Movita Johnson-Harrell became an activist after gun violence took her son. Now she’s lost a second one. | Jenice Armstrong
Former State Rep. Movita Johnson-Harrell spent much of her life fighting gun violence but it wasn't enough to save either of her two sons.
About 100 of us stood at a West Philly playground with our heads bowed Monday and listened as mourners called out the names of gun-violence victims.
We were at a vigil and balloon release organized by former State Rep. Movita Johnson-Harrell, whose son Donté Johnson, 30, was fatally wounded Friday in Los Angeles in what’s believed to have been a drive-by shooting.
You may remember that Johnson-Harrell’s youngest son, Charles Andre Johnson, was fatally shot in 2011 while waiting in a car in Mount Airy for his sister. His death spurred her into activism and led her to create the Charles Foundation to help at-risk children.
Now, many of the same friends and relatives who had mourned Charles’ death a decade ago gathered once again, this time in memory of his big brother, Donté, Johnson-Harrell’s second oldest.
Listening as attendees called out various names inside the park at 52nd and Wyalusing was a sobering reminder of just how many of us know someone who has been shot and killed. One lady standing near me called out name after name.
It used to be that knowing a homicide victim was a relatively rare thing. Not so anymore. Gun violence has become part of everyday life in cities like Philadelphia and Chicago.
I thought of one of my own relatives who had been fatally wounded by gunfire last year. Because of COVID, I hadn’t been able to attend his funeral, which I regret. In memory of him, I quietly added his name to the sad mix.
“We’ve got to stop this, y’all. We see that ain’t nobody coming to save us,” Johnson-Harrell, a Democrat who once represented West Philadelphia, told the mourners. “I didn’t think I had it in me to keep fighting, but I don’t have no choice. I understand my life is not my own. My suffering is not in vain. My sons’ deaths will not be in vain. I will never stop.”
“I don’t need to hold an office,” she added, referring to the state House seat that she resigned from in late 2019 before pleading guilty to stealing from a nonprofit she founded called Motivations Education & Consultation Associates.
After her plea, she served two months at Riverside Correctional Facility before being released in April because of the COVID-19 pandemic.
Johnson-Harrell, who lost both her father and brother to violence, tried mightily to protect her four offspring, even moving them to the relative safety of Lansdowne.
“I fought for my children,” she told me. “I never wanted to be a politician. I went to the state House because I wanted to stop gun violence. And it didn’t matter.”
Johnson-Harrell doesn’t have many details about last week’s incident besides that her son was in California to attend a festival. The last time she saw him was on the morning of March 4, when he kissed her goodbye.
“He left here with several friends and they met up with several friends in L.A. and they were all going to get something to eat and they got out of the car. They were only out of the car a few minutes and they were standing around talking and a car pulled up and opened fire,” Johnson-Harrell told me. “Four people were shot and Donté was the fatal.”
Johnson-Harrell’s sons, who were two years apart, had been exceptionally close in life.
Now, in death, they will be near each other as well. The family plans to bury Donté at Rolling Green Memorial Park in West Chester, next to Charles.
“I bought the spot when Charles died,” Johnson-Harrell said. “I said nobody is going to be beside Charles but his brother.”
Laying Donté’s body next to his brother’s will be a touching gesture by a mother who has dedicated her life to fighting gun violence, only to find that it wasn’t enough to keep either of her sons safe.