired of empty promises dressed up as progress. I want a governor who says the hard thing before it’s politically convenient, not after the polling tells them it’s safe. I want someone who will call a racist a racist plainly, publicly, without a press release full of hedges. Y’all, Donald Trump is a racist. There, I said it.

Racial justice cannot be a talking point that surfaces every four years. It has to be a governing commitment, woven into how a governor builds a budget, appoints a cabinet, and responds when Black and brown Kentuckians are under attack.

Silence Is Complicity

I want a governor who will say, out loud and without flinching, that Kentuckians should vote no on any anti-immigrant constitutional amendment. Silence is violence. Silence is complicity. I want a governor who will publicly denounce any arrangement that turns a county jail into a pipeline for deportation and who will say that clearly even, and especially, when it’s happening in their own backyard. Collusion with ICE is not a neutral position. There is no neutral position.

Protection, Not Occupation

I do not want a governor who supports cop cities or who uses militarization for public safety. Protecting your neighbors and occupying Kentuckians are not the same thing, and a governor who can’t tell the difference has already failed the people they claim to serve. Real safety comes from housing, healthcare, jobs that pay, and communities with the resources to hold each other up, not the national guard and state troopers as executioners.

Standing Up to Extraction, Wherever It Shows Up

I want a governor who will publicly oppose the massive data centers being pushed into communities across our Commonwealth. I’ll vote for a governor who will stand with the people of Letcher County and say no to a fourth federal prison in Appalachia. Y’all, care, not cages, is not a slogan, it’s a demand from our folks at LSURJ. My people in rural Kentucky deserve investment that builds life, not more facilities built to warehouse it.

Power That Multiplies, Not Power That Hoards

I want a governor who understands that the job isn’t about building a personal brand, it’s about building power for Kentuckians, at the local level and the state level, in city and in county seats. A governor who mentors the next generation of leaders instead of clearing the field of them. A governor who leaves Kentucky’s political bench deeper than they found it.

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I know you know someone else who is unafraid to speak their truths. Share this so they feel less alone and unsafe in their own political party.

Eliminate Poverty.

I mean, at least try. I’m not compromising on a real, structural commitment to ending poverty in Kentucky. I’m not talking about managing it, studying it, issuing a task force report about it. Listen, urban poverty in the west end where I grew up and rural poverty in western Kentucky come from different histories, but they demand the same thing from the person who holds this office: the political will to actually redistribute opportunity, not just talk about it.

This is what rural—urban solidarity looks like to me. It’s not a slogan for a campaign ad. It’s showing up for folks in Lexington and kin in Mayfield with the same fierce love, because both of us have been told by too many politicians, for too long, that poverty is a given. It is not and it never was.

What I’m Asking You to Do Before 2027

I’m not writing this to vent. OK, it did feel right to write this down. I’m writing this because 2027 is coming whether we’re ready or not, and I need you ready. Stay ready so you don’t have to…you know the rest.

Register to vote and check your registration, even if you think you’re good to-go because, child, the way the Orange Terror is trying to steal elections.

Ask candidates the hard questions because being a democrat is not a pass. Make them answer questions about immigration, collusion with ICE, cop cities, massive data centers, worsening poverty, you name it. Literally, you name it. Make them answer before the primary, not after.

Show up to vote in every election, not just the ones that feel exciting. Your county judge/executive needs your vote. So does your county commissioner.

Get civically engaged and learn what a governor can actually do: the budget power, the appointment power, the veto power, the political pulpit. Know the job so nobody can fool you about what’s possible. I’ll be sharing more on my #AskAttica podcast and #CivicsIn60 videos.

Be clear about your demands. Write them down. Say them out loud. Don’t soften them to make anyone comfortable.

Remember your vote is not a gift. It’s not loyalty you owe. Your vote is something candidates have to earn, every single time.

Kentucky, I love you enough to tell you my truth. I love you enough to demand more. That’s what this love letter is. Some of y’all will read this and get angry because you don’t really care about racial justice. Some of you think that only your lived experiences get political priority. Others of you will secretly nod in agreement. It’s all fine by me. Kentucky was the first state called for Trump in 2024 for a reason. We’ve got some democrats in this state who hate Black women.

So, I’ll ask you directly: What are you looking for in the next governor of Kentucky? FYI, no need to feel compelled to say another white man. Instead, focus on something else.

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It’s OK to have expectations of your elected officials. Share them here.

Tell me in the comments. Share this with somebody who needs to see it. And let’s build the Kentucky our children deserve.

Attica Scott is a former Kentucky State Representative, civic educator, and political agitator. She breaks down public policy from an insider’s perspective through her #AskAttica podcast and #CivicsIn60 video series.

Some of you have followed my public service since Louisville Metro Council. Some of you found me through a TikTok about a bill you’d never heard of before. Some of you just subscribed to my Substack because a friend forwarded this #AskAttica article to you. Welcome to all of my new Subscribers and welcome back to folks who are reconnecting after a nice summer break.

I’m Attica Scott. I was named for the 1971 Attica prison uprising. I grew up in public housing in Beecher Terrace, and I spent nearly a decade in elected office in Kentucky, first on Louisville Metro Council and then as a State Representative. Today, my public service is different, but my mission is the same: helping people understand how government actually works, and how to take action on political issues.

I write this newsletter because civic education and engagement shouldn’t be reserved for people with law degrees or well-paid lobbyists.

The Urgency of Now

Kentucky is at a crossroads. From restrictive reproductive laws to the ongoing fight for racial justice, our state’s future depends on how we talk about power, history, and community. Too often, the conversations that shape policy leave out the voices that matter most, the people actually living these realities every day, from rural to suburban to urban areas.

I’ve spent years standing alongside Kentucky families, advocating for reproductive freedom, civic education, and a truer picture of the South that goes beyond the stereotypes and simplistic narratives we’re usually handed. These aren’t separate issues. They’re interconnected threads that shape who we are and who we can become.

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Here’s what I know: reproductive justice is about economic security, racial equity, and respect for bodily autonomy. In Kentucky, Black women are three to four times more likely to die in childbirth than white women. This is part of why I fought for the Maternal Care Act which expanded Medicaid coverage for doula and lactation support services, and why I’ve never separated reproductive freedom from the broader fight for racial justice.

Here’s what else I know: civic education is power. Understanding how a bill actually becomes law, who really holds influence in our state legislature, and how to make your voice heard, that knowledge is what shifts political landscapes. It’s the throughline in everything from #CivicsIn60 to the legislative breakdowns I write here.

Here’s some more that I know: reframing the South means understanding its complexity, its history of resistance, its radical love, and its organizing traditions, and rejecting the stereotypes that outsiders (and sometimes we ourselves) settle for.

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These issues are the reason I’m in public service. In the state legislature that meant fighting to eliminate the tax on menstrual and baby products, expand menstrual hygiene access in correctional settings, pass Ban the Box legislation at the local level, and win protections against hair discrimination through The CROWN Act campaign.

I believe we don’t have a democracy without reproductive freedom. I believe civic power is built on the frontlines and in the voting lines (but not too long on those lines or we have a democracy problem). I believe a better Kentucky is possible if we’re willing to show up, speak up, and stand up for it in the voting booth, in the halls of government, in community meetings, and in conversations.

Join Me

This Substack is where I break down bills moving through Frankfort, connect Kentucky politics to the national picture, and make the case that civic engagement isn’t optional if we want things to change. It often means traveling across Kentucky to document someone’s story, or to share back with you a historical place, or to dig deeper into research only available on site. That all requires resources. Thanks to every paid subscriber who is helping me to finance these trips. Your financial support has meant that I can fill up the tank and drive hours to visit a historic site, or spend the night in a different town after a long drive, or stop at a restaurant that all the locals tell me is the spot.

Thank you, also, to everyone who sends me suggestions of what to talk about or write about next. Y’all, folks love the places they call home. Some folks didn’t know there was a Black history museum in their town until they saw my post. Others invite me to come tour their farmland or to sit and chat with a local elder.

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If those are the stories you want in your inbox, subscribe. You can also share this with someone who’s got civics questions and #AskAttica might have answers. And if you’ve got a story about how policy has shaped your life, I want to hear it.

Let’s move Kentucky forward, together.

Attica Scott is a former Kentucky State Representative, civic educator, and political agitator. She breaks down public policy from an insider’s perspective through her #AskAttica podcast and #CivicsIn60 video series.

PHOTO: WAVE 3 News

My first race wasn’t for state representative. It was for school board.

So, when I tell you that this November’s JCPS Board of Education election is serious, I need you to believe me. I know what it means to knock doors for a seat that most people speed past on their ballot. I also know, from personal experience, exactly what it feels like to have the district you represent chopped up and redrawn in order to force you out. That happened to me in Frankfort and it’s happening right now to sitting JCPS board members.

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What Senate Bill 4 Actually Did

Senate Bill 4 reduced the Jefferson County Public Schools board of education from seven seats to five, and added at-large seats to replace them. Lawmakers redrew every. single. district. And a democrat from Louisville co-sponsored the bill. Y’all can’t be serious.

As if shrinking the board and redrawing every line wasn’t enough, the legislature also required every current board member to run again this November, even the ones whose terms aren’t up yet. These are supposed to be nonpartisan, community-rooted races. Instead, the legislature is trying to create a conservative Board that will oppose DEI and support charter schools. MARK. MY. WORDS.

The fallout is real: four current board members are stepping down because of the changes. And some good people got redistricted right out of their own seats, like Trevin Bass, who was drawn into the same district as another sitting board member, effectively forcing two representatives to compete for one spot.

I’ve lived that. When you represent a district and the lines get redrawn out from under you, it’s not an accident. It’s a decision to try and silence the strongest advocates.

Here’s how the new terms break down:

• Districts 4 and 5 will serve two-year terms

• Districts 1, 2, and 3 will serve four-year terms

And there’s a new piece entirely: JCPS has never had an at-large board member before. Under SB4, the board has set August 29th as the deadline to appoint one.

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Why This Matters

When the state legislature reaches in and restructures the board — resets every seat, redraws every line, and adds a whole new at-large position — that’s not governance. That’s a deliberate reshaping of who has accountability over Louisville’s schools.

And because these are nonpartisan races, they don’t get the same attention as most partisan races. That’s exactly why they’re vulnerable to this kind of maneuvering, and exactly why we can’t afford to look away.

What You Can Do

Support folks like Trevin Bass who were unjustly redistricted out of their seats.

Get to know the candidates running in your district.

Register to vote by October 5th.

Vote on November 3rd.

Subscribe to this Substack for more deeper dives into important issues.

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This board shapes the future of every public school student in Jefferson County.

Attica Scott is a former Kentucky State Representative, civic educator, and political agitator. She breaks down public policy from an insider’s perspective through her #AskAttica podcast and #CivicsIn60 video series.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been an avid reader and watcher of sci fi. I had a Medium blog where I often wrote about the relevance of sci fi to politics, culture and society. One of my favorite pieces was written in collaboration with my dear friend Dr. Gabriela Alcalde, “Star Trek Discovery: 10 Lessons for Imagining and Designing a Truly Different Future.”

Like Storm from Marvel, I’ve learned that power, empathy, and leadership come from knowing when to fight and when to recalibrate. Today, I’m choosing imagination as a form of activism.

Frederick Douglass stood before the Rochester Ladies' Anti-Slavery Society on July 5, 1852, and told the truth about Independence Day: This Fourth July is yours, not mine. You may rejoice, I must mourn.

250 years built on colonization and enslavement. Y’all’s president is out here throwing himself a pity party, waisting taxpayer dollars (he did say he doesn’t care about the country’s finances).

Because 250 years after the Declaration of Independence was signed by white men who enslaved other human beings, we’re watching immigrants dragged from their homes, kidnapped and disappeared. We’re watching federal agents in unmarked vehicles disappear protesters from city streets. We’re watching the Supreme Court become a rubber stamp for authoritarian consolidation (with the occasional bone thrown our way). We’re watching white nationalists hold press credentials and cabinet seats. We’re watching voting rights eroded in real time.

