"Black feminists often talk about their feelings of craziness before becoming conscious of the concepts of sexual politics, patriarchal rule, and most importantly, feminism, the political analysis and practice that we women use to struggle against our oppression." -Combahee River Collective Statement, April 1977
MONDAY
Oluwatoyin Salau has been murdered.
it's the first thing i see when i get on twitter in the morning.
we are all mourning. we didn't know her but we feel as though we did. the tweets about her missing have been circulating. i saw those tweets and i closed my eyes and wished a "toyin has been found safely, thank you for boosting!" tweet into existence, but it did not come. the news of her murder came instead.
someone, someone who did not keep her safe, is crowdfunding for a funeral and it has raised thousands. women on my timeline ask: why couldn't we have done that for her while she was still with us?
i'm in a work meeting and can hardly focus, thinking about her. about what we could've done. what i could've done. could i have DMed her? sent her money for a hotel? offered some sort of comfort that may have kept her safe?
she's miles and miles away and i didn't know who she was until she was already gone. but still, we have all failed.
i tweet, "if you see a black girl raising funds to leave an unsafe environment, donate or RT every time." and it gets fifteen thousand retweets. black girls reply with their gofundmes, asking me to boost. it's now a thread of black girls who need our help. black girls being abused. black trans girls needing homes. black girls needing safety. and i'm retweeting and donating and boosting as much as i can. and people are DMing me their stories, asking for my help. and i'm retweeting and donating and boosting as much as i can.
so many black girls asking for help. so many black girls needing to flee. the list doesn't stop. the goals are not met. the stories are painful to read.
i think about Toyin and Remmie and Dominique and Mesha and Jojo and Keke andandand. i keep boosting.
TUESDAY
j cole, a former fave in my past life, a man i've seen in concert three times, one of our "conscious" rappers, releases "snow on tha bluff"
it's trans women bein murdered, and this is all he can offer?
WEDNESDAY
i wake up from texts from friends. "did you see the uva rapists page?"
i log in and my timeline is filled with the tweets and the reactions to the tweets. i go to the page, scrolling. unsurprised by most of what i see. waiting for names that i know should be there.
then i see a friend. i curse because truthfully, i keep so few men in my life, and still? and this?
after dithering, i DM him. i make it clear that i support survivors. i encourage him to talk to the man he hurt and see how he can make it right. i ache thinking of how someone i love has caused this harm.
is this all there is?
later, another black man i know is listed. we're not friends, not really, but we've talked on twitter frequently. i have considered him a real ally to black women. he's seemingly done far more than most of the other black men i've gone to school with. he's DMed me with questions, always in good faith. he's been sensitive. he's listened. he's doing the reading.
and there his name is, still.
he vehemently denies it, is very angry, and says when he gets more info he'll be pressing charges. of course, the woman does not come forward.
is this all there is?
i check the page once more. and the man that my friend hurt has been exposed as a predator as well.
is this all there is?
THURSDAY
i have written a play that i am proud of. it highlights sexual assault in the black community. it puts a spot light on the black woman survivor. black women who have been victimized tell me they read it and feel seen. i hear that and feel full.
i'm doing a virtual reading and am excited. i'm grateful for the black male artistic director who has given me this opportunity. i'm grateful for the black women who i will get to share this work with. i have rehearsal and am happy to do this work, especially in a week like this.
i get a call from an unknown number, and after a confusing voicemail i call back. it is the executive director of the theater company who is producing the reading. she is a black woman. she tells me that there is a document going around in which actors in their state are airing out the bullshit they've faced at theaters. she says the artistic director is implicated in it. she says there are allegations. she says "they're not necessarily true but i think at this point people believe it as their truth." she says "i wouldn't want this to affect your play so we think we should do it as a recording..."
i am confused. i am concerned. i tell her so. i tell her "given the nature of my play, this is alarming to hear and i don't know how to react with so little information" and she says she gets that and we will talk about it at rehearsal tonight and she'll provide more context for the whole cast.
i may be on another coast but theatre is a small world and it doesn't take long before i find the document in question.
so i guess the rest of the women are too afraid to address the elephant in the room, or are otherwise trying to spare the company bc it's a black company. i'll do it then.... he uses his position as AD to bring young black actresses... his predatory ways are legendary in the POC community... can bear witness to this behavior: heard stories about it from young female actors of color... "just don't be alone in the same room as him"... i have been surprised over the years that he still reigned - i asked someone if he had changed. they said, no... Me too.
this has to be a joke, i think. is this really real? i'm working on a play in which a man uses his position as a black male in power to take advantage of young black women and the man who gave me the chance to work on this play right now is doing the same? nuh uh. if i wrote that in a show, they'd tell me it was too on the nose. this can't be life.
i cancel the reading.
FRIDAY
what a week. i haven't even left my house and still. what a week.
i take care, tonight. try to treat myself nicely. i drink wine. i cook dinner.
while cooking, i listen to my favorite podcast. it's an episode about non violent communication. i learn so much. i think about how i'll apply this to my own relationships. i practice things i want to say in my head. i think it's so cool that this podcast and this platform is spreading this to the people.
i eat my dinner. i watch buffy the vampire slayer. i check twitter before i sleep.
the first thing i see on my timeline: a long statement being reposted over and over. it's a callout for an abuser. there is an abuser in the podcast i was just listening to. the one that taught me about nonviolent communication.
i unsubscribe from the podcast and go to sleep angry.
SATURDAY AND SUNDAY
i get my line sister to change my twitter password. i put my phone on dnd. i watch tv and read.
black girls are still in need and the cycle of abuse hasn't stopped and black men are still policing black women and the cycle of abuse hasn't stopped and black girls are still in need.
but i am alone in my home in the middle of a pandemic, still observing stay at home restrictions that were prematurely lifted weeks ago. black girls are still in need and they are still being hurt. there are so many women experiencing harm right now that i don't even know about. but there's nothing i can do, right now. for the weekend, only for the weekend, i need a break. i need to pretend. because it was a really rough week.
maybe next week will be better.
probably not.
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