Collective Resilience

May 8, 2025

I counted 3 … 4 … 5 trash cans at Grayson Park, 4 acres of shady tranquility off the quiet Five Mile Road in District One of Birmingham, Alabama. 

The park is around the bend from the Wilson’s two-pump gas station, which sells groceries, ice, and party supplies, and across the street from L.M. Smith Middle School, where students were in the middle of sixth period.

Four of the cans were empty. The fifth billowed over like a distended belly.

Trash was everywhere.

On one end, the side of the park nearest the basketball courts, half-full water bottles, a Powerade bottle cap that read “Power Through,” and a dingy, black Sam’s Club fleece hoodie lay crumpled up less than a foot from an empty trash can.

Toward the far end of the park, furthest away from the street, a bit of vice: A mangled condom. Tossed lottery tickets. Cigarillo butts.

Near the lip of Five Mile Creek, a gurgling stream which meanders through Birmingham's District One, an infant car seat was lodged in a thicket. 

District One Councilor Clinton Woods, who has organized community-led litter cleanups in his district for the last six years, had told me that Grayson Park was a litter hotspot. To grasp how the district’s litter problem and proximity to water sources hang in a precarious balance, he said — start here.

Just as I was heading to another location Woods had directed me to check out — the East Pinson Valley Recreation Center on Jefferson Highway — Radarius pulled up in a gray Chevy Equinox. 

“Tell him to work on the roads,” Radarius said in thick, ’round-the-way parlance, when I asked him how Woods could help the district. “I done lost three tires in the last two months because of the potholes.”

Radarius — who declined to give a last name — looked young but spoke like he’d seen some things. He grew up in District One, left to fight wars in the military, came back home, and has been here since. 

“And the dumping ...” 

He’d seen it with his own eyes: Pickup trucks on the parkway bordering the district and city would unload their trash and keep driving. 

As for Grayson Park? Radarius scans the litter from the window of his SUV and shakes his head, his tattooed hands still gripping the steering wheel. I tell him four of the five trash cans were empty, yet litter was everywhere.

“Cameras?” he proposes.

I assure Radarius that I’d pass his thoughts along to Woods when I spoke with him again, and I made a mental note: Potholes, dumping, cameras, pride … duty.

When Clinton Woods first took office in 2019, he was one of the youngest city councilors in Birmingham history. He comes from a long line of local civil rights leaders.

At the Springville Public Library, a frequent meeting point for Woods’s cleanup crews, the councilor meets me in a room left of the entrance. He holds up a letter on a crisp white sheet of paper from Naga-Keme Akila Ausar, a young contestant for a poster contest organized by District One. 

“Dear City,” the words in green colored pencil read. “Our community needs to recycle and pick up trash. We should start [a] recycling club!” 

“I can remember growing up in that space where nobody wore seat belts, and then everybody wore seat belts, to the point where anytime I was in the car as a child, somebody was like, ‘put your seatbelt on,’” says Woods. 

And so that's been one of Woods’s approaches with the younger generation: going to schools, talking to students, holding idea competitions, surrounding them with the messaging so that good habits become second nature.

“We want them to understand that [litter] looks bad, it harms your community, it harms your ability for economic development,” Woods says. “And so we start at their level and go as far as we can with that messaging.” 

The same goes for adults. 

“We need the whole community to understand that they may feel like they’re just throwing a can out the window, but it's bigger than that, and here’s why,” Woods says.

Streets littered with plastic and storm drains choked by garbage are common pathways for pollution, which reaches regional waterways like the Five Mile Creek and the Black Warrior River watershed as a whole. 

The Alabama river is named after Chief Tuscaloosa/Tushkalusa, whose name in Choctaw means “black warrior” or “black chief.” Originating at the southernmost parts of the Appalachian Highlands, the 178-mile Black Warrior River empties into the Tombigbee River. Downstream, it branches into numerous smaller streams, including Five Mile Creek, which meanders through Birmingham's District One.

On a national level, Keep America Beautiful released its latest and largest study on litter in 2021. It found nearly 50 billion pieces of litter along U.S. roadways and waterways with slightly more along waterways (25.9 billion) than roadways (23.7 billion). There was some good news — for roadways at least. In 2009, they had found approximately 51.2 billion pieces of roadway litter, so there had been a reduction of over 54 percent.

Locally, the Birmingham City Council approved changes to a “Solid Collection and Disposal” ordinance in 2023. The city is buying 100,000 uniform trash bins, which will be distributed citywide, with an additional $3.75 million going to garbage trucks designed to pick up those bins. 

