Refusing Invisibility in the Anti-Violence Movement: A Reflection on Holding Multiple Identities as a Survivor and Advocate

For some strange reason I thought in a place where advocates against violence were virtually meeting, there would be a pause and acknowledgment of what is happening in our country to Black people.

I thought that they would take a moment to say not only was the release of Title IX Final Rule document hurtful because of the document itself and the poor choice and timing amidst the COVID-19 pandemic, also known as the novel coronavirus, but also because it was released during the week where many Americans watched an innocent young Black man senselessly gunned down by two white men while he was jogging in his own neighborhood.

I thought that there would be a mention of his name, Ahmaud Arbery, a mention of the correlation between sexual violence and racial violence because violence is a form of oppression.  While both issues are valid on their own, there are intersections. When will the sexual and domestic violence movement make the shift to doing this work of advocacy, prevention, and response with a racial justice lens?

Headshot of Fatima Smith in white blouse and navy suit jacket.

Fatima M. Smith

I am a survivor who is also a mother, unapologetically Black, and identifies as a woman whose passion and work are dedicated to ending sexual and intimate partner violence. Yet I continue to feel like my identities are not valued.

The conversation during the town hall was a familiar one that is often had in sexual and intimate partner violence survivor advocacy circles, where the focus is on women.

I found myself struggling to stay focused because I kept thinking about what about those students who identify within the LGBTQ+ community, what about those Black and Brown students, what are the implications for them?

As I told my brain to focus on the meeting speakers, the answers to the aforementioned questions from the speakers was as if all survivors were made equal, but really we’re not.

We’re more than just the acts that are committed against us. We have beautiful pieces of us that make up the whole and I can’t get on board with entities that are going to continue to work in the silo of “only women are sexually assaulted” which is code for “only white middle class college women are sexually assaulted”.

As I tried to move past these feelings, I couldn’t help but think about those trans students who will be misgendered intentionally or unintentionally by respondents’ advisors during cross-examination, or the pressure to have to come out to avoid being misgendered by a respondent’s advisor.

I’m just trying to figure out when do we have discussions about dynamics of power when it comes to sexual assault when the assault occurs between different races and ethnicities? What does it look like to be a Black student who is assaulted by a white student and then to have to not only face one’s perpetrator but also potentially have to be interrogated (or as they like to say “cross-examined”) by a white individual?

The consideration of racial fatigue and that question of trauma-informed care isn’t being discussed on a deeper level because we’re just talking about survivors as a homogeneous entity. But it’s not. We are not.

Fatima Smith stands at a podium testifying before a group of legislators with Senator Jennifer McClellan standing beside her.

Fatima M. Smith testifies before the Virginia General Assembly during the 2020 session.


Fatima M. Smith is a survivor, relentless advocate and founder of FMS Speaks, LLC. She established FMS Speaks as a way to share her passion for anti-violence work, racial justice, and engage folks in dialogue that ignites action for progress. Fatima serves as a member of the Action Alliance’s Governing Body. 

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