Ending a year-long relationship with a mentally unstable guy made all the sense to my then 23-year-old self. He was the jealous kind, the type who made up distorted scenarios and lives them out in his head. Simple conversations with him turned into preposterous debates. On better days, we romanced Hip-Hop, reminisced over genre classics, celebrated and debated our top five. But, one night, out of nowhere, he asked me: “Would you f–k him?”
Just like that, the fanfare I had for my favorite rapper turned into a three-hour argument that ended with me choked out, all because he had convinced himself that I had cheated with said rapper in some random Queens motel. My ex’s fixation—that I could actually appreciate someone besides him—led to a battle I could not win verbally, nor physically.
Agreeing to disagree was not his thing.
He criss-crossed my face with an angry hand: once with his backhand and again with an open palm. I picked myself up off the ground and fought back with a barrage of my own fists and fingernails. He wrestled me to the ground and tried his hardest to subdue me. I lost that fight once his fingers gripped my neck, “You better calm the f–k down or else.” He optioned a far worse circumstance.
I was resolute. That night and that fight were the last I planned on sharing with him. I yielded to the threat of more imminent violence. I stopped fighting back. I silenced myself. I reasoned that it was time to be done, and so it was. I called it quits.
The split was yet another reality he had difficulty processing; he became creepy about putting himself in close proximity with me. If you’ve ever glanced over your shoulder and discovered someone stalking you along a crowded Bedford-Stuyvesant block, you’d know just how unsafe creepy feels.
Not once did I consider calling the police. Not the day I sat in class when a school administrator delivered a note to inform me I had a persistent visitor waiting outside with a bouquet of roses. Not the day I received 37 phone calls in five hours at my workplace. Not even on the day he confronted me at my home, yanked 120 braids from my scalp and beat my 135-pound body bloody. The result of me clinging desperately to the iron railing beneath the bed, where I hid to escape him, were four severed tendons in my left hand. The metal sliced into my fingers as he dragged me from my cover. Still, I never considered calling the cops.
What I did contemplate, though, was jumping out of the window. The only thing I thought would prevent him from killing me was to die by Brooklyn concrete. Dialing 9-1-1 would not keep me safe.
In most dangerous and vulnerable circumstances, many Black people are hesitant to seek police assistance. A 2018 YouGov survey reveals that Black Americans are less likely (49%) to say that they’ve called the police to report something than the total population (59%). Of those who have had the police called on them, nearly half (46%) of Black people say they felt somewhat or very unsafe during the interaction, compared with only 26% of the total population who responded similarly.
TOPSHOT – A woman wears a mask reading “I can’t breathe” in Madrid, on June 7, 2020, during a demonstration against racism and in solidarity with the Black Lives Matter movement, in the wake of the killing of George Floyd, an unarmed black man who died after a police officer knelt on his neck in Minneapolis. (Photo by Gabriel BOUYS / AFP) (Photo by GABRIEL BOUYS/AFP via Getty Images)
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These fears are not unfounded. On June 15, Black Lives Matter activist, 19-year-old Oluwatoyin Salau, tweeted details and significant information of a sexual assault made against her. After reporting the incident to Tallahassee police, she went missing and was later found dead. Far too often, when police should be keeping the peace and protecting African Americans, they become the perpetrators of our deaths.
On March 13, 2020, Louisville police forced their way into Breonna Taylor‘s home as she slept. Officers were at the wrong address allegedly searching for suspect; they ended up gunning down the 26-year-old emergency medical technician instead. In October 2019, Atatiana Jefferson, a 28-year-old Black woman, was shot and killed by a Fort Worth police officer who was responding to a non-emergency call—a welfare check at the request of a concerned Black neighbor. In 2018, a Florida jury awarded Gregory Hill’s family $4.04 for his death after police killed him while responding to a noise complaint.
Where I’m from, the South side of Jamaica, Queens, police are not viewed as crime fighters, protectors of the peace, nor saviors but rather disgruntled employees with deadly customer service. My hood remembers that night in 2006 when the New York Police Department fired 50 shots at a Nissan Altima, killing Sean Bell, a 23-year-old groom on the eve of his wedding day. The Black community remembers Abner Louima, a Haitian immigrant detained in an East Flatbush police precinct. Louima was held down by arresting officers, had a stick thrusted up his rectum, and his bowels ruptured by officer Justin Volpe on August 7, 1997. Volpe’s face dominated the local news. Seeing his blank stare on TV and the look of indifference plastered across most NYC news publications flipped my stomach. His dark, moussed hair, his tight jaw line and thin, stony lips remain a menacing profile in my imagination. His stoicism still haunts me.
