tired.
I am a Black woman.
The presumably dead transgressions that my people have suffered throughout all of history are very much alive and well. I see the faces of those racist white Klan members in my white peers. I see the pain of my ancestors in the mirror. I see the deaths of my brothers and sisters plastered on TV screens and media outlets everywhere, our dead bodies being reduced to nothing less than a carcass needed for the sole purpose of âeducationâ or âawareness.âÂ
Black bodies. Dead black bodies.
This is a reality I have always just had to live with, but in 2020 this is now a reality I cannot seem to escape. I see government officials with real abilities to incite systemic change renaming streets and buildings in âsolidarityâ of this âmovementâ that is my existence. I see the very same white folks who had no issue displaying their bigotry behind closed doors posting black screens for the world to see. For a lot of you it seems as though this is nothing short of a performance, a spectacle. But for me and Black people everywhere, this is life as we know it.
I recently attended the Say Her Name march and rally in Lincoln, NE, organized by members of the Black Student Union at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. During the event we heard from multiple speakers including alumni, students, community members and faculty. We marched in remembrance of the many Black women who have unjustly lost their lives, women who are too often forgotten. The erasure of Black women, particularly Black non-binary women, within the Black Lives Matter movement is something this community knows far too well. Black women are out here fighting at the forefront of these movements defying all odds. In the age of the womenâs suffrage movement, it was BLACK WOMEN, fighting at the front lines. And yet with the ratification of the 19th amendment on August 18th, 1920, giving âallâ women the right to vote, it was BLACK WOMEN who were left out of the equation. It was Marsha P. Johnson, a BLACK TRANS WOMAN, leading the fight for LGBTQA+ rights before, during, and after the uprising at the Stonewall Inn in 1969. And yet itâs BLACK TRANS WOMEN who still are being disproportionately murdered to this very day, oftentimes their deaths being overlooked by the LGBTQA+ community and the Black community, as well as the very same law enforcement sworn in to protect them.
After coming home from spending my evening at the rally, my cousin sent me a news article highlighting the event. I was giddy and excited to read, because I believed that we had actually made ample progress in forcing the city of Lincoln to see us; to hear Black women, to understand our pain, our struggle and our suffering. But I was met with nothing but disappointment when I opened the page.Â
In an article titled, âUNL Black Student Union prepares care packages for families in need,â reporters Ashley Springman and Jael Pembrick with the KLKN Channel 8 News reduced this event to nothing more than the assembling of care packages for needy families. While highlighting this amazing work being done by BSU is important, donât you find it ironic that in an assessment of an event dedicated particularly to the erasure of Black women in this country, it was the very cause we were speaking on that was left out of the media? Itâs as if the central message was âcare packages for needy familiesâ and the lives and existence of Black women was simply an afterthought. The three students interviewed in the article, Aiah Nour, Batool Ibrahim, and Bousaina Ibrahim are Black women. Throughout the duration of the rally, these students demanded respect for their lives from their community. They pleaded, they chanted, they sang, and they cried. And still, they were not seen. These students and others spent time in front of news cameras as well; speaking upon the erasure and reduction of Black women in this country and demanding justice for our fallen sisters. And yet, media personnel intentionally left that out. Channel 8 news essentially told us that they do not care for our struggle either. They see and celebrate Black women dedicating their time, money, and resources to helping their greater community. And yet when it is those very same Black women demanding the most basic and fundamental right to respect for their lives, they choose to ignore.
Black women are really only cared about when it is to the advantage of somebody else. But when we sit here and continually tell the world that we are hurting and that you are not seeing us, you cut us out. You cut us out of your news articles and you drown out our voices in your version of our vernacular. You take the words we say and juxtapose them into whatever narrative you see fit. Everything the Black woman does is subject to reduction. Our very existence, in essence, is a reduction. Everything we are, everything we do, and everything we say, no matter how big or small, is automatically taken at a lesser degree because of the fact that we are Black women.
When you look at todayâs beauty trends: the braids, the long nails, the big hoops, the makeup; these can all be traced back and credited to Black women. When a non-Black woman partakes in these trends itâs chic, daring, or trendsetting. Yet when itâs a Black woman, itâs deemed as ugly, ghetto and unprofessional. According to the CDC, Black women are three to four times more likely to die from pregnancy-related causes than white women. Why is that you may ask? Medical personnel are notorious for overlooking the health of Black women, oftentimes leading to complications in childbirth. As a Black woman, I can attest to the fact that medical personnel do not cater to me. When I walk into a hospital with concerns about my health, my doctor is more likely to simply advise me to go home and sleep it off. There is no investigation into what I am experiencing, because me and my pain have been discredited before Iâve even opened my mouth.Â
The world expects Black women to be here to fight for your causes, to uplift and unify your communities, to play a maternal role in the lives of children and adults alike, to use our voices but not too loudly, to share our culture, to share our experience, to share our bodies. And yet you cannot even do us the simple courtesy of recognizing our pain. Â
KLKN Channel 8 News did not hear us. The city of Lincoln did not hear us. This country did not hear us.
This world is Still. Not. Hearing. Us.
So, I post this as a call to action. As a call for everyone who reads these words to sit back and examine the role that Black women play in your individual life. Examine and ask yourself, Am I hearing them? Do I see their pain and their struggle? Or am I simply taking from them as well.
Photo courtesy of Abbie Deng
To sign up to receive a care bag from the BSU click here.
To donate or volunteer, contact the email provided on the form linked above.Â
To find other ways to contribute to the Black Lives Matter movement, click here.Â
