Black Women Still Need to Be Protected

When Megan Thee Stallion said Tory Lanez shot her last year, the internet shouted, “Protect Black women.” When former Def Jam executive Drew Dixon came forward with claims about sexual misconduct against Russell Simmons and L.A. Reid, the internet shouted, “Protect Black women.” And when Stacey Abrams turned Georgia blue for the first time since 1992, despite being on the receiving end of voter suppression during her run for governor, the internet shouted, “Protect Black women.” Yet, just like last June—when Instagram users flooded the app with black squares to protest structural racism in the music industry—there was a disconnect between sharing the sentiment online and the real life protection of Black women.

This week, R&B singer Xavier Omär brought the conversation back to the forefront when he published an open letter on Billboard detailing a series of actionable steps that the music industry and music fans can take to protect Black women. “We’ve gone into the streets to tell anyone who will listen that the lives of Black people matter in this country and in our world,” he wrote. “Yet at the same time, our most popular songs denigrate women, telling them they don’t matter. Those things do not reconcile.” 

That same day, TMZ released footage of a physical altercation between Saweetie and Quavo inside an elevator that sources say took place last year. Within hours, the narrative online changed from people sharing Omär’s letter to sharing the surveillance footage. And while Omär’s point is that changing lyrics is a start to repairing how the world interacts with Black women, it didn’t matter at that moment if Quavo had written a song as tender as Stevie Wonder’s “My Cherie Amour.” We see him shove Saweetie to the ground; she appears to be in pain, and he walks out of the elevator without helping her up.

The video is a disturbing reminder of the disjunct between a society that broadcasts its progressive attitudes online and the truth that too many Black women are actually living. And while there is also no condoning violence from either party, we don’t know all of the facts of what happened that day and none of it is acceptable.  

Omär’s letter addresses R&B and hip-hop's powerful influence in global mainstream culture. His argument is pretty simple: If Black culture is the blueprint, are we to pretend that the way Black men interact with Black women doesn’t dictate how men in other communities do as well? “Because men—particularly Black men—dominate R&B/hip-hop, we have a unique opportunity to change the way Black women are portrayed and spoken about with our lyrics,” he wrote. “In fact, we have a responsibility to be co-conspirators in the fight to protect Black women in every manner and challenge the lyrics that have displayed women as less than men because it puts them in danger.”

Before you dismiss the value of the his point, ask yourself why so many of us believe in the power of words of affirmation, but would draw the line when it comes to lyrics. Is it because of claims of censorship? Or is it because someone has to be the punching bag, and it just happens to be us? “We can no longer claim to value and protect Black women while producing music that inspires the world to believe they are unimportant at best and deserving of violence at worst.” Of course, this sort of course-correcting is only one remedy; real-world application is another. 

Last week, I wrote about how oversharing led to Saweetie and Quavo’s very public breakup. Now, the TMZ footage provides an alarming glimpse of the moments that were actually private. But as a Black woman, there is something that stands out to me in this video even more than the shove itself: Quavo looks directly in the elevator’s camera and with an empty look in his eyes. It's hard to shake the feeling that he may not even be worried about how this scene might affect his reputation were it to be made public. As Omär points out, a world that values Black women is in the practical steps like changing lyrics, but it’s also in the intention behind words and action.

Kristin Corry is a Senior Staff Writer for VICE.