by Michelle Y. Talbert

Prom. High school graduation. College graduation. Motherhood. Adulthood. Yet another of our daughters will never experience any of these or the other milestones that make life so rich.

By Veronica Agard

In a dynamic time of #BlackLivesMatter, the conversations around the violence inflicted upon Black bodies have been become more and more prevalent. However, despite the fact that the intention of the founders of #BlackLivesMatter was to always be inclusive of all Black lives, that has not completely translated to the movement. We’ve already seen examples of openly hostile and homophobic behavior of Black cisgendered men in the form of “Straight Black Pride.” This type of violence within the movement is only one example of what is the daily experience for trans and gender nonconforming people.

By Anna Gibson

The number of Black women who die in police custody continues to climb. A video was recently released of 37-year-old Natasha McKenna, who died in police custody in early February of 2015. McKenna had suffered from schizophrenia since she was a teenager and was having an episode in prison. The 45-minute video shows her staggering out of her cell, completely naked and clearly confused as a group of fully armed men, in hazmat suits and shields, pull her to the ground. They then proceeded to administer 5000 volts to her 5’3, 160 lb. frame. She was later pulled off of life support, and the cause of her death was listed as “agitated excitation.”

“Who is Sandra Bland?” was spray painted on the confederate monument, affectionately called ‘Silent Sam’, that watches over the entrance to north campus at University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill. On a regular day thousands of people walk past the monument and for the two hours that I sat and stared at the sloppy words that marked the sides I noticed they all had one thing in common, no one had an answer to the question that was posed.

A little over a week ago, we published the article "What it Means to be Mixed Race During the Fight for Black Lives" by Shannon Luders-Manuel, which sparked a lot of discussion and was shared nearly 2,000 times.

by Leah C.K. Lewis

There has been a great deal of commentary about the #BlackLivesMatter disruption in Seattle during the first weekend in July. Two young activists connected to Seattle’s BLM chapter stormed the stage and demanded a 4.5-minute moment of silence to honor the anniversary of Michael Brown’s killing at an event where Democratic candidate Bernie Sanders, an Independent self-proclaimed socialist senator from Vermont, planned to discuss social security and Medicare.

by Joy Notoma

I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about Sandra Bland. Her face perpetually materializes behind my eyes when I start to doze off. I imagine that she is someone I used to know. An old friend. A cousin I haven’t spoken to in a long time. I want answers for her sweet smile. I want to hear her talk about her awakening black consciousness. I want to hear her say, “Sandy speaks,” as she offers strangers encouragement on her Facebook page. I want justice for the cruelty of her past depression being used to make suicide seem plausible. I want to join her mother when she says, “This is war,” who reminds me of Emmett Till’s mother using his murder as a call, not a moment of forgiveness.

I want answers.

Who is responsible for the death of Sandra Bland? What if Sandra Bland committed suicide? Does that mean the Waller County, Texas police department is not liable for her death? If she was murdered, will anyone be held accountable?

If Sandra Bland killed herself, she was undoubtedly depressed. In fact, she stated in a jail pre-screening interview, that she had been previously depressed. To some, this along with the fact that she was found hanging in her cell is all one needs as proof of suicide. No further questions necessary. But who is responsible? Why does ruling her death suicide seem to be reasonable cause for the Waller County police department to wash its hands of responsibility (not counting the responsibility it bears for neglecting to place her on suicide watch)?

Can we consider the extreme anxiety that being unjustly imprisoned must have caused a person who had been suicidal in the past? What of the additional anxiety and fear that she may have felt knowing that incidents of police brutality on black bodies frequently go unpunished? When the state trooper, Brian Encinia, put his hands on Sandra Bland to pull her out of the car, might she have thought of Freddie Gray, and feared that she may be yet another black body murdered at the hands of a power hungry cop?



What about Sandra Bland’s anger? Was her attitude out of line? Because of social media and camera phones, the American public, by and large, has only just begun to witness what black people have experienced for generations— physical, mental, and emotional terrorism regularly meted out by law enforcement officials on black bodies and black communities. The fact of this psychosomatic terror may be news to millions of white Americans, but it wasn’t news to Sandra Bland.

I sometimes think of what the late playwright, August Wilson, called “blood memory” when I think of intergenerational trauma. Intergenerational trauma is a fairly recent domain of research in the mental health field, but there is a substantial amount of evidence that an individual may carry trauma in the DNA that was experienced by preceding familial generations. This type of trauma also includes intercultural trauma and can be experienced by people of related cultures and communities.

Eureka! Finally there is a word, a proven, documented phenomenon that explains what black and brown people have known in their bones for centuries. There is a name for the anger that lurks around the corners of my eyes, daring to come forth, sometimes even when I am most joyous. There is a name for the shame that lingers too long when someone of my race that I don’t even know behaves in a manner that is true to a stereotype perpetuated in the media. There is a name for the uncanny thrill I get when I walk into a room and sense the hush of white people taking in my presence because they only relate to me as “other” and perceive me as a threat even without knowing me personally.

