They deserve to rest and play, justice and equality, safety and opportunity, and protection.

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A friend of mine sent me a link to a New York Times article with a headline, ‘No Time to be a Child’. Until I read this article I didn’t realize it was possible for my heart to break more than it already had.

Table of contents:

• There’s nowhere for black girls to rest the accumulated weight they’re carrying
• We should not have a society where a black girlhood’s life is interrupted
• When I shared The New York Times article in web forums, I received mixed reactions from white people
• Black girls are children who were born deserving to be children

There’s nowhere for black girls to rest the accumulated weight they’re carrying.

In the New York Times article, the first three paragraphs read:

“For the past year and a half, Jamese Logan, a 15-year-old in Lanham, Md., found herself looking after four children. Her aunt died of cancer in May, leaving her children, the youngest just over a year old, in the care of Jamese’s mother. And when Jamese’s mother goes to work, it has been Jamese’s responsibility to look after her cousins, juggling their needs with her homework and virtual school.

For Yanica Mejias, a 17-year-old in Gaithersburg, Md., these last 12 months have been a huge financial strain. Her parents divorced in November, and Yanica, her mother, and her 14-year-old sister moved into the basement of her aunt’s house. Yanica took on extra shifts at a burger restaurant to help keep the family afloat.

And Azariah Baker, a 15-year-old in Chicago, has been caring for her 70-year-old grandmother, who had a stroke at the start of 2020, as well as her 2-year-old niece. Her grandmother is the legal guardian for Azariah and her niece but since the stroke, which left her extremely fatigued with blurry vision and headaches, Azariah has done the heavy lifting at home. She would wake up every day at 7 a.m., make them all breakfast, then log on for virtual school at 8 a.m.”

These black girls are picking up and carrying their families’ hardships, taking the weight off their shoulders.

They never complain.

“I remember one night, I was making dinner and I was having a panic attack. I was crying, I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and my heart was racing,” Azariah said. “But then my alarm went off for something in the oven,” she said.

This 15-year-old black girl put her own needs aside to take care of her family.

These black girls never take the time to be a child — there’s nowhere for them to rest the accumulated weight they’re carrying.

It’s always a gut punch to read what black girls are experiencing. No matter how many times I read an essay or a book about a black girl’s or woman’s experience, I have yet to get used to it.

I’m filled with righteous anger for these black girls. It’s like they are invisible and this perceived invisibility of black girls is fatal.

I think about these black girls and wonder how they can claw out of the dark abyss they’re spending their teenage years in.

The future of black girls is precarious.

This terrifies me.

“Black girls are children who were born deserving to be children. Deserving rest and play. Deserving justice and equality. Deserving safety and opportunity. Deserving empathy, compassion, and protection.”

It would be dishonest of me to pretend that I know exactly what these black girls are going through. I was raised by an educated mother. Even though my mom’s job as a bank manager was demanding, my girlhood did not upend. My dreams did not shatter. I didn’t suddenly become a caregiver or a provider. When mom was too tired and too busy to take care of me and my brother, my extended family came to our home to take care of us and the chores in our home. I had enough security in my home and nutrition as a child to be able to concentrate on my studies. I did not have to drop out of school to help support my family.

But not all of us are lucky enough to focus on our studies, finish high school, and go to college. Not all of us are lucky enough to not have to look after our families in our teenage years.

What about you?

Were you able to get a fancy private education as a child? If so, use your resulting financial security to support levies to improve public schools. Support communities that stand for social and racial justice. In my case, the least I can do is support black girls however I can. I donate to digital platforms like The Georgetown Law Center on Poverty and Inequality. They are empowering black girls all over the world. Their initiatives on gender and racial injustice are dear to my heart.

I’m a black woman, who was at one time a black child and a black girl, who believes children of any color deserve to be cherished and protected and be children.

I think about every black and brown person, who could be these black girls. And I’m heartbroken.

When I look around, I’m still alone. I’m still the only black woman in the room. And when I look at what I’ve fought so hard to accomplish, I wonder, “How many black girls are left behind? How many black girls will never become an accomplished teacher or writer or business owner or astronaut or scientist because they’re too busy taking care of their families?”

We should not have a society where black girls are not allowed to be children. We should not have a society where black girls want to go to school and learn and study hard and have good grades, but they can’t because they have to take care of their families. Because the fate of the household has fallen on their teen shoulders.

We should not have a society where a black girlhood’s life is interrupted.

In 2017, Jamilia Blake, Ph.D., a psychologist and associate professor at Texas A&M University studied adultification of black girls. By adultification, I mean black girls are treated like they are older than they are as early as preschool. The way others perceive black girls gets worse with age.

In Blake’s study, “Girlhood Interrupted: The Erasure of Black Girls’ Childhood”, she writes:

“These black girls are burdened with household caretaking responsibilities from an early age. Calling black girls “fast” or suggesting that they “want to be grown” and deserve whatever consequences they face for their choices ages them and robs them of their innocence.”

