Grief is an Heirloom That I Treasure Dearly

The moment I read the text, I knew it was my son.

I rushed from my house to the car and began the three-hour drive to New Jersey where a man’s dead body had been pulled from a waterway familiar to my family. Days had passed without my son, Muriyd, calling me or answering my calls so already I knew something was wrong. But death was not an expectation.

As I sped down I-78, the medical examiner investigator confirmed over the phone words I had feared hearing since I learned I was pregnant three decades before. The fluvial corpse indeed belonged to my beloved child.

Not fully understanding if I was awake or asleep, alive or dead, I unraveled at lightning speed. Between sobs and horrendous screams that escaped from somewhere I did not know existed, I alternated, thanking Allah for having given me such a beautiful son and begging for Mercy on his soul.

I made calls to select family and friends who were also dumbfounded by the sudden news, and a few promised they would be at my destination awaiting me. Since Muriyd was so popular and had been found on sovereign tribal land, I assumed some tribesmates would also be congregated. I remember wondering how I would handle seeing everyone. Being on that land without my son, and knowing he would never be there again, was unthinkable.

What would I say to the people?

Would I even be able to speak?

Up until that day I made it a point to always keep control of myself publicly. I behave conservatively for the most part, so when I would see grief-stricken mothers in news reels screeching uncontrollably, fainting, being carried or pulled away from crime scenes as their children — usually sons — lie dead on the street, casualties of car crashes, domestic abuse, gang drive-bys, or police slaughters, I took mental memos. Never lose myself as they, if ever a terrible incident such as one of those found my family.

I decided that when I arrived on the land I would greet everyone with my usual smile and niceties then figure it out from there. I turned into the entrance and parked. A small group of solemn, nervous faces was in the parking area. I stepped from my car acknowledging everyone as planned then without warning, something I did not see or feel shoved me hard into the side of my vehicle. A friend quickly grabbed me and hugged me to himself, and I was in a whirl, unsure of what vortex I had been knocked into.

We all walked the land near the shoreline, talking, questioning, and hypothesizing about what possibly could have caused a skilled canoeist to turn up dead in water he was so familiar with. It seemed that he had drowned, but from the onset that made no sense to anyone, given he had spent years canoeing in that very water — a generous yet shallow and calm overflow from the attached Ramapo River — without incident.

I examined the shoreline where his unprotected canoe sat, and once again that silent intruder attacked me. My knees collapsed hard onto the green grass. Audibly, I demanded my body behave. “Stand up!” I hissed under my breath, but it did not heed. It took two of my male relatives to lift me from the ground.

Little did I know, that would not be the last time I would lose complete control of my faculties. For months to come, the enormity of losing my son, in the way that I had lost him (betrayal and murder by so-called friends), and the coverup and attempted silencing by law enforcement and other institutions caused me to suffer with anxiety and horrific panic attacks. For a while, I believed the sorrow would surely stop my broken heart as it had done my father a little more than a week after my son’s funeral.

My youngest daughter took to my bed for a full year, staying near to comfort me in the night. During the day I was actively pursuing justice — obtaining documents, archiving, writing, driving back and forth to institutions in New Jersey from Pennsylvania — and running solo the organization I started in Muriyd’s honor while also caring for my family and working as a nurse. But in the evening when there was nothing to distract me or vie for my attention, I wept. Every night I sobbed myself to sleep then awakened in the same manner. I found no solace even in my dreams as I called out my son’s name into the darkness, and involuntarily sought escape through voiced prayers. Yet there was no relief.

The more evidence I found to prove Muriyd’s death was orchestrated, the more justice was denied to me by law enforcement, medical boards, journalists, and self-proclaimed allies and Indigenous rights advocates. With each piece of the puzzle, my rage increased, balancing the pain and elevating my moral clarity.

Those early days were particularly excruciating. Nasty rumors were circulating about my son by foes who swore they loved him, and lies were being told on me by people claiming to be by my side. My spiritual conviction was regularly questioned by Muslims and other vilomas who believed my tawwakul was doing too much. I was constantly dismissed by opinionated, uninformed naysayers as a “grieving mother” when I exposed verifiable facts. And my racial integrity was scrutinized by people who seemed to only want justice for Indigenous and Blacks when the culprits were white.

