Ellen Degeneres Does Not Speak for Me

The Back Story on How We Got Here

Kevin Hart is a good comedian. He is charismatic, and his comedic timing is exceptional. It is easy to see why the Academy would want him to host the 2019 Oscars – especially considering the fact the Academy is desperately trying to lure younger viewers. I was not mad when they picked Kevin Hart as this year’s host. Although he is not my favorite comedian, I recognize his talent. Also, as someone who has not hosted before, he could bring fresh ideas to a show that can be stale and stuffy. That thinking is all in the past, however, and Kevin Hart has nobody to blame for this except himself.

The pictures above are just a small sampling of the several dozen tweets from Hart’s verified Twitter account. Most of the offensive and homophobic tweets come from 2010 and 2011. This means that someone had to spend time scrolling through thousands of tweets and sound bites to try and find one little statement that is offensive or considered not politically correct. I want to start by saying I think this is a dangerous path for us as a society to go down. I do not think it is fair for us to judge a person based on their beliefs from 10 years ago. People change and so do their beliefs. The Kevin Hart of 10 years ago is not the Kevin Hart of today. Just like the Wynne Boliek of 10 years ago is not the Wynne Boliek of today.

‘Actions Speak Louder than Words’

I want to take Kevin Hart at his word. I want to believe him, but I am also a firm believer in “actions speak louder than words.” Kevin, your actions have shown me that you are not sorry. That you think you have done nothing you need to apologize for. Your actions, as well as your recent comments have shown that you feel like you are victim here. That you should be treated as St. Kevin, the martyr. I hate to break it to you Kevin, you are wrong.

Some of you may be sitting there asking well how should he have responded or what should he have done to demonstrate his remorse for his language. I will point to Kyler Murray as an example of how to respond. Kyler Murray immediately released a statement on his own, as well as a joint statement with GLAAD. He statement acknowledged his mistake and he owned it by apologizing. Also, when he was asked about it in interviews he seemed to show genuine remorse for the comments. This is in short, the exact opposite of what Kevin Hart did.

Kyler Murray, Heisman Trophy Winner from Oklahoma and a better human being because he owns his mistakes and tries to learn from them.

Kevin has said on his social media accounts as well as in interviews that he thinks this is nothing more than trolls trying to start up drama. While I will be the first to admit my coifed hair is enviable, the last time I checked, I did not have a bejeweled belly button. Those of us concerned have legitimate cause to be concerned that a person who is homophobic could host the event know as “The Gay Super Bowl.” That a homophobe could host the Oscars in a year in which Rami Malek, Melissa McCarthy, Merhershala Ali, Richard E. Grant, Emma Stone, and Lucas Hedges could all be nominated for stellar performances of LGBTQ characters.

Self-Appointed Spokesgay Ellen

More alarming than all of the reasons above many of us are now concerned that one of the most visible and most popular LGBTQ people in the world has come to Kevin Hart’s defense. On her show this past Friday, Ellen Degeneres gave Kevin Hart 9 uninterrupted minutes to speak his thoughts on the whole debacle. She then interviewed in with the most gentle questioning I have ever seen. They weren’t even playing softball- we are talking t-ball territory. The icing on the delusional cake, is Ellen defending Hart, backing up his claims that those of us who are concerned about his language are trolls, AND THEN saying she things he should still host. She went so far as to call the Academy and try to intercede to get him to host. The videos of this are posted below.

I have loved Ellen Degeneres and her talk show since they have been on air. We share a love of dancing, laughing, and loving life. I genuinely believe she is one of the best people on the planet because she uses her enormous influence and platform for good. On a side note, she also makes FANTASTIC bedding sold at Bed, Bath, and Beyond as well – I have never had a comforter this soft before. This is why I was shocked and saddened and angered by Ellen’s comments. They feel like a betrayal of the community that wrapped its arms around her and stood by her when all the straight people left her after she came out of the closet. A betrayal of the very community that she is a member of.

Ellen is entitled to her opinion. She is allowed to want Kevin Hart to be forgiven and to be the host of the Oscars. What Ellen is not allowed to do is forgive Hart on behalf of the entire LGBTQ community. You don’t get to give a blanket apology. You don’t get to use your influence to bully those of us in the community who are still hurt, upset, and giving the Academy and Kevin Hart some Makayla Mulroney-worthy side eye. You don’t get to say all is well, because all is not well.

