How ICE Turned Charlotte’s Democratic Primary Into a Battleground

It was windy and cold outside but stuffy in the fellowship hall where the candidates prepared to preach to primary voters. A crowd of about 40 shuffled into Little Rock AME Zion Church, one of Charlotte’s oldest Black places of worship, in a corner of the city center. They peeled off wool coats, hats, and scarves and took their seats in the pews.

It was January 15, four days before Martin Luther King Jr. Day. The NAACP’s Charlotte branch and Charlotte Black Voter Project had organized this candidates’ forum, one of several they hosted in advance of the March 3 Democratic primary. Justice, especially around immigration, was on everyone’s minds: A U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agent had shot and killed Renee Good in Minneapolis eight days earlier, and last November’s “Operation Charlotte’s Web” had spread fear throughout the city’s Latino community.

Even in the warmth of the fellowship hall, hard questions loomed as they do over the nation: Who has the right to live in this city, state, country? Who resides here legally, who doesn’t, and what should authorities do about the difference?

Among the invited candidates were the two main contenders for the N.C. House District 106 seat. Until this election cycle, the primary was a barely contested layup for Carla Cunningham, now a seven-term incumbent. The general election was a foregone conclusion in a heavily Democratic district that includes parts of northeast Charlotte and Huntersville.

But immigration—and, especially, a vote and floor speech Cunningham delivered on the issue last summer—turned the primary campaign into one of the most ferocious and closely watched races in North Carolina. Just after the New Year, Democratic Gov. Josh Stein took the unusual step of not only endorsing in a legislative primary, but siding with a challenger who had never run for public office: the Rev. Rodney Sadler, a 58-year-old Biblical scholar and activist.

“This isn’t something that you generally see in state legislative races. It’s certainly not anything I can remember happening very frequently in North Carolina,” said Jason Windett, a professor of political science and public administration at UNC Charlotte. “For a Democratic governor to get involved in a district where we know the (winner) is going to be a Democrat is pretty extraordinary.”

Cunningham, 64, wore a fuchsia suit to the forum. Sadler, in black clerical attire, sat beside her at the candidates’ table. They were once allies on issues like Medicaid expansion; Cunningham is a registered nurse. But on this cold evening, neither acknowledged the other. A third candidate at the table, Vermanno Bowman, ran in the 2024 primary and lost to Cunningham by 69 points. 

All three candidates are Black. Sadler is running with the endorsement of the Black Political Caucus of Charlotte-Mecklenburg, the most powerful local political organization.

About 15 minutes in, the moderator asked: As an elected official, “can you help protect immigrant families in the community from undue fear or discrimination?”

Cunningham replied that she supports sheriffs’ cooperation with Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) because it’s safer for the community—the alternative is something like “Charlotte’s Web,” in which agents patrolled the streets with little local oversight. 

“So I would say the best option for people: Don’t go out there,” she advised. “Stay in your home, where you can be safe, and know what rights you have.” The remarks drew a smattering of polite, barely audible claps.

Sadler responded in his booming preacher’s voice. “My parents told me very clearly when I was a child: Love God, love your neighbor, and love the stranger,” he said. “We have come far too far as a country to start scapegoating some among us … I want to say this very clearly: If you don’t love everybody, then you shouldn’t represent anybody.”

Cheers and applause interrupted before he could finish his answer. A woman in the second row remarked: “Mic drop.”

The Battle of H.B. 318

Cunningham has held office since she ran unopposed in a newly drawn district in 2012, two years after the death of her husband, longtime Charlotte-area legislator Pete Cunningham. She’s been largely quiet, which The Charlotte Observer acknowledged in a 2018 editorial endorsement: “Cunningham has struggled to make an impact in the Republican-dominated House.”

But with last year’s House Bill 318, her votes pushed a controversial piece of legislation into law. “The Criminal Illegal Alien Enforcement Act” requires sheriffs to determine the immigration status of jail inmates and hold them for an additional 48 hours if ICE issued what’s known as a detainer request. Some North Carolina sheriffs, including Garry McFadden in Mecklenburg County, have resisted cooperation with ICE. The intent of the bill was to require it. State House Speaker Destin Hall, Majority Leader Brenden Jones, and two other Republican lawmakers were the primary sponsors.

The bill passed both houses of the General Assembly on June 10. Cunningham was the only Democrat in the General Assembly who backed it. Stein vetoed it 10 days later, saying it was unconstitutional to “detain people for up to 48 hours after they would otherwise be released.” An override vote was scheduled for July 29.

A few days later, Sadler called Cunningham. He said in a recent interview that he wasn’t yet considering a run for the District 106 seat. But Sadler, who’s been active in the Rev. William Barber II’s “Moral Mondays” protests and other progressive causes, said he’d heard from colleagues of his in the Poor People’s Campaign that Cunningham was thinking about joining Republicans to override Stein’s veto.

The initial vote was one thing, but a veto override is a matter of party loyalty. House Republicans are one vote shy of a veto-proof legislative supermajority. Cunningham’s defection would ensure H.B. 318 became law and hand an embarrassing loss to Stein and her fellow Democrats.

Sadler told The Assembly he urged Cunningham not to do it. The Bible professor and director of the Center for Social Justice and Reconciliation at Union Presbyterian Seminary was on a writing retreat at a Highlands cabin co-owned by former Charlotte Mayor Jennifer Roberts, but he said he felt a responsibility to speak to the lawmaker.