This ain’t a deviation from the story of the United States. This is the story of the United States.

Science fiction has often been my truth teller. Here’s the thing about sci fi that I learned early on: It’s less about the future and more a reflection on the here and now. It’s presented through speculative imagination so we can see it differently.

When Ursula K. Le Guin wrote “The Dispossessed” in 1974, she was writing about capitalism and what it costs a society to pretend that scarcity is natural rather than manufactured. When Octavia Butler wrote “Parable of the Sower” in 1993, she laid it out in a near-future California where climate collapse, corporate bondage, and government abandonment had destroyed ordinary life. She was prophetic. She saw what was coming because she paid attention to what was already here.

Butler's protagonist, Lauren Olamina, a Black teenage girl who feels other people's pain as her own, doesn't wait to be saved. She builds. She organizes. She names what she's doing Earthseed. "God is Change," she writes in her journal-scripture. "Shape God." Lauren is writing a movement-building manual.

Nnedi Okorafor, writing in the Afrofuturist tradition, refuses the premise that the future is a white western place. In “Who Fears Death” and “Binti,” she centers African women whose power comes from the deep wells of ancestral knowledge that empire tried to destroy. Her characters survive because of their Africanness.

OK, empire strikes back because empire is always the villain, whether in “Star Wars” or “Foundation.” I mean, c’mon, every great science fiction story is, at its core, a story about power.

“Star Trek,” the whole sprawling universe from the original series to “Discovery,” “Strange New Worlds,” and “Starfleet Academy,” is a story about what humanity could be if it chose justice over conquest. The Federation, at its best, is a vision of collective governance, scientific curiosity, and the radical proposition that different species can coexist without one dominating the others.

Despite President Stacey Abrams of United Earth, “Discovery,” in particular, doesn't let us stay comfortable in that utopia. It shows us the Mirror Universe, a concept that was introduced in the original series through Captain Kirk and crew and has found its way to our screens on multiple occasions. It’s a Federation built on terror and expansion rather than exploration and cooperation. How far are we, really, from that universe?

Captain Burnham, a Black woman raised between two cultures and belonging fully to neither, is vital to answering that question. Her existence in the captain's chair is itself an act of speculative justice, a world where the people most marginalized by empire are instead at the helm of something different.

But here, in the U.S., in this year, we are not in the good-timeline Federation. We are dangerously close to the Mirror Universe. Can we bring back Captain Sisko?

OK, not a Trekkie?

“The Matrix” told us that the reality we were given was a construct designed to keep us compliant, that the comfortable lie is easier to swallow than the liberating truth. The red pill is not a metaphor. Ask any Black child who has been handed a history textbook that erases their ancestors' resistance and calls it education. Ask any Indigenous student whose school refuses to acknowledge the genocide on which their town was built.

The matrix is real.

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“The X-Files” ran on a single premise: government is lying to you, and the truth is worse than you can imagine. Mulder and Scully spent a decade chasing a conspiracy so vast that it implicated the highest levels of federal power, a shadow government making deals with alien colonizers at the expense of human life.

In 1993, that was paranoia. In 2026, it’s a press release.

We’ve watched extrajudicial deportations carried out by federal agencies with no warrants and no accountability. We’ve watched the Department of Justice weaponized against political opponents. We’ve watched surveillance infrastructure built in the name of security turned against protesters, journalists, and organizers. “The X-Files” wasn't ahead of its time. It was paying attention to a government that has always treated certain people as expendable.

We’re living in a country where books are banned. Where the history of slavery is called "divisive." Where the word "equity" has been scrubbed from federal websites. Where Indigenous children were taken from their families and forced into boarding schools (with the first residential boarding school created right here in Kentucky).

There’s something in “Stranger Things” that I know many of us who’ve watched it keep coming back to: the Upside Down.

The Upside Down is not another world. It’s this world, the same geography, the same streets, the same buildings, but hollowed out and filled with filth that spreads through invisible tendrils, that infects without announcing itself, that uses children as its entry points.

Y’all, the United States has always had an Upside Down.

The same country that produced the Declaration of Independence produced the slave codes. The same country that built the transcontinental railroad built it on the backs of Chinese laborers who were then barred from citizenship. The same country that fought the Nazis came home and lynched Black veterans in their uniforms. The Upside Down and the right-side up have always existed here and some of us have always known it.

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If this piece moved you, share it. If it challenged you, sit with that. If you're ready to do something, start local. Your city council, your school board, your statehouse are where the empire gets built or dismantled.

“The Expanse” is, among other things, a story about colonialism in space. Earth is the old empire, bloated and self-satisfied (like y’all’s current occupant of the White House). Mars is the upstart colonial project, militarized and disciplined. The Belters are the people who actually live and work in the asteroid belt, whose bodies have been literally shaped by the physics of their labor, who are exploited by both Earth and Mars, who are not quite considered fully human by either.

The Belters speak a creole language born of necessity, a pidgin assembled from the fragments of Earth's many tongues, the way enslaved Africans built languages of survival in the holds of ships and on the auction blocks of the U.S. South. Their bodies are different. Their culture is different. They have built something new from what was taken and what was left. And both empires want their resources without their humanity.

That's the 250-year story of the United States. That is what Independence Day is built on.

The Declaration of Independence says that all men are created equal. Child, please. The Constitution counted Black people as three-fifths of a person. The land that white men "discovered" was already home to nations with their own governance, their own science, and their own futures. Those futures were violently interrupted. That interruption is ongoing. Ask the Standing Rock Sioux. Ask the families of the more than 500 Indigenous girls and women missing or murdered in this country right now.

The Belters knew that you could be essential to an empire and disposable to it at the same time.

“Black Mirror” has given episode after episode about technology deployed in service of control from social credit systems, surveillance states, consciousness uploaded into servers owned by corporations, memories weaponized against the people who hold them. Wait, am I talking about TV or real life? It’s all blurring together.

But the most terrifying episodes aren't the ones about the future. They're the ones about right now.

"Men Against Fire" is about soldiers whose neural implants make them see certain humans as monsters making it easier to kill them, making dehumanization automatic, making genocide more efficient by removing the psychological cost from those who carry it out.

That ain’t sci fi, y’all. That’s the history of every colonial project that has ever been carried out on this earth. You cannot enslave people without first convincing yourself and your children and your soldiers, that they are not fully people. You cannot build a border wall without first teaching an entire population to see the people on the other side as the other.

I’m a woman of faith. How can you not see every child as God’s child?

Octavia Butler used to say that she wrote to save us from ourselves. Not to predict the future, but to expand the imagination of what is possible, and avoidable, before we run out of time to choose.

Le Guin wrote:

We live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable. So did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings. Resistance and change often begin in art, and very often in our art, the art of words.

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I believe in the power of imagination as an act of resistance. Some of my favorite sci fi characters survived by building. By choosing each other. By refusing to let the empire's story be the only story. That is the task before us at 250 years.

I hold the grief of what this country has done to Indigenous people, to enslaved Africans and their descendants, to immigrants, to people living in poverty, to the land itself, and to fight for something better.

250 years. Our ancestral memory is tired, grieving, watching what we fought for be dismantled in real time. Yet, we are still here building, organizing, imagining.

Attica Scott is a former Kentucky State Representative, civic educator, and political agitator. She breaks down public policy from an insider’s perspective through her #AskAttica podcast and #CivicsIn60 video series.

There is a particular kind of grief that comes with watching your government choose punishment over people. Over and over again. In city after city. County after county. Generation after generation. My goodness. Y’all not tired yet?

I know that grief. I was born into it. My name is Attica after the 1971 prison uprising when incarcerated people in New York stood up against dehumanizing conditions and demanded to be treated as human beings. 43 people died when the state decided force was more valuable than listening. I entered this world already carrying that history in my name, already marked by the question my parents embedded in my identity: What does it mean to fight for dignity when the system was never built to give it to you?

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Right now, here in Louisville, we are in the middle of a fight that will define what kind of city we say we are. Our city government is seriously entertaining the idea of building a new jail, a monument to punishment (and our failures in the words of my dear friend, Billie, in Letcher County) at a moment when our unhoused neighbors need housing, our families need mental health care, and our children need investment, not incarceration. We are fighting back because we know that the decision to build a cage rather than create care is always a choice (based on political will), a moral choice, a choice that tells you exactly what a government values and who it believes deserves to live with dignity.

Here’s the thing: 200 miles east of Louisville, in Letcher County, in the heart of Appalachia, a similar fight has been waged for years.

For nearly two decades, the federal government has been trying to build another federal prison in Roxana, a small community in Letcher County. A $500 million complex, FCI Letcher (the fourth federal prison in eastern Kentucky), to be constructed on a former mountaintop removal coal mine site, bulldozing over 120 acres of reforested land and two acres of wetlands, a mile downstream from a multi-million gallon coal slurry impoundment. They call this economic development. I call it what it is: choosing cages over community, extraction over care, yet again.

The No New Letcher Prison campaign has been organizing against this project for years. Concerned Letcher Countians, the Appalachian Rekindling Project, Sierra Club, the Institute to End Mass Incarceration, Dream.org, the Abolitionist Law Center, Forward Justice Action Network, Kentucky Resources Council, people across the region and the country who understand that building another prison on land that has already been extracted from is not a solution. It’s a continuation of harm.

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I love me some Appalachia, y’all! My children were born in Knoxville, Tennessee, urban Appalachia. I’ve spent decades on the hill at the Highlander Center in New Market, Tennessee, that sacred ground where Rosa Parks trained before the Montgomery Bus Boycott, where generations of freedom fighters have gathered to learn and strategize and rest.

I’ve made it part of my mission to document Black history sites across rural Kentucky, because Black people have been here, and our history of place has been deliberately, and in some instances, violently erased (see the Corbin expulsion of 1919).

IMAGE CREDIT: Black in Appalachia

We built communities in these mountains. We mined coal alongside white workers and sometimes organized alongside them. We raised children and built churches and planted gardens. We have always been here.

So, when I oppose a new federal prison in Letcher County, I’m speaking as someone who loves this land and its people, and who knows that they deserve better than what they are being offered.

Eastern Kentucky has become a region that the government has decided should absorb the country’s prison industrial complex. That is not economic development. That is exploitation.

The Bureau of Prisons’ own analysis acknowledges this project will bring only “minor benefits” for employment and income to the region. The proposed site in Roxana has no public transportation. There is no bus route, no train route. The closest airport is hours away. This means that if your loved one is incarcerated here, and you don’t have a car, you can’t visit. Research is clear: family connection during incarceration reduces recidivism (rearrested, reconvicted, or reincarcerated) and supports healing. Building yet another federal prison is not only bad policy, it’s cruel.

I’m a woman of faith. I believe in redemption. I believe in second chances. As a Louisville Metro Council member, I sponsored Ban the Box legislation, because I believe that people who have been incarcerated deserve the opportunity to work, to live with dignity, and to rebuild their lives. Ban the Box passed and is the law in our city.

Here’s what the data tells us about who fills these cages:

Black people make up about 13% of the U.S. population and 33% of the sentenced state and federal prison population. Black people face imprisonment rates about five times higher than their white counterparts. These disparities begin at the very first contact with the legal system: in policing, in pretrial detention, in opportunities for diversion that are extended to some and withheld from others.

I’m a mama. Let’s talk about women in prison.

Women’s incarceration population in this country is over seven times as high as it was in 1980. Seven times. 7.

The rate of growth for women’s imprisonment has been twice as fast as men’s since 1980. As of 2023, over one million women are under the supervision of the criminal legal system. The imprisonment rate for Black women is 1.7 times the rate for white women. More than 62% of women in federal prisons are there for drug offenses.

