When law enforcement stormed into the home of little Amara Johnson, just seven years old, they unleashed chaos with a grenade. Toys lay strewn across her yard, a stark contrast to the horror that unfolded when a SWAT team burst through her door. An officer fired a single shot that tragically struck Amara, taking her life as she slept peacefully beside her grandmother.
Reflecting on that heartbreaking night, I can’t help but think of my own daughters and the milestones we anticipate. I imagine joyfully exclaiming “Say cheese!” as I capture their smiles in prom dresses. I envision my voice cracking from cheering too loud at their graduations, and I dream of holding my future grandchild, tears of joy streaming down my face. What I can’t bear to imagine, however, is waking up to the sound of gunfire, blood spilling from their innocent bodies at the hands of those meant to protect them.
It’s a grim reality that looms over us. A study from the Fatal Interactions with Police Project revealed that unarmed Black women face a higher risk of being killed by police compared to other demographics, including white men. Yet, my girls are still so small. My youngest adores puzzles and Hot Wheels, and for her last birthday, she longed for Pokémon cards to trade with her friends. My eldest, a fourth grader with a passion for art and writing, dressed as Queen Nefertiti for Halloween, complete with a headpiece crafted from plastic beads.
Why would my little ones ever encounter law enforcement? Then I remember Zoe, a six-year-old in Florida who was handcuffed for throwing a tantrum. My daughters have their moments, too. I recall the story of Talia Becton, who at 16 faced a police officer’s violent tackle at a Texas pool party. My girls enjoy swimming as well. Perhaps I could convince myself these instances are just rare occurrences, but that’s simply a comforting illusion.
Research from Georgetown University highlights a disturbing trend: adults perceive Black girls as needing less care and protection than their white counterparts, even at the tender age of five. Another study shows that Black girls are twice as likely to face suspension, even when their behavior mirrors that of their peers. This collective dehumanization results in a perception that they deserve punishment rather than protection, increasing their chances of dangerous encounters with law enforcement—encounters that can often turn fatal. And the grim truth is that the chances of accountability for police misconduct are almost nonexistent.
As a mother, I strive to be the best parent I can be. After facing challenges in my own upbringing, I enrolled in parenting classes and immersed myself in literature on child development. Dr. Dan Siegel presents the “Four S’s” for secure attachment: Seen, Soothed, Secure, and Safe. The last “S,” safety, feels elusive. I’ve followed guidelines from pediatricians and educators, held their hands while crossing streets, and ensured their hairstyles were safe for biking. Now, amid a pandemic, we navigate virtual playdates and lessons on online safety.
Yet, it is disheartening to realize how limited my ability is to shield my daughters from racism and sexism. Being Black and female exposes them to various forms of violence, including a heightened risk of fatal encounters with domestic partners compared to other demographics. This is a significant issue, with far too many Black women and girls facing violence at the hands of those they love.
Historically, we’ve recognized the need to address domestic violence. By 1920, society had begun prosecuting those who harm their partners, establishing hotlines for victims and enacting laws aimed at limiting access to firearms for violent offenders. Yet, accountability for police misconduct is just beginning to garner public attention. Take, for instance, Colin Kaepernick, who faced backlash for his peaceful protest against police brutality. Instead of finding support, he was vilified and ostracized.
In other circumstances, when one human takes the life of another, it is met with charges of murder or manslaughter. Yet, in the case of police-involved deaths, investigations often lead to no charges, and families are left with financial settlements rather than justice. The Supreme Court has even ruled that an officer’s mere belief of danger can provide them immunity from lawsuits over excessive force.
Many Americans remain uncomfortable with protests and calls for justice from Black communities. They seem to reject the notion that we should voice our struggles or demand change while our children are at risk. For now, I’m left with two options to protect my daughters: the hollow phrases of “Thoughts and Prayers” offered by those who feel compelled to respond to tragedy without enacting real change.
In conclusion, the lives of little Black girls deserve recognition and protection. As we strive to create a safer future, it’s imperative to acknowledge and address the systemic issues that threaten their lives. For further insights and resources on infertility and home insemination, check out this excellent guide on women’s health.
Keyphrase: Black girls’ safety and well-being
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