[Congressional Record Volume 167, Number 191 (Monday, November 1, 2021)]
[Senate]
[Pages S7533-S7534]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]



                   Remembering John Amara F. Walters

  Mr. VAN HOLLEN. Mr. President, I think all Senators can agree that we 
would not be able to deliver results for the people in our States and 
for our country if it were not for our extraordinary staff, who work 
with us each and every day. They are there with us in the trenches, 
fighting for the constituents we pledge to serve, and defending the 
Constitution of the United States.
  It is for that reason that I am confident my colleagues will agree 
with me when I say congressional staff is more than just a collection 
of individuals; it is a family. And it is that truth that makes my 
presence on the Senate floor this evening all the more difficult, 
because my office, our family, has lost a beloved member.
  John Amara F. Walters, a legislative aide in my office, passed away 
on the morning of October 2, at MedStar Washington Hospital Center in 
Washington, DC. He died in the arms of his beloved mother, Kimberley, 
who joins us this evening in the gallery. John was 29 years old.
  On behalf of myself, our office, and the people of Maryland, I want 
to take a little time not only to express our profound grief at the 
loss of a dear friend and amazing human being, but also to tell a 
little bit of John's story to this Senate and to the Nation, and to pay 
tribute to his life, to honor all that he gave us, and to celebrate all 
that he gave to the world.
  John Amara F. Walters was born on Friday, February 9, 1992, in 
Adrian, MI, to John A.M. Walters and Kimberley H. Davis Walters. He 
came from a long line of patriots and leaders, including his 
grandfather, who defended the United States in World War II as a 
Tuskegee Airman.
  And John caught the political bug early. At age 6--yes, you all heard 
that right, aged 6 years old--John started working on local political 
campaigns. In his early years, he participated in three Presidential 
elections and traveled across Michigan and the country to serve 
communities in need. In high school, he interned for the late great 
Michigan Senator, Carl Levin. John was also a committed member of the 
Rosa and Raymond Parks Institute's Pathways to Freedom program.
  He excelled inside the classroom--first graduating from Adrian High 
School in 2010, and then going on to study at the District of 
Columbia's own Howard University, where he earned his BA in psychology 
in 2015 magna cum laude. I should add he was a loyal Howard alum and 
proud Bison and a favorite son of the university's.
  The last time I met face-to-face--in the pre-COVID days--with the 
president of Howard University, Wayne Frederick, John was with me, and 
I told Dr. Frederick how proud we were of John's exemplary work, and 
Dr. Frederick was proud too.
  John did all of this at a young age and more, and he achieved these 
things despite having a lifelong battle with sickle cell anemia--an 
illness that often struck him with fatigue and pain. But that didn't 
stop John. He refused to be defined by his illness, and he refused to 
allow sickle cell to prevent him from pursuing his dreams with passion 
and decency and dedication. It is a disease that took him from us far 
too soon, but it never took away his spirit or his zest for life and 
his commitment to making a positive change.
  I will always remember John for the twinkle in his eye, his 
enthusiasm for everything he did, his absolute brilliance, and his 
commitment to helping others. Everyone in our office--and I mean 
everyone--loved John.
  After he passed away, we held a staff Zoom call with his mother, both 
to grieve together and to remember John; and in that gathering, we 
witnessed a torrent of love and affection for all John did and what he 
meant to us. There were lots of tears, but also many moments of 
beautiful laughter, as we recounted many fun stories about John.
  He gave us many things, but perhaps one of his greatest gifts was his 
empathy. In the world of politics and Capitol Hill, there is plenty of 
ambition. And John was ambitious. But empathy is often in short supply. 
Not in John.