I’m talking about mamas, sisters, daughters. Women who needed treatment, not incarceration. Women who needed housing, mental health care, economic opportunity, not a cage on a former strip mine in eastern Kentucky, hours from anyone who loves them.

Building FCI Letcher does not solve the crisis of over-incarceration. It deepens it. It creates more capacity for a system that has already failed us. And it will not save Letcher County. It will add another institution of punishment to a region that has been told, for far too long, that punishment is the only industry it can have.

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Letcher County deserves to be heard. Most places like Letcher County and where I grew up in Louisville, need investment in infrastructure, in healthcare, in mental health services, in economic development that does not require locking people up. What Louisville needs, instead of a new jail, is the same.

The Appalachian Rekindling Project (an Indigenous, woman-led organization) purchased 63 acres of the proposed prison site and is working to restore and reclaim the land. That is what revolutionary care looks like. That is what it means to say that land has inherent value, that healing is possible, that a different future can be built from the same ground that was once extracted from.

The No New Letcher Prison campaign is building that different future. They are organizing across lines of race and geography and background, bringing together Letcher County residents, national abolitionists, environmental advocates, and faith communities in a coalition that rejects the false choice between economic development and human dignity.

I was born an abolitionist. That’s not a political position I arrived at after extensive research, though I have done the research. It’s part of how I was named, how I was raised, and what I believe in the deepest part of my spirit.

Abolition is not about pretending harm doesn’t exist or that accountability doesn’t matter. It’s about insisting that the answer to harm is healing, for the person harmed and for the person who caused harm. It’s about asking what our communities actually need to be safe, and building those things, rather than building more capacity to punish.

Eastern Kentucky needs clean water and environmental remediation. It needs healthcare and mental health resources. It needs economic investment in the communities themselves, not in facilities that will incarcerate people far from their families. Letcher County needs the same things Louisville needs. Care. Investment. Dignity. Repair.

We can’t build our way out of a crisis of care by building more cages.

From Beecher Terrace to Roxana, from Louisville to the mountains of eastern Kentucky, we are in the same fight. We are showing up with love for all of our people, in all of our places, and with the faith that another world is possible.

Attica Scott is a former Kentucky State Representative, civic educator, and political agitator. She breaks down public policy from an insider’s perspective through her #AskAttica podcast and #CivicsIn60 video series.

📍Laurel County African American Heritage Center (KY)

Obviously, I’m into sci fi. It’s been a thing since I read my first Library and Scholastic Book Fair finds on the subject, or first saw the original Star Trek series. Sci fi has often felt welcoming for those of us who were othered. If you’re a Star Trek fan, you know that it’s quite political. I mean President Stacey Abrams of United Earth!

I write a lot about politics, converse about public health, about food deserts and maternal mortality rates, about air quality and water quality in rural communities. I also talk about a kind of public health that is foundational to a thriving democracy: civic health.

Civic health is not just whether people vote. That’s too narrow, and honestly, it lets too many people off the hook. Civic health is whether people know they have a right to shape the conditions of their own lives. It’s whether a grandmother in Beecher Terrace knows she can show up to a Metro Council meeting and be heard. It’s whether a young person in the west end knows that the zoning decisions being made three miles away in a conference room will determine what his neighborhood looks like in 10 years. It’s about making sure that young man knows he can say something about it to his local elected officials, beyond the three minutes folks get to speak at local meetings.

Civic health is the connective tissue between the government that is supposed to serve us and the communities that are supposed to be served. When that tissue is frayed, when people are confused, excluded, intimidated, or just plain exhausted, the body politic gets sick. And right now, we need urgent care.

I grew up in Beecher Terrace. Maybe part of my interest in sci fi stemmed from growing up in the projects and needing something that helped me imagine another world. Will Robinson was always in some kind of danger, “V” was one of my favs (including the remake with Morris Chestnut), E.T. didn’t have a cell to phone home, and comic books were my everything.

I know what it looks like when a community is systematically cut out of the decisions that affect it. I also know, because I spent six years in the Kentucky statehouse as the only Black woman for most of those years, what the inside of that system actually looks like. It’s a sick system, y’all.

BREAKING NEWS: It’s a sick system that is designed to confuse + frustrate you

Civic disengagement is not a character flaw. It is often a rational response to a system that has made itself deliberately opaque (it lacks transparency).

When legislation is written in dense legal language, when public hearings are scheduled on Tuesday mornings, when polling locations quietly disappear from working-class neighborhoods, that is not an accident. That is the architecture of exclusion and exhaustion. I was the featured speaker at this month’s Kentucky Democratic Rural Council meeting where folks were asking me these very questions about civic engagement. I could only share my experience.

I walked those halls in Frankfort. I sat in those committee rooms. I watched bills get killed in committee before most Kentuckians even knew they existed. And I made a decision when I left Frankfort that I was going to spill the tea. I tried being the nice democrat for a hot second and then realized that the party apparatus absolutely does not deserve my undying loyalty. For what?

So, I’m spilling the tea, not in a way that requires you to have a law degree, and not in a way that requires you to have time you don’t have. Nah, playa, in 60 seconds.

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#CivicsIn60

The premise of #CivicsIn60 is to make civic education accessible. What if you could learn the difference between an ordinance and a resolution in under a minute? What if you could understand how a bill moves through committee, or what your school board actually has the power to do, or why your city budget matters, and you could learn it between dropping kids off and getting to work?

That’s what #CivicsIn60 is: rapid-fire, jargon-free, and then you can do your own additional research.

#CivicsIn60 is me exercising my democracy muscle. And like any muscle, if you never use it, it atrophies (wastes away, shrinks, declines). But the barrier to using it should not be whether you happened to have an excellent civics teacher in high school (FTR: I did!) or whether you had time to read a 120-page bill. I’m such a blerd. I could spend all day reading and summarizing bills. I don’t though, because I work FT, travel a lot, and need to finish my most recent “Throne of Glass” novel (IYKYK).

Civic knowledge should not be a luxury good. I’m committed to making it a public one.

#AskAttica

The 60-second videos tell you what. The podcast tells you why, and what you can do about an issue. I try to squeeze it into the 60 seconds, but most of the time it goes in the caption.

#AskAttica is where I go deep. It’s where I bring in the voices of people doing the work, organizers, advocates, policy experts, public health leaders, community fathers, cultural workers, and we talk about how power actually operates.

PHOTO CREDIT:

It is not a political podcast in the conventional sense. It’s not a debate podcast; although, you won’t get away with spewing nonsense as we chop it up. It’s a civic education podcast grounded in the belief that the people closest to the problems are closest to the solutions (h/t ), and they deserve access to the information needed to take action.

When I sat down with Shreeta Waldon for Women’s History Month, we talked about joy as resistance, harm reduction, Black women in public health, grief, community care, and reimagining safety. That conversation was civic education. Joy is civic. Rest is civic. Knowing your power is civic.

When we talk about Louisville’s mayoral race, about who ran, who won, and what an organizing model built on democratic socialist principles looks like when it takes root in a southern city, that is civic education. Because electoral politics without organizing is a horse race. And this ain’t Derby.

Here’s where I want to push further.

Civic disengagement is not evenly distributed. It clusters in the same places that poverty clusters, that environmental harm clusters, that maternal mortality clusters, that under-resourced schools cluster. This is not a coincidence.

When communities are exhausted by survival, they have less capacity for civic participation. When civic participation declines, fewer resources flow to those communities. It’s a deadly feedback loop that’s worse than any “Twilight Zone” or “Star Trek” time loop episode. Breaking the civic loop requires us to understand that civic health work is public health work.

As an Aspen Global Innovators Healthy Communities Fellow working at the intersection of environmental justice and public health, I see this connection clearly. The data center being proposed for Louisville’s south end near communities already carrying a disproportionate toxic burden, is a civic health issue. Whether the people most affected had a voice in that decision depended entirely on whether they knew when meetings were happening, believed they had a right to attend, and felt equipped to speak.

That’s what’s at stake. That’s why this work matters. Civic power is not a feeling. It’s a practice.

It looks like a grandmother who stopped voting learning that her 17-year-old grandchild can vote in the primary if they’ll be 18 by November 3rd, and then driving to the polls together.

It looks like a neighborhood caravan modeled after the ones we used to do with Kentuckians For The Commonwealth and Jobs with Justice in the west end of Louisville. We had GOTV caravans where we made sure folks knew it was Election Day and had rides to the polls.

It looks like a young person sitting in a Metro Council meeting, watching how their city actually works, and deciding they want a seat at that table.

It looks like folks on the socials who have decided that staying informed is an act of resistance.

It looks like you, reading this, deciding that you are not going to outsource your political power to anyone.

CALL TO ACTION

Subscribe to this #AskAttica newsletter. Subscribe because this is the space where we go deepest together. It’s where I share what I’m seeing, thinking, advocating for, and feeling about all things political.

Watch the #CivicsIn60 seconds videos. Share them with someone who thinks politics isn’t for them. Because I promise you the people who think politics isn’t for them are exactly the people the system is counting on staying home.

Listen to (or watch) #AskAttica. Bring it into your commute, your kitchen, your walk. Let it remind you that you are not alone, that there are people doing this work everywhere, and that the information you need to be politically powerful is not locked away, it is right here. And one day, one day, I’ll learn how to migrate my video podcast to audio on somebody’s platform.

And then take one step. Just one. Check your voter registration. Show up to one public meeting. Ask your city council member one question. Write one letter. Sign one petition. Make one call.

Civic health, like any health, is built on small daily choices. None of us can do everything. But all of us can do something (paraphrasing Max Lucado).

Thank you to the nearly 300 subscribers of my Substack. I just started in January so that’s 50 subscribers per month. Wow!

“The truth is out there.”

Attica Scott is a former Kentucky State Representative, civic educator, and political agitator. She breaks down public policy from an insider’s perspective through her #AskAttica podcast and #CivicsIn60 video series.

The Democratic National Committee just released its after-action report on the 2024 election cycle titled “Build to Win. Build to Last.” It’s doing neither of those things.

It’s a 192–page look at some of what went wrong nationally: disinvestment in state parties, failure to organize in the South (we’ve been saying this for years), an inability to listen to all voters (no ish Sherlock), and a persistent gap between what democrats say they stand for and who they actually fight for. Ooh, child, y’all could’ve just listened to Black women.

Where is the Kentucky Democratic Party’s (KDP) autopsy report?

Not a press release. Not a “new era” website banner. Not a fundraising email about the “Blue Dot.” A real autopsy. A transparent reckoning. The kind of honest accounting the DNC report, flawed as it absolutely is, fake attempts.

Because the numbers in Kentucky don’t lie (just like Shakira’s hips) and they’re embarrassing.

Drop your comments below to continue the conversation. It’s a great way to connect with other folks who actually want to build a winning strategy.

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Decade of democratic losses in KY

10 years ago, heading into the 2016 elections, Kentucky democrats had the majority in the House of Representatives. Democrats had held that chamber for nearly a century, nearly 100 years of unbroken legislative power. Before the November 2016 election, democrats held a 53-46 majority. They were the governing party in the People’s House.

By the end of election night 2016, that was gone. Republicans picked up 17 seats and flipped the chamber for the first time since 1920, reflecting a 64-36 majority. Goodness gracious. Gone overnight, though, to be honest, the floor had been crumbling for years. I was doing Live election commentary on WFPL that night and was honest about the Party’s failures. I think the bipartisan room was stunned.

Fast forward to today. In 2026, democrats hold a paltry 20 of 100 seats in the Kentucky House. I’m convinced some of y’all don’t want to see what’s in front of your face:

2016 = 53 democratic House seats

2026 = 20 democratic House seats

That is pitiful. I was sworn in during the January legislative session along with 36 other democrats. 16 democratic seats have been lost since then. LOSSES upon LOSSES upon LOSSES. I recently wrote about how democrats can win in Kentucky, though, because we need solutions.