An Insult to Two Communities

Ellen’s comments and actions are a betrayal to other communities besides the gay community. Perhaps the biggest betrayal the comments hurts is communities of color – specifically the black community. While long a traditionally democratic/liberal voting group, the black community has been slow to support same-sex marriage. Before its legalization across the country, only 30% of the black community supported same sex marriage. 40% of the homeless gay youth in this country are African-American. 62% of homeless transgendered youth are black. Black trans people are 7 times more likely to be murdered than their white counter parts. Ellen trying to absolve Kevin Hart of his offensive language is more than just wrong – its flat out dangerous. Don Lemon, eloquently and emotional covers this on a segment of his show.

Final Thoughts

First: People will continue to say “That’s gay – stop that!” as an insult and there is nothing we can do to stop that. I have been called derogatory slurs hundreds of times before and I know I will here them again in the future. Even though that word no longer has power over me, it still hits you square in the gut when it is hurled at you (and anybody is says otherwise is lying). Kevin Hart should not have to carry the sins of using that word for the entire world. Kevin Hart could have used this and his platform as a teachable moment to make the world better for all of us and he decided not to.

Second: There is a reason the Oscars is known as the gay Super Bowl. For many of us, especially those of us in rural areas and the south, the movies was our escape from a boring, unsafe, and unwelcome life. For many of us, myself included, the movies are one of the first times we saw someone who was like us. It made us feel not alone and a little less sad and afraid. The movies became our refuge and the fashion became our sanctuary. To have all of that belittled by a man and his toxic masculinity is wrong, disrespectful, and unwarranted. And to have that supported by Ellen make it sting even more.

Third: Kevin Hart Speaks for himself. Through his actions and through his statement he speaks volumes by saying he doesn’t give a damn about the feelings of the LGBTQ community. And I truly believe he doesn’t think he has anything to apologize for – which is why he has technically never said the two words “I’m Sorry.” That alone should speak volumes.

Finally: Although we love Ellen, (more than you do as a matter of fact. We stuck by her when you all fled. Something even Ellen seems to have forgotten) Ellen is not our spokesperson. She does NOT speak for all of us in the gay community. There was no Gay Conclave where we elected Ellen Pope of the gays so she could put out edicts and decrees in the name of the Gays. Ellen speaks for Ellen. And I speak for myself and myself alone – and the words I choose to speak are Kevin Hart, his homophobic past, and his unapologetic actions in the present are both unwelcome and not needed as this year’s Oscars Awards Ceremony.

-WB

Two Years Later, Pulse Still Pains our Pride

This is the Second Post in a series of posts that will run throughout the month of June. June has been Pride Month for many years. To honor that history, I will be talking about different aspects of why I am proud during Pride Month.
To read the first post on pride in Chosen Families, click here.

As long as I live I will never forget waking up on June 12, 2016. School was out so Humphrey and I were sleeping in, but when I woke up I had tons of text messages and news alerts on my phone. In the early hours of the morning, a cowardly gunman* walked into Pulse Nightclub in Orlando, Florida and opened fire with semi-automatic weapons and went on a killing spree. Before taking his own life after a hostage standoff that lasted for several hours, the gunman killed 49 people. A club that I have been to twice before, now held the bodies of 49 people. 49 people whose only crime was dancing with their fellow members of the LGBTQ community. 49 people who were the brother of someone. Or the daughter of someone. Or the mother of someone. 49 people would not go home that morning.

Pulse-nightclub-memorial

Two years later, the pain has not diminished. The sorrow and the hurt have been moved to the back burner, but they are still present. To be completely transparent, I have not fully processed my own feelings about it. It hurt too much to work through them at the time; but in an effort to honor the 49 beautiful people who were robbed of their dance that night, I dedicate this post to their memory. I will continue to feel proud this month, because they can no longer feel proud for themselves. Tonight’s post, I take pride in the bars and clubs of my community. Tonights post is pride in OUR places.

The Complex.

The Armory.

The Abbey.

The Castle.

Haven.

Sanctuary.

The Factory.

Olympus.

The Fortress.

Pulse.

If you look at all those names of Gay Bars past and present, what do they all have in common? What do all of those names say or symbolize to you? Every single name on that list projects one of two things: Strength and Safety. The reason for this is simple. Even in 2018, The United States of America is not always a welcoming place to members of the LGBTQ community. We are harassed. We are discriminated against. We yelled at. Spit on. Beaten. Raped. Killed. All of these things are done on a regular basis and have been done for years. Sometimes society cares (mostly when it is a white LGBTQ person). Sometimes society does not care. In an effort to make life the best we can for ourselves, the LGBTQ community did what it has always done. We rallied around ourselves. We provided each other with bars, dance halls, and night clubs. Places were we could simply BE.