Until Black lives matter in the blue psyche and Black bodies are no longer dumping grounds for rage and violence … “don’t dial 9-1-1” will continue to be Black creed.
Between the 1973 police killing of 10-year-old Clifford Glover and the more recent police killings of Ahmaud Arbery, George Floyd and Rayshard Brooks, a slew of Black bodies have been victimized by overzealous law enforcement—and that victimization is five times more likely to result in serious injury compared to incidents involving white bodies.
It’s no wonder that high profile police violence drives down 9-1-1 calls and drives up criminality. Frank Jude’s brutal beating by Milwaukee officers in 2005 prompted a study that showed 9-1-1 calls in the region dropped by 22,000 in the year after Jude’s attack. Over half (56 %) of the total loss in calls occurred in Black neighborhoods.
According to the report, Milwaukee experienced 87 homicides “representing a 32 % increase in murders relative to the same six-month period in previous and subsequent years.” Police violence begets community violence. It’s a given.
N.W.A.’s 1988 song “Fuck Tha Police” remains relevant to this day. Until Black lives matter in the blue psyche and Black bodies are no longer dumping grounds for rage and violence, until keys and cell phones no longer shape-shift from harmless objects to egregious alibis pressed into police statements, until law enforcement is no longer a symbol of distrust, and until police forces across the nation are defunded, “Don’t dial 9-1-1” will continue to be Black creed.
On that fateful night in 1997, during my assault, my best friend was present in the apartment. She, too, did not dial 9-1-1. Her inaction was driven by fear and intimidation. She stood frozen, unable to move, watching as I was pummeled with fist after fist. On one hand there was imminent danger to her own physicality; on the other, the threat of retaliation she might very well face for calling the police on the monster who attacked me. “Touch that phone and I’ll break your f–king face,” he menaced. “Don’t think I don’t know where the f–k you live.” Needless to say, it was in her best interest to oblige him—but unfortunately, not mine.
If you’ve ever glanced over your shoulder and discovered someone stalking you along a crowded Bedford-Stuyvesant block, you’d know just how unsafe creepy feels.
A Black couple who lived in the apartment beneath my own were just as hesitant. They heard the banging, the screams, the crash of my body above their heads. They did rush to my aid just as my assailant rushed from the scene. The husband rinsed my wounds. He wrapped towels around my hands in a feverish attempt to control the blood that poured from the open gashes across my fingers and in the palms of my hand. His wife, with her head bowed, whispered, “Should we call the police?”
A great silence filled the room, her husband’s eyes met my friend’s, hers met mine. I shook my head no, and responded: “Just call an ambulance.”
Throughout history, many young men and women have joined these historical Black fraternities and sororities on college campuses across the United States, including a number of celebrities. Other famous men and women have received honorary letters for their public impact as entertainers, government officials, and more. Check out this list of famous Black sorority and fraternity members and meet sorors and frat brothers you might not have known you have.
01
Keisha Knight Pulliam
This former “Cosby” kid joined the Delta Sigma Theta sorority while attending Spelman College.
02
Alicia Keys
Keys became an honorary member of the historic Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority in 2004.
03
Jada Pinkett Smith
Jada is a proud member of the Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority.
04
Toni Morrison
The Pulitzer Prize winning author is a proud member of Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority.
05
Phylicia Rashad
Rashad became a member of the Alpha chapter of Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Inc., while attending Howard University.
06
AJ Calloway
Calloway became a man of Omega Psi Phi, Inc. in 2011.
07
Thurgood Marshall
The former Supreme Court Justice was a proud member of Alpha Phi Alpha fraternity, which he joined while attending Lincoln University.
08
Steve Harvey
Harvey is a proud man of Omega Psi Phi. Roo-oop!
09
Sheryl Underwood
Underwood is not only a member, she’s a former president of Zeta Phi Beta sorority.
10
Star Jones
Jones is a proud member of the Alpha Kappa Alpha.
11
Omari Hardwick
Hardwick is a Alpha Phi Alpha brother.
