Dems Stand to Lose Dozens of Congressional Districts at SCOTUS
At least nineteen and perhaps more Democratic-held congressional districts could shift to Republican control depending on the outcome of a major redistricting case being reargued before the Supreme Court on Wednesday.
The case, Louisiana v. Callais, examines whether the state’s move to create a second majority-black congressional district violates the Fourteenth or Fifteenth Amendments. The Fourteenth Amendment guarantees equal protection under the law and birthright citizenship, while the Fifteenth prohibits denying the right to vote on the basis of race.
Attorneys for the state argued on Wednesday the legislature was essentially given the choice – either create the second black-majority congressional district or the Justice Dept. would step in and do it.
The Court’s ruling could have sweeping implications for congressional maps nationwide, potentially reshaping the balance of power in the House of Representatives ahead of the 2026 midterm elections, Newsweek reported.
Louisiana’s congressional map was redrawn to include a second Black-majority district following lawsuits that claimed the previous map violated Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act by weakening the voting strength of black residents.
Phillip Callais and a group of non-black voters challenged the revised map, contending that it amounted to an unconstitutional racial gerrymander.
The Supreme Court’s decision in the case is expected to have major implications for how legislatures across the country apply Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act, which prohibits redistricting plans that diminish minority voting power.
While the outcome remains uncertain, Democrats are expressing concern that the Supreme Court’s 6-3 conservative majority could side with Callais’ argument.
According to a report by the left-leaning nonprofits Fair Fight Action and the Black Voters Matter Fund, a ruling in favor of Callais could result in the redrawing of 19 Democratic-held congressional districts currently protected under the Voting Rights Act, potentially shifting them to favor Republican candidates.
President Donald Trump has signaled his intent to preserve Republican control of the House in the 2026 midterm elections and has indicated a willingness to urge state officials to pursue out-of-cycle redistricting efforts to help achieve that objective.
The following districts could be subject to redrawing if the Supreme Court moves to limit or overturn Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act.
Alabama’s 2nd Congressional District, which includes the city of Mobile and most of the Montgomery metropolitan area, is represented by Democrat Shomari Figures. A former attorney, Figures previously worked on Barack Obama’s presidential campaign and later served as deputy chief of staff to former Attorney General Merrick Garland.
Black residents make up nearly 50 percent of the district’s estimated 703,362 population, forming a plurality, while white residents account for about 41 percent. The district has been held by a Democrat since January 2025, following its redrawing in 2024.
Alabama’s 7th Congressional District includes parts of the Birmingham, Montgomery, and Tuscaloosa metropolitan areas, along with the entire city of Selma. Representative Terri Sewell, a Democrat, has served the district since 2011.
Of the district’s estimated 718,912 residents, more than 51 percent are Black and nearly 39 percent are white. The district has remained under Democratic representation since 1967, with no Republican having held the seat in nearly six decades.
Louisiana’s 2nd Congressional District encompasses nearly all of New Orleans and stretches north toward Baton Rouge. Although it is currently considered safely Democratic, redistricting could turn the district into a competitive battleground.
Representative Troy Carter has held the seat since 2021. Before his election to Congress, Carter served as minority leader in the Louisiana State Senate and previously held positions on the New Orleans City Council and in the Louisiana House of Representatives.
The district’s estimated population of 736,254 is nearly 50 percent Black and about 33 percent white. A Republican last represented the district in 2011.
At the center of the Supreme Court case, Louisiana’s newly drawn 6th Congressional District spans from Shreveport in the northwest to areas near Baton Rouge in the southwest, Newsweek reported.
Representative Cleo Fields currently holds the seat, having previously served in Congress representing the 4th District from 1993 to 1997.
Black residents make up about 52 percent of the district’s estimated 753,643 population, while nearly 36 percent are white. The district was represented by a Republican as recently as January 2025.
One Word in the Rain
One Word in the Rain
The cemetery closed at five.
Everyone who worked at Maplewood Memorial knew this, and the sign at the front gate made it plain, and Gerald Finch — security, eleven years, keys on his belt and rules in his blood — enforced it without apology. Five o’clock. Not five-oh-one. Not five-fifteen because someone needed just a little more time. Five.
The rain had started around four-thirty, and by five it was coming down hard enough to turn the gravel paths into shallow rivers and fill the stone-lined gutters with fast brown water. Most visitors had already left. Most visitors had umbrellas and cars and warm places to be.
The old man did not.
He had arrived sometime in the early afternoon — Gerald had clocked him coming through the gate around two, a small, bent figure in a coat that had been decent once, maybe fifteen years ago, carrying a bundle of wildflowers wrapped in wet newspaper. He had gone to the same grave he always went to, in the east quadrant under the oak that had lost two major branches in last winter’s ice storm. Gerald knew the grave. Marie Elspeth Holloway, 1952–2019. Beloved. The old man came every week. Sometimes twice.
