When Kiah Duggins was two years old, she saw a picture of a Black ballerina and turned to her mother with certainty.
“God wants me to dance,” she said.
Her parents didn’t laugh it off. They found a dance studio willing to accept a two-year-old, and Kiah stayed there for the next 16 years — learning discipline, balance and grace long before she would need them in courtrooms, classrooms or movements for justice.
Long before she became a Harvard-trained civil rights attorney, a national advocate for bail reform, or a law professor-in-waiting, Kiah was a child who believed her life had purpose — and parents who believed it too.
A Child Who Knew She Was Called
From the beginning, Kiah’s parents say, there was something steady about her.
She was their first child — a good baby, her father recalled — and she seemed to carry a sense of awareness even early on. When her sister, Aisha, arrived 20 months later, Kiah took naturally to the role of big sister. When her younger brother, Donovan, was born, she did the same — sometimes more firmly than he wanted.
“She was always trying to keep everybody out of trouble,” her parents said. “She’d tell them, ‘You’re going to get in trouble. I’m trying to help you.’”
The Duggins family didn’t have much in those early years. Maurice Duggins was in medical residency. Gwen Duggins had left her teaching job to stay home with the children. What the household lacked in money, it made up for in intention.
There were regular trips to the library, story time and the zoo — small, purposeful acts meant to widen young minds. Education was treated as something to be nurtured early and consistently. Faith was present, too — not as pressure, but as grounding.
Discipline, Confidence, and Joy
Dance became one of Kiah’s greatest joys.
Over the years, she studied ballet, tap, jazz and modern dance, learning how to move with control, express emotion and stay disciplined through repetition and practice. The structure of dance demanded focus and commitment — lessons that stayed with her well beyond the studio.
She also enjoyed being on stage.
Kiah participated in pageants, including her years competing in Miss Kansas and her time as Miss Black and Gold at Wichita State. Those experiences required poise, preparation and the ability to perform under pressure — and they helped her grow comfortable in public settings, where her warmth often arrived before her résumé did.
Friends and family remember how easily she laughed and how quick she was to find humor in everyday moments. She sent memes. She teased. She brought lightness into spaces that might otherwise have felt heavy.
“She was cheap entertainment,” her parents said. “You could make her laugh so easily.”
That joy coexisted with discipline. Kiah was focused, driven and deeply intentional — but never distant. That balance — discipline paired with warmth — made people comfortable around her and helped her connect across generations and backgrounds.
Learning When to Lead — and When to Be Quiet
By the time Kiah arrived at Wichita State University, leadership was already familiar territory.
She became deeply involved in student government, eventually serving two terms as chief of staff to student body president Joseph Shepard, a close personal friend. It was a demanding, behind-the-scenes role that placed her at the center of campus decision-making during a period of heightened debate around equity, access and inclusion.
“Kiah Duggins was my original right-hand woman,” Shepard said. “She led on all special projects.”
Those projects touched nearly every corner of student life — from student hunger and financial access to academic policy and statewide advocacy.
“She was the glue,” Shepard said. “And she continued to be a source of personal inspiration, especially as a Black man in the role.”
One of the most visible challenges came during controversy over changes to an on-campus chapel, which student leaders and administrators sought to make more welcoming to students of different faiths. What began as a campus accommodation effort quickly drew backlash from outside the university, placing intense pressure on student leaders.
When that pressure escalated into an attempt to recall Shepard’s presidency over diversity initiatives, Kiah helped organize support.
“She single-handedly mobilized community and students to speak up on my behalf,” Shepard said.
The recall failed.
Her parents later said experiences like these reinforced something Kiah already understood: meaningful leadership doesn’t always look loud or public. Often, it looks like preparation, persistence and knowing when to let others take the spotlight.
That approach also shaped her response to student hunger.