Republicans hold an 80-person supermajority, large enough to override any gubernatorial veto, pass constitutional amendment bills with questions no one wants to see on their ballot, and govern as though the other party doesn’t exist, because for most practical purposes, it doesn’t. Y’all can’t keep convincing yourselves that having a democratic governor will save the day when there is no legislative power to wield.

Democrats, for the second consecutive election cycle, didn’t even bother to field a candidate in the majority of Republican-held districts. In 2026, no democrat filed to run in 42 of the 80 republican-held House seats. In 2024, it was 43. Dems have decided, apparently, that losing by default is an acceptable strategy.

In the senate, the story is just as bleak. After the 2016 election, democrats held 11 of 38 senate seats. Republicans had already controlled the chamber since 2000 but there were still 11 democrats on that floor. Today, democrats hold 6 of 38 Senate seats. Six. In a chamber of 38. Senator Robin Webb switched from democrat to republican in 2025. Republicans now hold a 32-6 supermajority that, again, renders the democratic caucus largely irrelevant.

Let those numbers sink in:

KY House 2016: Democrats held 53 seats

KY House 2026: Democrats hold 20 seats

     Net loss in the House over a decade:

     33 seats

KY Senate 2016: Democrats held 11 seats

KY Senate 2026: Democrats hold 6 seats

     Net loss in the Senate over a decade:

     5 seats

That’s 38 legislative seats — 38 votes, 38 voices, 38 opportunities to stop bad bills or advance good ones — gone in ten years.

You know someone who’s been whispering the same words I’m writing but they’re too afraid of political retribution to say it out loud. Share this with them so they know they’re not alone.

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Let me holler at you for 60 seconds about the Constitutional offices that are also gone

10 years ago, you remember 2016, KY democrats held two constitutional offices. Those were the only two statewide constitutional offices democrats managed to hold after the 2015 elections wiped out the governorship, the treasurer, and the auditor.

Just two offices and even those didn’t last.

By 2019, republicans flipped both the Secretary of State and the Attorney General’s office. In one election cycle, the last two democratic statewide constitutional offices were gone.

Today, the constitutional offices are what they are:

Secretary of State = republican

Attorney General = republican

Auditor = republican

Treasurer = republican

Commissioner of Agriculture = you guessed it, republican

Listen, I stand by every word you’re reading. I fought like hell for our Commonwealth as a State Representative and tried to get the Party to stand for something, work a plan, have a backbone. Oh, the stories I could share.

I knocked on doors for candidates across the Bluegrass State, added my name to everybody and their mama’s fundraiser, took the hits when democrats and republicans treated me like they were afraid people were getting too inspired. Oh, I’ll keep levying my criticisms until the Party does better.

Primary Election season has passed in our Commonwealth so I’ll be writing a lot more this summer. You can subscribe to support my research, ability to visit the places in KY where folks are being ignored, the talent and time it takes to create cultural, historical and political content.

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DNC’s autopsy is a slap in the face to the 92%

The national report makes an observation that should sound familiar to anyone paying attention:

“Unfortunate reductions in support and training for our state parties, consequential shifts in voter registration, a loss of partisan organizing capacity, and a persistent inability or unwillingness to listen to all voters has provided the other major party with opportunities for advancement at the expense of Democratic growth.”

REWIND: a persistent inability or unwillingness to listen to all voters

Kentucky democrats should ask themselves: Who are the voters the state party is organized around? Who gets the resources? Who gets the candidate recruitment? Who gets the narrative? Who gets told through silence, through empty districts with no democratic name on the ballot, through a decade of decline, that their vote and their voice don’t matter?

DNC’s report notes that democrats have lost ground at every level since 2008 partly because the party “failed to capitalize” by not cementing relationships with working people. That is happening right here in Kentucky in rural counties, in small towns, in communities where people are hurting and have concluded that the Party doesn’t care, doesn’t see them, and doesn’t care to see them.

I’ve been making the Party mad since I called them out years ago for not having any Black people or people of color in leadership. I know a lot of KY democrats could care less, but my parents named me Attica for a reason and it certainly wasn’t to make anyone feel comfortable for doing the bare minimum.

KDP has spent years organizing itself around a handful of its favorite white guys by funneling resources into the same relationships, and treating the rest of us as backup singers. Women. Black folks. People living in poverty. Candidates who don’t fit the profile of who the party establishment has decided is “electable” or “viable.” Y’all ever really pay attention to who is considered not “viable?”

These constituencies get lip service and get-out-the-vote asks at election time and then the door closes. And here we are:

20 seats out of 80 in the House

6 seats out of 38 in the Senate

0 constitutional offices

A real autopsy in KY would ask the uncomfortable questions and look to the people for answers (or at least the path forward)

DNC’s report, despite its flaws and its notable lack of sourcing on several key claims, at least names some of the right problems. It says democrats have to organize in the South. It’s almost as if y’all don’t listen. It says democrats have to listen to people they’ve written off. Y’all remember getting mad at the noncommitted primary voters in 2024 (I was one of them) instead of engaging in conversation? It says the party must “reform our party’s structure and practices.” I’m trying to refrain from inserting inappropriate emojis because some of my readers are elders who keep telling me to keep it classy.

KDP’s website says we’re in “A New Era.” It talks about a 120-county strategy. It says every county counts.

If that’s true, prove it. Show us the data. Show us the candidate recruitment numbers. Show us how many Black candidates, women candidates, poor candidates the party is actively recruiting and resourcing. Show us the plan to compete in rural KY not just to show up, but to actually listen to people and earn their votes. Show us the internal reckoning that explains how we went from holding the House to being an afterthought in the span of 10 years.

Act like this is your favorite copaganda TV show and show us the autopsy because right now, what democrats have isn’t a strategy. It’s a posture focused on celebrity political culture that doesn’t win dozens of legislative seats. It certainly doesn’t flip constitutional offices. It most definitely won’t build trust with voters who long ago concluded that the party doesn’t represent them.

Yes, this is a call out, a complaint, a criticism ‘cause I am not your Betty Boop

IMAGE CREDIT: IMDb

I’m writing this because that autopsy report tap danced on my last nerve. More importantly, I believe Kentucky can be better for all of us. I’ve spent years in politics and have never been afraid to be bold. I know that’s why dem leadership was effectively silent when the District that I was representing was sliced in half taking the predominantly Black west end of Louisville from three state representatives to two.

I’ve knocked the doors. I’ve filed the bills. I’ve spoken up in the rooms. I know that the path forward is not more of the same. It can’t be. It’s not telling voters to trust a little longer while the party protects the same old structure. It’s not pretending that 80-20 is a “building opportunity” without reckoning with reality.

DNC’s report is right about one thing: “We must be careful to draw the right lessons from this experience.” They won’t.

KY democrats, the right lesson is not to wait for the national party to save us. The right lesson is to do our own honest accounting, to look at who we’ve centered, who we’ve abandoned, what we’ve built and what we’ve let rot and then do the hard, unglamorous work of building to win, building to last.

That starts with an autopsy and a willingness to admit that this current democratic iteration ain’t working. We don’t need another press release, website redesign, or another damn text message.

Attica Scott is a former Kentucky State Representative, civic educator, and political agitator. She breaks down public policy from an insider’s perspective through her #AskAttica podcast and #CivicsIn60 video series.

Tuesday night, something happened in Louisville that the political establishment will spend the next six months trying to explain away. I’d rather just tell you what it was: the people built power, and power showed up at the polls.

Let me be specific: Councilwoman Shameka Parrish-Wright, community champion, DSA endorsed, and the only candidate for Mayor of Louisville who is actually talking about a city that works for working people, secured her spot in the general election. Robert LeVertis Bell, teacher, organizer, and proud democratic socialist, won the democratic primary for Kentucky House District 43. He’s heading to the November ballot. Andrea Parr, democratic socialist, working-class advocate, and DSA-endorsed candidate for Louisville Metro Council District 9, advanced to November.

Three DSA-endorsed candidates. Three paths to November. One movement that keeps growing whether the establishment acknowledges it or not.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: democrats keep missing the movement. Tuesday night was not an accident. It was not a fluke. It was the harvest of years of organizing, base-building, and relationship growing that the corporate wing of the Democratic Party does not know how to do, and refuses to learn.

I know you’ve got thoughts. You’re welcome to share them.

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Sigh…the Establishment

While DSA candidates were winning primaries and advancing to the general election, Louisville Metro Council was busy trying to figure out how to punish Councilman JP Lyninger for having the audacity to endorse a candidate he believed in.

Let that sink in.

Council President Brent Ackerson filed a formal complaint against Lyninger, a first-term councilman representing District 6, accusing him of violating a caucus rule by endorsing Aprile Hearn in the District 5 race over incumbent Donna Purvis. Ackerson called it an attempt “to further the Louisville DSA agenda.” The democrats’ majority on Metro Council is already razor-thin, 13 to 12, with one Independent, and they were prepared to sacrifice that majority to make an example of a member who dared to think for himself. Ooh, child.

This is what misplaced priorities look like. This is what missing the movement looks like.

Instead of spending their energy trying to kneecap Councilman Lyninger for supporting a democratic socialist candidate, the establishment ought to be sitting down, humbly, with a notebook, and studying what Louisville DSA has actually built. Because the results are the results.

JP Lyninger won his seat on Metro Council in 2024. Councilwoman Parrish-Wright is in the general election for Mayor. Robert Bell is heading to November in a race that was uncontested by republicans. Andrea Parr is in the general election for Metro Council District 9. This didn’t happen because DSA got lucky. It happened because DSA does the work, year-freaking-round, neighbor by neighbor, block by block. That’s what a functioning political party is supposed to do.

I’ve been saying for years that four weeks before Election Day is too late to start organizing. Louisville DSA got the memo. The establishment refused to read it, literally.

I know you know someone who needs to read this. Go ahead and share, share, share.

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Councilwoman Shameka Parrish-Wright for Mayor of Louisville

Councilwoman Parrish-Wright gathered with her supporters at Joe’s Palm Room in the Russell neighborhood Tuesday night, not at some downtown hotel ballroom, not at an establishment fundraiser, but in a low-wealth community where she was clear about what her campaign represents.

She said her supporters were “Louisvillians who are sick and tired of this corporate agenda that isn’t helping us be able to live, to thrive, or survive.” She said Louisville voters are “tired of people being left out of decision-making” while they’re asked to foot the bill.

She was right. She is right. She will be right in November.

Y’all, Louisville has had a Mayor since 1828 and in that nearly 200 years, voters have never stomached the idea of electing a Black person or a woman as Mayor. That’s shameful.

Craig Greenberg, the incumbent, raised and spent far more money than all nine of the other candidates combined. He had Andy Beshear and Morgan McGarvey endorsing him as if they forgot about Craig’s police force criminalizing homelessness, or him aligning with Trump’s anti-immigrant policies, or his shameful contract negotiations with public employees. But, of course, he still had the machinery of the democratic establishment behind him because Louisville’s democratic party certainly did not endorse Councilwoman Parrish-Wright.

The general election is a different race and we are ready.

Robert Bell for State Representative

Robert has been in this fight for a long time. In 2022, he came within hundreds of votes of unseating an incumbent in a race where the full weight of the democratic establishment was lined up against him, and he did it while grieving the loss of his mother in the final days of the campaign. The establishment thought that was the end of the story.

It wasn’t.

This time, with an open seat and a movement that is stronger than it was four years ago, Robert won without the Louisville dems endorsement. He is a public school teacher, a JCTA union representative, a West Louisville native who grew up understanding that change doesn’t come from politicians handing out favors, it comes from people standing together. He’s focused on housing, healthcare, education, and a healthy environment as human rights, not commodities. I represented half of District 43 during my time in the state legislature so this race absolutely mattered to me.

