Waynesville march honors the legacy of John Lewis
Demonstrators light candles in memory of the late John Lewis on July 17, 2025.
Jeffrey Delannoy photo
On the five-year anniversary of the death of civil rights icon and longtime U.S. Congressman John Lewis, more than 170 people clad in black and white gathered on the steps of the Haywood County Historic Courthouse for a somber memorial that quickly turned into a powerful statement of resistance.
The rally, organized by local activist group Hands off Haywood, began just after 7 p.m. with a speech that evoked the spirit of Lewis’ decades-long fight for justice and nonviolence.
“There are more than 1,600 such gatherings happening across the country tonight,” said Carol Larsen, a member of the Hands off Haywood planning committee. “We wear black in remembrance of him. And when invoking his name, we remember that Black and indigenous populations have been fighting for freedom longer than we’ve been alive — longer than we’ve even been a nation.”
The event was one of many nationwide observances commemorating Lewis, who died on July 17, 2020. A towering figure in the Civil Rights movement, Lewis famously led the 1965 march across the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama, where he suffered a fractured skull at the hands of police. Until his death, he continued urging Americans to get into what he called “good trouble” in pursuit of justice.
That phrase echoed throughout the evening in Waynesville, where organizers, speakers and attendees carried Lewis’ message forward not just in symbolism, but also in a call to action.
“John Lewis knew firsthand the importance of building endurance for the long fight,” Larsen said. “This evening is about recharging our batteries and building that endurance together.”
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For some, it was their first time attending a political demonstration of any kind. For others, it was just the latest chapter in a lifetime of activism.
“You may be out here tonight for the very first time,” Larsen said. “What matters is that it’s never too late to be the person you were meant to be. And you, every one of you, were meant to be an activist.”
Even as attendees acknowledged the rollbacks of civil rights protections, threats to free speech, mounting pressure on social safety nets and the uphill battle ahead, they also acknowledged one another.
“We hope you feel surrounded and supported by those who are also on this journey,” said Larsen. “Whatever your personal experience, we can all agree that it’s been an emotionally exhausting time.”
Retired Air Force Major Mary Ford delivered one of the most impassioned speeches of the evening. As the crowd listened intently, Ford, who served 17 years, described the threats to the Constitution as her greatest concern.
“As a retired military officer, the shredding of our Constitution has hit me the hardest. I, like many, took an oath to support and defend the Constitution,” Ford said, later adding that she’d never imagined she’d have to defend it here at home. “We are looking at the denying of medical care and food to our most vulnerable. These actions don’t just affect the recipients. They will affect nursing homes, hospitals and those who provide food assistance and the list goes on and on.”
She went on to describe how Lewis’ legacy inspired her to transform her frustration into purpose.
“It’s okay to be angry,” Ford said. “But then breathe and let the anger go. Turn it into hope and action.”
As the last of the sun’s rays faded behind growing storm clouds, Ford walked down the courthouse steps and took her place at the front of the silent procession. In single file, well over 150 people followed behind her in silence, most clutching signs. They marched slowly and solemnly, a visible and audible contrast to the hustle of a normal summer evening on Main Street.
No counterdemonstrators were present, although there were one or two hecklers that tried to engage with marchers to no avail.
Even longtime activists admitted the experience was unexpectedly powerful, as the procession made its way past restaurants, bars and shops. Outside the Waynesville Diner, a young girl stood and watched the marchers pass. Her expression, according to Ford, captured the gravity of the moment.
“That image will stay in my heart forever,” Ford said.
The demonstration wasn’t just for show, Larsen said. Rather, it was intended to galvanize local residents to take their involvement to the next level not just by attending marches and rallies, but also by registering to vote, volunteering for campaigns and even running for office themselves.
“Our emphasis is as much on supporting one another as it is encouraging one another to take action,” Larsen said. “Showing up here tonight, it doesn't change the way government governs. But leaving here inspired to go take further actions is what we're all about.”
Larsen said that while the organization’s weekly Saturday protests have become a familiar fixture on the courthouse lawn since early March, this event felt different. It wasn’t just a protest, it was a moment to find comfort in community and to rediscover purpose in a time of political fatigue.
“This group stands for compassion being shown by all, to all,” she said. “We stand for the rule of law and its due process application to all people. We stand for civil rights for all, the very rights John Lewis fought so hard for.”
As the crowd returned to the courthouse after the march — Democrats, unaffiliated voters and, according to organizers, even a few quiet Republicans — volunteers began distributing candles. Hundreds of tiny flames sprang to life and danced in the evening breeze, illuminating faces lined with determination, weariness and hope. Most simply stood in silence.
Once the candles were snuffed out and the courthouse lawn emptied, the mood remained somber but resolute until a torrential thunderstorm — looming all afternoon but politely holding space for those honoring Lewis’ memory — chased remaining attendees to the safety of their cars and homes. But for many, John Lewis’ legacy isn’t just a memory. It’s a mandate.
“The fact that at 70 years old, I did my first protest, and now I'm leading protests, that wasn’t on my bingo card,” said Ford, reflecting on her unexpected organizing role. “But I’m in it till the end.”
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