“We talked for about 45 minutes, and I told her what the moral reasons were,” Sadler said. “This is what God says in the Bible: Leviticus, Chapter 19:33-34, Matthew, Chapter 25. We talked over and over again about the moral responsibility, and we ended that conversation with her saying, ‘I’m going to do what I’m going to do.’” 

The Leviticus verses advise: “[T]he stranger that dwelleth with you shall be unto you as one born among you, and thou shalt love him as thyself.” 

(Cunningham confirmed via email that this conversation happened but said it did not influence her vote: “I do not have a relationship with Rev. Sadler.”)

On July 29, Cunningham was the only Democrat in the House or Senate who voted to override the veto. And she did more than that. Cunningham had always identified as a conservative Democrat, but from the floor, she made remarks that could have come from a MAGA influencer.

“It is time for my unapologetic truth to be shared with all of you,” she said. “It’s not just the numbers that matter but also where the immigrants come from and the culture they bring with them. … All cultures are not equal. … I suggest they must assimilate—adapt to the culture of the country they wish to live in.”

The speech made more news than the vote. Clips of Cunningham went viral, and immigrants and their advocates flooded her Facebook page and other social media with accusations of racism and xenophobia—which only accelerated in November during “Charlotte’s Web.” 

The backlash took material form, too: The state party’s Executive Council decided to deny Cunningham, and three other candidates who bucked the party, access to crucial voter contact software.

On January 4, Cunningham posted a video to her website. She said “a spirit of disharmony … surrounded me” before the vote and that she had “received several threats from elected officials and community leaders” in the days before it. 

She later told The Assembly she had perceived only one threat of physical violence—from McFadden. She accused the sheriff of telling her during a phone conversation that if she voted with Republicans, people would “come after her,” and that he didn’t want to see her get hurt. McFadden, in turn, accused Cunningham of waging a “smear campaign.” District Attorney Spencer Merriweather referred her accusations against McFadden to the State Bureau of Investigation. No resolution had been made public as of late February.

Cunningham also apologized in her video for causing offense during her floor speech, saying she takes “full accountability” for her words and her actions and wants to “focus on unity.” 

H.B. 318, however, is now law. And in a February interview, she said she stands by her vote and her views on immigration.

“The party has been extreme-left on a lot of different things, and I’m more in the middle,” she said. “Today, as we’re in Black History Month, I’m free. I’m free. … I don’t toe the line like that. My constituents come first for me.”

‘I Know I’m Not in Charge’

After Cunningham’s speech, Sadler said, a group of local party leaders and immigrant advocates urged him to run.

“When she actually went on the floor and made the vote, I think that was disturbing, and a lot of people in my own circle were upset by that,” Sadler said. “But when she followed it up with that horrible speech, it was something that stirred me to say, ‘She is no longer qualified to serve as our representative.’” He announced his candidacy in September, well before the filing period opened on December 1.

Sadler told The Assembly he started early because he knew how hard it would be to defeat a longtime incumbent. That has also helped fill his campaign chest: As of the end of January, Sadler’s total receipts more than doubled Cunningham’s, $121,820 to $57,449, according to State Board of Elections candidate finance records.

Yet nearly all the public officials and immigrant advocates contacted for this story declined to comment. The one exception was José Hernandez-Paris, the CEO of the Latin American Coalition, the main advocacy and support organization for Latino immigrants in the Charlotte area.

Hernandez-Paris, a Colombian immigrant who lives in District 106, said he doesn’t know Cunningham well but was “extremely surprised” by her remarks last July. “I was surprised … that she would make comments without realizing that she’s also part of a community that has experienced similar situations and challenges,” Hernandez-Paris said. He added that he’s known Sadler for years and probably would have supported him anyway.

Cunningham said she sees no conflict between her views on immigration and her status as an “ADOS,” or American Descendant of Slavery, a term she used during her floor speech. “I’ve always been an independent thinker,” she said, “and I’m not going to allow anybody to take that from me, because, like I said, I’m free.”

ADOS is a decade-old movement led by a nonprofit group, the ADOS Advocacy Foundation. The group calls on the U.S. government to exclusively designate the descendants of slavery as a protected class and pay a minimum of $20 trillion in reparations. The foundation issued a news release in January that condemned the state Democrats’ decision to deny Cunningham access to the voter software, and she was a guest on the foundation’s podcast in February.

The furor over her position has eclipsed discussion about what either candidate hopes to accomplish if elected. Cunningham cites her experience and claims she has helped direct $23 million to Mecklenburg County nonprofits; Sadler promises he will stand up to corporate interests and represent working families. Both echo the bromide of “working across the aisle.” But both concede that, as members of the minority party, they can’t do much to push legislation.

“I may not be effective at all. I recognize that reality,” Sadler said. “But if I can sustain the governor’s veto when they try to do the worst things that they do to the people of North Carolina, then that would be worth it.”

“I know I’m not in charge,” Cunningham said at the January 15 forum. “I know I don’t have power.”

At the forum’s conclusion, host and Charlotte Black Voter Project co-founder Colette Forrest voiced her own view of power and powerlessness. “When have we ever been in charge?” she asked. “Where would we be if we waited to be in charge to make change?”

The candidates for sheriff and county commissioner—plus Sadler, Bowman, and the crowd at Little Rock AME Zion Church—applauded and nodded in approval. Cunningham didn’t. She wasn’t in the hall anymore. The District 106 segment had been the first of the forum, and once it wrapped, the incumbent and her team collected their things and walked out into the cold.