There were innumerable times when I was uncertain whether I could muster the patience and decorum necessary for navigating this mission that was placed upon me. I wanted retribution — in this world first — and knew I would get it, but that it would be through fighting many systems virtually alone. I reached out for the strength of women who I knew had suffered my plight long before me:

Enslaved African American and Indigenous mothers who witnessed their young children’s slow deaths due to disease, malnutrition, and other societal disparities;

My great-grandmother who had to contend with erasure when her son drowned in the Passaic River, and the local news made no mention of it when they praised the river’s majesty three days later;

My mother who lost two separate newborns due to not having the money and resources to obtain better healthcare;

Mamie Till-Mobley who fought an aggressively racist system and won by sparking in her son’s honor, a movement that has benefited billions and will continue to do so;

Sybrina Fulton who fought that same system decades later, demanding accountability for her own son’s murder, and refusing erasure of his existence;

And the many mothers whose screaming, fainting, and needing to be carried away nearly lifeless from devastating scenes that I now understand intimately.

What had these women endured, in their hearts and minds as well as from the people around them?

How had they sustained with even more obstacles in their paths, if they had paths at all?

What sorrow and fury had plagued the enslaved?

Nestled in my mothers’ calm?

How many had nudged Mamie and Sybrina towards silence and cowardice, urging them to sit quietly in corners suckling their heartache in lieu of standing unmoved in America’s face, demanding their own retribution?

And how many — including myself at one time — had scorned numbers of unnamed mothers for boldly and unapologetically loving and grieving their fallen children who were violently snatched from their arms, very often without fair consequence.

I have learned to harness the energy of love, calm, sorrow, rage, refusal of silence, boldness, and activism from these mothers and others globally to generate power and force that sustains me. I consciously stand upon their shoulders holding a shield and wielding a sword that has an acquired taste for injustice.

Because of the past I learned to strategize in the present for the future.

I am powerful in ways I have never been before, and I know what is possible. That makes many, many people — friend and foe — very uncomfortable.

M.

Ramapough Leadership and the Death of a Land Defender: A Legal Record

For three and a half years, I have been told that the leadership of New Jersey’s Ramapough Munsee Lenape Indian Tribe remained silent regarding the death of one of their most prominent members — my son, Muriyd “Two Clouds” Williams — out of fear.

Fear of the federal government.

Fear of state authorities.

Fear of local law enforcement.

There appears to be a common belief that Indigenous peoples inherently fear American governmental institutions. Under that assumption, inaction by tribal authorities in response to the unexplained death of one of their own might seem understandable.

That narrative, however, deserves examination — particularly in regard to the Ramapough.

For nearly a decade — beginning in late 2016 when Two Clouds relocated to Mahwah to assist tribal leadership in defending their religious land from what they described as unlawful encroachment by the adjacent Ramapo Hunt and Polo Club — the Ramapough have consistently utilized legal and institutional channels to assert their rights.

From 2016 through 2017, with Two Clouds playing a central role, they litigated to protect their right to assemble and conduct religious ceremonies on that land. They also opposed the proposed Pilgrim Oil Pipeline, which was slated to pass through Mahwah and one of their ancestral cemeteries.

After continued disputes with neighboring property owners and municipal authorities, tribal leadership filed a federal lawsuit in 2018 against the Township of Mahwah and the Ramapo Hunt and Polo Club, alleging violations of civil rights and religious freedom.

In 2019, a settlement was reached with Mahwah that eliminated accumulated fines and affirmed the tribe’s ability to gather for religious ceremonies. During that same period, leadership pursued reinstatement of state recognition, which was later restored.

In 2021, the Ramapough filed a federal civil rights case against Daniel “Strong Walker” Thomas, who at the time was head of CPAIN. That matter was settled in 2024.

In 2022, they executed a long-awaited agreement with the Ramapo Hunt and Polo Club Homeowners Association.

For six consecutive years, the Ramapough did not retreat from institutional engagement. When land was threatened, they went to court. When permits were denied, they challenged municipal action. When their racial identity and legitimacy were questioned, they litigated.

They organized protests, mobilized allies, engaged constitutional litigators, utilized televised interviews, independent media platforms, local journalism, and national advocacy networks.

When tribal rights were challenged, leadership acted.

Until July 6, 2022.

By that Wednesday, Two Clouds had been missing since Sunday. It had been exactly one month since he had been elected Tribal War Chief — entrusted with safeguarding the well-being of more than 5,000 tribal members.

