Black Lives Matter

Black Women – We Deserve Better

Posted on by Mercy Chikowore

I watched a Black woman get thrown into a dumpster on Tuesday.

I was minding my business on Twitter when I saw the video. There she was talking when a group of boys in the District physically picked her up and threw her in a nearby dumpster. Their laughter grew loud as she lay in the trash, crying and paralyzed with embarrassment.

In that moment, I saw myself in her and all I could feel was disappointment.

It’s a feeling a lot of Black women have learned to carve out space for at an early age. We’re born into the sad reality that no one is going to protect or care for us. Similar to trash, society discards us and our problems to avoid yet another uncomfortable conversation at the intersection of gender, race and class. It happens every time a Black girl is adultified, overpoliced, denied an opportunity, and when we attempt to report a crime or assault and are asked, “Are you sure this really happened to you?”  Sometimes we are talked out of it because, “You know how the police treats Black boys and men.”

The disposal of Black women and girls has been clearly documented since the beginning of time. It continues today with ever-present and jaw-dropping statistics which are readily available and accessible to all. If it helps, you can reach for your Aunt Jemima syrup, and add a little more sweetness to this bitter reality, but it won’t change anything. As the civil unrest continues to unfold, society is finally addressing the systemic racist elephant in the room, yet the urgency around Black women and girls moves sadly at a snail’s pace.  

When 19-year-old activist Oluwatoyin Salau, tweeted about her sexual assault, no one did anything until she was found dead. She, who had so passionately defended and protected Black lives was left vulnerable and unprotected. Now she is another hashtag added to an ever-growing list. 

Breonna Taylor‘s murder still has not been answered for as her case continues to languish was so low on the list, we had to celebrate her 27th birthday, without her, to prove that her life was worth living.

In our own region, Black women, girls, trans and gender expansive individuals are last on the list for jobs, assistance, relief efforts and are currently experiencing the worst of the pandemic. We contribute the most to society and receive the least in return. To be honest, I am disappointed, but even more, I am hurt.

What if instead of last, we conjured a world where Black women and girls were put first? A world where chocolate girls with brown eyes and kinky hair got amber alert status, a world where Black women didn’t have to choose between their safety and their solidarity? A world where no one would ever think to throw a Black girl in a dumpster, because the repercussions would be swift and heavy.

I truly believe the outcome can change if we collectively do something. Where to start is simple: LOVE US OUT LOUD. Black women are fighting a long battle to dismantle a system we didn’t create and it’s backbreaking work we didn’t necessarily ask to do. We need allies to scream louder for us so that we can thrive and not just survive.

INVEST IN US. The media is finally telling our storIes, companies are reaching out to increase their diversity, people are saying buy Black, and actually doing it, but we need you for the long haul. Once the protestors go home, and things start to quiet down, you still need to be there.

At The Women’s Foundation, it’s part of our mission to center the lived experience of Black women and girls in our work but we can only succeed if you join us. Our Stand Together Fund, which tackles the issue of sexual and domestic violence, and elder and child care workers, is a new collective effort where we can all invest in more positive outcomes and a better, more just future.

To the Black women who are discarded, who are tired but don’t quit, the women who fight for the people who don’t protect them, and the ones who just need a hug while on the frontlines — YOU deserve better.

There is always more that we can do, but it is a collective effort  where we stand together and remind ourselves that Black women matter too.

Mercy Chikowore is a Black woman and Communications Manager for Washington Area Women’s Foundation, where she executes the organization’s communications and branding strategies.

Enough Is Still Enough.

Posted on by Jennifer Lockwood-Shabat

I wrote this piece four years ago. It was a punch to the gut reading it today because nothing has changed, except for the names—1,000 names, in fact, of people who lost their lives simply for being Black.

To my staff, my colleagues, and my friends whose pain, grief and trauma is indescribable and unrelenting—I’m sorry. Your pain is not a pain inflicted solely by the events of last week. Your pain is compounded by centuries of oppression and injustice. Your pain is the fear that walking or jogging in your neighborhood, playing in a park, going to the grocery store, or even sleeping in your own bed will result in death solely because of the color of your skin.

