As a Black woman in the Western world, the pervasive feeling of insecurity is one I can hardly escape. Recent events only deepen this anxiety, reminding us that our protectors can sometimes be the ones who harm us.
When we muster the courage to ask for help, it often feels like our pleas fall on deaf ears, dismissed or minimised in ways that our white counterparts do not experience. This disparity is not just in our minds; it’s a tangible reality that can be seen in the different responses we receive from authorities, healthcare providers and even within our communities.
The case of Sonya Massey is a poignant example. On 6 July, Sonya, a 36-year-old mother, called the police to her home in Springfield, Illinois, to report that she believed there was an intruder at her property. Officers arrive and, in a video circulating the internet from bodycam footage worn by the police, it shows them following her inside. They ask her to remove a pot of boiling water from the stove and, barely before she has been given the chance to do so, Sangamon County Sheriff’s Deputy Sean Grayson pulls out his gun and fatally shoots her. (He has been sacked from the police force and charged with murder and official misconduct.) The killing has sparked protests and drew the attention of Preisdent Joe Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris.
Harris, addressing Sonya Massey’s case, stated, 'Sonya Massey deserved to be safe. After she called the police for help, she was tragically killed in her own home at the hands of a responding officer sworn to protect and serve.'
This statement underscores the betrayal felt when those meant to protect us become threats. This isn’t just about officers, Black women also experience domestic abuse at higher rates and they face challenges in getting the required help and support.
Sonya's video is 30 minutes long, a harrowing duration compared to the nine-minute George Floyd video. Yet, I can’t bring myself to watch it. Knowing the outcome—that she wasn’t safe—haunts me.
Avoiding the video is a self-preservation act, but the reality remains distressing. These incidents highlight a disturbing truth: Black women often lack a safe space in and outside of their home. This constant reminder can lead to emotional breakdowns, like the one I experienced unexpectedly on my way to the gym after hearing about what happened to Sonya Massey. The trauma of witnessing these events repeatedly isn't just distressing; it's detrimental to our mental health.
Reflecting on Labour MP Diane Abbott's experiences, who has been racially abused for decades, also reveals the deep-seated issues within our society. The vitriol she faces isn't just political but deeply personal, affecting many Black women who see themselves in her. It makes me wonder what the safety of Black women in America will be like now that Kamala Harris is running for U.S. presidency, and if her leadership will lead to meaningful changes or if it will perpetuate the existing systemic issues.
In this environment, I often contemplate the role of social media. Should I step back and let my social media manager filter the content to protect my mental health? Constant exposure to racial trauma is exhausting, yet the fight for equal rights is more pressing than ever.
Taking my nieces out today offers a brief respite, but it also brings a profound hope. The world they grow into must be different from the one we see today.
For Black women to thrive, society must change. We need to create safe spaces, both physically and emotionally, where Black women can live, be seen, and enjoy life fully.
Our collective responsibility is clear. It's not just about recognising the problem but actively working towards a solution. Until then, the fear and trauma experienced by Black women will remain an unhealed wound in our societal fabric.