Also, under Mayor Randall Woodfin’s leadership, the City of Birmingham’s Department of Public Works has launched the D.U.M.M.Y. campaign, targeting those who are “Dumping Ugly Mess in My Yard.” It’s the first of a multiphase initiative to change behavior, catch illegal dumpers, and empower residents to report illegal dump sites. The city has even provided dumpsters for residents to drop off mattresses, household garbage, and trash at the Eastern Area Landfill's Public Unloading Area, a cement pad where residents can dump to their heart’s delight. There is no fee for residential disposal, but individuals must show a driver’s license proving they live in Jefferson County. 

However, District One’s location as the city’s northernmost district presents unique challenges that distinguish it from the rest of Birmingham. “I think we have a stable ability to pick up household refuse and things like that in our city, but Birmingham is one of the only cities in the area that has free trash pickup and residential disposal at no charge to residents. All the cities that border us don’t,” says Woods. “So you have people who instead of paying for trash pickup, they'll just drive their trash into the city.” This has sometimes turned Birmingham into a dumping ground, with District One, by virtue of its location, being the most exposed area.

This dilemma was what Radarius was referring to when he spoke of the pickup trucks on the highway, and this was the conundrum Woods presented when he applied for the E Pluribus Unum Fellowship, a program designed to get public, private, and civic leaders who are working around climate and environmental justice issues in the same space.

E Pluribus Unum — which translates to “out of many, one” — was launched as a nonprofit in 2018 by former New Orleans Mayor Mitch Landrieu to build equity across the South by tackling systemic challenges.

A Climate and Environment Justice Fellow in E Pluribus Unum’s fourth cohort, Woods is in the first full year of testing out an initiative called the Power of One to address the litter and dumping problem in his district and raise awareness about environmental responsibility. Litter in District One has been a focus for Woods since 2019, when he was elected. So far, 53,737 pounds have been picked up by 1,175 volunteers under his leadership. The Power of One project adds structure, public education campaigns, community cleanup events, official partnerships with local organizations like the Black Warrior Riverkeeper and the Freshwater Land Trust, and other recycling and waste management initiatives. And it’s designed to scale up.

The Power of One’s hallmark is monthly Saturday cleanups. 

Since the program was launched in 2024, 5,636 pounds of litter have been picked up from the main thoroughfares and side streets of District One. That represents 453 hours of work by 210 volunteers. “Litter Champions” like Angela Montgomery, who have been recruited by the Black Warrior Riverkeeper and paid and trained through Power of One fellowships, have helped lead these efforts, educate others about litter reduction, and advocate for environmental equity. 

Montgomery takes her role as Litter Champion seriously, because the city’s litter problem literally landed on her doorstep. Directly in front of her home in a cul-de-sac in Spring Lake, a no-dumping sign stands tall yet ineffective. “It’s as if the sign is not there,” Montgomery says.

“For whatever reason, people were just comfortable dumping not only trash, but mattresses and toilet seats. I don’t want to sit on my front porch where I pay property taxes and see people disrespectfully and comfortably dumping those things in front of my home.” 

Determined to restore order, Montgomery reached out to neighbors and distributed notices with her nieces and nephews, declaring “a new sheriff in town” and an end to dumping on Springville Lane.

Over the years, confrontations with dumpers revealed varying reactions. Some feigned ignorance, while others were hostile. “It’s a small area over here, but word gets around, so once I caught individuals dumping it didn't take long before they knew you can’t dump down there anymore.”

Montgomery’s persistence extended to city officials. She called 311, the city’s line for reporting non-emergency issues like potholes, blocked drains, or broken traffic lights; followed up with emails; and inquired about a regular cleanup schedule. She advocated for fines against offenders, which now start at $500 per incident. She’s even presented at schools — fashioning herself as a modern-day “Auntie Litter.” The original Auntie Litter, neé Pat Mitchell, was an elementary school teacher who used to visit schools, rec centers, and Girl and Boy Scout camps throughout Alabama in the 1980s and 1990s. Dressed in her signature green striped shirt, green tights, and blue smock, Auntie Litter sang and rapped about the virtues of recycling, reducing, and re-using waste wherever possible.

