As Alabama barrels toward the May 19 Republican primary, one race in Huntsville has become a flashpoint—not just for the district, but for what kind of Republican Party Alabama wants to be. The matchup between James Lomax and Mo Brooks isn’t just a contest of résumés. It’s a choice between forward motion and political déjà vu.
On one side is Lomax, a first-term state representative who didn’t waste time figuring out how Montgomery works. In just a short span, he climbed to House Majority Whip, earned the trust of his colleagues, and, more importantly, put real points on the board. His legislation isn’t theoretical, it’s tangible. Take House Bill 527, his proposal to let Alabama workers deduct up to $1,000 in overtime pay from their state income taxes, was recently signed into law by Governor Kay Ivey. That’s not cable-news rhetoric; that’s kitchen-table relief. It’s the kind of nuts-and-bolts governing voters say they want but rarely see delivered.
Then there’s Brooks—a man whose political career has stretched across four decades, multiple offices, and more ballots than most voters can count. Alabama House. County Commission. Congress. A failed U.S. Senate run. And now, a return to the very chamber he left before Lomax was even born. At some point, voters are right to ask: is this about service, or is it about an attempt to stay relevant?
Because here’s the uncomfortable truth, Brooks has never really left the ballot. And that raises a bigger question about identity. When someone has spent that many years running for and holding office, what happens when the office goes away? For Brooks, the answer seems clear: find another one. Anyone.
Supporters will say he brings experience. Critics will counter with something harder to ignore: despite twelve years in Congress, Brooks himself has acknowledged sponsoring and passing just one standalone bill. One. In a dozen years. That’s not exactly a track record that screams legislative productivity.
And that’s where the contrast sharpens.
Lomax is operating in the present—building relationships, moving legislation, and navigating the realities of governing in a growing, economically critical region. Brooks, on the other hand, brings a brand of politics that often thrives on confrontation but struggles in collaboration. And in a legislature where getting anything done requires teamwork, not just talking points, that distinction matters.
Because make no mistake: the Alabama Legislature is not Congress. It’s smaller. It’s more personal. It runs on relationships and results. Lawmakers who can’t—or won’t—work with others don’t just stall themselves; they stall their districts.
And that’s the real risk in this race.
Huntsville isn’t standing still. With the continued expansion of Redstone Arsenal, the arrival of Space Command, and a steady stream of new industry, this region is one of the most strategically important in the state. It needs a representative who can plug into that momentum, not one who becomes a sideshow.
If Brooks returns to Montgomery, he won’t be the center of gravity, he’ll be a disruption to it. Leadership will move around him, not through him. Local leaders will look elsewhere for partnership. And the district risks trading influence for noise.
That may sound harsh. But it’s also how legislative bodies work.
This race, at its core, is about whether voters want a legislator who has already shown he can get things done—or one who is still chasing the next platform. It’s about whether Alabama Republicans are looking forward or looking back.
And in a state that prides itself on growth, opportunity, and momentum, that’s not a small decision.
Tripp Skipper is a seasoned public affairs and government relations professional with deep roots in federal policy and legislative strategy. He previously served on Capitol Hill as a staffer to Jeff Sessions, Robert Aderholt, and Mike Rogers, where he developed extensive experience navigating the legislative process, advising on policy matters, and building relationships across government.