Gerald had never learned his name.
At five-oh-two, Gerald made his round.
The old man was still there — kneeling in the wet grass, head bowed, the wildflowers laid against the base of the headstone. Beside him, pressed against his arm, was a small girl. Six, maybe seven, in a yellow raincoat that was the brightest thing in the entire cemetery. She had her grandfather’s white hair in miniature, and she was watching his face the way children watch the faces of people they love when those people are sad — with total concentration, helpless and devoted.
Gerald cleared his throat.
The old man looked up.
“Visiting hours are over,” Gerald said. He kept his voice flat. Flat was professional.
“Just another few minutes,” the old man said. “Please. We came a long way.”
“Sir, I’ve told you before—”
“Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”
Gerald reached down — he didn’t think about it, didn’t decide to do it the way you decide things, it was just the motion his hand made, trained by a decade of enforcement — and he took the wildflowers from the base of the headstone and dropped them into the nearest puddle.
“Visiting hours,” he said again, “are over.”
The old man stared at the flowers floating away in the brown water. The newspaper wrapping came apart. The stems separated. Yellow and white petals spread across the surface of the puddle and drifted toward the drainage gutter.
He had carried those flowers a long way.
His face did something that old faces do when the last small thing is taken — it didn’t collapse dramatically, it just came undone, quietly, from the inside out. His chin dropped. His shoulders curved inward. And he began to cry in the way old men cry, which is worse than any other kind of crying, because there’s no performance left in it, no hope that tears will change anything. Just grief, released.
The little girl pressed herself against him. Her small arms went around as much of him as they could reach.
“Grandpa, don’t cry,” she said. “We can bring more flowers next time. We can bring the purple ones she liked.”
“She liked all of them,” the old man managed. “She always said — she said it wasn’t the flower that mattered.”
“I know. You told me.” The girl tightened her arms. “It’s that someone brought them.”
Gerald took a step back.
He didn’t know why.
Something about the girl’s voice — the matter-of-fact tenderness of it, the complete absence of self-consciousness — had gotten into a gap in his professionalism and lodged there. He took a step back and looked at his own hands and the puddle and the floating flowers, and he felt the specific, nauseating discomfort of someone who has just understood that they’ve done something wrong.
He was still standing there, recalibrating, when he heard the sound behind him.
Heels on gravel. The particular cadence of expensive shoes moving fast.
He turned.
The woman was in her mid-forties, dark coat, silk scarf, umbrella she’d forgotten to open gripped in one hand. She had come from the parking area — Gerald had seen her car, a silver sedan, sitting at the far end of the lot for the better part of an hour. He had assumed she was on a phone call. He had assumed she couldn’t decide whether to come in.
She had been watching.
She was walking toward them now with the focused, unsteady movement of someone whose legs are working on instinct because the rest of them is somewhere else entirely. Her eyes were fixed on the old man, who still had his face turned down toward the puddle, toward the scattered flowers.
She stopped six feet away.
She looked at the white hair. At the bent shoulders. At the threadbare coat. At the small girl in the yellow raincoat looking back at her with wide, uncertain eyes.
“Grandpa,” the girl said quietly, “that lady is staring at us.”
The old man raised his head.
For three full seconds, neither of them moved.
Twenty-two years. Gerald didn’t know that — couldn’t know it — but it was written in the space between them, in the way the woman’s umbrella slipped from her fingers and hit the gravel and neither of them reacted to the sound.
Twenty-two years since a door slammed in a house on Calloway Street. Twenty-two years since words were said that both of them had spent decades deciding could never be unsaid. Twenty-two years of a silence so long it had become its own kind of relationship — the relationship of two people who had chosen absence over the risk of trying again.
The girl looked between them.
“Do you know that lady?” she asked her grandfather.
The old man’s mouth opened. Nothing came out.
The woman took one step forward. Then another. The rain hit her face and darkened her coat and she did not seem to feel any of it.
Her voice, when it finally came, was barely a word at all.
It was the word you say before you’ve decided to say anything. The word that lives so deep it bypasses the part of you that protects itself.
“Dad?”
The old man closed his eyes.
The girl looked up at the woman.
The woman looked down at the girl — really looked, for the first time — and something new moved across her face now, something that existed alongside the shock and the grief and the twenty-two years. Something that looked, cautiously and terribly, like the first movement of a question she hadn’t known she needed to ask.
“Who is she?” the woman whispered. “Who is this little girl?”
The old man opened his eyes.
The rain fell between them.
He said her name — the woman’s name, his daughter’s name, the name he had not spoken aloud in longer than he could honestly remember — and the sound of it hit her like a hand against the chest, stopping her breath, stopping her feet, stopping everything.
“There’s so much,” he said, “that I have to tell you.”