Nightclub Shooting Florida

If you are a heterosexual cisgendered person, you will never know what I mean by that. Especially if you are also white. I don’t say either of those things to be exclusionary or inflammatory; if I could somehow connect my consciousness to yours so you could feel what it feels like I would. But this is not Avatar and James Cameron did not write the story of our lives. I wish you could feel the feeling I am talking about. Maybe then my community would not have struggled so long. But take comfort in NOT having to feel it. It is better that way. There is less sadness. Less Shame. Less Loss. Less Worry. When I thought about feelings to try and describe that feeling, those are the 4 words I would combine to describe it.

Sadness. Sadness in your gut when you see heterosexual couples sit on the same side of the booth at a diner or lay on a blanket at the park.

Shame. Shame in yourself for caring what other people think of your shorts and your tank top as you walk towards the club in November (Yes some of us do wear tank tops and short shorts in November. Deal. With. It.).

Loss. Loss of equality and protection when the word faggot is yelled at you from across the street or a passing car. Or God Forbid the loss of a friend who was simply killed for living while gay (For the record, my friend was Sean Kennedy and he was the first gay person my age I ever met who was confident in his own skin and nice to me. And he changed my life because of it).

Worry. Worry that creeps into every other thought that runs through your head because you are in public with your significant other and are terrified someone will see you and tell your family, your place of employment, or your friends.

In order to suppress those feelings – because for some people they never go away – we did the only thing we could and gave our bars and clubs names that project strength and safety. They became our churches when we didn’t have a Sanctuary to go to. They became our castles and retreats when the world would not protect us. They became the very beating hearts of the gay community. That is part of the reason Pulse was aptly named and part of the reason it devastated my community. The attack on Pulse was an attack on the heart of the gay community. For some queer people, gay bars are the only place they have ever truly felt safe. If we don’t have those spaces any more, what else do we have?

28167431_10160006809000048_3723469264959415588_nAsk any of your close family and friends who are part of the queer community about their first trip to the gay bar. I promise you that in addition to the name, they will remember their age, their outfit, their drink choice, and who they went with. I was barely 18 years old and my first bar was The Castle in Greenville, South Carolina. It was the most exhilarating feeling in the world- there was terror and excitement all at the same time. I must have had a terrified look on my face because a drag queen named Robin Redgrave came over to me, hugged me, and pushed me towards the bar so she could buy me a drink. I was half-way through the first sip when she saw the X on my hand and slapped the drink out of my hand (which she then finished herself). I had never felt so welcomed and at peace surrounded by so many gay people in my life; and all of it happened in a run down, leaky when the rain came building. The Castle wasn’t much, but it was mine. And that was all I needed.

Pulse affected me and still affects me more than I realized. I couldn’t watch the news without watching Anderson Cooper breakdown on live television as he read the names of my dead brothers and sisters. I couldn’t listen to the radio without hearing the first responders say their dreams will be haunted by the ringing of cellphones of the deceased as family members tried to check on their children. I couldn’t read the news online without seeing the story of a mother (Brenda McCool) who jumped in front of the gunman and used her body to shield her son from the bullets. To this day, I still cannot watch the video of Christopher Leinonen’s mother tearfully talking to the media as she waited for the news of her son.

To those around the world who rallied around us, you will never know how much that meant to us. In one of our darkest hours, you gave us the strength with your hugs, your love, your vigils, your memorials, and other messages of support. Because of you, we were able to grieve for our loss, but still remember that rainbow that comes tomorrow. To the celebrities who wrote songs in their memory, we thank you.

And to those of us who still wish harm to us, know that we found strength in our sorrow. And our love for each other will not be broken and if you doubt that, he a warning from every queer person’s fairy gaymother:

I did not go out for months following the Pulse shooting. A lot of us did not. We did not know if we should and we did not know if we could. Would it be disrespectful to those who were killed? Would we be safe? Would we be able to escape if something bad happened? We did not know how to answer those questions so many of us subconsciously chose not to go out. Further removed from our shut in status, this saddens me. Because it means for one brief moment we let that piece of shit who riddled our safe space win. Because not going out would have been a slap to the face of those who could no longer out. Because for one brief moment, we let the hate shine darker than the love. Time eased the pain, but we continue to worry about our safe spaces. Worry about our friends’ safety. Worry about our own safety.

