Ocala, Florida — A deeply disturbing incident in Marion County has reignited urgent conversations around racism, community safety, and the legal system’s treatment of hate-fueled crimes. An 81-year-old white woman has been arrested and charged after allegedly spraying bear mace on two young Black children and their mother while they played peacefully outside their own home. The victims’ family is now speaking out, expressing their trauma and pleading for justice.
On May 30, Ada Anderson, a resident of Ocala, was taken into custody and charged with three counts of battery. According to official reports and firsthand testimony, Anderson is accused of directing racial slurs and an aerosol bear repellent toward her neighbors—6-year-old and 3-year-old Black girls and their mother, April Morant.
Morant, who had moved into the neighborhood just seven months earlier in November, described the incident as both terrifying and traumatizing. She told local outlet WESH-2 News that Anderson had displayed hostility since the day her family arrived in the community. What began as cold stares and angry outbursts allegedly escalated into full-blown aggression, culminating in an unprovoked attack.
“She’s been unkind from the beginning. We never even had a chance,” Morant said. “I moved here with hopes of raising my children in peace, but I’ve been met with nothing but hatred.”
According to Morant, the horrifying incident unfolded as her daughters played innocently with bubbles in their front yard—mere steps from the safety of their home. What was meant to be a simple, joyful moment of childhood quickly turned into a nightmare when Anderson approached the property line with what appeared to be a weapon in hand.
“At first, I thought she had a gun,” Morant recalled. “It happened so fast—I saw her come to the fence, and before I could even react, she sprayed us. The chemical hit our eyes, our faces… my babies were screaming.”
Bear mace, a highly concentrated pepper spray designed to deter large, aggressive animals like bears, is extremely painful and dangerous when used on humans—especially young children. The weaponized substance can cause intense burning, breathing difficulties, and even long-term injury.
Morant expressed frustration and disbelief that the charges brought against Anderson were limited to battery. “She said all these hateful, racist things while attacking my daughters. How is that not a hate crime?” she asked. “These aren’t just bruises or scrapes—they’re emotional wounds. And they were inflicted because of the color of our skin.”
Supporting Morant’s claim that the incident was racially charged, video footage taken shortly after the attack shows Anderson sitting on her patio, glaring at Morant’s home. In another recorded clip, Anderson can be heard shouting vile racial slurs, including: “You’re not welcome in this neighborhood, you fking ngers.”
This footage, which was later uploaded to social media, has since gone viral. It has drawn widespread outrage and sparked debates about the legal system’s failure to adequately prosecute hate crimes—especially those committed by older white individuals who often avoid harsher penalties due to age or perceived mental instability.
“The police had been called on her before,” Morant wrote in a now widely shared Facebook post. “But they never did anything. They brushed it off, even though I kept telling them she was harassing us. Now, she’s escalated to attacking my babies, and it took that for them to take it seriously.”
For Morant and her children, the emotional toll of the attack has been devastating. What should have been a quiet, loving home has now become a site of fear and anxiety. Morant says her daughters are frightened to go outside, and she herself lives in constant vigilance, dreading what might happen once Anderson is released from custody.
“She’s 81, sure,” Morant said. “But that doesn’t make her harmless. Hatred knows no age limit. I don’t know how far she’ll go the next time, and I can’t gamble with my children’s lives.”
In an effort to flee the toxic environment and relocate her family to a safer neighborhood, Morant has launched a GoFundMe campaign with a goal of raising $15,000. The fundraiser’s description captures the urgency and emotional depth of the situation:
“Imagine the pain. Imagine the fear. Imagine your babies screaming while someone who hates the color of their skin attacks them for existing. We can’t stay here. I don’t want to wait for this situation to escalate even further.”
At the time of this writing, hundreds of supporters have shared, donated, and commented in solidarity—calling the incident a chilling reminder of how racism continues to endanger the lives of Black families in America.
Despite compelling video evidence and the clear racial motivation behind the act, Anderson’s charges were limited to three counts of simple battery. No hate crime enhancements were applied, and this has sparked fierce criticism among civil rights advocates, local leaders, and concerned citizens.
“How can anyone watch that video and not see this for what it is?” asked one local activist. “This was a racially motivated attack. We have laws for this kind of thing. Why aren’t they being enforced?”
In Florida, prosecutors can pursue hate crime enhancements if a crime is proven to be motivated by bias based on race, religion, or ethnicity. However, applying these enhancements often requires additional investigation, evidence, and willingness from the district attorney’s office—a willingness that many feel is lacking in cases involving Black victims and white perpetrators.
“There’s an unspoken leniency when it comes to older white individuals,” said a representative from a Florida-based anti-racism nonprofit. “People say, ‘Oh, she’s old, she doesn’t know what she’s doing.’ But age is not an excuse for racism or violence. In fact, it makes it more dangerous because people are less likely to hold them accountable.”
The Ocala bear mace incident is not an isolated case. Across the United States, Black families often face subtle and overt forms of racism when moving into predominantly white neighborhoods. From being followed at stores to being reported for “suspicious behavior” while walking dogs or barbecuing, these micro and macro aggressions stack up—creating a climate of anxiety, hyper-vigilance, and fear.
For April Morant, what she had hoped would be a safe, stable home for her daughters has become a battleground of prejudice.
“I work hard. I pay my bills. I take care of my kids. And yet, that’s not enough to be accepted,” she said. “This woman decided we didn’t belong here. She decided our Black skin was offensive. And now, my children are paying the price.”
Morant has called for more serious legal consequences, not just for her neighbor, but as a message to others who harbor hate in their hearts.
“If she walks away from this with a slap on the wrist, what does that say to my kids? That their pain doesn’t matter? That racists can attack them and get away with it? That’s not the world I want them to grow up in.”
As the legal process unfolds, the community watches closely. Will the court system take seriously the racial nature of the crime? Will prosecutors step up and add hate crime charges? Or will this be yet another example of Black families being denied justice?
For now, Morant is focused on protecting her daughters, healing their trauma, and building a new life far from the shadow of Anderson’s back porch.
“I don’t want revenge,” she clarified. “I want safety. I want peace. I want my girls to be able to play with bubbles without fear.”
She hopes that with enough community support, she can move to a neighborhood where her family will be embraced—not threatened—for the color of their skin.
