Carrying Latonya Reeves’ Legacy from Memphis to Washington DC

We Who Believe in Freedom: Carrying Latonya Reeves’ Legacy from Memphis to Washington

By Allison Donald

There are some trips you plan, and then there are trips that stay with you.

My journey to Washington, D.C. was about one thing: celebrating the reintroduction of the Latonya Reeves Freedom Act. But it quickly became something more. It became about memory, responsibility, and the kind of freedom that too many people are still denied. I traveled with a crew of nine, united by a shared purpose—to make sure Latonya Reeves’ name, and what it stands for, continues to move through the halls of power. Latonya was from Memphis, just like me, and that connection made this work personal.

This trip was about one simple idea: the right for people with disabilities to live in their own homes, not expensive institutions.

As I sat in a sixth-floor apartment, going through names and office numbers of members of Congress, the work became real. The LaTonya Reeves Freedom Act wasn’t abstract anymore. It was focused. Intentional. The team loaded up a blue wagon with six birthday cakes, each one printed with Latonya’s image. The plan was to deliver them with a message—celebrate this legislation. Celebrate the civil rights of people with disabilities.

The Latonya Reeves Freedom Act is about ensuring that people with disabilities have the right to live in their own homes instead of being forced into expensive nursing homes or unsafe institutions because services are not available in the community. In Tennessee, that gap is still real. People are placed on long waitlists, systems default to institutional care, and families are often left without meaningful options for support.

This bill is about changing that structure. It would interrupt the institutional placement pipeline and hold accountable those responsible for ensuring people receive the home- and community-based services they need to live in the most integrated setting possible. It is about shifting responsibility from managing institutional placements to guaranteeing cost effective community living as a civil right. That is how we begin to make real the promise of Olmstead v. L.C..

The team and I didn’t come quietly. We came prepared, organized, and clear in our message. One of the first stops was the office of Steve Cohen, who is expected to reintroduce the bill. We dropped off one of the cakes as both a thank you and a push forward. 

Gavin and Monique, both first-time team members from Colorado, experienced community interaction firsthand. There was something powerful about watching Gavin step into offices with his chest out, speaking directly about his experience and the need for this legislation. He didn’t shrink in those rooms—he expanded into them. It wasn’t polished, but it was real, and his voice mattered.

At the same time, across the Capitol, long-time advocate Dawn Russell—a seasoned member of ADAPT—was working rooms with precision, pressing staff and pushing for LaTonya's memory from members including Derrick Van Orden. That conversation happened during the second day on Capitol Hill, while moving through the halls. It was tense and at times contentious, with voices raised. 

Monique, also new to this work, described feeling empowered simply by being in those spaces—by realizing that our government is not reserved for insiders. It belongs to anyone willing to show up and speak. That realization was visible in real time. It wasn’t theoretical. It was happening in hallway conversations, in staff meetings, in moments between doors opening and closing.

Every step of the way, I carried Memphis with me. I thought about the people still navigating systems that don’t fully support independence. I thought about families forced into impossible decisions. LaTonya should not have had to leave Tennessee to live freely. No one should. That is why LRFA matters. 

Moving through congressional offices as a group of nine, we were intentional. Each meeting carried the same message: this legislation is necessary, and it cannot wait. The civil rights of people with disabilities depend on it. We were not just representing ourselves—we were carrying the weight of communities still waiting for that promise to be fulfilled.

Noting where members come from matters. Bennie Thompson. Maxine Waters. Derrick Van Orden. Mississippi, California, and Wisconsin respectively. Across party lines and geography, this issue does not belong to one region or one ideology. Passing the LaTonya Reeves Freedom Act will require bipartisan engagement. Disability rights are not local—they are national.

We ended our trip at a fish fry hosted by Bennie Thompson. After days of advocating, we finally took a moment to breathe. We ate, listened to a blues band, and stepped into a space where the intensity of Capitol Hill gave way to community and connection. At one point, Maxine Waters was on the dance floor doing the electric slide—a reminder that even in the middle of serious  work, joy is part of what sustains us.

LaTonya Reeves’ legacy continues through every person who shows up to push this forward. It continues in every meeting, every conversation, and every act of persistence that refuses to let this issue disappear. Her name is now attached to legislation, but more importantly, it is attached to a movement that refuses to accept delay as permanent.

Freedom is not a policy idea—it is the right to live at home, and we will not stop until that right is real.

We who believe in freedom shall not rest until it comes.