Andrea Parr for Louisville Metro Council

District 9 covers Clifton, Crescent Hill, and Irish Hill, a part of east Louisville where four candidates competed for the opportunity to succeed Councilman Andrew Owen. None of them won the Louisville Democratic Party’s endorsement. What Andrea Parr won instead was the support of the community and the DSA chapter that has been doing the organizing work that democrats have abandoned.

Andrea advanced to the general election as a working-class woman who believes the city budget is a moral document and that the working class deserves a seat at the table when that document is being written.

She is right. Between now and November, she will have a chance to make that case to all of District 9.

I’m deeply honored by every person who has subscribed to my #AskAttica Substack. Your support makes it possible for me to keep delivering you this content.

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Tuesday, Toasts, and Tributes

I’ve written before that the Democratic Party keeps missing the movement with bold Black women. I’ve written that democrats won’t win by leaving nearly half of all competitive seats uncontested and showing up four weeks before the election asking for votes they haven’t earned. None of that changed on Tuesday.

What has changed is that Louisville DSA has continued to build, regardless of whether the establishment was watching. They recruited candidates. They developed leaders. They knocked on doors in January, not just October. They built a political home for people who knew the corporate dem party didn’t have room for them. Now, most of those candidates are advancing to November.

Yet, here we are still waiting to find out if the establishment is going to kick one of those already elected members out of the Louisville Metro Council dem caucus.

You can’t make this up and you can’t build a majority that way.

If democratic leadership in Louisville wants to understand why DSA keeps winning, the answer is not complicated: DSA treats organizing as a year-round calling, not a seasonal transaction or vote extraction. DSA develops candidates who look like and live alongside the people they want to represent. DSA talks to people about their actual lives, their rent, their kids’ schools, the air they breathe, the wages they take home, instead of showing up with some pastries and a handshake every four years.

Here’s What You Can Do Before November

Tuesday night was a beginning, not an ending. The general election is November 3, 2026. Here’s what you can do right now, today, before you put your phone down:

Make sure you are registered to vote. Some of y’all, a lot of y’all, didn’t vote on Tuesday. Check your registration. Update your address if you’ve moved. Make sure any name changes are reflected on your registration. 17-year-olds can register if they’ll be 18 on or before November 3rd. Voter registration deadlines have a way of sneaking up on people. Don’t let that be you.

Make your plan to vote. Think about how you are getting to the polls in November. If you vote early, know when early voting starts. Know when to request your absentee ballot. Having a plan is necessary.

Research every candidate. Ask the hard questions. What is their housing policy? Where does their money come from? Where do they stand on police accountability?

Volunteer. Knock on doors. Make phone calls. Show up at community events. These are grassroots campaigns funded by working people, not Churchill Downs, crypto bros, or AIPAC. Every volunteer hour is multiplied. Every relationship you build between now and November matters.

Donate. Robert Bell’s campaign, Councilwoman Parrish-Wright’s campaign, Andrea Parr’s campaign are community-funded, people-powered movements. They make every dollar count. If you have $5, $10, $25, or $50 to give, give it. You’ll see it in November when the results come in.

The machine has money. We have people. On Tuesday night the people showed up.

Let’s make sure we do it bigger in November.

Attica Scott is a former Kentucky State Representative, civic educator, and political agitator. She breaks down public policy from an insider’s perspective through her #AskAttica podcast and #CivicsIn60 video series.

I recently found myself at the Train Depot in Louisville surrounded by “cupcakes, chaos, and caffeine.” Y’all, I was designated as the Tribute from District 11 at Meg’s Magical Morsels’ “Frosting Games Edition” event in support of For Lady’s Sake and our (I’m a Board member) mission to end period poverty.

OK, so I got District 11 and the assignment was on the nose. It felt like the universe just knew.

District 11 in The Hunger Games is the agricultural district, the people who grow everything and get to keep almost nothing. They work from sunrise to well past dark. They’re among the poorest districts in all of Panem. They’re heavily policed and severely punished for even minor infractions. They can’t eat what they harvest. They feed the Capitol. They produce the abundance. They absorb the punishment.

I mean, District 11 found me.

Y’all, I have 11 paid subscribers who have decided to invest in my writings. I’m overjoyed! You can subscribe at any level.

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What It Means to Be a Political Tribute

I’ve taught civics, served civically, and now produce #CivicsIn60 second videos and let me tell you, being a political tribute isn’t for the Songbirds.

You know you’re a tribute when:

• You find yourself representing your people in spaces that are designed to consume them

• You’re celebrated for your resilience right up until you become inconvenient

• The Capitol eats the bread you baked and claims they baked it

Sound familiar? Because it should.

As a Black woman in Kentucky politics, I definitely understand District 11. I’ve never been the go—along to get—along. I spoke up when others controlled the resources, the narrative, and the support.

Here’s how political tribute-hood actually works:

The Capitol — call it a party establishment, a donor class, a political machine, a nonprofit board with a power problem — needs someone to enter the arena. They need someone willing to take hits, absorb grief, smile for cameras, and make their investment look good.

So they hold a reaping.

If you are Black woman from a community that has been promised things and delivered disappointments, if you have ever believed deeply enough in something to sacrifice for it, your name is in that bowl more times than anyone else’s.

Rue didn’t volunteer. Thresh didn’t volunteer. He was reaped because District 11 needs its strongest people in the arena fighting battles they didn’t start.

The question is: Who profits when the tribute wins? Not District 11. The Capitol throws a party. The cameras roll. And District 11 still can’t eat what it grows.

Sound familiar?

What District 11 Taught Me

Your people know. We know our plants. We know what heals and what harms. We know which leaves to keep on hand when the tracker jackers come. We’ve been working the fields long enough to know the difference between a crop that feeds the community and a crop that feeds the machine.

We can climb. Rue was sent to the highest branches because she was small, and they thought that meant she was less. It meant she could see everything from up there. Political tributes who survive long enough start to understand: the view from the margins is a strategic advantage.

District 11 didn’t just mourn Rue. They rose up. An old man whistled her four-note song, a simple act of defiance, and started a movement. You cannot permanently suppress people who are connected to each other through music, memory, and shared struggle. We have always known this.

We feed people even when we’re hungry. After the rebellion, District 11 sent food to other rebelling districts. Even in scarcity, District 11 led with generosity. That’s the deepest form of political sophistication there is.

Thanks to everyone who is sharing my writings. Because of you, I just reached #89 Rising in U.S. Politics on Substack! (Newt Gingrich is #88. Surely, y’all, surely we can surpass him of all people.)

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How to Stop Being a Tribute (A Practical Guide)

So, you’ve been reaped. You’ve been in the arena. Maybe you’ve won a round or two. Maybe you’ve watched people cheer for you while the Capitol toasted your sacrifice. Here’s what I know about getting out:

1. Name the arena

You cannot escape a game you refuse to see. The first step is looking clearly at the structure. Who designed this? Who benefits? Who holds the Gamemaker controls? Call out your own political party. Name it plainly, even if it costs you an alliance.

2. Stop performing gratitude for your own exploitation

District 11 tributes didn’t thank the Capitol for the honor of participation. Neither should you. You can be gracious. You can be strategic. But you don’t owe the machine your joy. Some of y’all act like you owe politicians your first born.

3. Find your Rue

The most subversive thing Katniss did wasn’t blow up the arena. It was to cover Rue’s body in flowers. She said: This child mattered. She is not a statistic. She is not a sacrifice. Find the people worth protecting and protect them fiercely, publicly, without apology.

4. Know what you’re actually growing

District 11 grew food. You might be growing coalitions, or legislation, or community trust, or civic knowledge. Whatever it is, know who it’s feeding. If it’s feeding the Capitol and starving your district, it’s time to reroute the harvest.

5. Go from surviving to thriving

There is a difference. Real winning looks like dismantling the systems that hold the reapings in the first place. I have spoken with older Black women in recent years who have/are switching their political party from Democrat to Independent. Y’all don’t listen. We’re crying out but you just want to protect white men in office and the Black people in office who protect them.

Motherhood and Mothering Movements and Political Parties

Sunday was Mother’s Day. I love my children deeply. I love my people. I’m a politico. I’m not the mother to movements or political parties.

I have lived political freedom for a long time and it feels damn good. I’m clear about who I am and who I’m not. I’m not the movement’s tribute. I’m not the party’s tribute. I’m not the symbol, the martyr, the sacrifice, or the one.

I’m a person who draws District 11 at a cupcake event and laughs, really laughs (or cackles, because the assignment fits and the company is good and Meg’s Magical Morsels makes a situation that should feel like a metaphor feel like a gift).

The cupcakes were beautiful and delicious, by the way. 🧁Please don’t tell my nutritionist.

District 11 grows things. So do I. I’m planting, harvesting, and sharing civic knowledge. Use it for your benefit and may the election outcomes be ever in your favor.

I appreciate your comments. Keep ‘em coming. You might find alignment with other readers. Follow one another. Support one another.

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Attica is a trusted civic educator and political agitator who breaks down public policy from an insider’s perspective as a former State Representative. She helps folks understand how government operates, influence legislation, and build power. Attica’s work is amplified through her #AskAttica podcast and her #CivicsIn60 seconds videos.

IMAGE SOURCE: WAVE 3 News

I did not vote for Craig Greenberg the first time he ran for mayor, and I will not be voting for him this time either.

I said what I said.

I remember the heat I caught for it in 2022. Democrats, you know the ones, the kind who think party loyalty is more sacred than your conscience, tried to come for me: Attica, you’re just handing the race to the Republican. Isn’t Craig a lowkey Republican?

My vote is mine. I can cast it for whomever I believe deserves it. I can leave a race blank if I choose, and I have done exactly that before. Nobody gets my vote just because they have a D next to their name. That is not how voting works ‘round here. Unfortunately for you, you can’t burn me at the stake no matter how much you want me to fall in line like a good colored gal. Some of y’all are still stuck in a master—slave mentality.

Origin Stories and Why They Matter

Before Craig Greenberg was mayor, he was running 21C Hotels. During that time, a deeply offensive piece of “art” depicting a Black man being ridden by a white man was put on display. It was gross, demeaning, and dehumanizing.

I called that out during the 2022 general election because the way a person responds when Black people hold them accountable tells you everything you need to know about how they will govern. When the initial issue arose, all our community got from Craig Greenberg was defensiveness, deflection, and no changed behavior.

That was the beginning of the story. Nothing that’s happened since has surprised me.

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He Doesn’t Show Up for Black Louisville For Real

Craig Greenberg could not be bothered to show up to the candidate forum at Central High School a few weeks ago. Central High School, one of Louisville’s most storied historically Black institutions, in the heart of a community that deserves a mayor who will walk through those doors and look people in the eye.

He couldn’t do it.

He can show up when there’s a photo opp or an endorsement to collect. What he can’t seem to do is sit in the room with Black folks and answer hard questions about why his administration has failed them.

Almost every Black woman in his administration is gone. Let that sink in. He has systematically pushed out the Black women who were there, while setting his wife up with a taxpayer-funded office. The optics alone should be disqualifying. The reality is worse.

He Loves Giving Our Money to LMPD

Craig Greenberg stands with the Louisville Metro Police Department no matter what. No matter the evidence of sexual harassment within the department. No matter the history of LMPD shooting and killing Black women in their own homes. I mean, he’s buying them a Cop City. I wrote about what that means here.

LMPD has a documented record of harm and Greenberg’s response has been to make sure they get everything they ask for. His commitment is not to accountability. His commitment is not to the people who are over-policed and under-protected. His commitment is to the institution of policing, regardless of the cost in Black lives and Black dignity. Yet, how long did it take for Firefighters to get a new contract despite that daring bridge rescue in early 2024?

I’m not voting for him.

