Dear Black Girl, You, Too, Deserve to be Protected.

“I think, though, as [Black] women, we are always trained to value our community even at the expense of ourselves, and so we attempt to protect the [Black] community.”

-Anita Hill

We, as Black women, have been told for centuries that it is our responsibility to protect our men from this vicious, racist system that has tried to destroy them. We’ve been told about all of the struggles they face, while also being told to overcome our own. We’ve been told about how emasculating it was for the male slaves to have their wives raped by white slave-owners -- but, never once told to stop and think of the horror experienced by the women who’ve endured those rapes. We’ve heard the stories of the male chauvinism and gender discrimination that existed during the Civil Rights Movement, but we’ve been told to focus our attention on the struggles of the black men who led the way. We’ve been told about the police culture that kills our men, often failing to mention Tanisha Anderson, Rekia Boyd, or Sandra Bland. This culture of protection for our Black men, has cultivated a culture which allows for Black women to be harassed and assaulted without consequence.

In many black families, there is a place where “dirty old uncle so and so” is allowed to do whatever and with whomever without repercussions. I’ve heard countless stories of inappropriate language, groping, and sex by black male figures and when asking the victim what happened to the black male as a result, the answer is almost always the same: “oh, I didn’t say nothing; that’s just how he is.” Thus, at what point do we start to call it what it is: sexual harassment or assault? And at what point do we hold black men accountable?

With the “Me, too” campaign that has recently re-emerged, a nuanced discussion about how sexual harassment or assault has particularly effected black women is necessary. And the reason I find it to be most important is because as black women our initial reaction is often to protect our men who have been accused. For the reasons listed above, along with a society that has systematically falsely accused and oversexualized our men, our reflex is to “value our community even at the expense of ourselves.” We’ve seen that with Bill Cosby, Nate Parker, and R. Kelly, to name a few. I, too, have been guilty of this.

I could delve into a discussion of instances where black men did not and have not shown up for black women and use that as a foundation for my decision to stop protecting black men who engage in inappropriate sexual conduct. Instead, I’d like to delve into a discussion about the importance of self-care. Black women shouldn’t speak out against black men as some sort of retaliation to black men’s perceived lack of support; black women should stop protecting black men engaged in sexual assault because they don’t deserve our protection. Protecting them is against our own interests. Black women are: almost three times as likely to be victims of domestic violence, second most likely to be victims of sexual assault, but less likely than other groups to report when we’ve been victimized.

It’s time for the Black community, to stop forcing Black women to protect Black men who are undeserving. It’s time for the Black community to stop telling little black and brown girls that the protection of misbehaving black men is more important than the protection of their bodies. It’s time for Black women to shout “Me, too” without the burden of protecting black men’s dignity. It’s time for the bifurcation of our blackness and our womanness to dissolve and allow for a single identity where protecting our girl parts doesn’t offend our black skin.

“If the first woman God ever made was strong enough to turn the world upside down all alone, these together ought to be able to turn it back and get it right side up again”

–Sojourner Truth