Wilmot Collins, right, rejoices after election results declare him the next mayor of Helena, Mont., on Nov. 7, 2017. Mr. Collins ran on a ‘progressive’ ticket, pledging to tackle issues such as homelessness and the cost of housing.Thom Bridge
Late on a September evening in 1990, Wilmot Collins and his wife, Maddie, boarded a cargo ship and fled the civil war in Liberia.
Food had been scarce for months and both were malnourished. Sometimes, the only thing to eat was butter mixed with mayonnaise; once, they ate toothpaste. For weeks, they and five relatives had crammed into a single room near the U.S. embassy, hoping it would prove a safer area as fighting raged across the city.
The voyage on the cargo ship was only the start of a much longer journey that took Mr. Collins to Ghana, Ivory Coast and finally, the United States.
But perhaps the most improbable chapter of his story is the most recent: In November, he was elected mayor of Helena, Montana's capital city, ousting a four-term incumbent.
Mr. Collins, whose swearing-in takes place on Jan. 2, will become the first black mayor in the 128-year history of Montana. The state is one of the whitest in the country, with African-Americans representing 0.4 per cent of the population. Mr. Collins is also a former refugee at a time when people seeking asylum are portrayed by U.S. President Donald Trump as threats and burdens.
Mr. Collins seizes every opportunity to counter that narrative by sharing his own story. "When people can relate to the real deal, they're wide-eyed, because all they've heard is what comes out of our leadership," he said. "There's no way when people hear your stories and struggles they can't identify with you."
Mr. Collins was one of several candidates in November's elections whose victories served as a rebuke to Mr. Trump's politics of division.
"I do know people who worked very hard [on the campaign] and thought it was very important to support people like Mr. Collins, particularly a year after Trump had been elected President," said Jeremy Johnson, a political scientist at Carroll College in Helena. "They didn't want to just have business as usual."
On a recent afternoon, Mr. Collins and his wife sat in a restaurant in Cambridge, Mass., where he was participating in a seminar Harvard organizes for newly elected mayors. The group also included Vi Lyles, the mayor of Charlotte, N.C., the first African-American woman to serve in that role, and Michelle Kaufusi, who was just elected the first female mayor in the history of Provo, Utah.
Mr. Collins, 54, said he was not thinking about breaking barriers with his bid to lead the city he has called home since 1994. After he and Ms. Collins fled Liberia to Ghana, their future was uncertain.
Ms. Collins had earlier spent a year in Montana as a high-school exchange student. With the help of her former host family, she obtained a scholarship to study nursing in Helena. Two weeks before she was scheduled to leave Ghana for Montana, she found out she was pregnant.
The couple agreed she should go on ahead alone while Mr. Collins sought a way to join her. Mr. Collins returned briefly to Liberia, where two of his brothers were killed during the civil war. Then a fresh upsurge in violence forced him, once again, to flee.
This time, he travelled on foot to neighbouring Ivory Coast. He registered with the United Nations as a refugee and began the U.S. vetting process, an experience he describes as "intense, detailed and invasive."
He did not meet his daughter, Jaymie, until she was nearly 2, when they embraced at the Helena airport.
Not long after Mr. Collins arrived in Montana, an elderly neighbour called him early on a Saturday morning. "She said, 'Hey, have you seen the nasty thing written on your wall?' " he recalled.
He put on clothes and went outside to look at his garage, where someone had written "KKK" and "Go Back to Africa." Mr. Collins went inside to call the police but in the meantime, his neighbour galvanized other residents to wash off the slurs.
Another time, he received a piece of mail that contained a ticket with the image of a monkey on it and the words "go back to Africa." Mr. Collins said his first instinct was to laugh. "To me it was funny, because they had no clue what it took to get me here," he said. The family's closest friends in Helena urged him to take it seriously and involve the authorities; two women were eventually arrested.
The thought of leaving Helena did not cross his mind.
"For every negative situation, we had an overwhelming positive experience," Mr. Collins said. "You could get this kind of thing anywhere, but would the reaction be the same? That's the way I looked at it."
The first job Mr. Collins had in Montana was at a home for abused children. Then, he took on a second job working night shifts as a janitor. He signed up for the National Guard and went through boot camp in South Carolina. He worked for the Department of Veterans Affairs in Montana for a decade and even did a stint at the Department of Homeland Security, reviewing applications for American citizenship.
Along the way, he became a fixture in the community.
He joined a church, coached soccer and spoke to high-school students every year about Africa. He was tapped to star in productions at the local theatre, starting with Big River, a musical based on Mark Twain's Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.
Mr. Collins described the phone call that led to his initial casting: "She said, 'Are you black?' I said, 'Yes, I am.' She said, 'Can you sing?' I said, 'I think so.'"
In truth, he is a talented singer who loves to do karaoke to country music; a favourite is Neon Moon by Brooks and Dunn.
Somehow, Mr. Collins also completed a master's degree in human-resource management and began work on a doctorate in forensic psychology. His most recent job was as a child-protection specialist with the state government, but he had always harboured dreams of running for office. By last year, he was ready to try.
A liberal-leaning city in a conservative state, Helena is home to 31,000 people. Its mayoral contest is non-partisan, meaning candidates do not represent a political party. The incumbent mayor, Jim Smith, was popular and well-respected. But Mr. Collins and two candidates for city commissioner together formed what they called a "progressive" ticket, pledging to tackle issues such as homelessness and the cost of housing. Mr. Collins also received the endorsement of the city's firefighters.
One source of controversy hovered in the background.
Until recently, Helena was home to a Confederate memorial fountain, which had been installed in 1916. After the violence in Charlottesville, Va., in August, the city had a brief but impassioned debate about the future of the memorial. It was removed that same month. (Mr. Collins said he initially favoured adding an explanatory plaque to the fountain, then endorsed its removal).
Jesse Chaney, the editor of the Helena Independent Record, described the mayoral race as a low-key affair that did not involve mud slinging. Mr. Collins "came out and said, 'This is who I am,' and apparently that's what Helena wanted," Mr. Chaney said.
After months of knocking on doors, Mr. Collins gathered with his family and supporters on election night at Lapa Grill, a Mexican restaurant, to await the results.
By 9 p.m., victory appeared certain, not just for Mr. Collins but for the whole progressive slate. U.S. Senator John Tester, a Democrat, called Mr. Collins to congratulate him.
The next day, Mr. Collins fielded dozens more calls, including one from Tom Perez, the chairman of the Democratic National Committee. "I said, 'The Tom Perez?'" Mr. Collins remembered. "He said, 'Yeah. I just want you to know, you have no idea, what you've done is a big deal.'"
Mr. Collins is especially proud of what his election signifies for his fellow refugees. There is a view among some in the United States that refugees "are just here to suck up government resources, and that is so far from the truth," he said. He has met refugees from all 50 states and among them were doctors, dentists, teachers, poets, businessmen and social workers.
"Why put us in a box? Let us fly," he said. "I refuse to get in that box."