Despite prior litigation involving Daniel Thomas, he appeared unannounced at Ramapough religious land and issued threats in a live Facebook broadcast. Tribal members, including elders, reported feeling unsafe. Two Clouds traveled to Massachusetts in an effort to seek peaceful support in addressing those threats. He left on Friday, July 1, and returned to Mahwah the following day. Late Sunday morning, after communicating for hours about picking up his son, he went silent. He could not be located for days.

His body was recovered on July 6, 2022, on the same religious land he had worked to defend.

Although prior threats against him were known within the tribal community and sometimes reported — including the burning of his van less than a year earlier, and sudden brake failure which caused a serious crash a few months after that — no formal investigation was conducted after his death. No police interviews were taken. Public-facing cameras were not reviewed.

The cause of death was publicly characterized as accidental before an autopsy was performed. The Bergen County Medical Examiner later listed drowning as the cause of death. The New Jersey State Chief Medical Examiner subsequently stated that the "features of drowning cannot be identified" and overturned that determination.

Despite their prior pattern of publicly challenging perceived bias from local authorities, no public call for independent investigation was issued. No formal demand for review was made through the same legal or media channels previously utilized.

The only documented action taken by leadership the following day was a letter sent to the medical examiner listing possible causes of death — including foul play. In that letter, it was represented that I was in agreement with its contents. I was not.

In the years that followed, no coordinated legal, media, or institutional effort was initiated by leadership to pursue independent review.

The only outreach to me occurred in the spring of 2025, during a significant internal leadership dispute that resulted in engagement with law enforcement and the courts.

Approximately three years after Two Clouds’ death, both the former and current principal chiefs separately sent messages to me. One claimed to have a “strong lead” that he was immediately taking to the prosecutor’s office. The other stated that an investigation was already ongoing.

Those statements are inconsistent.

I have not been contacted by any federal, state, or local institution to confirm that an investigation has been opened. Nor has any law enforcement agency reached out to me in my capacity as next of kin. For more than three and a half years, I have publicly advocated for independent review and accountability.

The public record reflects that Ramapough leadership has repeatedly utilized:

Federal court.

State court.

Local law enforcement.

National constitutional litigators.

Media platforms.

Advocacy networks.

The record reflects sustained institutional engagement in matters involving land, sovereignty, and internal governance.

The record does not reflect comparable mobilization following the suspicious death of the tribe’s own elected War Chief.

The record speaks for itself.

M.

*Correction made 2/21/26 to NJ M.E.'s quote, "feature of drowning could not be identified' to "features of drowning cannot be identified" for accuracy.

Selected Public Record and Reporting

The following references provide additional documentation of Ramapough leadership’s prior engagement with federal and state courts, local government, and media platforms in asserting tribal sovereignty and religious rights.

The Ramapoughs v. the World

Ramapough Lunaape Nation ordered to take down anti-pipeline camp

New Jersey Native American tribe taking stand against tepee take-down order

Ramapough Told by Town to Dismantle Pipeline Protest Camp

State judge dismisses Township of Mahwah's restraining order against Ramapough Lanape Nation

Supporters turn out for Ramapoughs at Mahwah meeting

New Jersey's Ramapough Lunaape fight for Constitutional protections and state recognition

Indian tribe being fined $12,500 a day for using prayer ground

Trump Administration Aids Tribe Suing NJ Town That Passed Anti-Semitic Laws

Justice Department Files Statement of Interest Supporting Native American Religious Land Use case

From New Jersey to Geneva: The Journey Toward #Justice4TwoClouds

A United Nations Stakeholder Submission for the Universal Periodic Review of the United States

“The doors of justice slammed at home. I carried our stories to the world. I will not be silenced.”

Introduction

In April 2025, I submitted formal documentation to the United Nations Human Rights Council as part of the Universal Periodic Review (UPR) process for the United States. This submission was made to raise urgent concern regarding the suspicious death of my son, Muriyd Abdullah Muhammad Williams, also known by his Indigenous name Niish Akumahkwak (Two Clouds) — a respected land defender and enrolled member of the Ramapough Munsee Lenape Nation.

Most people have never heard of the UPR, and I hadn’t either before I began advocating pro se for justice in my son's case.

What Is the Universal Periodic Review?

