#Metoo, Memes & Everything Inbetween: On Violence Against WOC
“The notion that even when most in need of help, the world refuses to see us as victims, resigns women of colour to the sickness that is their mistreatment. ”
“What does it mean to be a woman of colour?” titles the video created by Meg Thee Stallion in partnership with The New York Times chronicling the expectations and experiences of women of colour. Most pertinently, it highlights the ways in which WOC are expected to show up and fight for everybody else without receiving reciprocal treatment. Indeed, this piece was preceded by weeks of speculation about the veracity of Meg Thee Stallion’s claims that she’d been shot by Tory Lanez. In the aftermath, the singer was subjected to ridicule across the internet, with many such as TI casting aspersions on her allegations, and others claiming not to believe her. Moreover, such vilification of the victim in this situation comes just weeks after two white women brought accusations against Trey Songz for sexual misconduct. In this instance, followers were quick to point out that Keke Palmer had made allegations about the singer three years prior and did not receive the same vindication as the Instagram models.
Far from simply being fodder for the celebrity rumour mill, both cases present evidence of a wider pandemic, the disregard for violence against women of colour, and Black women in particular. When asked who started the #metoo campaign, if Rose McGowan is the name that springs to mind, consider that your answer is only further proof of this. Tarana Burke, an African American activist, started the movement back in 2006 to raise awareness of women who had been abused. Rather than a problem confined to the hidden side of Hollywood, we see this notion further perpetuated in the United Kingdom. DJ Melody Kane highlights that within the UK music industry "there's an attitude where because it's a Black woman, it's allowed” which is compounded by guilt that aggressors may have been encouraged as it’s a “friendly, flirty industry”. Moreover, according to a recent Guardian article, “the number of women accessing a specialist domestic violence service” for Afro-Caribbean survivors has increased by more than 300% since lockdown. Ngozi Fulani, the founder of the service highlighted that police have asked Black women to prove that they’ve been hit by showing the marks on their faces. But women of colour do not bruise like white women. Though I write that in the most literal sense of the word, the notion that women of colour, and notably Black women, do not feel pain in the same way, and thus are not worthy of the same protections, are the justifications exacerbating this particular social illness.
Such suppositions are the result of racism more widely, and misogynoir, the intersection of misogyny and racism against women of colour, often rooted in anti-Blackness. Misogynoir perpetuates stereotypes such as ‘the strong Black woman’ and the ‘oversexualised Black woman’. Notably, in relation to sexual violence, such beliefs validate the violence used against Black women and women of colour, and then compound this trauma in the trappings of being stoic and unfaltering. This is not only imposed by white people but endemic to our own community also. Similarly to Meg, Russell Simmons’ accusers have been charged with ‘turning against their own community’.
This is indicative of the truth that women of colour may experience domestic violence in entirely different contexts to white women. The Southall Sisters highlight that fear of social ostracisation and harassment prevent many Asian women from speaking out against sexual violence. Moreover, in a world plagued with racism, at a time where many are still having to ‘prove’ that racism exists, those highlighting issues within the Black community often face accusations of turning against their people, diverting white people’s sympathy for the anti-racism plight. That people of colour still have to rely on the sympathy and understanding of white people in order for their experiences to register is a conversation for another day. Nonetheless, nothing exists in a vacuum, and recognising how flippant de-humanisation contributes to endemic violence against women of colour equips us with the tools to end this.
For example, a ‘joke’ stating “that same WAP got Cardi cheated on and Meg shot” was widely shared online. Though it may seem a little on the nose to stress the point, jokes about violence against women are not funny. Moreover, citing promiscuity to justify violence is rape culture in its truest form. When Black women are continually hyper-sexualised and fetishised, we see how they become targets for violence and are relegated from the sphere of victimhood. So, call out these ‘jokes’ when you hear them. Ask someone why they think singing about a lubricated vagina is grounds for violence. What is so funny about Black women in pain? Consider asking yourself why you are so de-sensitised to women of colour in pain? Why do we enable the meme-ified consumption of Black women’s suffering?
“...citing promiscuity to justify violence is rape culture in its truest form. When Black women are continually hyper-sexualised and fetishised, we see how they become targets for violence and are relegated from the sphere of victimhood.”
Furthermore, within our own communities, it is paramount that we stop silencing women, and burdening them with the shame and guilt of perpetrators’ actions. Though violence against all women still isn’t taken sufficiently seriously; the chasm between the empathy afforded to white women and women of colour only serves to compound these issues. Making yourself aware of the nuanced ways that gender-based violence may affect women of colour differently, enables us to create solutions that work for them. Organisations such as Sistah Space & Southall Black Sisters have been engaging in this work for years, campaigning to meet the needs of Black & BAME women respectively. However, your penance is not limited to a one-time donation - though generosity will no doubt be appreciated. Violence against WOC is simply the most malignant form of misogynoir, and rather than an aberration, it is the result of their consistent and unchecked dehumanisation. As with all activism, the micro affects the macro, and while there are no easy solutions to the points I have raised, it is clear that we need to understand the myriad factors contributing to this. From the evidently contentious issues of WOC being scared to call the police for fear of their partners being subjected to racist treatment, to the seemingly innocuous perception of WOC as sexy/exotic, the murders, and memes, and everything in between are contributing this violence.
Indeed, this culture of violence, abuse, and silencing is what created the conditions that necessitated the #metoo campaign. However, as this article has made clear, even in these movements, women of colour are left behind at best, and subjected to ridicule at worst. This notion that even when most in need of help the world refuses to see us as victims, resigns WOC to the sickness that is their mistreatment. We must recenter Tarana Burke in the #metoo movement, and in the same vein, we must consider how and why the voices of women of colour have long been lost in the fight against gender-based violence.
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Ruva Takawira
is a writer chronicling her takes on everything from feminism to fashion to politics. You can find her on Instagram @ruuvs and read more of her work on The Ruu Review.