Every time I hear about another Black woman losing her life to police violence, I feel a profound sense of numbness—not from apathy, but from a deep, unsettling awareness. The continuous cycle of seeing Black women reduced to mere hashtags is heart-wrenching. The most recent victim, Shanae Jackson, was shot in her own home while spending time with her young nephew. She was simply enjoying a late-night gaming session when a white police officer, conducting what was supposed to be a welfare check, fired through her window without hesitation. As I process this, I can’t help but think, “That could easily be me.”
The tragic events unfolded when a concerned neighbor noticed Shanae’s front door open and lights on, prompting him to call the police. However, instead of dialing 911, he opted for a non-emergency line. When the officers arrived, they saw Shanae moving around and, within seconds, shot her without clearly identifying themselves. She had no chance to respond.
Even though the officer was arrested and charged with murder, Shanae is still gone.
As a single Black mother living with my young son, I often find myself awake late at night, just as Shanae was. While my son is usually asleep, I sometimes work or listen to music, and the thought that an officer could burst in and take my life in an instant is terrifying. This is the grim reality of being Black in America.
Reflecting on Shanae’s story reminds me of another tragic case—DeShawn Lewis—who was killed in his apartment by a white female officer who mistakenly thought she was in her own home. Her immediate response was to shoot, rather than try to de-escalate the situation. Both incidents highlight a stark truth: Black individuals are often unsafe, even in their own homes, and the police are not always a source of protection.
Living in an apartment complex, I tend to keep to myself, maintaining a polite distance from my neighbors. I may smile or nod in passing, but I’m cautious. My upstairs neighbors can be quite loud at times—banging and crashing that disrupts the peace, especially late at night. I sometimes wonder if I should call the police, but I never do. The safety of my family is paramount.
As a Black woman, I am painfully aware of how easily a situation can escalate. Even if I were the one calling the police, it’s frightening to think that an officer could arrive and decide my life was forfeit based on my appearance. I don’t need anyone labeling me paranoid; I know the history of violence against Black people, especially women. I would rather endure the noise than risk becoming another statistic.
Shanae’s murder serves as a stark reminder that Black women are often targets of systemic violence. She was simply at home, playing with her nephew, yet that didn’t matter to law enforcement. All they saw was her skin color, and that was enough to justify their actions. The tragic reality is that this has happened far too often, with little accountability for the perpetrators.
I also think about the case of Tasha Evans, whose death was ruled a suicide under suspicious circumstances. Such cases raise questions about the integrity of investigations when white officers are involved, revealing a troubling lack of regard for Black lives.
What haunts me the most is that Shanae was murdered in the supposed safety of her home, shot through a window without a moment’s pause. The thought of such a violent encounter occurring while I’m cooking dinner or just unwinding is chilling. Would I even have an opportunity to explain myself? The psychological weight of living with that fear is exhausting.
Shanae’s young nephew now has to carry the trauma of witnessing his aunt’s brutal murder. I have a child of my own, and the idea of him being subjected to such horror is one of my greatest fears. If I were to be killed in front of him, the impact would be devastating, irreparably changing his life.
While I hope that Shanae’s death will prompt meaningful change, I remain skeptical. The tragic reality of police violence against Black individuals shows no signs of abating. It’s crucial for people to understand why we live in fear, why we express anger, and why trust in law enforcement is so elusive. Each day, Black women face the threat of violence, even within the supposed safety of our homes.
I may not be a religious person, but I find myself hoping daily that I don’t become a hashtag.
For those interested in learning more about these important topics, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination from MedlinePlus. Also, if you’re looking for ways to start your family, consider visiting sites like Make a Mom, which offers valuable information on fertility boosters for men and various home insemination kits.
Leave a Reply