12
Towanda Braxton
Braxton is a member of Zeta Phi Beta sorority.
13
Wanda Sykes
Sykes was initiated into the Gamma Theta Chapter of Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Inc at Hampton University.
14
K. Michelle
K. Michelle pledged Delta Sigma Theta while attending Florida A&M.
Jeffrey Mayer/WireImage
15
Montell
Montell Jordan performed at ESSENCE Festival in 2000.
16
Terrence J
Terrence was initiated into the Bloody Mu Psi Chapte of Omega Psi Phi fraternity at North Carolina A&T State University.
17
Shaquille O’Neal
Shaquille O’Neal is a proud member of Omega Psi Phi fraternity.
18
Victoria Rowell
Rowell is a proud member of the Sigma Gamma Rho sorority.
19
Arthur Ashe
Arthur Ashe biopic, Ashe, is currently in the works. The project was announced earlier this year, but not much else has been revealed. Ashe was a three-time Grand Slam title winner and the first Black tennis player selected to the United States Davis Cup team.
20
Kelly Price
Price became an honorary member of Sigma Gamma Rho sorority in 2006.
21
Loretta Devine
Devine was initiated into the Epsilon Lambda Chapter of Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Inc at the University of Houston.
22
Anna Maria Horsford
Horsford is a proud member of Sigma Gamma Rho sorority.
23
Cedric “The Entertainer”
Cedric is a proud Kappa Alpha Psi man.
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24
Lena Horne
The legendary singer/actress was also a proud member of Delta Sigma Theta.
25
Roland Martin
Martin is a proud member of Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity.
26
Michael Jordan
The basketball legend is also a proud man of Omega Psi Phi.
27
Hill Harper
Harper was inducted into Alpha Phi Alpha in 2009.
28
Coretta Scott King
The First Lady of the Civil Rights Movement Coretta Scott King was the model Alpha Kappa Alpha because of her tireless community service.
29
Frat Brother
Dr. King is an Alpha Phi Alpha brother. The fraternity has a scholarship in his name.
30
Lionel Richie
Richie is a proud member of Alpha Phi Alpha.
31
Zora Neale Hurston
Hurston was initiated into the Zeta Phi Beta Sorority at Howard University.
32
Condoleezza Rice
Rice is a member of Alpha Chi Omega sorority.
33
Nikki Giovanni
Rising to fame during the Black arts movement of the 1960s, poet Nikki Giovanni is one of the most well-known Black poets. Giovanni has won several awards and was even nominated for a Grammy for The Nikki Giovanni Poetry Collection. Giovanni has also written numerous children’s books including Rosa, which was based on Rosa Parks’ life.
34
John Singleton
Singleton is a member of Kappa Alpha Psi fraternity.
35
Dionne Warwick
Warwick is an honorary member of Zeta Phi Beta Sorority.
36
Finesse Mitchell
Mitchell was initiated into the Iota Chi Chapter of Kappa Alpha Psi fraternity while attending the University of Miami..
37
Tom Joyner
Joyner became a member of the Omega Psi Phi fraternity while attending the Tuskegee University.
38
Maya Angelou
Angelou joined Alpha Kappa Alpha, the nation’s first African-American sorority, in 1983 as an honorary member.
39
Marvin Sapp
This Gospel great s also a member of the Kappa Alpha Psi fraternity.
40
Tavis Smiley
Smile became a Kappa Alpha Psi man while attending Indiana University Bloomington.
41
Aretha Franklin
The queen of soul is also an honorary member of Delta Sigma Theta sorority.
42
Rev.Jesse Jackson
Jackson is a man of Omega Psi Phi Fraternity.
43
Cathy Hughes
Founder of Radio One and TV One, Cathy Hughes is also a proud member of Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority.
44
Lance Gross
On November 20, 2021, Lance Gross posted the photo above with the caption “Long time koming,” showing he’d cross and become a member of Kappa Alpha Psi.
45
Fantasia
Fantasia announced she was officially a member of Sigma Gamma Rho with a series of videos on Instagram November 29. The singer wrote in one caption, “Y’all have no idea how long I been waiting to share this news!! I’ve officially been inducted as an Honorary #SigmaGammaRho 💙🐩💛. #D9 #sorority #prettypoodle THANK YOU… I am overjoyed.”