Councilor Woods, grandson and grandnephew of Civil Rights Movement stalwarts Bishop Calvin Wallace Woods Sr. and Rev. Abraham Woods Jr., respectively, and son of professional football player Chris Woods, lived with his family in District One until high school, when his mom’s breast cancer worsened and the family moved closer to the hospital. 

After studying economics at the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga and earning a graduate engineering degree in construction management at the University of Alabama, he moved back home in 2017, continued the family work in general contracting and the ministry, and assumed office in 2019 as one of the youngest city councilors Birmingham has ever elected. His mom saw him serve for his first two years before succumbing to cancer in 2021.

From her, he inherited logic, resilience, and balance for his servant leadership. In his own way, he leads from behind, always seeking to uncover “what things are people actually asking for.” He’s addressed food insecurity by pushing forward a pilot program to install a grocery store in Huffman Middle School. His “Operation Lawn Care” initiative, a precursor to the Power of One, arose from resident complaints about overgrown lawns and the city’s slow enforcement process, which could take months.

Woods recognized that many residents, including single mothers and the elderly, lacked the means to maintain their lawns. Instead of relying solely on citations and liens, he organized volunteers to cut the grass directly. This approach provided quicker relief, avoided legal complications, and saved city resources.

The program involved teenagers, teaching them lawn care skills and encouraging entrepreneurship. “I always try to focus on what is in my power.” And every initiative has deep community engagement and buy-in.

For the Black Warrior Riverkeeper, given the organization’s primary focus on patrolling or even suing large polluters, partnering with the Power of One presented avenues for more individuals — people who wouldn’t necessarily consider themselves environmentalists — to get involved in their work. 

“Heaven forbid, Woods doesn’t win re-election, there would still be a lot of people with institutional knowledge and all these different community partners who have bought in and who are integral to the continuation of the program,” says Amanda Simpkins, director of leadership programs for E Pluribus Unum. “I know that he has been very intentional about involving his staff and community partners, even from the earliest stages of making sure to engage with people and groups like the Black Warrior Riverkeeper to co-create this effort so that he's not the only one carrying the weight of it.”

The Power of One name is indeed a nod to District One, but also to unifying forces against a formidable challenge. In his grandparents’ day, the opposing forces were the daily indignities of segregation and racism. The unifier? Collective resilience. 

Woods recalls hearing stories of his aunts’ arrests during the Children’s March, a pivotal event in the Civil Rights Movement, where more than 1,000 Birmingham students marched peacefully to protest segregation in May 1963, facing police brutality and ultimately helping bring about desegregation and the Civil Rights Act of 1964. 

His grandfather served as Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s driver when the leader was in Birmingham. Recently, for the first time, Woods heard his grandfather talk about how, because of all the time they spent together, King really trusted him. In 1962, Woods Sr. worked closely with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Ralph Abernathy to organize protests against segregation in Alabama’s Jefferson County. The following year, Woods Sr. was beaten, arrested, convicted, and sentenced to prison for six months for advocating boycotts of Birmingham’s segregated city bus system and for his participation in public protests. Of course, there were fines, as well.

"Were you scared?” Councilor Woods recalled someone asking his 92-year-old grandfather one day while he was giving tours at the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute. 

“Yes,” his grandfather replied. “But do it anyway.”

Calvin Woods Sr. has been honored with an Alabama state historical marker in Kelly Ingram Park near the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute and the historic 16th Street Baptist Church. His brother Rev. Abraham Woods Jr, who served as the director for the Miles College Voter Registration Project and would later become president of the Birmingham Southern Christian Leadership Conference, now has a boulevard named after him on Birmingham’s north side.

“And I have a sign up in Ms. Johnson’s Kindergarten class,” the councilor chuckles.

I lingered at Grayson Park after talking to Radarius — long enough to hear the school bells. Sixth period was over and the middle schoolers who were outside for P.E. class were filing away past the humming buses back inside. Only one more period to go before dismissal at 3:15 p.m.

I know Councilor Woods and the Power of One volunteers will be back soon to sort things out here and at their other meeting points like Rebirth Church and Springville High. Angela Montgomery told me that when the mess looks out of hand like this, it’s possible a storm blew through or that stray dogs were having a time. No matter the cause, the Power of One crew starts at 9 a.m. on one or two Saturdays out of the month and fans out about a mile or so in every direction for about two hours.

They bag up trash, tie it off, and leave it at the curb. 

“We’ll take pickup trucks and grab all the bags and weigh them, then we take it to the city facility and dispose of everything,” says Woods. “We clean up, pack up, and then we’re gone. It’s great impact in a small window.”