The Universal Periodic Review (UPR) is a process conducted by the United Nations Human Rights Council. Every few years, each country — including the United States — undergoes a review of its human rights record. This review considers not only what the government reports about itself, but also submissions from individuals, families, Indigenous nations, and civil society organizations.

These submissions, called “stakeholder reports,” allow people like me — who have experienced deep injustice — to inform the international community of what is happening on the ground, especially when local and national systems have failed us.

The United Nations Human Rights Council, where member states review human rights abuses in each country during the UPR process.

Why I Submitted a Stakeholder Report

My submission documents how local authorities failed to investigate my son’s suspicious death, how the Bergen County Medical Examiner falsified his autopsy, and how key Indigenous leaders and institutions- including his own tribal government- remained silent or actively undermined efforts to seek justice. Despite visible injuries, threats on record, and a public track record of activism, not a single investigation was ever opened.

This is not only a personal loss — it is a systemic human rights violation. My son was a well-known advocate for Indigenous land rights. His murder, and the state’s refusal to investigate it, must be recognized for what it is: a violation of the rights to life, truth, and justice, especially as they apply to Indigenous peoples.

Tribal Leadership and Accountability

Although Dwaine Perry was the Principal Chief of the Ramapough Munsee Lenape Nation at the time of my son’s death, he is no longer serving in that role. The current Principal Chief is Vincent Mann, who served as the Turtle Clan Chief — the same clan that my son belonged to.

Despite his position, Chief Vincent Mann has done nothing to support our family’s pursuit of truth or justice, even though he had both the authority and responsibility to do so. In this submission, I name these failures because silence is complicity, and because Indigenous families deserve better from both state and tribal systems.

From Mahwah, New Jersey to Geneva, Switzerland — this submission travels beyond borders for justice.

What You’ll Find Below

Below you will find:

• My cover letter addressed to the United Nations Human Rights Council

• The full written submission, with annexes and sensitive documentation removed for privacy

  
  

The full version, including annexes such as autopsy records, 911 transcripts, and medical correspondence, was submitted directly to the United Nations.

I hope that by sharing this submission publicly, more people will understand the realities we face — and why justice for Two Clouds is not just personal, but a human rights issue that affects all of us.

Justice demands courage, not comfort. The pursuit is not for the faint of heart.

Redacted UPR Cover Letter

Mumtahanah Williams-Ansari

beyond-clouds.org

April 4, 2025

Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights

Human Rights Council

Universal Periodic Review Branch

United Nations Office at Geneva

CH-1211 Geneva 10, Switzerland

Subject: Submission to the Universal Periodic Review of the United States of America – Concern Regarding the Death of Muriyd Williams (Two Clouds)

Dear Members of the Universal Periodic Review Working Group,

I respectfully submit the attached written contribution for consideration in the upcoming Universal Periodic Review of the United States of America.

This submission addresses the suspicious death of my son, Muriyd Williams, a 30-year-old enrolled member of the Ramapough Munsee Lenape Nation, known by his Indigenous name Niish Akumahkwak (Two Clouds). Muriyd was a dedicated land defender and advocate for Indigenous rights. In July 2022, he was found dead under troubling and unexplained circumstances after previously documenting threats to his life. Despite compelling evidence of foul play, local authorities failed to conduct a proper investigation. Furthermore, there is credible concern that the county medical examiner falsified key records related to his death. These failures reflect a broader systemic disregard for the rights, safety, and dignity of Indigenous people in the United States.

It is my hope that the UPR Working Group will consider this case within the context of ongoing human rights violations faced by Indigenous communities, particularly in relation to state accountability and access to justice.

Thank you for your attention to this matter. I remain available to provide further information or documentation as needed.

