Earlier this year, the nation took a week to honor and celebrate the life of the late Congressman John Lewis. We witnessed the moving tribute as his body was carried up the Capitol steps to lie in state, joining the ranks of the “Pantheon of Patriots.” Tributes poured in from around the country, and even some of his political opponents came to pay their respects, creating a touching moment.

Just before his passing, I stumbled upon a transcript of a phone interview I had conducted with him years ago when he was the Executive Director of the Voter Education Project. At the time, I was working as a reporter and news anchor at CBS in San Francisco, and speaking with him felt like reconnecting with an old friend.

I first met John Lewis as a young reporter in Atlanta back in 1972. At just twenty-three, I had secured a position at one of the earliest news/talk radio stations in the country, where I was the only African American on-air talk-show host—a daunting experience for a newcomer.

In a short span, I transitioned from a recent college graduate to a target of hate mail, with letters warning me that I was “being watched” and hurling racial slurs at me.

However, this role also came with unexpected advantages. Suddenly, I was on a first-name basis with influential figures, including politicians, some celebrities, and Civil Rights Movement veterans. Navigating these relationships was challenging, as I quickly learned about the intricate ties between the press and politicians.

What set John Lewis apart from others was his genuine nature. When I met him, he was not merely a politician but a passionate advocate for the right to vote. While I encountered others with impressive Civil Rights credentials, he was the only one who extended an invitation to his home.

Upon my arrival, he welcomed me warmly, and his wife Lillian prepared a meal for us. Our evening was filled with conversation, primarily driven by John sharing stories of his remarkable life.

At just thirty-one, John had already co-founded the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) and spoke at the 1963 March on Washington. He had endured significant violence during the Freedom Rides and the brutal events of Bloody Sunday in 1965.

John possessed a wealth of knowledge and spoke with unwavering conviction. His natural storytelling ability and the generosity of his attention made me feel validated in my work, providing encouragement amidst the challenges I faced.

Although he would eventually become a national figure known as the “conscience of Congress,” I believe his most profound legacy lies in his personal journey. I felt a sense of pride as the world once again acknowledged his heroic contributions to American democracy and the principles that have sustained it for over two centuries.

Yet, upon reviewing our conversation transcript, I was disturbed by how much of it remained alarmingly relevant to today's political climate. What troubled me most was the relentless efforts of some of John's adversaries to undermine his legacy.

While it was commendable that some of his fiercest critics honored his life during the memorial services, their actions felt insincere. They immediately resumed efforts to suppress the vote, directly attacking the core of what John fought for.

This legacy bears revisiting, especially as we consider the stakes of the upcoming 2020 election and the struggles that led us here.

LEWIS: My own involvement led me to the conclusion…we wouldn’t be able to have any real say, any control over our own destiny until we got the vote. …

I grew up in a situation where there were hundreds of thousands of black people all around me, and most of them could not register. They could not vote simply because of their color. They couldn’t pass the so-called literacy test. We had [Black] people teaching in the public school system, but at the same time they could not read or write well enough to pass a so-called literacy test. It didn’t make sense. And I became resentful of that dual system where white people, some with an education and some who couldn’t read and write, going down to vote to decide on how Black people were going to live and function.

I guess all of that came to a head a few years later when I got involved with SNCC trying to convince people that they should not be afraid. That they should go down to the county court house and attempt to register, and then vote, knowing at the same time that in the past some people had been shot, beaten, and even killed for attempting to register to vote.

Part of the effort was to convince people in spite of that fear, in spite of all the problems and difficulties, that we must use the power of the ballot, that something must be good about it if white people in the South did not want us to register, did not want us to vote.

I’ll never forget how 800 people stood in line all day one day at the Dallas County Court House in Selma, Alabama, trying to register. At the end of the day, only five people had passed through the line to take the so-called literacy test. And they all failed it.… This all came to a head in 1965 when we attempted to march from Selma to Montgomery. And we were beaten. Some of us were tear-gassed and left lying in the streets of Selma.

A few months later, the Voting Rights Act was passed. Since then I’ve seen progress in terms of the number of black registered voters, the number of black elected officials. Some of the people who were denied the right to vote in 1965 are now black elected officials in a state like Mississippi.

QUESTION: There has certainly been progress, but in other ways it looks like Black people are standing still. What is this paradox, this contradiction?

LEWIS: We have made progress. There is no question about that. Probably the greatest progress has been made in the political arena where you see an increase in registration, and increase in the number of black elected officials. But the majority of black people in this country, the masses, particularly in the Southern United States, are still in the same shape, are still at the bottom, are still the people left behind.

QUESTION: What about this paradox?

LEWIS: In terms of numbers, we have an increase in registration and in the number of black elected officials…But I don’t think the progress that we have made, the gains that we’ve made, are in proportion to the needs, to the resources, to the time, the money, the effort and to the lives which have been invested in this whole struggle for change through the past few years.

QUESTION: But you are still working at it?

LEWIS: Well, we have to hang in there. You have to have hope because if a man loses hope, as Dr. King used to say, you are finished, you’re dead. You’re walking around, but you are not alive. So I think black people still must hope. And still must believe. And it’s that hope and that spirit that came out of the Civil Rights Movement that keeps people going.

The optimism Lewis spoke of seemed to peak during the 2008 and 2012 elections with Barack Obama, whose campaign was centered on the theme of hope. This sense of hope was palpable in 2017, following the high turnout of African American women in Alabama who helped elect Democrat Doug Jones to the U.S. Senate.

However, just a year later, hope faced a significant setback in Georgia when Secretary of State Brian Kemp purged as many as 560,000 voters from the rolls, potentially the largest voter purge in U.S. history. Among those purged, an estimated 107,000 voters were actually eligible to vote.

Kemp, who was also a gubernatorial candidate, narrowly won against his African American opponent Stacey Abrams by just 57,723 votes. Had those 107,000 eligible voters cast their ballots for Abrams, she could have become the first Black woman governor in history, though that remains speculative.

The conflict of interest in Kemp's campaign was glaring, leading Jimmy Carter to call for his resignation as Secretary of State and for a neutral party to oversee the election. Kemp not only refused to step down but also placed 53,000 voter registrations on hold just before the election, 70% of which were from African Americans.

Adding to the troubling scenario, Georgia's Republican legislature allocated $150 million for new electronic voting machines from Dominion Voting Systems, despite warnings from experts about their vulnerability to hacking. Kemp's successor, Secretary of State Brad Raffensperger, defended the machines, claiming the paper printout made them safe, yet voters cannot verify their choices using that printout, as it is encoded in a QR code only readable by computerized systems.

All credible evidence suggests that hand-marked paper ballots are the safest option, yet Georgia and 26 other states opted for electronic devices, which are especially at risk of hacking, particularly in light of Russia's ongoing efforts to disrupt U.S. elections.

These modern tactics to disenfranchise Black voters echo the historical methods employed by white supremacists post-Reconstruction, from literacy tests to Jim Crow laws. When figures like John Lewis attempted to cross the Edmund Pettus Bridge, they faced violence and oppression.