And these are only the little things.

There is a name for when we weep for nine murdered parishioners as if they were our own brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, and cousins; why the pain seems deeper than we can face without losing sanity. There is a name for the personal edge of the rage we feel when find there’s no justice for a boy who went out for Skittles and Amazon iced tea with his head covered by a black hoodie. There is a name for the anguish in our ribs that disturbs our sleep when we find that the marches and protests amounted to $5.5 million dollars but still no justice for a man selling loose cigarettes on the street. There is a name for why I can’t sleep at night thinking about a woman I have never met named Sandra Bland. The atrocities go on, but this pain that goes past my feet and into the ground and connects me with ancestors I don’t even have names for at least has a name.

So yes. Sandra Bland was angry. Maybe she wasn’t experiencing inter-generational trauma. Maybe she was just angry at having been pulled over for an infraction that many drivers commit multiple times a day—changing lanes without a signal. Maybe she was angry at being told to put out her cigarette or step out of her vehicle or being threatened with a taser. Regardless the cause, her anger was justifiable.

Having already experienced the brutality of the highway patrolman and having been in jail for three days, what might have gone through the mind of Sandra Bland who was already predisposed to depression? Could she have feared years in prison with unthinkable injustices heaped upon her daily like Kalief Browder? Could she have feared an unfair trial and skewed media coverage like the New Jersey 5? These are things we will never know.

Who is responsible for the death of Sandra Bland? If she indeed killed herself, it will be concluded that the answer to that question speaks for itself. But does it? If the investigation into her death uncovers foul play, can the family of Sandra Bland expect that justice will be served? Unfortunately, we all know how that story goes and the sad ending is not worth the energy to recount.

Sandra Bland’s name is another drop of our blood memory. But maybe this memory will not only call up terror, rage, and mental anguish. Maybe this memory will open the door to heal trauma, stare down mental illness, and retribute police brutality. Maybe this memory will mobilize us to confront forces that confine us to mental spaces that have damaged us longer than we consciously remember.

Photo: Facebook

Joy Notoma is a writer and performer living in NYC. Her current work includes interviewing people who have been affected by religious shunning and reviewing writings of incarcerated people. Check out her long form travel blog truthandtravel.wordpress.com.

by Farah Tanis

“My purpose is to go back to Texas and stop all the injustices in the South.” —Sandra Bland's words before returning to Texas, as reported by her mother Geneva Reed-Veal

by Janette Robinson Flint

I am deeply hurt, enraged, and gravely concerned by the onslaught of violence against Black women and girls. The latest offense happened on Monday, July 13th, when Sandra Bland, a 28 year-old woman who was pulled over for a minor traffic violation, was found dead in her Texas jail cell. The following day, 18 year-old Kindra Chapman was also found dead in an Alabama jail cell. In June, a police officer tackled and handcuffed a 14-year-old girl in a bikini at pool party in McKinney, Texas. In June, nine people—six of whom were Black women—were murdered at the historic Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, South Carolina. Cynthia Hurd, Rev. Sharonda Singleton, Susie Jackson, Ethel Lance, Myra Thompson, Hon. Rev. Clementa Pinckney, Tywanza Sanders, Rev. Daniel Simmons Sr., and Rev. DePayne Middleton-Doctor lost their lives because of the deep-seated anti-Black hatred cultivated against African Americans in this country. And this is only in the last few months. There are scores of Black women who did not get a hashtag. There were no marches or protests for them. Their deaths have gone unnoticed by most of the nation and grieved by only the ones who knew them.

by Crystal Tennille Irby

Black people do not have a moment to mourn before another name is added to the list of those we have buried. The 24-hour news cycle of social media inundates our psyche with imagines of Black trauma. Lack of indictments and “not guilty” verdicts will make you question whether or not what you are witnessing is real.

by Matlaleng Babatunde

When does a Black female victim of violence become worthy of empathy? Is it after she has been "humanized" by the mentioning of a family and by the realization that she could've been you, or is the fact that she is a person-- a Black woman, enough. For many on social media it seems to be the former. Thursday morning, as I scrolled through my Tumblr, I was overwhelmed with the lingering wave of anger, grief, and pain that I've become accustomed to this summer. Another hashtag, followed by the name of yet another Black person violated and killed at the hands of state sanctioned violence.

by Michelle Denise Jackson

Today, I do not feel like smiling. I only wish to buttress myself within the confines of my bed. I wish to keep the world at bay.

by Danielle Stevens for This Bridge Called Our Health

I think some of the discourse emerging from these ‪#‎IfIDieInPoliceCustody and ‪#‎WhatHappenedToSandraBland‬ conversations are dangerously limited. Folks are saying “Sandra Bland was mentally sound” and “Black women like her would never commit suicide”, etc. Not only are we upholding precarious and dehumanizing ‘strong black woman’ archetypes that neglect to hold Black women in the fullness and breadth that we embody, but our failure to operate within a mental health & disability justice framework by making the assertion that Sandra Bland was ‘mentallly sound’ in order to prove that she did not commit suicide is a dangerous narrative that both devalues black people who navigate mental health difficulties and trauma and also erases their/our narratives from the conversation.

