A pivotal conversation in Memphis politics

In a brief but pointed conversation, Reverend Dr. Kenneth T. Whalum Jr. publicly endorses former state representative John DeBerry Jr. for Shelby County Mayor, urging Memphis voters to reconsider their partisan habits and back a Republican for the county’s top job. The exchange, framed as a candid talk between two lifelong Memphians, focuses less on party talking points and more on the urgent need to reverse decades of economic decline in historically Black neighborhoods.

Whalum opens by emphasizing the significance of his support, noting that DeBerry has “someone who is recognized and respected in our community” standing with him and taking his message to the people. That framing is deliberate: in a city where party registration and racial identity often shape political loyalties, the pastor is making clear that this endorsement is rooted in shared history, shared faith, and shared frustration with the status quo, not in partisan fashion.

Why a Republican for mayor?

When Whalum asks DeBerry directly why he wants to be mayor of Shelby County, DeBerry’s answer is strikingly pragmatic: “We’ve got to change direction.” He argues that Memphis has been “going in one direction with one group of people for so long,” stressing that his critique is “not personal, but it’s business.” In other words, the political establishment has had its chance; the metrics in the community—education outcomes, economic vitality, neighborhood stability—suggest that a new approach is overdue.

DeBerry frames his campaign around children’s futures, insisting that if young people are to be “well educated” and “competitive,” leaders must be willing to revisit and revise existing policies. He pledges to work with Whalum and “other leaders” to change course, presenting his candidacy as a coalition effort rather than a lone partisan crusade. This is not a typical red-versus-blue argument; it is a call to treat the mayoral race as a performance review of leadership and results.

Memories of a thriving Black Memphis

To ground the conversation in lived experience, Whalum turns to vivid memories of Memphis’s past. He recalls driving down Park Avenue in Orange Mound, once a “thriving business district” lined with Black‑owned businesses and “house businesses” like barbecue joints near Melrose Stadium. These examples are deployed not as nostalgia for its own sake, but as evidence that Memphis has seen better days—days when Black entrepreneurship, pride, and mutual support were visible on every block.

Whalum extends this lament to Lamar and Crump, pointing out spaces that “used to be businesses,” including what he describes as the first Black mall on Crump, and accusing current leadership of allowing the community “to wither on the vine” for decades. Taken together, his observations form an indictment: while the rhetoric of progress has continued, storefronts have gone dark, and economic opportunity has eroded in the very communities that are most loyal to one political party.

Courage to cross party lines

The core tension Whalum identifies is psychological and cultural, not procedural: it will take “courage” for Democratic voters to say publicly that they won’t automatically vote Democrat in the county mayor’s race. He describes the internal struggle of voters who “know in their heart they ought to do it” but feel pulled back by party identity and community expectations. In that sense, the interview is not just about DeBerry; it is about the voter wrestling with the fear of being seen as disloyal.

When asked what he would say to that hesitant voter, DeBerry appeals to shared civil rights heritage. He reminds viewers that both he and Whalum come from families deeply involved in “civil rights, religious, business” changes in Memphis and thus know “what Memphis used to be” and the “esteem and respect” the city once enjoyed. This shared lineage becomes the moral foundation for asking voters to evaluate him differently—by track record and character rather than party label.

Judging by character, not color or party

DeBerry’s central argument pivots on Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s famous line: he wanted his children judged by “the content of their character and not the color of their skin.” DeBerry extends this principle to modern politics, asking Memphians to judge him “by the content of my character, by my record, the job that I have done for so many years.” For a Black Republican candidate seeking office in a majority‑Democratic county, this is a direct challenge to identity‑based voting patterns.

Crucially, DeBerry places Whalum’s endorsement within that same moral framework, urging voters to consider that “someone of your caliber and character” stands with him. He wants voters to “look at the both of us, lifelong Memphians who care about Memphis and who know that Memphis can be better,” and to “look beyond all of the noise that’s trying to distract you.” “Noise” here stands for partisan attacks, rumors, and ideological labels that obscure deeper questions: Who has actually delivered results? Who is willing to change course?

Calling out the crisis and clergy’s role

Whalum admits that he is “speechless” for a moment, but then introduces a sobering comparison between the current era and the original civil rights movement. He argues that during that earlier period, clergy and the broader church community held a “certain level of moral authority” that has since been lost, and he suggests that religious leaders themselves bear some responsibility for that decline. This confession adds weight to his endorsement: by backing DeBerry, Whalum is attempting to reclaim a measure of moral leadership in public life.

The pastor underscores the urgency of the situation with a line drawn from an old hymn: “It’s getting late in the evening. The sun is going down.” He points to recent indictments and the dire economic condition of local residents as signs that time is running out for incremental or symbolic change. In this context, DeBerry’s decision to run—and Whalum’s decision to endorse him—are framed as acts of courage rather than political convenience.

A plea to act “before it’s too late”

By the close of the conversation, Whalum’s tone is nearly pastoral in its urgency. He tells DeBerry that “it’s getting close to being too late,” echoing the hymn language to reinforce the sense of a closing window of opportunity. His concern is not abstract; it is tied to concrete markers like legal scandals and entrenched poverty that signal a community on the brink rather than on the rise.

Whalum says he appreciates DeBerry’s courage “to run for the position,” implicitly contrasting that boldness with voters’ hesitation to step outside their partisan comfort zone. DeBerry, for his part, thanks the pastor for his support, recognizing that in Memphis’s political and religious landscape, such a public endorsement could itself be controversial. Together, they present a simple but challenging thesis: if Memphis wants different outcomes, it must be willing to make different choices—and those choices should be driven by character, competence, and a relentless love for the city rather than party loyalty alone.