To this day I do not go out as much as I used to. Partly because I am getting old and partly because gay clubs typically aren’t welcomed in city downtowns so they end up in building on the outskirts of town that only have one entrance/exit. But I make it a habit of going to safe place in our community at least once every couple of months. This month will be no different. This Saturday I will go and honor our PULSE with my people. Out in whatever outfit I want with my people. I will dance with my people. I will drink with my people. I will laugh with my people. I will feel safe with my people.

And with my people, I will remember why I go. I go to The Fortress because Edward, Stanley, Luis, and Juan cannot.

I go to Sanctuary because Eric, Peter, Kimberly, and Luis cannot.

I go to The Armory because Eddie, Darryl, Deonka, Alejandro, and Anthony cannot.

I go to Olympus because Jean, Franky, Amanda, Martin, and Daniel cannot.

I go to Haven because Mercedez, Xavier, Enrique, Ramon, and Simon cannot.

I go to the Factory because Oscar, Miguel, Javier, Jonathan, and Joel cannot.

I go to the Abbey because Jason, Cory, Juan, Luis, and Shane cannot.

I go to the Complex because Jerald, Leroy, Tevin, Jean, and Rodolfo cannot.

And I go to Pulse because Brenda, and Christopher, and Angel, and Frank, and Paul, and Antonio, and Joseph, and Akyra, and Geraldo cannot.

This post is for them. And when I do a shot and dance to Whitney, or Cyndi, or Beyonce, or Mariah, or Ariana, or Celine, or Adele – that will be for them to.

-WB

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The Chosen Family that Pride Built

This is the First Post in a series of posts that will run throughout the month of June. June has been Pride Month for many years. To honor that history, I will be talking about different aspects of why I am proud during Pride Month.

I have been unbelievably blessed in my life when it comes to the people who make up my family. I really do believe I won the family lottery that the universe put on before I was born. My immediate family includes my two parents and two younger brothers, but when I say “my family” I mean the extended family. The aunts, uncles, cousins, and extended familial relationships as well. For the most part, they all live within a day’s drive from where I live, we all get along really well, and we love each other. But this post is not about that family. My biological or blood family. They know I love them beyond words already anyways. This post is about the pride that I find in my chosen family.

You might be slightly confused by the phrase chosen family (partially because you more than likely do not have one) so allow me to explain. Some people in the LGBTQ community have a biological family and a chosen family. Sadly, there are many people in my community that only have a chosen family. There is not one academically agreed upon definition but in the most basic sense, a chosen family is a group of individuals who deliberately choose one another to play significant roles in each other’s lives. It is a group of people whom you are emotionally attached to that you love and consider ‘family’ even though you are not biologically or legally related to one another.

I am sure many of you have friends that you consider “they might as well be family.” Down here in the south we call them “Back Door Friends.” But Chosen families in the queer community are more than just your best friends or the friends you are closest to. They validate our very existence as a community. As individuals who want to be seen and heard and told they matter. In ancient Greece, there were many types of love; Eros would be love between people who are in a committed relationship and Agape would be an unconditional love from God. The reason chosen families are so important is that they combine two types of this love in philia, a friendship or fondness type of love, with storge, a familial love. Chosen families became a sense of strength within the LGBTQ community and they remain a pillar of pride in this community to this day.

Chosen families arose from the necessity of being part of the LGBTQ community. In our community’s past, many were told by their families, or churches, or schools, that they were no longer welcome. We became outcasts in our own blood families. Many LGBTQ kids were kicked out of their homes. It is why the queer community has a disproportionately large share of homelessness – especially within queer youth. Personally, I will never understand how a parent can cast out their child or a sibling can turn its back on a sibling; To me, that is an unforgivable sin that you will never be able to justify (but that is a story for a different blog). When these outcasts of society had nobody to turn to for love, guidance, and the sheer acknowledgment that they existed, they turned to themselves. They replaced biological mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers with their chosen alternatives. They cared for each other while they were sick. They loved each other when they hurt. They buried each other when they started to die from AIDS. They did everything that their blood family was supposed to do. That is how chosen families were born in a community forced to take care of one another when nobody else would.

The majority of the time the people in the chosen families we created were fellow members of the queer community (although they do not have to be – allies are always welcome). The shared loss of their blood families served as a common thread uniting people. Feelings of sadness and loss give way to strength and love. One of the things I love about the queer community is the resiliency of my brothers and sisters who are also part of it. A self-created family becomes a support system that allows people to continually go out into a world that continually puts them down. In some cases it allows people to do more than just go – it allows them to thrive and prove everyone who doubted them wrong.