While living in the dorms, Kiah noticed many students struggled to access food on weekends. When initial concerns were dismissed, she gathered data, surveyed students and returned with evidence. The result was what became the Shocker Food Locker — first operating out of a small office space and later expanding into a permanent resource serving thousands of students.
“She didn’t argue,” her parents said. “She proved the need.”
“She was a hard worker, loyal and a passionate advocate for justice,” Shepard said. “Kiah is and continues to be the bar for the type of leaders — and women — I keep at my side.”
She didn’t lead with speeches. She led with facts, follow-through and results.
Dreaming Big — and Doing the Work
Kiah never believed that proximity to power was reserved for other people.
As a college student, she did what she often did when she wanted to understand a system: she Googled it. In this case, the question was simple — how to intern for Michelle Obama.
She applied and was rejected.
Instead of moving on, Kiah refined her application and applied again. The second time, she was accepted.
She spent five months interning at the White House as part of First Lady Michelle Obama’s Let Girls Learn initiative, supporting behind-the-scenes work focused on expanding educational opportunities for girls. The experience placed her inside an institution she had long admired and reinforced her belief that meaningful work often happens outside the spotlight.
After graduating from Wichita State, Kiah left the country as a Fulbright scholar, spending a year in Taiwan teaching English to elementary school students in a small mountain town. The Fulbright program is among the most competitive academic fellowships in the world, and the experience demanded adaptability, patience and discipline.
It was also a year of preparation.
While teaching and adjusting to a new culture, Kiah maintained a daily study schedule for the LSAT. She worked methodically toward law school, balancing long-term goals with steady effort.
By the time she returned to the United States, she was ready for the next step.
Why Harvard Mattered
By the time Kiah Duggins arrived at Harvard Law School, she understood the purpose of being there.
She had chosen Harvard deliberately. As a Black woman entering the legal profession, she believed the degree would carry weight in rooms where her voice might otherwise be dismissed. It was a strategic decision — not about prestige for its own sake, but about being heard.
At Harvard, Kiah focused much of her time on pro bono clinic work, particularly cases involving housing instability and evictions. She became president of the Harvard Legal Aid Bureau, where she worked directly with individuals and families facing the consequences of unequal laws and limited access to resources.
The work was demanding and often time-consuming, layered on top of the rigor of law school itself. But it reflected the kind of lawyer Kiah intended to become — one focused on the real-world impact of the law on people’s lives.
Her commitment was recognized at graduation, when she was one of just two students to receive Harvard’s pro bono clinical award.
Law for the People
After graduating from Harvard Law School in 2021, Kiah Duggins continued the work she had begun there.
From 2021 through 2024, she practiced civil rights law, working on cases that challenged policing practices and bail systems, including litigation aimed at changing how those systems operate. Her work focused on how pretrial detention and other policies affect people with limited resources.
She worked with organizations including the Civil Rights Corps and earlier with the ACLU of Northern California. The work was detailed and often incremental, involving close attention to policy, procedure and individual circumstances.
At the same time, Kiah was preparing for what she saw as the next phase of her work.
She had accepted a position to begin teaching at Howard University School of Law, an HBCU with a long history of training civil rights lawyers. She was scheduled to start in the fall of 2025.
For Kiah, teaching was not a departure from advocacy. It was a way to extend it.
By the time she graduated in 2021, Kiah was already clear about what she wanted her career to look like: law not as status, but as service.
A Daughter, Always
Kiah Duggins spoke with her mother every day. Their conversations were part of the rhythm of life — consistent, expected and ongoing — even as Kiah’s career and travel took her far from home.
She loved to travel. Over the years, Kiah visited places including Sweden, Switzerland, Iceland, France, the Dominican Republic and Morocco — sometimes on her own, sometimes with friends, and sometimes with family.
In 2024, she celebrated her 30th birthday with a trip to Morocco, joined by seven friends. Family members met them there, spending time in Marrakech — a destination her mother later said she would never have imagined visiting if Kiah hadn’t suggested it.