He Hates Homeless People

He has weaponized city resources to clear encampments of people experiencing homelessness. He has moved them, swept them up, and tried to make them invisible on behalf of the business owners that he serves. This is cruelty dressed up as policy. This is the heavy hand of government deployed against the most vulnerable people in our city while that same hand stays open and extended for developers and corporations.

Y’all, how do you even fix your mouth with some word salad defending LMPD for giving a woman in active labor a citation for street camping? Basically saying that she should have been grateful.

The people experiencing homelessness in Louisville are our people. They are not a problem to be solved with bulldozers. Greenberg’s approach is not just wrong, it’s inhumane, and it tells you exactly whose Louisville he is building.

Primary Election Day is on Tuesday, May 19. Share this with folks in Louisville

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Greenberg’s Alignment with Trump

When the Department of Justice threatened to pull federal funding in 2025, Craig capitulated immediately and ordered Louisville’s jail to honor 48-hour ICE detainers. Just like that. Where was the backbone? Oh, and then he tried to throw local immigrant leaders under the bus, back it up, and drive over them by claiming they were fine with his decision. Child, just give me my ballot already.

He handed immigrant community members over to a federal deportation machine because of a threat to the city’s bottom line. What’s the word I’m looking for to describe this action? It’s right there on the tip of my tongue.

Complicit. That’s it. That’s the word.

That’s not leadership. Is it democratic values? Y’all tell me.

Craig is protecting his relationships with politicians at the expense of some of the most vulnerable people in our city. Yet, it’s consistent with who he has shown himself to be throughout his term.

Let’s Talk About Mayor Pickleball’s Budget

You know y’all gave him that nickname during the whole Joe Creason Park uproar. Anyhoo, if you want to know what a politician’s priorities are, read their budget. Greenberg’s proposed $1.35 billion 2026-2027 budget cuts funding to nonprofits, has job cuts, and sends half of our money to public safety even though he has no viable plans for actual safety.

He’s been conspicuously quiet about the massive data center project being pushed on the south end (as have most politicians here). You’d think he learned something from the opposition to a methane gas plant in the California neighborhood, or the West End TIF. But learning requires listening, and listening requires humility, and Craig Greenberg has not demonstrated much of either.

You can read more of my opinions on Greenberg here.

Why I’m Voting for Shameka Parrish-Wright

I voted for Shameka Parrish-Wright in the 2022 primary. I’m voting for her again on Tuesday, May 19th because she represents what it actually looks like to lead with the community rather than over it.

Councilwoman Parrish-Wright has done the work. She has been in those rooms, those neighborhoods, those conversations. She understands that governance is about people, not brand management, not appeasing donors, not building a legacy at the expense of the most vulnerable among us. You can read her platform here.

If we want something different, we have to vote for something different. We have to vote for someone different. That’s not a radical statement, it is the most basic logic of democracy. You cannot keep sending the same kind of leadership back into office and expect transformation. You will get exactly what you’ve always gotten.

I welcome robust conversation, so go on and comment on this article. I try not to judge.

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My Vote Is Not Owed to Anyone

Y’all not tired of being expected or even told to fall in line? I’m so unconcerned with being told that calling out a democrat’s failures is somehow a gift to republicans. That logic has been used to silence bold Black women in this party for decades, and I refuse it. I laugh at it.

My vote is not a handout for whatever democrat is wealthy enough, has enough wealthy donors, or is a sapsucka who put their name on the ballot. I don’t worship white men in office.

So, I’m voting for Councilwoman Shameka Parrish-Wright for Mayor of Louisville.

Attica is a trusted civic educator and political agitator who breaks down public policy from an insider’s perspective as a former State Representative. She helps folks understand how government operates, influence legislation, and build power. Attica’s work is amplified through her #AskAttica podcast and her #CivicsIn60 seconds videos.

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Notes is a space on Substack for us to share links, short posts, quotes, photos, and more. I use it for thoughts that don’t fit in the newsletter, like work-in-progress or quick questions.

Go to Notes

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Head to substack.com/notes or find the “Notes” tab in the Substack app. As a subscriber to Attica Scott, you’ll automatically see my notes. Feel free to like, reply, or share them around!

You can also share notes of your own. I hope this becomes a space where every reader of #AskAttica can share thoughts, ideas, and interesting quotes from what we're reading on Substack and beyond.

Why Substack Notes

Fellow writers and readers are spending time in Notes for a variety of reasons.

Ted Gioia sees Notes as a forum for dialogue.

The idea behind Notes is simple. Millions of people now participate in Substack as writers and readers—but much of this is built on long articles and essays. We now have a forum for dialoguing and sharing shorter posts.

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One of my main reasons for joining Substack was to wean myself off exploitative social media platforms. I’m hoping this is going to help move us along on that journey!

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I’m going to focus on being positive, with my own thoughts and photos and by linking to songs, stories, poems from around the web and from other Substacks.

If you encounter any issues, you can always refer to the Notes FAQ for assistance. Looking forward to seeing you there!

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I want to share something with you that happened to me in Kentucky that most people outside this state never heard about because even some democrats in leadership kept it quiet.

When the republican supermajority in Frankfort redrew the legislative maps after the 2020 census, they split the district I served in half. Not because my constituents asked for it. Not because it made geographic or community sense. They split it because I was a threat. Because a Black woman from the West End of Louisville who knew how to fight was apparently too influential and powerful.

The result of that gerrymandering? The West End of Louisville went from being represented by three Black state representatives to two. One redistricting cycle. One decision made by people who were never accountable to my community. And just like that, Black Louisville lost a voice in Frankfort.

That is not an abstraction. That is what the erosion of political power looks like up close, when you want to punish one person by attacking an entire area.

What Is Louisiana v. Callais?

Louisiana v. Callais is a redistricting case that began as a Voting Rights Act dispute. Multiple federal courts, including two panels of the ultra-conservative Fifth Circuit, found that Louisiana’s congressional map likely violated Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act by diluting Black voting power. Louisiana was ordered to draw a remedial map that included a second majority-Black congressional district.

Then something remarkable and alarming happened. The Supreme Court took the rare step of rehearing the case in October 2025, and they reframed the central question: not whether Louisiana discriminated against Black voters, but whether the remedy — the court-ordered second majority-Black district — itself violated the 14th and 15th Amendments. In other words, the Court asked whether fixing proven racial discrimination is, itself, unconstitutional discrimination. Have mercy.

Read that again. The argument before the nation’s highest court is that remedying discrimination is discrimination.

This is not a coincidence, and it’s not a legal technicality. This is a coordinated assault on Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act, the last major federal tool that forces legislatures to fix maps that weaken Black and Brown voting power.

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Y’all, the Justices Hate Us

Justice Gorsuch repeatedly framed fixing discrimination as perpetrating discrimination, equating the remedy with the harm. Justice Kavanaugh advanced a “temporal argument,” suggesting that race-conscious remedies have an expiration date, a logic he borrowed from the cases that gutted affirmative action. Justice Alito suggested that a legislature’s partisan interests should be weighed against a Section 2 violation, which would make it almost impossible for Black voters and voters of color to ever successfully challenge a discriminatory map.

Pay Attention, Kentucky

Here’s what analysis after analysis has shown for months: gutting Section 2 means republican-controlled legislatures across 10 Southern states could eliminate nearly 200 state legislative seats currently held by democrats (a vast number representing majority-Black districts). Across those states, the number of districts where Black or Brown voters make up a majority could fall from more than 300 to less than 200. Nearly half of all Black-majority legislative districts in the South could disappear.

The downstream consequences go far beyond who holds a seat. It means fewer votes for Medicaid expansion, for public school funding, for legal system reform, for reproductive justice, for voting rights themselves. When Black legislators lose their seats, our communities lose their policy outcomes. It’s that direct.

Kentucky is not one of those 10 Southern states in these analyses. Y’all, all of our congressional representatives have been white and we don’t even break double digits in Black representation in the state legislature. Pitiful. But don’t let that fool you into thinking we’re safe.

We don’t have the same formal protections that Section 2 has provided in states like Mississippi, Georgia, and Alabama. What we have, my bad, what we had, was the accountability of federal law. Well, kind of, but that brake on the worst impulses of power-hungry legislatures is what Callais has removed.

We already know what Kentucky republicans do when there are no guardrails. They drew the maps that took the West End of Louisville from three Black representatives to two. They split the district I served. They did it with full knowledge of what they were doing and why.

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Do This, Kentucky

History teaches us that sustained organizing works. The Voting Rights Act itself was won through decades of grassroots mobilizing, legal battles, and coalition building. Mississippi democrats broke a republican supermajority in November 2025 because the VRA created fair districts. Those wins are real.

Here in Kentucky, we need to organize.

That means knowing your state legislators. Look ‘em up at legislature.ky.gov. It matters that you know who you’re trying to hold accountable. Lock in their number and email address. Be a menace and get on their last nerve.

It means building coalitions across districts, across geography, across issues, because when Black political power is weakened, it hurts every community that relies on the kinds of policy fights Black legislators lead: healthcare, education, reproductive freedom, police accountability.

It means filling out the Census, y’all. I’ve been a longtime advocate of making sure we are seen. Don’t hand our haters easy redistricting victories in KY by choosing not to be counted.

It means running for office. It means supporting the people who are willing to challenge their own political party when it chooses weakness over decisiveness. It means voting. It means showing up at committee hearings at the local and state levels (you can watch both virtually if you can’t go in person).

It means telling the story clearly and loudly. What the republican supermajority did to the district I served wasn’t an accident of math or geography. It was a political decision made to silence a powerful Black woman’s voice.

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Joy and Justice

Those who know my work know that I believe in joy as an act of resistance. I am fighting from a place of deep love for our communities and unapologetic belief in what’s possible.

I am clear about the threats. I have lived a version of it personally. And I am equally clear about the fact that when people are organized, when they understand what’s at stake and who is responsible, they move. I’m doing my part to connect with folks in other southern states because we must build collective power across our region.

The maps they drew were meant to make me feel small. They didn’t. They made me more determined.

Callais is designed to make all of us feel small, to make political representation unattainable for anyone who isn’t white. Well, Kentucky, our Primary Election is on May 19th. What are you going to do to make a difference?

Attica is a trusted civic educator and political agitator who breaks down public policy from an insider’s perspective as a former State Representative. She helps folks understand how government operates, influence legislation, and build power. Attica’s work is amplified through her #AskAttica podcast and her #CivicsIn60 videos.

We are raising children in a state where one in three Kentuckians depends on Medicaid and our legislature just voted to add copays and work requirements to that program. We are raising daughters under the strictest abortion ban in the country. We are raising sons in a state that just lowered the age to carry concealed weapons to 18. And we are raising Black children in a state where a Republican supermajority is actively dismantling the school board of the largest school district in Kentucky because they hate Black people and DEI.

I say all of this not to despair. I say it because named fears can be faced. And I believe that Kentuckians across our Commonwealth are ready to face them.

These are not abstract policy concerns. These are the conversations happening in Hardin County, Jefferson County, McCracken County, and every corner of this Commonwealth.

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#CivicsIn60: What Just Happened in Frankfort

Y’all know me from #AskAttica and #CivicsIn60. I know because many of you just mentioned that you follow me and watch my videos. Well, here’s your #CivicsIn60 about what just happened in Frankfort.

The 2026 Kentucky legislative session wrapped on April 15th with more than 170 bills passed. Here’s what went down in the legislature.

Y’all, 6 democrats serve in the 38-member Senate, 20 in the 100-member House. That’s 26 democrats total in a 138-seat legislature. If you’re mathing right now, that’s 18 percent. You cannot stop a supermajority when democrats are only 18 percent of the state legislature.