Chosen families can be known, but more often than not they are unknown or known simply by the people who make up that family. Some of these chosen families have become famous or well-known throughout the world. In the Voguing and Ball Culture that developed in New York City, these families are known as houses and they were often named after famous fashion brands (House of St. Laurent, House of LeBeija, etc.). They would often have a “mother” and/or “father” who functioned as the parent of their “children.” These chosen families are especially close-knit and exclusive. They consider it an honor and a privilege to be asked to be part of their family. Other chosen families are more inclusive and not quite as bougie.

While pulling up next to a car the other day I had my windows down and sunroof up while B93.7 was playing while a Dua Lipa song was playing on the radio. A few seconds I hear “YES QUEEN!” come from the car next to me. I blushed and looked over embarrassed someone called me out on my dancing, but that feeling immediately disappeared. One shared look between me and the black man driving it I had never met told me he was part of the queer community and that was an exclamation of agreement and not ridicule. He turned up his volume as he pulled away. I smiled as I heard Dua Lipa fade off into the sunset. In a way, he is part of the extended larger chosen family that falls under the LGBTQ umbrella. If you have never seen us communicate with just a facial expression, it is hard to describe. With just a look we almost tell people, “I see you.” We see the authentic you. The fabulous you who loves jamming to bad ass diva songs.

I started building my chosen family in high school and it has never stopped growing. I don’t share blood with these people, but I don’t have to – we share something more powerful than that. Most people don’t understand, but it is easier to tell someone you consider an acquaintance than it is to tell your family. Most of it stems from the fear of rejection. It hurts less to be cast aside by someone you have known for a semester than it does by someone whose blood courses through your veins. The clip below is one of the most famous scenes from an episode of Rupaul’s Drag Race. Every episode ends with the 2 drag queens who did the worst having to lip synch and the bottom queen is eliminated. I left the lip synch in because it is one of the greatest in the herstory of the show, but the important part is what happens at the end. Watch and listen to what Rupaul says to Roxxy Andrews story.

I have been incredibly blessed in this life. I have never experienced the pain that Roxxy Andrews suffered. My family loves me unconditionally. Through the good and the bad. Growing up I always knew that they would never stop loving me, but for those of you who have never had to work through how to accept yourself in a society where you are not looked at as an equal, telling your family is the hardest part. My chosen family helped me work through feelings my blood family could not because my chosen family had already experienced what I was feeling. The very first time I went to the dinky LGBT club in my city I was a hot mess. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once. I was so nervous I bumped into someone and made them spill their drink. A drag queen named Robin came to my rescue and diffused this situation. The instant addition to my chosen family always greeted me with a shot and a hug once I got there. She is passed on now, but I know we will meet again in the next life. It will be easy to find her there anyways – “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” will be blaring from her cloud up in the great beyond.

We love to share our joys and triumphs with our families. I am lucky enough I get to do it twice. I have found many times when we hurt in this life we want to be with our family. I have found a subtle difference in the way the two families deal with hurt. Blood family wants to do something. They want to take the pain away somehow. They want to fix what is broken. This is both admirable and helpful sometimes; My real family has always been there for me when times are good or bad. But sometimes you need the love that your chosen family gives you when you are hurt. Sometimes chosen families try to do something, but more often than not I have found my chosen family won’t do anything but be there. Just simply showing up, acknowledging your hurt, and giving you permission to hurt however you want is the most cathartic and loving thing they do.

My blood family has given me more than I could ever ask or dream for. In a different way, my chosen family has as well. My chosen family has picked me up when I was utterly broken: working through break up with my first real love, losing my grandfather a couple of years ago, and episodes of self-doubt would have been impossible to deal with without them. They have also cheered, and yelled with me at some awesome high points: Witnessing my first pride parade, my first trip to San Francisco, and teaching me to vogue the house down will be experiences and memories that I will cherish for the rest of this life time and all of the next. They have changed my life simply because I have known them. I love them. And I chose them. But more importantly, they chose me. And for that, I am luckier than I ever possibly thought I could be.

Here’s to all the chosen families all across the world. This one is for you. Happy Pride!