That same year, Kiah insisted on another trip — this one to mark two milestones at once: her own 30th birthday and her mother Gwen Duggins’ 60th. She planned the Paris trip, bringing both of her parents along. Kiah hired a photographer, chose a spot in front of the Eiffel Tower and insisted they wear red, her mother’s favorite color.
Gwen Duggins told her daughter more than once “you are so extra.” Kiah disagreed.
Those photographs, taken just four months before Kiah’s death, would become among her mother’s most cherished memories and possessions.
In the final months of her life, the family saw a great deal of one another. Kiah was home for Thanksgiving, in early December for her mother’s birthday and Christmas. She returned again in January, this time to support her mother, who was undergoing surgery.
None of them knew these would be among their last moments together.
The Day Everything Changed
On Jan. 29, 2025, Kiah Duggins was traveling back to Washington, D.C., after spending time at home supporting her mother, who was recovering from surgery. The American Airlines Flight 5342 she was on collided midair with a U.S. Army Black Hawk helicopter over the Potomac River. There were no survivors.
For her parents, the shock was immediate — and overwhelming.
In the year since Kiah Duggins’ death, her parents say grief has not been something to move through — it has been something to live with.
“So grief never goes away,” said Maurice Duggins. “It’s just how you deal with the grief that I think just gets better.”
For Gwen Duggins, the loss has been relentless.
“It’s been the hardest year of my life,” she said, adding that she has cried every day since her daughter’s death.
Maurice described the grief as something that arrives unexpectedly, often in quiet moments.
“Now, it will be just moments where I’m reminded of something, or I see something that just triggers my memory and I have to have my cry,” he said. “Then I can calm myself down and move on with life.”
For Gwen, the loss has altered her sense of self.
“I feel like the core of who I used to be — I’m not that person anymore,” she said. “And so now I have to figure out how to move forward differently.”
Seeking Accountability — and Change
Just ahead of the anniversary, federal officials announced new measures aimed at preventing another tragedy.
Last week, the Federal Aviation Administration announced permanent restrictions sharply limiting non-essential helicopter flights in active commercial airspace near Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport. The changes took effect immediately and were described by officials as being driven by safety concerns and recommendations from investigators.
At the same time, lawmakers in Congress are working on what has become known informally as a “rotorcraft safety bill” — legislation aimed at tightening rules for helicopters operating near commercial air traffic. The proposals would require real-time tracking technology such as ADS-B to be activated, restrict helicopter altitudes and routes, and limit non-essential helicopter flights in congested airspace.
For families like the Dugginses, the legislation is a direct response to the failures exposed by the crash — and by the 15,204 near misses that preceded it. They say reforms must be permanent and enforceable, not discretionary or temporary.
For the Duggins family, the focus has never been on lawsuits or financial compensation. When those questions arise, they redirect the conversation.
What they want, they have said, is accountability — and change.
Carrying Kiah Forward
Long before law school, Kiah created Kiah’s Princess Project, an initiative designed to help underrepresented middle and high school girls build confidence, social capital and the practical tools needed to pursue their goals. It wasn’t about titles or prestige. It was about access — and belief.
Now, her family is continuing that work.
They have formally created KiahsPrincessProject.org, a nonprofit dedicated to empowering underrepresented girls through culturally relevant mentoring and support that fosters academic success and personal growth.
For Gwen Duggins, the mission is deeply personal.
“Every young girl should know about Kiah,” she said. “She was such an inspiration. If we can encourage young women to pursue their dreams and their passions and not let limitations stop them, that’s an important message. She lived that. And exposing other young women to that — I think that’s very good.”
The goal, the family says, is not simply to preserve Kiah’s memory, but to extend her impact — to help young women see what is possible, and to understand that the work of shaping the world belongs to them, too.
In that way, Kiah’s story does not end where it might seem to.
It continues — in the lives she touched, in the systems she challenged, and in the young women who will learn her name and recognize something of themselves in her example.