Here is a quick look at some of the bills that passed that I followed closely this legislative session:

Senate Bill 1 hands a superintendent sweeping authority over Jefferson County Public Schools, a similar move the courts struck down in 2025. Senate Bill 4 restructures and redraws the JCPS school board, shrinking it from seven members to five. Senate Bill 185 fundamentally reshapes Kentucky State University, the Commonwealth’s only public HBCU. House Bill 2 added copays and work requirements to Medicaid. House Bill 312 dropped the concealed carry age to 18. Teenagers can’t buy alcohol. Teenagers can’t rent a car. Teenagers can now carry a hidden weapon in your community. House Bill 78 shields gun manufacturers from civil liability when their weapons are used to commit crimes. Senate Bill 104 made it a crime to stand within 25 feet of a first responder after being told to move back, which means you can now be arrested for bearing witness to a kidnapping of our immigrant neighbors.

This is less than 10 percent of the bills that passed. This is your life. Your neighbor’s life. Your child’s life. And it happened because the math in Frankfort ain’t mathing.

The Hard Truth About Our Party

I am going to say some things that will make some folks uncomfortable. But I believe Kentuckians can handle the truth. OK, well, some of y’all.

The Kentucky Democratic Party has a serious problem, and it’s not just Republicans. That’s small-minded thinking. It’s a leadership problem. It’s a strategy problem. It’s a showing up problem.

How do we expect to win back the legislature when we leave nearly 50 percent of all competitive seats completely uncontested? Republicans are outpacing Democrats in voter registration across Kentucky. The number of Black voters, older and younger, switching to Independent should be setting off alarms. When people leave our party, or never join it, we gotta ask ourselves why.

Is it because people don't see the Democratic Party showing up for them?

You can’t ask someone to vote for a party that doesn’t show up in their community, doesn’t look like them, and doesn’t talk to them except during election season. Black churches get packed with white politicians every time someone’s running for office. That’s not a relationship. That’s extraction.

Young people in Kentucky are watching a legislature attack their schools, arm 18-year-olds, restrict their healthcare, and make it harder to vote. They see a Democratic Party that doesn’t field candidates in their district and shows up four weeks before an election asking for their vote. We are living under the harshest abortion bans in the nation, and in some democratic circles, reproductive freedom is still treated as a “controversial” position we should soften for electability. Uhm, no.

A party that only reflects the people already in power isn’t a party for the people. It’s a club with different branding.

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Five Ways Democrats Win Kentucky

Winning is possible. Let me be specific.

ONE: Run in Every Race

This should be the most basic requirement of a functioning party, and yet here we are. Every race we skip is a message to voters that we don’t care enough to compete. An empty ballot slot doesn’t just lose a seat, it tells voters to see republican dominance as inevitable. Find someone. Recruit someone. Mentor someone. Loan someone your network and your time. And if no one else will step up, be that someone yourself. We need candidates in every district, at every level — from city council to state legislature — not because we will win them all immediately, but because showing up consistently is how you build the infrastructure to win eventually. The Kentucky Democratic Rural Council is doing this work in rural communities, and we need to support it with real resources, not just applause.

TWO: Reflect the Community You’re Asking to Vote for You

Kentucky is not monolithic. Our candidates, our party leadership, and our endorsements must look like the full breadth of this Commonwealth. If we want Black voters to show up for democrats, we need to run Black candidates, fund Black candidates, and genuinely listen to Black communities before election season arrives. If we want young voters, we need to stop treating them as bodies to mobilize rather than leaders to develop. Kentucky’s democratic parties at the local levels must examine their endorsement and nomination processes with honest eyes. Who is getting the nod, and who is being passed over? Diversity on a slate is not a talking point. It’s an organizing strategy that works.

THREE: Talk to People Who Don’t Already Agree With You

Preaching to the choir is easy, but it doesn’t grow the congregation. I was 1 of the 32,000+ people who voted uncommitted in our 2024 primary election. Y’all didn’t even bother to figure out how to connect to those voters. Democrats win when we go to the doors that aren’t already open, when we show up at community events we weren’t specifically invited to, when we have neighbor-to-neighbor conversations that are harder and slower than a rally. People’s lives are being directly harmed by policy right now and many of them haven’t connected those harms to the ballot. That is our job. Door knocking, town halls, presence at county fairs and church homecomings and local festivals. This is not optional. This is the way.

FOUR: Make It Local and Make It Concrete

Medicaid is not abstract. It’s your neighbor who cannot afford her copay under House Bill 2. Gun violence is not abstract. It’s what it means at your grocery store when 18-year-olds can carry concealed weapons in your community. Senate Bill 104 is not abstract. It means that if your neighbor is being kidnapped by ICE in front of your eyes, you can be criminalized for standing with them. Connect every bill in Frankfort to a specific face, a specific story, a specific family in a specific zip code. Immigration justice is a Kentucky issue. The people being deported are part of our communities.

FIVE: 4 Weeks Before Election Day is Too Late

Democrats who wait until April and October to organize, to register voters, to build relationships are already behind. Winning in Kentucky requires year-round presence, not seasonal enthusiasm. That means investing in local party infrastructure even when there’s no marquee race at the top of the ticket. It means supporting voter registration drives in communities that have been written off. It means treating every election — city council, school board, judicial — like it matters, because it does. Republicans have spent decades building dominance in Frankfort through consistent, long-term organizing. We will not reverse that in a single cycle. But we will never reverse it if we keep treating organizing as something we do in April and October.

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The Horse Nobody Bet On

Every year in May, the whole world looks at Kentucky. They see the roses. They see the hats. They see the pageantry. But Kentuckians know Derby is about more than spectacle. It’s about training all year for two minutes that could change everything. It’s about a horse nobody bet on coming out of nowhere and winning the whole thing.

That’s us. That’s our Commonwealth. That’s every democratic organizer, candidate, precinct captain, and kitchen-table activist who refuses to accept that Kentucky is a lost cause.

Republicans have the numbers now. But they don’t have our heart. They don’t have our community. They don’t have the people who are afraid and show up anyway, who know exactly what these bills mean for their families and refuse to be silent.

Some of us are not waiting for permission to run and that makes our party angry and vindictive. We are not waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect conditions, or your permission. We are running because the people of Kentucky cannot afford for us to wait.

May 19th is coming. Make your plan. Bring your people. Talk to your neighbors. And remember: you only get the roses if you run the race.

Drop your ideas in the comments. What would you add to this list? And if this moved you, share it with someone who needs to read it.

Attica is a trusted civic educator and political agitator who breaks down public policy from an insider’s perspective as a former State Representative. She helps folks understand how government operates, influence legislation, and build power. Attica’s work is amplified through her #AskAttica podcast and her #CivicsIn60 videos that call folks to action on statewide issues.

Inspired by Tricia Hersey’s “Rest Is Resistance” and The Nap Ministry’s Rest Deck

(each quote is from a Rest Deck card)

I think about this often, especially when I’m thousands of feet in the air, staring out the airplane window en route to another country. That gaze is sacred. The clouds. The sky. This is my rest. This is my resistance. Choosing to pause. Choosing to leave. Choosing to arrive. Choosing to dream about what’s possible in the world ahead.

I grew up in poverty in the Beecher Terrace projects in Louisville. International travel wasn’t even a dream. I didn’t get a passport until I was in my 40s. And my first trip? Crowdfunded. My community helped me go teach in China for a month. From there, I’ve visited Canada (many times), Mexico, Costa Rica, England, France, Spain, Italy, and Panama (twice). Some trips were with my family, others were with friends. In every journey, I witnessed the beauty of people and planet.

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🌺 Panama, Second Visit

My second trip to Panama was everything a return should be: deeper, richer, and more rooted. Eight days of claiming rest, joy, beauty, and belonging. Here’s what we lived:

🌆 Rooftop at Casa Vieja

Dinner overlooking the glittering city skyline was the kind of evening that reminds you the world is wide and beautiful. I enjoyed this rooftop so much the first that I had to do it again.

🌊 A Small, Beautiful Beach

In Colon, we took a 20–minute boat ride to a beautiful beach where we saw a giant sloth in a tree. We ate so much good food that our bodies felt genuinely appreciative. That is the only way to describe it. Rest tasted like abundance.

🚲 Biking the Causeway

We biked it. We danced at one of my favorite restaurants. We came back and rode the trolley and had lunch. We could spend days on the Causeways.

☕ Breakfast with a Louisville Connection

We had breakfast at a restaurant owned by someone who used to live in Louisville. I’d been to that spot on my previous visit but the owner wasn’t there. We had no idea until a conversation with the owner during this visit that he’d lived in Louisville for years.

🏛️ Museums + Dancing

We visited museums on museums on museums. We had Bachata, Merengue, and Salsa lessons from the best instructor. Our bodies enjoyed the joyful rhythms.

🖤 Black Panama

For three of our eight days, a Black Panamanian guide took us to the Blackest parts of the city, the Caribbean coast, and to see Black Jesus. Amen. This is one of the many reasons that I travel. I hunger to see Blackness on a global scale.

🪡 My First Tattoo, Ever

I got a tattoo in Casa Vieja!!!!! My first tattoo ever. At this point in my life, on this trip, in this city, I decided to go for it. Now, will I ever do it again? Stay tuned.

For me, travel is how I contribute to another world. It’s how I learn, listen, and connect. It’s how I move through this life in alignment with a bigger vision for justice. In the words of Arundhati Roy: Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.

Travel helps me expand my worldview, my capacity to love, and it affirms that liberation is a practice. It’s personal. It’s collective. It’s deeply connected. Standing on the Caribbean coast looking out at crystal clear water, dancing and laughing until our sides hurt was pure joy.

Coming home, I felt the weight of this country and understood clearly why so many Black people are leaving the US. I know that the world is wide and that perspective shapes why I continue to fight for equity, fairness, and justice. We are global neighbors. And we must treat each other like it.

I think about the girl from Beecher Terrace who never imagined she would bike along a causeway in Panama City, get her first tattoo in a centuries-old neighborhood, watch the sun set from a rooftop, and look up at the first known Black Jesus.

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This is why, for me, travel is resistance. It is an act of love, an act of imagination, an act of reclaiming rest, and an act of making room for liberation.

Attica is a trusted civic educator and political agitator who breaks down public policy from an insider’s perspective as a former State Representative. She helps folks understand how government operates, influence legislation, and build power. Attica’s work is amplified through her #AskAttica podcast where she brings leaders to your doorstep, and her #CivicsIn60 videos that call folks to action on statewide issues.

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This week, I stood alongside the ACLU of Kentucky and coalition partners to speak the truth about what is happening inside Louisville Metro Department of Corrections. Predictably, before the press conference ended, a reporter asked a question I’ve heard before, a question designed to put us on the defensive: Are you being soft on crime? Let me answer that directly, and then let me tell you why that question is itself part of the problem.

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What Happened to Miguel

On February 26, 21-year-old Juan Miguel Munoz Penalver was found dead in Louisville Metro Department of Corrections. He is among twenty-plus people who have died in LMDC’s custody since 2021. In five years. In the city jail. In the days before he died, jail staff had placed Miguel on suicide watch, a determination that he needed protection, that he was in crisis. Protocol required checks every 30 minutes. Instead, more than five hours passed between the time a camera recorded him lying motionless on the floor of his cell and when staff found his body.

His family was waiting for him at the courthouse that morning where he was due to appear. That is how they found out he was dead — not from a phone call, not from an explanation. Just an absence where their son, their loved one should have been. This family deserves answers. Louisville deserves answers.

PHOTO CREDIT: Stay Live Streams

This Isn’t About Being “Soft”

When reporters and politicians invoke “soft on crime,” they are deploying a political weapon, one specifically designed to end conversations rather than start them. It is a phrase that has been used for decades to silence anyone who dares to ask whether our systems of punishment are actually keeping people safe, or whether they are causing harm while looking tough.

I want to be precise: demanding that jail staff follow their own policies is not soft. Demanding that a young man on suicide watch be checked every thirty minutes, as required, is not soft. Demanding that a family receive an explanation when their child dies in government custody is not soft. What is soft? Tolerating preventable deaths. Shrugging at overcrowding. Allowing people in mental health crisis to be warehoused in facilities unequipped to care for them, year after year, while the body count climbs.

