Dedicated to Their City; Two Political Sons Fight The Good Fight

Flint City Councilman Eric Mays shows records that form the paper trail of the city's water crisis that has impacted this city of 100,000.

By Kurt Witteman

Flint City Councilman Eric Mays talks with
Roosevelt student journalists.

            FLINT, Mich.—As Eric Mays, 57, strolled around the streets of Flint, one Sunday afternoon, he was greeted enthusiastically by name by nearly all he passed on the street. He cheerfully acknowledged the citizens and stopped to chat about the ongoing crisis affecting the city. Mays, a tall, slender man, wore a long peacoat over his blue suit as he walked through the city’s streets, often stopping to light a cigarette and stand quietly, thoughtfully, while he looked up and down the streets of his city.

            “These are the people that I know: family, friends… This is an environment I know, I know the town, I know the streets,” he said.

            Mays is one of the politicians here working to make Flint a once again thriving city—one of the few that people here trust. The public’s trust here is something that eroded here in a city that has been ravaged by both General Motors’ departure, by poverty and decline and also by what many here see as a dereliction in governmental duty that left them without clean drinking water. 

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       “There are some things that have failed…
  We can have safe water.” —Eric Mays

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Mays has a reputation as a tireless city councilman of Flint’s First Ward, representing roughly 11,000 Flint residents. Among those who trust Mays is Pamela Powell, 44, a Flint native who now lives in Illinois, although her parents still live in Flint.

            “He definitely gives a voice to those people who are not able to make it to meetings or who may not be aware of what they should be asking for, he is definitely one who will stand and speak for them as well,” Powell said.

“He is one who challenges those who are trying to keep the city in the dark, meaning that he will represent others as far as going forward to help them if there is a matter that needs to be addressed or to give public notice for some things that are going on,” Powell added.

Eric Mays sits at his desk in his office at Flint's City Hall. 

Mays’ only goal, he said, is to help the citizens of Flint, to protect them from a government body that has poisoned them, and to work to make sure that his people, the people of Flint, get the clean water they deserve. This, however, is not an easy task, he admits.

            “I’ll talk race,” he says, pointing to what he says is a major factor. “Fifty-two percent or more is black population in Flint, Pontiac, Detroit, Benton Harbor, Highland Park. If you don’t understand the partisan politics, the poor folks and others, black, white, young and old, the middle class, the Republican policy of privatizing, giving things to their buddies. If you don’t understand that and you just talk about the water crisis you might not ever be able to wrap your thoughts around what has happened here,” Mays said.

            Like Mays, other Flint politicians as well as residents see the crisis at its root as a failure of government but also continued systemic racial prejudice. Among them is Devontae Powell, 21—Pamela Powell’s son, a college student who has lived in Flint.

            “Just like the water was tainted, the political system is very tainted in Michigan,” he said during a recent interview at his grandparent’s home.

While mistrust of government has become a common sentiment in Flint, some politicians, like Mays, say they are working to regain that trust. Pamela Powell is clear about what Flint needs from their politicians and regards Mays as the type of politician who is working for the people.

“The people of Flint need their politicians to be upfront and honest with them,” Powell said. “He was one who was trying to make people aware of what was happening so they could step back from using the water that was contaminated.”

State Representative Sheldon Neely speaks with Roosevelt
student-journalists from Shiloh Missionary Baptist Church,
where both he and City Councilman Eric Mays are members.

Despite the public praise as a politician, Mays, the man, is not without flaws. A cursory glance at his past reveals a man who, even by his own admission, has made mistakes. In fact, he spent time in jail as recently as January for “impaired driving,” published reports and court records show.

Another politician working to repair the public trust and the water system here is Sheldon Neeley.

“The public trust is a crisis in confidence…no one trusts government anymore and justifiably so,” said Neeley, a first-term state representative and Flint native. “People are afraid of what’s coming out of their taps. Government failed people on a state level and also on a federal level.”

            Still, Neeley spoke of both the perseverance of the people of Flint as well as his commitment to them

            “I believe we have a very resilient community, that this community will rise from this… I will carry the flag for my city and I will do it proudly and unapologetically,” he said.

            For both Neeley and Mays, their dedication to community stems from their roots, which makes their struggle for justice immensely personal.

            Recently, as Mays walked down the streets of Flint, a large black car pulled up next to him. A man in the car waved and called out to him, thanked him for the work he’s been doing for the city, then said he had a question. The man asked Mays to recommend a safe place to eat within Flint city limits. Mays assured him that a local bar, Raspberries Rhythm Café, is a great place and that the owner has taken necessary precautions.

            Later, Mays sat in the back office of Shiloh Missionary Baptist Church of Flint, a congregation that was at one point in time led by his father. He was focused and attentive as he answered questions about the crisis and how it has affected his people.

            “There are some things that have failed. And my job now is to highlight those mistakes so it will never happen again, but then move forward and fix stuff,” Mays said. “We can have safe water.”

Email: kwitteman@mail.roosevelt.edu