They’ve noticed there is less trash the more they go back. “You can see that behavior is changing … people are less likely to litter if it’s already clean,” says Woods. “Most won’t be the first to start the litter pile.”

I remembered the story that Charles Scribner, executive director of Black Warrior Riverkeeper told me of an enforcement win. 

Kamtek, a Magna International auto parts supplier, was discharging industrial pollutants into a wastewater treatment plant designed for sewage. This resulted in contaminated wastewater flowing into Five Mile Creek, a tributary of the Black Warrior River, impacting Birmingham’s District One. Black Warrior Riverkeeper issued a Clean Water Act violation notice.

Typically, polluters preempt stronger lawsuits by seeking minimal penalties from the Alabama Department of Environmental Management (ADEM). However, Kamtek deviated from this pattern. Instead, they engaged directly with the Riverkeeper, acknowledging the violations and expressing a commitment to improvement.

Kamtek hired new personnel to enhance their on-site wastewater treatment, leading to a settlement. This collaboration prevented further strain on the wastewater plant and pollution of Five Mile Creek. The outcome significantly improved water quality for the creek, the Black Warrior River, and the surrounding community. This case demonstrated a positive example of a company working directly with an environmental group.

Community members have also increasingly reached out to report environmental issues beyond litter, such as erosion and water pollution, highlighting their growing trust in and connection to the Power of One program. These concerns were swiftly addressed through collaboration with local agencies and environmental experts, demonstrating the program’s commitment to broader ecological stewardship. 

Additionally, groups seeking to get more involved have expressed interest in incorporating informational and educational components into their activities. This has opened opportunities for the Power of One to provide workshops, training sessions, and resources on topics like sustainability and conservation. 

Woods has a semi-scientific theory: Around 50 percent of people just don’t really know better, but they can be reformed and are the easiest to get on board. Another 30 percent of people litter out of convenience. And the final 20 percent? Rebels. “You can’t convince them that throwing a bottle out the window is going to make its way into the drinking water, and thwart economic development — you could get more amenities to your areas if it looked better.” 

For those last two categories, Woods says enforcement is essential. “My primary goal is how many can we shift up just one level to be a part of the ecosystem that’s working to solve this.”

Walking toward the park from the other side of Five Mile Creek, I met a young woman with wild, curly hair, who was frolicking along the sidewalk. She twirled, mouthed words to a song, and took gulps out of a can of Coca-Cola between whimsical footwork. I wondered which one of Councilor Woods’ groups she’d fall into? 

“Are you planning on throwing away that Coca-Cola in a trash can?” I hollered out of the passenger window toward the young woman as she pranced by. 

“Yes, I planned to finish it before I got home.” Who are you and who sent you, her eyes added.

She calls herself Jordan. She’s lived in and around District One all her life, and she’s 27 years young, give or take.

I pointed to the litter-strewn park and asked about her views on littering.

“The Earth filters all biohazards, so anything like paper, cardboard, or aluminum breaks down over time,” she said with a shrug. “But plastic is the opposite. It contains toxic chemicals that can literally poison the water.” 

“Have you always had that mindset in terms of how the Earth kind of takes care of itself?” I asked Jordan.

“Absolutely. I kind of just move as one with reality, its structures, its infrastructure. I'm actually listening to the soil, and to the trees, the base of the trees right now. I was in the middle of finishing up my rootwork. My roots start at the base of the trees … and they have a lot to say.” 

I typed 3000 Jefferson State Parkway for the East Pinson Valley Recreation Center into my GPS and pulled off — confident that the Black Warrior Riverkeeper, Litter Champions like Angela Montgomery, and Councilor Woods’ Power of One team were listening, too.

Kamille D. Whittaker is an Atlanta-based journalist, non-profit newsroom leader, and a professor of journalism and digital media at Clark Atlanta University, where she is the Faculty Adviser for The Panther Newspaper and the Communication Arts Journal. Currently, she is conducting research for Perhaps, To Bloom, a narrative and Africana Digital Humanities project studying the swelling contemporary Caribbean presence in Atlanta and the South. Whittaker was appointed as a Faculty Fellow for the HistoryMakers Innovations in Pedagogy and Teaching Fellowship for the 2024-2025 academic year. Previously, she served as managing editor of Atlanta magazine.

Wes Frazer makes photographs. When he’s not making photographs you may find him swimming in rivers, fly fishing, or playing with his dog, Ralph.