By Anita L. Wills
This week, I found myself in Washington, D.C., once again walking in purpose and standing in truth. I came as a proud member of Mothers Against Police Brutality, and most importantly, as the grandmother of Kerry Baxter Jr., whose life was stolen through state violence. My journey here is part of something larger—a legacy of resistance, storytelling, and justice that we in the Black community call the Griot Tradition.
One of our most powerful moments happened in front of Black Lives Matter Plaza. As we stood together, each of us holding pictures of our loved ones who were unalived by police, I couldn’t help but reflect on how sacred that space felt. This mural, which Trump once tried to have removed, is still here—we are still here. I looked around at the mothers, fathers, siblings, and grandparents beside me, and I knew we were doing exactly what we were meant to do: carry our loved ones’ names into the halls of power, into the streets, and into history.
As C-Note put it, “They are destroying our history, and that is why we must continue the Griot Tradition! They will not silence our voices!”
We took a group picture in front of the mural—our community of grief and love, united by unimaginable loss but even stronger in our conviction. That image captures more than just our faces; it captures a movement rooted in memory, love, and defiance.
I was also honored to speak at the 6th Annual Clinton R. Allen Speakout Against Police Brutality, held at the Mayflower Hotel. Every person who testified had lost a loved one to police violence. I was one of the last to speak on the panel, and as I looked out at the audience, I felt the weight of every mother’s story that had come before mine. Each testimony carried the sacred pain and power of truth-telling.
In the midst of the heaviness, there were also moments that reminded me of the strength we carry, even in humor. At the airport, a TSA agent asked me to take off my shoes. I told him, “I thought we didn’t have to if we’re over 70.” He looked at me wide-eyed and said, “How old are you?” I told him, “I’m 78!” He didn’t believe me! He said I didn’t look even 60. That brought a little joy to my morning—I get that reaction often, but it never gets old.
To be in the capital of this nation, surrounded by mothers and families speaking truth to power, is something I will never take for granted. We are not just telling our stories; we are making history. We are the Griots of this generation, keeping alive the names of those we lost and demanding justice in their memory.
I am here. I am speaking. And I will not be silenced.
