Sick and Tired of Erasure

As I sat and watched the final episode of “13 Reasons Why” on Netflix I reflected on the sexual assault culture that is prevalent in many high schools and communities across the globe. I couldn’t help but also look into my own community where rape and molestation remain a constant.

In the show, the students rally together and debate on telling the police about two rapes that took place during the season. One of a drunken girl at a party and the other of a girl who was simply minding her own damn business. What both of these issues highlight is that you don’t have to be anyone in particular for this to happen to you. It doesn’t matter if you’re an outcast or if you’re the popular socialite. Savages are always ready to make a move.

Clay, the main character, plans on telling the police about the rapes. After confronting the rapist and getting him to confess to the rapes, he has enough evidence to get him in serious trouble with the law—especially since one of the victims killed themselves less than a week later. As I watched this all I was truly amazed.

I was amazed because these people weren’t silent. They didn’t shrug it off, at least Clay didn’t. They were vigilant and acted accordingly. They didn’t care about what would happen next. They wanted the abuser off the street so he wouldn’t be able to do it again.

And so, I begin to reflect. What it’s like to be raped or molested as a black woman or girl. There is always shaming and prompt excusal of the perpetrator. You’re told that men are being men. No one reprimands the abuser. They aren’t held accountable. It’s always somehow your fault. You asked for it. You shouldn’t have had a vagina or been a child.

Today, I decided to look for major media outlets that speak about this very prevalent issue and came up with literally nothing. Nada. And yes, I even checked black magazines. This isn’t shocking to me. I expected it. I expected for these businesses to sit on their hands thus proactively being part of the erasure of black women and girls. We are constantly told to give our lives for men who never stand up for us or even respect us enough to not violate our bodies.

Like I said in a previous comment: ‘Black women and girls are the sexual property of men from childbirth.’ These discussions aren’t had because no one cares but they want you to blindly follow into a crowd of people who refuse to speak for you but you’re supposed to support these folks financially, physically, mentally, spiritually and otherwise when there has never been any reciprocity.

And no. The lack of conversation regarding the sexual assault of black women and girls is not the only way we are erased from our own damn narrative. And don’t even get me started on the retarded ‘women’ who support the rape and molestation of black women and girls. Those who offer their daughters to grown men to make him ‘happy.’ Those who pretend they don’t know their boyfriend is a rapist. Those who let their daughters down by not getting their molesters locked up or at the very minimum beating him the fuck up. Those who claim it’s simply a part of our culture and—oh, those who are the molester.

Clouds in my coffee.

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CLOUDS IN MY COFFEE!

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I am so sick and tired of the erasure of black women and girls.

 

©Kyanna Kitt

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