Dear Sybrina Fulton, Trayvon Martin's Mother

Dear Sybrina Fulton,

I think about you often.

Every time the police or a self-appointed stand-in for the police murders another innocent Black person, I think of you.

Your son Trayvon had only just turned 17. A child, digging change out of his pocket to buy Skittles and iced tea. A normal kid, preoccupied with girls, minding his own business, whose death began a movement.

The evening your son’s killer was acquitted, I bicycled out to Oscar Grant plaza in Oakland, California. That’s not the plaza’s “real” name, but what people here call it, unofficially named after a young Black man who was shot in the back of the head by a BART cop while handcuffed. Many distraught people like myself are drawn there after each gross miscarriage of justice.

Together, the people who gathered there cried, mourned, and felt lost. Alicia Garza posted this message to Facebook:

"I continue to be surprised at how little black lives matter. Black people. I love you. I love us. Our lives matter."

It got reposted to Twitter with the hashtag #blacklivesmatter and a rallying cry was born.

Trayvon’s life mattered. If a stranger hadn’t followed, confronted, and shot him, he’d be 26 years old now. We’ll never know the man he would have become.

In some ways, 2012 feels like a long time ago, but in others, it’s like no time went by at all. When news breaks of yet another young person gunned down for their “suspicious” black skin, I say your son’s name along with theirs. And I think of you.

Your suffering from having your son so cruelly stolen from this Earth still plays in your voice in every interview. You could have hidden yourself away, retreating from the fight. No one would have blamed you for it. Instead, you call upon the reserves of strength you credit to having come from generations of strong Black women. You use that strength to force yourself keep working for positive change.

You and your ex-husband started The Trayvon Martin Foundation to provide emotional and financial support to families who, like you, have suffered the senseless loss of a child to gun violence.

“I feel like my son was sacrificed in order for this country to kind of wake up,” you said in an interview at Clemson University. “I think what I do now is more purposeful than what I was doing before.”

You also began the Circle of Mothers and Mothers of the Movement to build a community with all the moms who have lost children to gun violence. I cried when I saw you, along with Sandra Bland’s mother Geneva Reed-Veal and Jordan Davis’s mother Lucy McBath, speak at the 2016 Democratic National Convention.

“I did not want this spotlight,” you said that night. “But I will do everything I can to focus some of this light on a path out of the darkness.”

You tripped on your words a little bit, accidentally adding the word “pain” instead of “path” at first. It only made your message more gripping. I could hear the depth of your emotion and the courage you drew from to stand in that spotlight. I felt your hope that by doing this work, you could build a better world for your remaining son, Jahvaris Fulton—and for all the other mothers who need not suffer the way you have.

Your support for families who lose their children in senseless, racist killings never wavers. I’m struck by the picture I saw of you at George Floyd’s funeral. How you held your hands clasped in prayer, your eyes so steadfast with empathy and sorrow, your mask bearing the image of dear Trayvon. Your very presence begs the world to change, to stop treating our Black brothers and sisters as expendable.

When I saw your announcement on Twitter in 2020 that you were running for Commissioner in Miami Dade District 1, it filled me with hope and gratitude. I want strong, empathetic women like you to represent people like me in all levels of government. I trust that you ran for office not out of a desire for personal power, but to help others.

A 2001 survey of US congressmen and women found that the top reason women cited for running for office was that they wanted to effect social change. The top reason for men, on the other hand, was just that they “always wanted to.”

To me, that’s not a very good reason. It may be enough for those men, but elected officials should work for the people, not for themselves. I would rather someone like you hold office, Sybrina. Someone who was thrust into the spotlight, not someone who sought it out. A person who has dedicated her life to peace and justice for families.

When you lost that election by 331 votes, I was saddened, but not surprised. Your opponent, who was from the same political party as you, was the former mayor of Miami Gardens and had established himself for over a decade in politics. Even Barack Obama lost his first election. You came so close.

Mostly, I sincerely hope that setback will not prevent you from continuing to try. You are one of the strongest women in the world, and your voice can help change it.

You inspire me to keep fighting for an end to racial inequality and systemic injustice, and to put a stop to gun violence. Sometimes it feels impossible and I worry I don't have the inner will to keep showing up. But then I remember you, and how much you've lost, and I draw from your fortitude.

These past two months, I've joined with other activists in Oakland and San Francisco to speak out against the rising tide of violence aimed at our Asian brothers and sisters.

Every time I march, I think of your son Trayvon, and how his tragic death launched the movement as it stands today. It not only catapulted you into action, but me as well.

I'll never forget the horrible sacrifice you were forced to make to create the chance at a better world. I have to believe that, despite the moments when it seems like we're going backward instead of forward, ultimately, your loss will not have been in vain.

In the end, we will win. We will create an equal society. And then people like you and I will merely have to work to maintain it for future generations.

I will stand with you always.

Yours in hope and solidarity,

Lissa Bay