Sincerely,

Mumtahanah Williams-Ansari

Redacted UPR Main Submission

Written Submission to the United Nations Universal Periodic Review – United States of America (4th Cycle)

Submitted by: Mumtahanah Williams-AnsariSubmission Type: Individual Stakeholder Contribution

Subject: Failure to Investigate the Suspicious Death of a State-Recognized Indigenous Land Defender

1. Summary of the Case

In July 2022, my son, Muriyd Williams, known as Two Clouds (the English translation of his Indigenous name, Niish Akumahkwak), a 30-year-old enrolled member of the Ramapough Munsee Lenape Nation in New Jersey — was found dead under suspicious circumstances in Mahwah on tribal-owned land. Despite clear indicators of potential foul play, the Mahwah Township Police Department who had jurisdiction refused to open an investigation. Two Clouds’ body was found floating in water with shoes and jewelry missing and visible facial deformities (including missing ears, mouth, and an obliterated eye). The police operations report ([Annex–Redacted] 1-2) falsely stated that the body was discovered by civilians, but 911 transcripts ([Annex–Redacted] 3-5) reveal that the first report came from a police officer nearly 80 minutes after the time stamped on the report. This suggests they were on the scene far earlier than reported, possibly tampering with or failing to secure critical evidence.

Furthermore, the Bergen County Medical Examiner’s Office fabricated aspects of the autopsy report, omitting key injuries and assigning a cause of death that contradicted scientific findings. The New Jersey Chief State Medical Examiner’s Office later overturned this ruling ([Annex–Redacted] 9), acknowledging the lack of evidence for drowning and the likelihood of foul play.

Notably, Two Clouds had filed a 2018 affidavit with Bergen County reporting threats from neighbors near the location where he was ultimately found dead. Ramapough Chief Dwaine Perry also confirmed in an official letter to the Bergen County Medical Examiner ([Annex–Redacted] 6-7) that he had previously filed civil and criminal complaints against a man (Daniel “Strong Walker” Thomas of the Oklahoma Delaware Nation) who had made threats just three weeks prior—at the exact spot where Two Clouds was discovered. Despite this, law enforcement showed no interest in pursuing these leads.

2. Context: Discrimination and Lack of Legal Protections for State-Recognized Tribes

Two Clouds’ case also highlights the lack of jurisdictional clarity and protection for state-recognized tribes. Both the U.S. Department of Justice and Bureau of Indian Affairs ([Annex–Redacted] 8) declined involvement, stating that because the Ramapough Munsee Lenape Nation are only state-recognized and not federally recognized, they had no authority to act.

Additionally, the tribal leadership has provided no support to our family. The letter that Chief Dwaine Perry submitted to the county medical examiner ([Annex–Redacted]6-7) — though not law enforcement — speculated on the cause of death and falsely claimed to represent my views without my consent. He and the tribal government have since refused to acknowledge or advocate for justice in Two Clouds’ case, despite claiming to support missing and murdered Indigenous people.

3. Human Rights Violations Raised

• Failure to Investigate Suspicious Death (Right to Life – ICCPR Art. 6)

• Obstruction and Fabrication of Evidence (Right to Truth and Remedy – ICCPR Art. 2, 14)

• Discrimination Against State-Recognized Tribes (UNDRIP; ICCPR Art. 26)

• Lack of Protection for Indigenous Land Defenders

• Neglect by Law Enforcement and Medical Institutions

4. Background on the Deceased

Two Clouds was a prominent land defender who helped reclaim dozens of acres of ancestral Ramapough land through court victories and by inspiring empathy in landowners, some of whom donated portions of their own property. He was a public speaker on Indigenous rights and the Ramapough plight specifically, presenting at the United Nations, universities, museums, and other forums. His visibility and activism raise serious concerns about whether he was targeted.

5. Recommendations to the U.S. Government

• Ensure full and independent investigations into deaths of Indigenous persons, regardless of federal tribal recognition.

• Extend jurisdiction and protections to members of state-recognized tribes.

• Mandate transparency and accountability in forensic examinations and autopsy reporting.

• Create federal-level investigative pathways for Indigenous rights defenders and families facing local inaction.

• Provide oversight and regulation of how tribal governments engage in justice advocacy to ensure accountability to their members.

Note: Annexes included in the original UN submission are not reproduced in this public version for privacy and security reasons.

To anyone still waiting for justice: Don’t wait forever.

Many of the systems we’re told to trust — whether government, medical, or even tribal — were never built to serve the people. They often serve power. And when they slam their doors shut, it’s on us to find another way in.

You don’t need permission to demand accountability. You don’t need institutional approval to grieve, to investigate, or to speak out.

Be relentless. Learn everything. Document everything. And tell your truth — not only to your community, but to the world.

Because sometimes, the only way forward… is through.

Shonkwaia’tí:io nikanónhsote.

(Only the Creator is in control.)

Ahó 🪶

M. Ansari 2025