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 Danielle Stevens

After Tuesday night’s 2016 Democratic Presidential Primary Debate, many Bernie Sanders supporters have been valorizing the candidate for saying ‎Sandra Bland’s name, expressing that Black Lives Matter, and discussing the importance of criminal justice reform. Although many believe this to be a groundbreaking proclamation, the true groundbreaking work comes from the Black women organizers who have been pushing Sanders consistently to act on the importance of dismantling structural violence and organizing and agitating for our freedom and livelihoods every single day; the same Black women who would never receive anywhere near this magnitude of recognition for our analyses and our labor.

“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.

by Uche Wogwugwu on Medium

Last month, I was suddenly and suspiciously let go from my job at a local media production company in Houston. Prior to being let go, I’d been in New York City for a couple of days hoping to retrieve the last of my things left there over a year ago.

by Altheria Gaston

In a more equitable world, 19 year-old Christian Taylor of Arlington, Texas would be preparing for his fall semester at Angelo State University. After spending the night in jail for [allegedly] breaking and entering and destruction of property/vandalism at a car dealership on August 7, 2015, his parents might have bailed him out and perhaps scolded him for his seemingly erratic actions. In a few years, after graduating from college, Christian might have looked back on this incident as a stupid episode performed by an immature, reckless teen. But this world is far from equitable, and instead of this hypothetical situation, Christian’s family gathered with hundreds of loved ones a couple days ago for his funeral.

by Anna Gibson

Nearly two weeks ago, 19-year-old Christian Taylor was shot during an altercation with police after allegedly crashing his car through the front window of a dealership in Texas. Since this tragic incident, numerous developments have occurred. The officer who shot Taylor has been fired, and edited video footage of the incident was released. The footage shows Taylor just moments before his death. While we can’t make assumptions about this case or his actions, various sources have noted a number of discrepancies in police accounts of his case.

by Agunda Okeyo 

I am a huge admirer of Robert F. Kennedy. In learning American history as a youth, I was struck my RFK’s profound humanist transformation from a righteously conservative politician (dare I say, racist) to a truly revolutionary equal-rights activist. Undoubtedly the death of his brother and the racial complexity of the time motivated this change--and likely cost him his life. In an unprecedented visit to apartheid South Africa in 1966 he said the following to a rapt audience at the University of Cape Town, South Africa:

by Priscilla Ward

I felt like everything was okay. The ability to separate myself from history was blissful. I had the mental and physical autonomy to brush it off and not be bothered. On a small scale I understood the pain and despair of African-Americans’ struggles in this country, but they were distant and far removed. I could study them one moment, shelve the pain, and focus on something else the next.

by Shannon Luders-Manuel

When I talk about my family culture, I’m mixed. When I talk about racism, I’m black. When Trayvon Martin was shot for wearing a hoodie, I was black. When Eric Garner was choked to death for selling cigarettes on the street, I was black. When Sandra Bland was arrested for failing to turn on her blinker, I was black. When churchgoers were shot for being black, I was black.

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 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 Anna Gibson 

In the wake of the Sandra Bland case, the black community was outraged and prepared to take action against a system that continues to subject us to violence. They drag our teenage girls to the ground at pool parties. They shoot us for carrying skittles, or even knocking on doors. Despite this, we continue to fight against a culture that seems to get off on dehumanizing us then ignoring the consequences, claiming that we live in a “post racial society.”

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.