-WB

 

 

Say Her Name: Sasha Wall

memorial-candle

Today is a sad day for South Carolina, and most people have no idea. Most South Carolinians will never know, and this saddens me most of all. The only reason I discovered the sadness of today is because I accidentally stumbled across a tweet while reading information about the teacher walkouts in Oklahoma and Kentucky.  Randomly while scrolling through I saw a tweet from the Human Rights Campaign that had South Carolina as part of the 240 characters. As I braced for the worst I clicked on the link. My fears and disappointment were once again confirmed. I shouldn’t be surprised or sad by the news, with the reputation that our state has on accurately covering issues that effect the LGBTQ community – especially when it comes to the “T” in our umbrella of an acronym.

In the early hours of Easter morning, trans woman Sasha Wall was murdered in Chesterfield County in the lower part of South Carolina. She was found dead in her car on the side of a rural road. It is believed the car was left running for over 2 hours before someone stopped and called police. Sasha Wall was shot in the head, neck, and shoulder at least a dozen times. She was the same age as me (29 years old). On Easter morning.

Sasha Wall

We should not be shocked at Sasha Wall’s death. Trans women – especially trans women of color – have one of the highest homicide rates in the nation. Wall is the 8th trans woman murdered in 2018. Of those eight trans women, seven were people of color. At the current rate, 2018 will pass the number of trans people murdered in 2017 by the beginning of October.

Most people will live throughout 2018 and they will not know this. They will not know it, because the media continues to not report the facts on the murders of these people. Trans people have some of the least reported homicides in the nation. When add this fact in to the fact that the media reports homicides of people of color at a less accurate rate than the rates of caucasian people, trans women of color were doomed from the start.

What shocks and saddens me more than Sasha Wall’s murder, and more than the fact that many people will never know about this human being is the disgusting and wrong way that Sasha was covered by the press here in South Carolina. Of the papers I searched for in the area, the only two papers to report on the brutal homicide were The State paper in Columbia and The Post and Courier from Charleston. In both papers, Sasha Wall was misgendered and deadnamed. As if being murdered for simply existing was not indecent enough, both papers listed Wall as male and used the name she was given at birth. Both articles made mention of the fact friends, family, and Sasha’s place of employment referred to her as Sasha Wall, yet they continued to refer to her by the wrong name and the wrong gender.

People who look at the Black Lives Matter movement with disgust and disdain are quick to shout that “All Lives Matter! They are quick to express outrage and moral indignation when they hear that phrase. Well you know I hear now? I hear deafening silence. I hear silence from the media. I hear silence from the general public. I hear silence from the shouters of “All Lives Matter!” But most importantly of all, I hear that deafening silence from the others members of the LGBTQ community. For far to long, it has been “every letter for themselves” in our community. The apathy that the queer community has for each other is just more deafening silence. And all of that deafening silence from all of those people fills me with disgust. With disdain. With outrage. With moral indignation.

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Where is your disgust now?

Where is your disdain now?

Where is your outrage now?

Where is your moral indignation now?

You say that all lives matter. Now is your chance to prove it. Now is your chance to walk the walk. To put your money where your mouth is. To put up, or shut up. To prove once and far all that All lives matter. I want to hear your disgust for Sasha Wall. I want to her your disdain for her. I want to hear your outrage for her. I want to hear your moral indignation for her. To help drown out the deafening silence I will be there with you. I will shout my disgust, disdain, outrage, and moral indignation with you. I am guilty of that silence, but enough is enough.

Sasha Wall was a 29-year-old woman. She was a woman who was loved by her family and friends, and she was a woman who loved her family and friends. She was a woman with hopes and dreams and ambitions just like the rest of us. Sasha Wall deserved more. Sasha Wall deserved more than being left on the side of the road like discarded garbage. She was a woman who deserves justice she most likely will never see. I cannot bring her back. But I can and will say her name. I will say her name so somewhere her spirit knows that I see her for the person she was and for all she could have been. I say her name and the names of the other 7 women who deserved so much more:

  1. Christa Leigh Seele-Knudslien, 42 years old
  2. Viccky Gutierrez, 38 years old
  3. Celine Walker, 36 years old
  4. Tonya Harvey, 35 years old
  5. Zakaria Fry, 28 years old
  6. Phylicia Mitchell, 46 years old
  7. Amia Tyrae Berryman, 28 years old
  8. Sasha Wall, 29 years old

May God Bless Christa, Viccky, Celine, Tonya, Zakaria, Phylicia, Amia, and Sasha with the peace in heaven that they were so cruelly denied here on Earth. But more importantly, may be bless us with forgiveness for our deafening silence, and the strength to now and forever more, say shout their names.