By: Brijea Daniel (’20), Staff Writer
It was the summer of 2015.
Or, maybe it was 2014. Honestly, off the top of my head I can’t really remember. I know it was probably July, because when I walked back to my car that day I remember the heat from the sun made my whole body feel like it was going to burst into flames.
I can’t remember what I was wearing. I couldn’t tell you how I had my hair styled, or what I was thinking on the short drive home. I don’t even think I can tell you exactly how it happened.
I just know that it did.
If I really tried, and I mean really sat down and committed myself to it, there is a strong possibility that I could dredge up every sordid second of those 10 or so minutes. I could reach into the back of my mind and open the ugly, little black box with the red bow on top and unleash all of the horrific details of the worst moments of my life. But do I want to?
And more importantly, do I have to?
The short answer to that question is no. While my story is a weight that I have been forced to carry for years, it is still my story. It can only be disclosed at my discretion. Before this year, I was perfectly content with keeping my story bottled up in that tiny little box, forever sealed.
I never thought about what would happen if 30 years down the road my rapist decided to run for what is considered by many to be the most honorable position in the country. I can’t even begin to imagine making the decision to sacrifice my peace and mental stability for the good of America. America- the country that has proven to me over and over again that it considers my Black body disposable and my Black feminity inherently vulgar.
I’d like to think I would come forward to be an inspiration for another survivor to stand in her truth, but honestly, I can’t say I would for sure. For that reason, among many others, it’s important to highlight the bravery of the women who have chosen to endure immense public scrutiny for the benefit of not only America but for other women too. Women like Christine Blasey Ford, Deborah Ramirez and, more specifically, Anita Hill.
For those who are unaware, Anita Hill is the Black woman who came forward with allegations of sexual assault against Clarence Thomas in 1991 during his U.S. Supreme Court confirmation hearing.
Hill testified in court on national television and detailed exactly what Thomas did to her. She sat in front of a panel full of white men and answered every single harrowing, traumatizing question in front of the entire world.
The press attempted to discredit Hill in any way possible because that’s what America does to victims of sexual assault and harassment when they come forward. Yet, what was most disappointing were the number of Black people attacking Hill for ‘tearing down’ a successful Black man. In 1991, 63 percent of Black people thought Thomas should be confirmed despite Hill’s testimony (Crowder, 2018).
On October 15th, 1991, Clarence Thomas was confirmed to the Supreme Court, just like Kavanaugh was a few weeks ago.
Unlike the many white feminists that like to display a façade of advocacy for all women, the majority of Black women were not particularly surprised about either confirmation. As far as our history goes, men have been forcibly using our Black bodies to enact violence and then turning around to sit at their desks in the Oval Office for centuries. Rapists in high positions of the American government are nothing new for Black women. In fact, they are just an active part of America’s long, ugly history of treating Black women as subhuman while everyone else looks the other way.
What did surprise me, although it shouldn’t have, was how quickly white America used Anita Hill’s Blackness against her following Ford’s testimony. White politicians jumped at the opportunity to say Hill’s testimony lacked vulnerability, comparing it to the ‘moving’ testimony that Ford offered.
Naturally, just when you think sexism is about to go for the jugular, racism swoops right in to help finish the job.
The ‘strong, impenetrable’ stereotype that our society forces onto Black women not only contributes to the substantial amount of violence we receive, but it also makes us one of the easiest targets.
In a 2007 study, it was found that college students perceived black victims of sexual assault to be less believable and more responsible for their own assaults compared to white victims (Donovan, 2007). Forty to sixty percent of Black women reported having experienced forced sexual contact by age 18 (MCASA, 2014).
How long will we allow sexual violence against women, Black women especially, to be considered a societal norm because our society refuses to believe men can hold themselves accountable?
How long will we force Black female survivors of sexual assault to choose between their race and their gender when they come forward with assault allegations against Black men?
I’m tired of my skin being weaponized and my feminity being assaulted because no one with power in this world wants to recognize their privilege.
And if no one else is willing to say what needs to be said, I will.
It is time for men, and in this case specifically Black men, to not only stand with women, but to stand for us. Men inherently benefit from the culture of sexual violence they created, and it is crucial that they recognize this in order for it to change.
Entirely too many women have been permanently traumatized as a result of men normalizing sexual violence as just a means of having sex.
Black women have marched for the lives of Black men for decades but when it’s time to protest for our protection, Black men are scarce.
Every single Black man I see with posters and signs at Black Lives Matter Marches? I want to see all of you at Women’s Marches protesting for the safety of Black women.
As a survivor, there is not a single day of my life where I get to wake up and forget about what happened to me. If I have to carry this weight for the rest of my life, the least you can do is acknowledge your responsibility to help fight for a change.
Now is the time for accountability, and it starts with you.
#MeToo.
Sources:
“African-American Women and Sexual Assault.” Maryland Coalition Against Sexual Assault, 2014,
https://mcasa.org/assets/files/African-American-Women-and-Sexual-Assault1.pdf
Donovan, R A. “To Blame or Not to Blame: Influences of Target Race and Observer Sex on Rape Blame Attribution.” Journal of Interpersonal Violence., U.S. National Library of Medicine, June 2007, www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/17515432.
Crowder, Chaya. “Analysis | From Race to #MeToo, What’s Changed between Anita Hill and Christine Blasey Ford – and What Hasn’t?” The Washington Post, WP Company, 28 Sept. 2018, www.washingtonpost.com/news/monkey-cage/wp/2018/09/28/from-race-to-metoo-whats-changed-between-anita-hill-and-christine-blasey-ford-and-what-hasnt/?utm_term=.cd1573f0df8c.
