We know that Black Lives Matter, but do black men know that that includes black women’s lives?
The country–the world– is publicly mourning the unjust death of George Floyd, as it should. While it is frustrating that as black people, we have to remind whites that our lives matter, it’s beautiful to see my generation influence such a historical movement.
This historical moment has, yet again, overlooked the big, ugly, fat elephant in the room: the lack of equal support black women receive from black men.
Despite black women being on the front lines, taking rubber bullets for black men, despite black women being the creators of the Black Lives Matter phrase, we can only get black men’s support when they deem us to be “worthy.”
You only get support from black men if they want to fuck you–even that support is dependent on whether or not your reject them.
Oluwatoyin Salau was a young black woman who very vocal in her support of the Black Lives Matter. Despite this unapologetic display, she was sexually abused and ultimately murdered by Aaron Glee– a black man. Despite the news of her death spreading like wildfire, it simply did not spark the same reaction as her black male counterparts.
Does her black life not matter, or do we not talk about this story because it was a black man that killed her?
Do black lives matter, or do black men’s lives matter only?
While we’re in the streets marching and sobbing for our “brothers and sons,” they are silent while we’re being abused and killed at their hands.
Black women, if there is anything to take away from the climate of this situation, it’s this:
These niggas (collectively) don’t fuck with us like that.
I know we were all soaking our panties when John Boyega was demanding for black men to do better by their mahogany melanin queens, but dry them bitches up and stay on code.
One day they’re tweeting about how much they love our “strength” (aka, our ability to withstand tremendous amounts of bullshit and stupidly stay loyal to them), and then the next they’re dragging Noname for not kissing J.Cole’s Hotep, non-reading ass.
I know this isn’t what the Wakandan Warrior Princesses want to hear, but it’s time to take off the rose tinted lenses and face the harsh reality of being a black woman in America:
unless we band together and support our own best interests, our own beauty, our own spaces, we will continue to be alone in this world.
Stop treating grown ass men like they’re you’re fucking sons–it’s not our jobs to teach them how to treat us. It’s no longer our responsibility to initiate the conversation.
No matter how loud your support is for black men, they will never get the memo to return the favor.
We–black women–are all we have.