Sandra Bland was pulled over by Officer Brian Encinia in Waller County, TX on Friday, July 10th. Her offense? Failing to signal when switching lanes. In video captured by an unidentified bystander, Bland is shown being held down on the ground by two white male police officers.

Eyewitness Malcolm Jackson told a local news station of the roadside incident, “[The police officer] pulled her out of the car forcibly and threw her, tossed her to the ground, knee to the neck, and arrested her.” Not shockingly, this eyewitness account has been all but neglected by the mainstream media coverage of Bland’s arrest and subsequent death.


Bland spent the weekend in Waller County Jail. By Monday morning, she was dead.

On Thursday, July 16th—three days after her death—police claimed the Prairie View A&M graduate had used a trash bag in her cell to hang herself.

The police were quick to point out that Bland posted a video back in March in which she discussed dealing with depression and PTSD. “I am suffering from something that some of you all may be dealing with right now,” Bland said in the video. “It’s a little depression, as well as PTSD. I’ve been real stressed over these last few weeks.”

Those are pretty much Bland’s only words getting any attention in the mainstream media, despite the fact that she posted several videos. The majority of the content in her other posts are about race relations in America.

Sandra was dedicated to discussing the problems of police brutality and racism in this country. Starting in January of this year, Bland began making a series of videos called, "Sandy Speaks." They can be described as a publicly shared video diary. They are not edited. They are not scripted. They are more of a stream of consciousness commentary. They are a call to action to her viewers, whom she referred to as kings and queens. Prior to Sandra Bland’s death, her videos were not widely seen by the public, though they are posted on her Facebook page.

In an effort to keep Sandra voice alive, I have found some of the most powerful quotes from the "Sandy Speaks" series.

Sandra Bland on being Black in America:

“Being a black person in America is very, very hard.”

“We can’t help but get pissed off when we see situations where it’s clear that black life didn’t matter.”

Sandra Bland on the Walter Scott case:

Scott was a black man gunned down on April 4th, shot 8 times in the back by then South Carolina police officer Michael Slager. “For those of you questioning [Walter Scott] running away, well goddamn, because in the news as we’ve seen of late…you can stand there, surrender to the cops, and still be killed.”

Sandra Bland on systemic racism:

“Our legal system and the way our country is run is based upon discrimination.”

Some of her commentary about the #AllLivesMatter social media trend that was created in response to #BlackLivesMatter:

“White people, if all lives mattered, would there need to be a hashtag for black lives mattering? Think about that.”

“Show me in American history where all lives mattered. Show me where there has been liberty and justice for all.”

“White people, yes, black people know all lives matter. But what I need you guys to understand is that being a black person in America is very, very hard.”

“Black lives matter. They really do.”

Her encouragement of non-blacks to join in the protest and be vocal about police violence against black people:

So, for y’all that can sit around and say all lives matter, I want you to go, put it on a poster, and stand out on a corner somewhere. If we can get enough white people to show that all lives matter, maybe they’ll stop killing our black brothers. Cuz obviously, that’s what it’s going to take; for the white people to get up and get tired of black people [alone] saying black lives matter. So if y’all want it to stop, you get out there and do something about it.

Bland said some people accused her of being a racist because of her videos, even going so far as to call her "bitch" and other names. Here are a few of her words in response to being labeled a racist:

"I am not racist. I don’t think all white people are racist."

She also spoke on the power of social media:

“This thing that I’m holding in my hand, this telephone, this camera. It is quite powerful. Social media is powerful. We can do something with this. If we want a change, we can really, truly make it happen.”

Sandra Bland ended most of her videos with words of inspiration. She shared this message in the closing of a video she posted on April 3th, which was Good Friday: “Do what you can to be a positive light in someone’s life. I hope that I’ve done that for you. Know that somebody loves you. Somebody is out there praying for you, and hoping the best for you." She always closed her videos with the same two words: "Sandy speaks.”

Sandy, we will not let your voice be silenced, Queen. We are listening. We will continue to carry the torch and be a collective positive light. #BlackLivesMatter. Your life mattered.

Photo: Facebook

Evan Seymour is a Southern California based freelance journalist whose daytime job is in entertainment news. She is also a professional daydreamer.