Zelma Wyche was a black Army veteran of World War II. He joined the military in 1943. Four years later, back at home, he had to fight for the right to vote. That war lasted over 15 years.

Like many black veterans, of all wars, Wyche believed that his service for his country earned him the rights and respect that had been denied to him because of the color of his skin. In civilian life, he had been a barber. But when he came back from the military, he was a man who would not be stopped – no matter how long it took.

He and his fellow plaintiffs won their case in 1963. Black voters meant black office-seekers, and because whites composed only about 30% of the population in Madison Parish – parish offices that had been securely in the hands of whites, soon had breakthroughs by black political officials. Zelma Wyche was one of these men; he became the parish’s first black police chief in 1969. Later, he would become mayor.

Although the 1960s were a contentious time in Madison Parish, as in much of the South, Wyche sought equality and inclusion. An activist, not an accomodationist, Wyche developed a series of community meetings while police chief, in an effort to improve police-citizen relations. He also increased the police force to twelve – six blacks, six whites. And in a move that today seems striking for its boldness at the time, he had his men work in integrated teams.

How this relates to Milliken’s Bend:
Black veterans’ relentless fights to secure their rights – especially the right to vote, has a long history. An interview in 1994 indicated that Wyche had little knowledge of what took place in Madison Parish, at Milliken’s Bend – 100 years before he obtained the right to vote. But his fight echoed the difficulties many black veterans of Milliken’s Bend had after the war, as they sought to exercise the rights granted by the Fifteenth Amendment. I find the story of Zelma Wyche to be an important “echo” of the story of Milliken’s Bend. It is equally important for us, today, to study the similarities between the 1860s and the 1960s in the South, and in the nation as a whole. African Americans were claiming rights that had been long denied to them, facing violence, intimidation, and even death. But they did not give up the fight – they fought on.

Any time I feel disgusted or complacent or indifferent about the political system, disdainfully thinking my vote doesn’t matter, or foolishly believing in a fit of pique that “I’ll show them – I won’t even vote at all!”  – I force myself to remember men like Zelma Wyche – and all of the thousands of other people – men, women, black, white, who gave their all – sometimes even their very lives for the right to vote. I know it is an honor and a right and an obligation. My vote is not something I can take for granted. It has come at too great a cost. I owe it to my country, myself, and to Freedom Fighters like Zelma Wyche. If they were so willing to fight for this right – who am I to say that it doesn’t matter? It’s why I vote even in the “small” elections – simple ballot issues, city council. People have died for this. The least I can do is take 10 minutes of my time to ensure that freedom and democracy continues.

Sources: There is much more to Wyche’s story, detailed in a thesis by Adrienne Pickney; written about in some detail by Adam Fairclough in Race and Democracy (pp. 395-398); and even a well-developed Wikipedia article. See also a news article appearing in the Eugene Register-Guard, Oct. 5, 1969, and one of the court cases concerning Wyche’s activism. His story appears in the context of Milliken’s Bend in my book, Milliken’s Bend: A Civil War Battle in History and Memory (pp. 171-172).