  Empathy is that quality where someone seeks to see the world through 
the eyes of another, of understanding what somebody else is 
experiencing by trying to walk in that person's shoes and live the 
world as they live it. John did not just hear the words spoken by 
others; he listened; he absorbed them; he dared to be vulnerable.
  And what always struck me about John was his capacity to focus on the 
struggles experienced by others at the same time he was carrying on his 
own fight against sickle cell. Perhaps his own personal struggle made 
him far more attuned to the hardships faced by others; but whatever its 
source, John's capacity to care inspired us all, as did his ability to 
persist and carry on in the face of adversity. John embodied the very 
best of us.
  John first joined my office as an intern right out of college, when I 
was

[[Page S7534]]

still serving in the House of Representatives. After graduating from 
Howard, he could have chosen many different paths. He chose public 
service. From John's first moments on our team, it was clear that he 
was not only sharp and eager to work, but that he cared deeply about 
his fellow colleagues and that he was completely dedicated to our 
mission of serving the people of Maryland and the country.
  When I was elected to the Senate, I was thrilled to have John move to 
this side of the Capitol with me. He leapt at every opportunity to 
advance our mission--growing from organizing and drafting letters to 
constituents, to taking constituent meetings, to eventually thinking of 
and writing legislation. He was a vibrant force on Capitol Hill both in 
our office and outside of it, and was an active member of the Senate 
Black Legislative Staff Caucus.
  When our Senate office first divided up issues among our legislative 
correspondents, John chose to take responsibility for some of the 
hottest button issues, like criminal justice reform and public safety, 
that demanded an open ear and a welcoming heart. He worked on gun 
issues and spoke to constituents who had experienced personal tragedies 
from gun violence, and he always brought their feelings to his work on 
legislation to strengthen our gun laws. When the previous 
administration was trying to dismantle parts of the civil service, John 
met with and helped Federal employees who feared they might lose their 
jobs at any moment. In a million different ways, John proved that 
empathy has a home in public service and can even direct the course of 
policy changes.
  When we decided to hold a hearing on the hardships that Postal 
Service delays were imposing on Americans, John remembered a meeting he 
had held months earlier with a group from the National Federation of 
the Blind, where they discussed the real challenges they were 
experiencing because of the long delays in the delivery of their 
essential materials. John was moved by their stories at the time, and 
he lifted their voices. At his suggestion, we invited a member of that 
group to testify, and their moving and powerful testimony is now 
leading the changes that will help every American. That was John--
listening and then bringing people's voices into the public square to 
change lives for the better.
  John brought empathy to his work and to the office, but he also 
brought great joy. His desk was a must-stop place for members of our 
team throughout the day. People would stop by to share his company, to 
hear his loud and infectious laugh, to talk about the latest news of 
the day, or--I have been told--to joke about the craziest couple on 
``90 Day Fiance,'' which, on the enthusiastic recommendation of John 
and a few others, built quite a following in our office among current 
and past staff. I was not sure what to think about all that when I 
learned about it.
  John brought joy with his wry wit and keen sense of the absurd--
always taking his work seriously, but never taking himself too 
seriously. He had a critical skill on Capitol Hill--the ability to 
track down House and Senate receptions with the very best food, and 
then alert his colleagues to the spoils. If someone couldn't get away 
from the office, he would bring back snacks to share, pulling treats 
out of his pockets like a magician.
  He was a true member of our office family and always a team player, 
always willing to advance our causes on behalf of our constituents. And 
in coming to know his family, I can see where those qualities began. 
You could see that he was supported by his beloved mother, Kimberley 
Davis, in the way he supported our team--always ready to help out and 
pitch in for the mission. You could see that he was helped and mentored 
by his uncles and aunts in the way he helped and mentored the new 
members of our office whom he worked with.
  Today, in the gallery, in addition to John's mother, Kimberley, we 
are joined by his uncle John and John's wife, Carol; and Christian 
Gibbs, who was like an uncle to John.
  You could see how much John was loved by those closest to him by how 
much he loved and embraced others, and he, in turn, was loved and 
respected by our entire Capitol Hill family. He was an example to all 
of us of a person who put everyone else's challenges ahead of his own.
  Our office wants to hold John Amara Walters up as a model to other 
young people who walk through our doors. As I mentioned, John began his 
service with us when he was an intern, and we have decided to establish 
a permanent paid internship position in John's name and memory, and 
that position will always go to a student from Maryland who is 
attending Howard University.
  In that way, we know that the young leaders of the future will learn 
about John's spirit and his legacy and learn to carry forward his torch 
of empathy and positive change.
  John wanted to help others. He wanted to leave the world better than 
he found it. He did that and much more. While his life was far too 
short in years, it was long in the joy and the love he shared and in 
the lives he changed for the better.
  Thank you, John. We love you.
  I yield the floor.

                          ____________________