SAY HIS NAME: KEITH PORTER JR.

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  SAY HIS NAME: KEITH PORTER JR. THE EXECUTION OF KEITH PORTER JR. Why We Refuse the State’s Narrative The killing of Keith Porter Jr. on New Year’s Eve in Northridge exposes a truth the state works hard to hide: the so-called “war on immigrants” has always been a war on Black people. While officials argue policy and borders, Keith bled on the pavement outside his own home. The near-total silence from national media is not accidental—it protects the man who killed him. This is why we say, without compromise: Black Lives Matter. The Truth vs. the “Active Shooter” Lie The Department of Homeland Security rushed to brand the shooter, Brian Palacios , a “hero” who stopped an “active shooter.” That story collapses under scrutiny. Vigilantism, Not Enforcement: Palacios was off duty. He was not dispatched. He chose to put on tactical gear, take his service weapon, and hunt a neighbor celebrating the New Year. Zero Accountability: Any civilian who masked up and armed themselve...

Lena Baker Say Her Name!

Why Lena Baker’s Story Still Echoes

When we talk about the movement, we often talk about the future. We talk about the world we are building for our children. But to know where we are going, we have to look back at the women who had to stand alone so that we could one day stand together.

Lena Baker was one of those women.

In 1944, Lena wasn't a "case study" or a "statistic." She was a mother in Georgia trying to survive in a world that saw her as less than human. She was a woman trapped in a cycle of abuse and labor that looked a lot like the slavery her ancestors had fought to escape. When she finally reached for a weapon to save her own life, the system didn’t see a survivor. It saw a target.

The Dignity in the Dark

The most haunting part of Lena’s story isn't the four-hour "trial" or the all-white jury that decided her fate before they even sat down. It was her walk to that chair. In a room filled with people who refused to see her humanity, Lena Baker held onto her own.

Her final words weren't filled with hate; they were filled with a terrifyingly calm truth:

"What I done, I did in self-defense... I have nothing against anyone."

She died because a system was designed to protect her abuser and punish her existence. She became the only woman Georgia ever executed in that chair—a lonely, heavy distinction that remained a stain on the state for sixty years.

Why Her Story Is Our Story

We tell Lena’s story today because the echoes of that Cuthbert courtroom are still ringing in our ears. When we say "Say Her Name," we are saying Lena’s name.

  • We see her in every Black woman today who is told her self-defense is "aggression."

  • We see her in every courtroom where the jury doesn't look like the person on trial.

  • We see her in the 60 years it took for the state to finally say, "We were wrong."

Lena Baker’s pardon in 2005 wasn't just a piece of paper; it was a reminder that the truth is patient. Our movement is the vessel for that truth. We aren't just fighting for policy; we are fighting for the day when no Black mother has to choose between her life and her liberty, and then be executed for choosing life.

Lena didn't have a movement behind her in 1945. She went to that chair in a silence that was supposed to be permanent. Our job is to make sure that silence stays broken.

Rest in power, Lena. We’re still here, and we’re still speaking for you.