Blake’s research shows the bias society has towards black girls and how it leads to less protection and support, and more punishment among educators and law enforcement.

That’s not all.

Blake’s work explores how sexism and racism interact to shape black girls’ experiences in education, criminal justice, and even our social relationships.

For example, I’m witnessing how society interacts with my friend’s 6-year-old black daughter. I’ve heard many people describe my friend’s daughter’s temperament as mean, sassy, or intentionally difficult.

The language makes me uncomfortable.

What does it say about a society that calls a 6-year-old black girl, “mean and sassy”?

The same society that calls a black child, “mean and sassy” is the same one that pressures black women to be strong all the damn time. Pop culture celebrates black women. They’re the ones in the stories we like to tell the most. Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth, Rosa Parks, Maxine Waters. These strong women stood up and did what needed to be done for themselves and their communities to survive.

Yes, we should talk about these strong women.

But we should also talk about the cost of being a strong black woman. This pressure to be a strong black woman follows you everywhere. Even though I’ve become a successful black woman, I still work harder than my white coworkers. I stay late preparing lectures for my students. I dress like every day is a job interview. I feel like I have to be over-polite to white people I encounter in public. I bend over backward to prove that I’m not angry, that I’m not a threat.

Trying to be a strong black woman is utterly exhausting.

Society expects strong, durable things to be okay.

This pisses me off.

No one can withstand such constant pressure without breaking.

When I shared The New York Times article in web forums, I received mixed reactions from white people.

Some of them walked away from the conversation.

The hurt and pain of these black girls are real. These are real people. We’re talking about our lived experiences and the ways in which we’re oppressed.

Maybe these white people walked away because the conversation became uncomfortable. But any talk about systemic oppression, inequality, and racial injustice is anger-inducing.

This talk should be something that upsets us.

But it upsets us because it exists, not because we talk about it. It upsets us because we want our black girls to be children. It upsets us because who knows how many black girls are primary caretakers of their families? It upsets us because the economic fallout that resulted from the pandemic made it worse for black families. It upsets us because we’re still waiting for a black girl to read articles like what The New York Times published and thinks to herself, ‘well, there’s no need for this article — this is all solved’. It upsets us because at the moment we can’t imagine it but we can dream.

Some white people responded by questioning if these black girls’ experiences are even real.

If you’re white, maybe you have been poor at some point in your life. Maybe you’ve been sick or discriminated against for being disabled or being short or being conventionally unattractive.

You would be pissed if anyone dismisses your lived experiences, wouldn’t you?

And yet, you dismiss our stories and experiences.

The desire to dismiss claims of racial oppression comes from your lack of understanding. It doesn’t make sense to you so it cannot be right.

But, I ask you this:

• Is your lived experience real?
• Are the situations you’ve lived through real?

Then, why do you question the lived experiences of black girls or women?

It doesn’t have to make sense to you for an experience to be true. Just as your lived experience is real, so is a black girl’s lived experience.

Of all the responses I received, the next one bothered me the most.

Some white people responded these black girls’ experiences are not about race.

How ridiculous.

It’s about race if a lived experience disproportionately or differently affects people of color. It’s about race if this experience fits into broader patterns of events that disproportionately or differently affect people of color.

To understand how a black girl is affected disproportionately, read Toni Morrison’s “The Bluest Eye”. Morrison vividly paints a black girl’s lived experience. In her gorgeous words, you read feelings of neglect, invisibility, and shame within the novel’s protagonist, Pecola Breedlove.

Pecola is an 11-year-old dark-skinned black girl who everyone thought is ugly and ignored. Pecola’s family, friends, and sometimes strangers measured their humanity and worth against her perceived ugliness. She endured ugly systemic treatment — abuse, trauma, and extreme poverty — which ultimately drove her to insanity.

No one can deny the harsh realities of the world Pecola lived in. Just as no one can deny the harsh realities of the world black girls are living in. These harsh realities have everything to do with Pecola’s and black girl’s skin color.

Research supports my point:

Black girls are more likely to be suspended, expelled, and arrested compared to white girls, and adults perceive black girls ages 5–19 to be less innocent and need less protection than white girls.

After reading that paragraph, I dare you to tell me what black girls experience is not about race.

White people who think this is not about race are living in a world that does not exist.

Black girls are children who were born deserving to be children.

Even in 2022, black girls are living in harsh realities.

That’s racial injustice.

Black girls are children who were born deserving to be children. Deserving rest and play. Deserving justice and equality. Deserving safety and opportunity. Deserving empathy, compassion, and protection. Black girls and women are still waiting for the promise that’s been made to us hundreds of years ago. Every ‘Move everybody forward’ movement managed to help white America so much more than everyone else. Black girls and women are left behind.

We’re still waiting.

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