Letter To … Nia

Dear Nia Wilson,

At the early age of eight, my parents sat me down and gave me "the talk." The same talk that thousands of little black boys and little black girls get at a young age. It is that talk that makes us fully aware of our identity, our skin, our body, our words, our features, as well as the long journey of injustice our ancestors faced and we must continue to face. It is the talk of what it means to be Black in America. 

I'm ashamed to admit that even after this talk, I was a little naïve to think "it" won't happen to me as I grew up. With the occasional full of forced racism, or millions of microaggressions, or lack of representation of us (Black Women) in anything, my mind became numb to the pain and struggle that millions of Black girls and I faced daily. To be clear, I didn't fall into the background or become silent. I didn't stand by pretending not to know what was happening. In actuality, I found myself so caught up in how to better Black Women'sWomen's lives (meaningful) instead of how to save and protect our lives. 

Unfortunately, this realization became all too real on the fateful day of  July 22, 2018. When you Nia and your sisters Latifah and Tashiya Wilson - walked on to BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit). It was late in the afternoon, and like thousands of other commuters do each day, you got off the train at MacArthur Station in Oakland, California. Unfortunately, though, this would be your final destination.  As you got off the train at MacArthur, who brutally attacked you and your sisters, one of your sisters was stabbed and suffered critical injuries. At the same time, you, only 18-year-old Nia Wilson, were slashed at the throat and murdered by a self-identified white supremacist. 

And on that very same day, my close friend and I were in downtown Oakland getting off at the 19th Street BART station, just one station over from MacArthur.

As I sit down to write the letter almost three years to the anniversary of your death, I think about the "talk" I had in 2008 as a young child. Where my parents listed the names of Black women and men who die at the hands of injustice, it pains me to know that your name is now added to that long list written down in permanent ink. And sadly, you were not the last. Still to this day, thousands of Black girls and women are killed because of our identities, and no amount of words can express how horrific and painful that is. This world failed you because we, Black women, have been pushed down for a long time and believed to be a double negative. Facing problems because of our race (Black) and because of our gender (Woman). That our life is somehow worthless, I remember thinking that day,  how it could have been me, but it wasn't me that day, it was you. And unfortunately, it can still be me and a thousand more. 

Then and now, I am still devastated and heartbroken when I hear your name, Nia. You were a beautiful Black girl just one year older than me, whose life ended just because of your skin color. I feel a sense of hopelessness sometimes that all of the work that I've done and the hard work that my fellow Black brothers and sisters have done has been for nothing. Even though, unfortunately, your book ended. Your epilogue still continues. Your mother, family, and community hold you in our hearts every day, fighting for the fundamental right to not have any more Black Girls die as you did. Your family's foundation continues to do great work in the community of Oakland, as we make sure to "say your name" and keep your memory alive. 

Finally, Nia, I want to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry that this country continues to fail Black women repeatedly by disrespecting us, degrading us, and killing us. I'm sorry that your mother and family miss you every day. I'm sorry that the BART police, who are meant to protect and serve the Bay Area Transportation, weren't there to protect you. I'm sorry that now your legacy lives on without you here to bear witness. With all of this said, I KNOW that no apology would ever be enough; to pay the price for your life. But I hope that we can never have to apologize to another Black girl with the continuation of telling your story and the thousands of others. 

Love, 

Sasha-Mylan Williams 

Author: Sasha-Mylan Williams

Adresse: Nia Wilson