‘They are Black women like me,’ and we are an afterthought in society

I remember her tweeting out her final words. She was describing the man who sexually assaulted her. A man who disguised himself as a person of hope. A person that could give her a hand. He sexually assaulted her. He killed her. She was 19 years old. Her name is Oluwatoyin Salau.

Her death hit me hard because she was me. She had a shaved head like me. Had brown skin like me. Was out protesting like me. She used her voice to speak out like me. She was sexually assaulted like me. She was a Black woman like me. She was me.

Since the death of Trayvon Martin, I have watched Black people die everyday. I seen the seven shots. I seen the chokeholds. I seen the rolled up gym mat. I seen the blood. I watched the body cams. I watched the beatings. I watched the light leave their eyes. I seen it all. Out of all that what hurts me the most was that even in a movement that is supposed to bring light on what happens to Black people, Black women are an afterthought.

I watched social media bash Black woman. Mock Black women. Hurt Black women. Kill Black women on a daily basis, then turn around and use Harriet Tubman as a meme or as proof of evidence in social media arguments in the comment section.

I watched Breona Taylor’s murder turn into a meme. I watched Sandra Bland’s mugshot be turned into an Instagram post for wokeness. I watched Aiyana Jones’ name be used as ammo in a battle of twitter fingers. I watched Nadja Cox get thrown into a dumpster. I watched Iyanna Dior get jumped by multiple men. I watched Black women like...

Michelle Cusseaux

Charleena Lyles

Atatiana Jefferson

Korryn Gaines

Kathryn Johnston

Kayla Moore

Rekia Boyd

Megan Hockaday

Tyisha Miller

Brandie Coleman

Shantel Davis

Marielle Franco

Shukri Yahye Abdi

LaVena Johnson

Kenneka Jenkins

Althea Bernstein

Brayla Stone

fall into the cracks... fall into statistics.... fall into a memory... fall into a old news article.....fall into a casket....fall into nothingness.....

It makes me wonder what if something like that happened to me? What if the men who sexually assaulted me had killed me? What if those boys who jumped and stabbed me had given me the fatal blow? What if the man that beat me up took justice into his own hands? What if after the ten years of bullying and harassment, I had took matter into my own hands? Who would seek that justice till the end? Who would care?

You people romanticize the hurt and pain that Black women go through. The mix of racism, misogyny and hatred shown be everyone, including our own, gets posted, generalized and gentrified for likes and views. Will someone ever stick up for us? Why do we have to be ones who are strong all the time? Why do we have to suck up the tears we cry? Why are we responsible for saving others in real life when no one even comes to our defense in simple posts on social media?

They were asleep like me. They were sexually assaulted like me. They drowned like me. They were set on fire like me. They were hung from trees like me. They trusted their friends like me. They called for help like me. They were shot like me. They held on as much as they could like me. They were hurting like me. They were breathing like me. They fought until the very end like me. They are black woman like me. All of them are me. She was me.

Black Women Matter. Now and Forever.

Gabrielle Bunton is a student at Western Kentucky University and a reporter for the College Heights Herald.