The TV cast a stark, brutal light over the living room, illuminating my mother’s face as we watched the video of Tyre Nichols’ assault together. She sat next to me, 60-something years old, a woman who has lived through her share of injustice and yet somehow, each time, the pain lands fresh. As the footage played, she shook her head, muttering words that pierced the silence between us: “They didn’t have to do that boy like that.”
Her voice held the weight of every incident, every assault, every silent and not-so-silent act of violence she’s witnessed in her lifetime. There was a world of exhaustion in those words, an unspoken reminder that, in all her years, justice and mercy have too often felt like distant promises, even in moments when they were most desperately needed. As we sat together, it felt like the weight of generations bore down on us, each one grappling with this sickening realization: that for all our progress, so much still remains unchanged.
Moments like these remind me why, as a Black woman, I cannot afford to sit back during an election year. Watching Donald Trump’s influence on our nation—the rhetoric that emboldens hatred, the policies that dig deeper into our wounds—feels like a constant, chilling reliving of the Jim Crow era. It’s a modern-day public lynching, inflicted through policies and powers that harm us in ways that feel calculated and cruel. The phrase echoes in my mind: “He don’t have to do us like that.” Yet, each day, we see him and others in power act as though there’s a silent permission to disregard us, to dismiss the calls for change, and to double down on practices that uphold systemic inequities.
This is why our vote is vital. For Black women, 2024 is not just another election cycle—it’s a reckoning, a moment when we have the opportunity to push back against the tides of racism and misogyny that are dressed up as politics as usual. Voting isn’t just a right; it’s a tool of survival, a way of demanding acknowledgment and respect, of claiming the justice that our mothers and grandmothers dreamed of but often never saw. It’s our chance to hold leaders accountable and to say, Enough is enough.
The struggles that my mother has endured, and that I have witnessed, fuel my determination to make sure that my voice, my vote, and my resolve count. Watching that video reminded me of our pain, but it also reminded me of our resilience. Black women have always been a powerful force in our nation’s history. Our votes have led to shifts in policies, inspired movements, and disrupted the status quo. We are a force to be reckoned with—and this election is no different.
In 2024, we must stand together, casting our ballots not just as citizens, but as stewards of a legacy that demands to be seen, heard, and honored. We must channel our anger, our grief, and yes, our hope, into action. We vote because we cannot watch another generation inherit the same brutal realities. We vote to demand a future where Black lives matter in every sense, and where justice is not just a word spoken but a right lived.
This year, as we approach the polls, let’s remember my mother’s words: “They didn’t have to do that boy like that.” Those words are both a painful reminder and a call to action, urging us forward. We vote because we know we deserve better—and we are determined to see a world that reflects that truth.
Kirstin Cheers is the deputy director of public relations at KQ Communications. She holds a master’s in communications studies from the university of Memphis. She lives in Memphis, TN.