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Division Is a Strategy

I’ve said this before and I’ll keep saying it: division is not accidental. It is fueled by intentional political strategy and real economic pain working together. We have leaders and systems that benefit from keeping people divided (by race, by class, by geography), because division distracts from accountability. When folks are dealing with rising costs, unstable housing, and lack of healthcare, it becomes easier for that frustration to be redirected at each other instead of at the systems creating those conditions. The “soft on crime” frame is one tool in that playbook. It redirects anger. It flips the script so that those demanding accountability for a young man’s death are suddenly the ones who have to defend themselves. We cannot let that work.

We Know What Does Work

LMDC is not a mental health treatment facility. We cannot keep placing people who are in crisis into a system that is not built to care for them and then act surprised when they die. We have known about the problems in this jail for years. And we know the solutions: expand citation and release on recognizance, restructure bail practices to credit time served, use judicial discretion, and stop seeking bench warrants for people who owe fines and fees. These are not radical ideas. They are common sense. They save money. And they save lives. The question is not whether change is possible. The question is whether those with decision-making power are willing to act.

Trust Requires Results

Real change happens at the intersection of policy and people power. Policy alone can be undone. People power alone cannot produce systemic change. What we need right now is the political will to do both. We cannot build lasting trust without addressing harm. People know when something ain’t right. And right now, what ain’t right is that an arrest can become a death sentence in this city (borrowing the words of ACLU of KY Executive Director Amber Duke).

We are calling on the Mayor, LMPD, LMDC, the courts, and the Commonwealth’s Attorney to act; not next year, not after the next death. Now. We will keep agitating, organizing, and demanding accountability until no family in Louisville has to wait at a courthouse wondering why their loved one never showed up. History reminds us that real change has always come from people who refused to give up. We are not giving up.

Attica is a trusted civic educator and political agitator who breaks down public policy from an insider’s perspective as a former State Representative. She helps folks understand how government operates, influence legislation, and build power. Attica’s work is amplified through her #AskAttica podcast where she brings leaders to your doorstep, and her #CivicsIn60 videos that call folks to action on statewide issues.

I recently had the opportunity to sit with that question as part of the Aspen Global Innovators Healthy Communities Fellowship, culminating in a powerful panel discussion at the Ignite Social Impact Summit. Here are my initial reflections on this new leadership opportunity:

Division Is Intentional

When I was asked what’s driving division right now, I was clear. Division is being fueled by two things at the same time: intentional political strategy and real economic pain. We have leaders and systems that benefit from keeping people divided (by race, by class, by geography) because division distracts from accountability. Division is about excluding people, especially people who are struggling. When folks are dealing with rising costs, lack of access to healthcare, or unstable housing, it becomes easier for that frustration to be redirected at each other instead of at the systems creating those conditions. That’s on purpose.

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Yet, I still see hope because hope doesn’t live in institutions. Hope lives in people. I see it in communities organizing across differences, mutual aid networks showing up when systems fail, and local leaders stepping up when no one else will. Hope lives in the people who are still choosing connection, even when division is easier.

Leadership Is a Practice

My journey, from organizing and protest to elected office, has shaped how I understand leadership. Organizing taught me to listen. Elected office taught me how systems work, and how they don’t. Protest taught me that sometimes leadership means disruption. What I’ve learned is that leadership isn’t one role, it’s a practice. And the most effective leaders know how to move between those spaces without losing their values or their voice.

Where Change Happens

Real change happens at the intersection of policy and people power. Policy alone isn’t enough because it can be undone. People power alone isn’t enough because we need systemic change. That tension is real. Leaders are constantly navigating urgency vs. process, and relationships vs. accountability. And the real question becomes: Are we tolerating systems, or transforming them? Because transformation requires courage. And sometimes that means being uncomfortable. Sometimes it means being unpopular. It requires including and valuing people. It means people get to thrive.

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We Cannot Build Cohesion Without Truth

One thing that continues to surface in spaces like this is the idea of “bringing people together.” Here’s the thing: cohesion is not the absence of conflict. Real cohesion requires truth, accountability, and naming harm. You cannot build trust on top of unresolved and compounding injustices. And too often, solutions are created for communities instead of with them.

Courage Is Commitment

When asked what courage looks like in divided times, I thought about my own life. Courage has looked like running for office and losing, and running for office and winning. It looks like being attacked and still showing up; and yes, being arrested alongside my teenage daughter while demanding justice for Breonna Taylor. Courage is not about comfort. It’s about commitment. If you want to see innovation, look at communities. In places like Jackson, Mississippi, people are navigating a water crisis while building systems of mutual aid. In Kentucky, tenants are organizing and winning grassroots policy campaigns. Across the country, particularly in the continental US South, people are creating systems of care when government fails them. That’s where the future is being built in real time.

What Gives Me Hope

What gives me hope is that folks are still showing up even in the face of burnout, misinformation, and division. People are still organizing, still caring, still fighting for something better. I saw that reflected in my fellow Aspen leaders. I felt it walking through the National Museum of African American History and Culture. History reminds us that real change has always come from people who refused to give up.

The Truth About Trust

We were asked whether we can build trust without changing the systems that create division. My answer was simple: No. We can create moments of connection, but we cannot build lasting trust without addressing harm. Because people know when something isn’t fair, and trust requires both relationships and results. Here’s what we need right now: the ability to tell the truth, build trust, and move people to action. This fellowship, this panel, these conversations all reminded me of something I’ve always known: leadership is about what you do with your voice once you’re in the room. And in a time like this? We don’t need more silence. We don’t need more surface-level unity. We need truth. We need courage. We need action. Because y’all, we deserve better.

Attica is a trusted civic educator and political agitator who breaks down public policy from an insider’s perspective as a former State Representative. She helps folks understand how government operates, influence legislation, and build statewide power in Kentucky. Attica’s work is amplified through her #AskAttica podcast where she brings local leaders to your doorstep, and her #CivicsIn60 videos that call folks to action on statewide issues.

I posted a #CivicsIn60 explainer video about SB 262 and folks still had a lot of questions. So, let me expand real quick.

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How constitutional amendments are worded in KY right now

When voters are asked to approve a constitutional amendment, the ballot must include the full text of the amendment.

What SB 262 would change

Instead of showing the full text, the ballot could show a short summary or question that “clearly describes” the amendment’s purpose and effect. Voters would still vote yes or no, but they wouldn’t see the full legal language on the ballot. Uhm, no thank you. Show me every word ‘cause these folks are sneaky.

Here’s what folks are saying about the bill

Hydra:

🐙 Ballots would be simpler and easier to understand

🐙 Voters wouldn’t have to read long, complicated legal text (Why’d you make it complicated in the first place?)

🐙 Could increase participation and clarity

Avengers:

➡️ A summary can leave out key details on purpose

➡️ The wording could influence how people vote

➡️ Voters may not fully understand what they’re approving

In other words it shifts power from full transparency to interpretation of the summary.

CALL TO ACTION

This is a constitutional amendment bill, which means it would not automatically become law. Instead, it would go to Kentucky voters statewide where voters would decide whether to approve the change. SB 262 isn’t about one specific issue, it’s about how future issues are presented to voters. That matters because the way a question is written can shape how people understand it. How people understand it can shape how they vote.

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If you want to oppose this bill, you still have time. SB 262 passed the state Senate and is now in the House. Contact your state rep at legislature.ky.gov, call the legislative message line at (800) 372-7181 and ask to send a message to all House members to oppose SB 262.

Y’all, two bills moving through the Kentucky legislature could dramatically reshape the death penalty in our state. One would expand who can be sentenced to death. The other would make execution procedures secret. Both just passed the Senate Judiciary Committee. If these bills become law, they could move Kentucky closer to resuming executions after years of legal challenges. Let’s break down what’s happening.

What’s the What on the Death Penalty in Kentucky?

Kentucky still has capital punishment on the books, but the state hasn’t carried out an execution since 2008. That’s because of an ongoing court injunction related to concerns about lethal injection procedures and transparency. I know, transparency is elusive. Those legal challenges argue that Kentucky’s execution process may violate constitutional protections if it is not clearly regulated and publicly accountable. In other words: the courts paused executions until the state proves the process is lawful and humane. Now, two new bills could significantly change that landscape.

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SB 251 Could Make Execution Protocols Secret

What the bill would do

Kentucky Senate Bill 251 (2026 Regular Session) would allow the Kentucky Department of Corrections to refuse to share information about execution procedures with the public. That includes information that journalists, lawyers, or even family members might request. Supporters argue secrecy protects people involved in the execution process. It’s why I don’t “trust the process.” But critics warn it could remove crucial oversight. Here’s why:

Why opponents are concerned

If the state can carry out executions without transparency, several risks emerge:

1. Due Process (which is becoming obsolete in this country)

If execution protocols are secret, it becomes much harder for attorneys to challenge procedures that may violate constitutional protections. Courts rely on transparency to determine whether punishments are lawful.

2. Risk of Botched Executions

Across the country, executions have gone wrong when protocols weren’t properly vetted. Without public scrutiny, those risks can increase.

3. Government Accountability (we can still hope this is a thing)

The death penalty is the most serious power the state can exercise: taking a life in the name of taxpayers. Many advocates argue that power requires maximum transparency, not secrecy.

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SB 138 Expands the Death Penalty

Another bill moving through the legislature would expand who could face the death penalty in Kentucky. Senate Bill 138 (2026 Regular Session) adds new circumstances under which prosecutors could seek capital punishment. Specifically, it would add child abuse resulting in death for children under 12 as an aggravating factor. Aggravating factors are the conditions that make someone eligible for the death penalty.

Why this bill is raising questions

Advocates are still reviewing the language carefully because parts of the bill appear unclear or unusually broad, because they are UNCLEAR and UNUSUALLY BROAD on purpose. One section states that a person could be guilty of child abuse homicide if they knowingly permit another person in their custody to be abused, resulting in the child’s death. That wording raises serious concerns. It could potentially allow someone who did not physically commit the act that caused the child’s death to still face the death penalty. Even some lawmakers acknowledged during the committee hearing that the bill “needs work.” Y’all, these people will still vote for a bill that is a mess. I know. I would often call out poorly written bills during my tenure as a State Representative and they would still vote for a bill with multiple errors.

KY is Part of the Bigger Debate About Capital Punishment

Kentucky is one of several states where the death penalty exists legally but has effectively been paused due to legal challenges. Across the United States, debates about capital punishment often center on:

• wrongful convictions

• racial disparities in sentencing

• the cost of capital trials

• the risk of executing innocent people

• whether lethal injection procedures are humane

For many advocates, the question isn’t just whether executions should happen, but whether the government should have the power to carry them out at all. Listen, I’m named after a prison uprising. I was born an abolitionist.

Why This Matters Right Now

These bills come at a moment when Kentucky has not executed anyone in more than a decade, largely because of court challenges over execution procedures. If SB 251 passes, it could make those procedures far harder to challenge, which is the point. And if SB 138 passes, it would expand the circumstances where prosecutors can seek death sentences. Together, these bills could significantly reshape the future of capital punishment in Kentucky. Please don’t think these bills were filed in isolation.

What You Can Do

Organizations across the state are closely monitoring these bills. One of them is the Kentucky Coalition to Abolish the Death Penalty, which is working to raise awareness and encourage public engagement. If you want to learn more or support their advocacy, you can visit their campaign and share their information with others.

Civic Engagement Matters

Legislation like this often moves quickly through committee hearings and floor votes. That’s why public awareness matters. Ask questions. Contact your legislators. Follow organizations tracking the issue. Because decisions about life, death, and government power deserve public scrutiny and community engagement. And when it comes to the death penalty, transparency isn’t just important, it’s essential.