As the staff of Washington Area Women’s Foundation individually struggle to process the events of this past week, we also collectively struggle with how we show up as a philanthropic organization at this moment. During a call today, a staff member shared that we all have a unique gift to offer and that we should use our gifts to make change.

So we asked ourselves, “What is the gift that Washington Area Women’s Foundation has to offer?”

Our gift is using our voice as a funder to push for change. To that end, we will stand in solidarity with women and girls of color in DC and across the Washington metro region. We will center women and girls of color and follow their lead in identifying community needs. We will invest in the power of women and girls of color. We will push philanthropy to use an intersectional lens. We will work to disrupt sexist and racist systems. And we will acknowledge our mistakes and commit to doing better.

As a white woman, mother, friend, and leader, my gift is also using my voice. Silence is not an option. But words alone are not enough. To my white colleagues and friends, I implore you to speak up and take action. Our discomfort with saying or doing the wrong thing is inflicting even greater pain. If you don’t know where to start, here are some excellent resources.

There is no gender justice without racial justice. We have to take a stand against racism today. 

As I said four years ago:

“At what point do we say enough is enough? At what point are we willing to look deep within ourselves and face our own prejudices and biases head on and call them out for what they are? At what point do we collectively decide that the racialized structures we inhabit have to go? If not now, when?”

In solidarity,


Jennifer Lockwood-Shabat
President & CEO

When Is Enough, Enough?

Posted on by Jennifer Lockwood-Shabat

We had our July enewsletter planned. In fact, yesterday, I sat with a copy of it for my review. I read it three times, and while I very much wanted to share the good work that Washington Area Women’s Foundation has been engaged in—and there is so much good work happening—I was struggling to sign-off on the beautifully prepared and celebratory newsletter that sat before me. And then I woke to more violence and bad news this morning.

My heart is heavy. I feel immobilized. Tears flowed on several occasions yesterday. I wanted to turn away from the screen and social media, but I couldn’t. Another video, another senseless murder, another life lost, another family destroyed. Have you heard the heart wrenching, bring-you-to-your-knees sobs of Alton Sterling’s 15-year-old son during a news conference, as he cried, “I want my daddy…”? Did you watch Diamond Reynolds as she stood in front of the Minnesota Governor’s mansion demanding justice, not only for her boyfriend Philando Castile, but also for every family that has sadly come before her? “This is much bigger than me,” she said. I challenge anyone to watch either of those videos and not be rocked to your core.

Think racism is a thing of the past? Think again. As a white woman, I will never know what it feels like to live in constant fear that my actions or my words or my simply being could end my life. I’m the mother of two teenage girls. I’ve never had to sit them down and explain to them how they are supposed to “be” in this world. When my 16-year-old started driving, I feared for her safety as a new driver, but I never feared for her life in the event of a traffic stop. Privilege. I am privileged. My girls are privileged. We live a privileged life.

All day, my Facebook feed was filled with friends and colleagues who are grieving. They are tired. They are angry. They’re feeling hopeless. They are in pain. I want to wrap my arms around all of them and offer words of comfort, but what would those words be? Everything will be ok? Justice will be served? We’re going to make this right? Ha – those aren’t words. Those are lies, and I won’t lie to my friends and colleagues. Instead, I promised to find my words at a time when I was at a loss for words.

And so here’s my start. At what point do we say enough is enough? At what point are we willing to look deep within ourselves and face our own prejudices and biases head on and call them out for what they are? At what point do we collectively decide that the racialized structures we inhabit have to go? If not now, when? In 1964, Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” Here we are, 52 years later, a long way from racial justice.

Don’t take my word for it, though. Instead, listen to the stories of six beautiful women in DC who bravely shared their experiences. “Too few hold the power. Too many are powerless… There’s a different standard for everything… You think we don’t see it?”

I see it. My eyes are wide open. The question is: What do we do now?