The Mayor of Aurora Attacked Me, But I Kept Singing Because My Life Depended On It

On January 13, 2025, I attended the Aurora City Council meeting to honor once again the life of Kilyn E. Lewis, an unarmed Black man whose life was taken 236 days ago by the Aurora Police Department in just eight seconds. I stood with his family and the Aurora community to demand justice and accountability for his senseless and preventable death.

Before the meeting began, we joined a celebration honoring the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. During the program, the Negro spiritual “Ain’t Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me Around” was sung. I had no intention of singing this song that evening, but its powerful message of resilience and defiance against injustice stirred something in me. I prayed silently about what the song meant. When I approached the dais to deliver my public comment later that evening, I included the lyrics in my remarks. It was a declaration of hope and strength, rooted in the struggles of those who came before us.

That evening, the need for such a declaration was undeniable. The Aurora City Council’s recent rule changes were clear attempts to silence the community. Public comment had been moved from the beginning of the meeting to the end, forcing many of us to wait hours after arriving at 5:00 p.m. to speak. I did not get the opportunity to deliver my remarks until 9:15 p.m. This delay, coupled with reduced speaking times and a new clause threatening immediate arrest for “disruptions,” reflected a pattern of stifling public participation and dissent. These tactics are eerily reminiscent of the measures used during the civil rights movement to intimidate and suppress voices of resistance.

After my public comment, I remained seated to hear from other speakers. A few speakers later, a member of the public made remarks that agitated Mayor Mike Coffman. In response, the mayor abruptly adjourned the meeting without a council vote or input — a decision that took everyone in the audience by surprise. It was in the confusion of this unilateral and unexpected action that we peacefully rose to leave the chambers.

As we walked toward the single public exit, I decided to sing “Ain’t Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me Around” one more time exercising my First Amendment right.

As we approached the exit, I noticed Mayor Coffman sprinting toward the same doorway. At first, I was confused. Historically, the mayor has avoided interaction with the public by using alternative exits. His decision to head toward the public exit — and directly toward me — was unexpected and troubling.

It quickly became clear that his actions were deliberate and aggressive shouting that the blood of a Black teenager who had allegedly taken his own life during a mental health crisis after shooting two innocent educators at Denver East High School in 2023 was on my hands. His hostility escalated to the point where another Councilmember and the Aurora Police had to physically remove and block him on two different occasions. In that moment, fear set in. I thought about how quickly things could go wrong:

• What if I flinched?
• What if I instinctively raised my hands to protect myself?
• What if I reached for my phone to record this interaction, and it was misinterpreted as a threat?
• What if this moment ends with me becoming another statistic — a Black man harmed or killed by those in power for simply existing in their space?

I thought of Kilyn E. Lewis, whose life was taken in just eight seconds by the Aurora Police Department. I understood that, in this room, surrounded by the same police force, my life also hung in the balance.

Despite the fear and the mayor’s hostility, I made a deliberate choice: I kept singing. My ancestors, who endured far greater acts of aggression and oppression, reminded me to remain calm. I knew I could not allow myself to react in the way the mayor or police seemed to be provoking or aggressive.

At no point during this encounter was I asked to leave by the Aurora Police or the Aurora Municipal Center security team. Their inaction spoke volumes — they understood that I was not the threat. The threat in that room was Mayor Coffman, whose abuse of power and hostility created an unsafe environment for me and others.

Mayor Coffman’s actions were not just reckless — they were emblematic of a broader pattern of systemic aggression and intimidation aimed at silencing Black voices. These actions echo the struggles faced by leaders like Dr. King, who faced threats, violence, and suppression for daring to speak truth to power. For that, Mayor Coffman’s actions are antithetical to the values of Dr. King therefore I am demanding a public apology from the Mayor, a public censure from the Aurora City Council, and for Mayor Coffman to be uninvited from participating including but not limited to speaking in any Dr. Martin Luther King Holiday Commission events moving forward.

But we refuse to be silenced. As Dr. King once said, “The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” In that moment of challenge, I chose to stand firm. I chose to sing.

To my son, the children of Kilyn E. Lewis, and to every child who dreams of a better future: we will continue to fight.

Ain’t Gonna Let Mayor Coffman Turn Me Around,

Auon’tai M. Anderson

Former Denver School Board Vice President