I’m so tired of this duality. Tired of living in a society where Cheslie begged the Lord to die and Janikka bartered her life to live. Tired of knowing the truth that even though they only lived a few states away from one another, these two beautiful women were, in fact, worlds apart.
The same week that news of the death of 30 year-old Cheslie Khryst – a Black beauty queen – hit the airwaves, I was hardpressed to find one mention of the name Janikka Perry.
Who is Janikka Perry? No one but a Black woman living in Arkansas, nearly the same age as me, who was found dead on the floor of a local Walmart bathroom. I say no one quite facetiously, but also as a critique of how she was seen by society around her.
Because unlike Cheslie Khryst, Janikka didn’t have fame or a multitude of social media followers watching her every move. And, quite literally, she would still be alive if she’d had just a sliver of the attention that is given to people in the limelight.
I dream of a day where Cheslie would have taken a step away from the limelight because she had a team of folks who saw her and recognized she was unwell. And I long for a time when universal basic income and healthcare is commonplace so that the Janikka Perry’s of the world could take time off of work to go to the doctor because they are unwell.
Though there has been little to no news coverage of her death, from what I have been able to find, Janikka Perry (age 38) was a hardworking woman, a mother, a sister, a daughter and a friend. On January 16, she showed up to work her shift at Walmart and began feeling extremely ill.
After having completed her entire shift, she clocked out, went to the restroom where she began throwing up and passed out. She would die on that floor despite people walking in and seeing her lying there as her life left her body.
Juxtapose that with the equally as tragic passing of Cheslie Khryst, who died by suicide after having flung her body from a high rise building. Even with countless doting fans’ eyes on her, no one could see her pain or her internal suffering. And she ultimately met her death in a manner so harrowing that you must consider how desperate to end it she must have been.
How does this happen? How do we miss glaring signs of unwellness among Black women so frequently? How do we hear so much about a woman who, we believe, has it all and so little about a woman who, we assume, had nothing to give? How do these deaths on concrete slabs further concretize the truth that people don’t really care about Black women? How come we claim to say her name but we only know one of them?
And what of my two dear sistas, Cheslie and Janikka? If they could have switched lives for a day, would both of them still be here? Would the constant attention and pressure have been enough to cause Janikka to receive help sooner?
Likewise, would the lack of visibility and grueling, poorly-paid labor have given Cheslie room to just be who she needed to be rather than what society forced her to believe about constant over-achievement? We will never know the answers to these questions.
But, I am clear about two things:
- Both of them should still be here. Should still be alive and well and thriving — not struggling to survive mentally or monetarily.
- Our society is not designed for Black women to live our very complex and best lives. Too often, Black women are faced with a damned if you do, damned if you don’t duality.
This damning duality means that you can do everything “right,” look “right,” have all the “right” accolades and achievements and you can still be unseen and in peril. And, vice-versa, you can be on the bottom, in spite of busting your ass day in and day out, and still be just as (if not more) unseen and in peril as your seemingly successful counterpart.
I’m so tired of this duality. Tired of living in a society where Cheslie begged the Lord to die and Janikka bartered her life to live. Tired of knowing the truth that even though they only lived a few states away from one another, these two beautiful women were, in fact, worlds apart. And I’m ashamed of the systems that continue to keep women like them disconnected from one another and perpetually out of reach from the networks of care all of us deserve.
I dream of a day where Cheslie would have taken a step away from the limelight because she had a team of folks who saw her and recognized she was unwell. And I long for a time when universal basic income and healthcare is commonplace so that the Janikka Perry’s of the world could take time off of work to go to the doctor because they are unwell.
Neither of these things are that revolutionary. They should be the bare and most basic minimum. But, time and time again, we see that for Black women, it is not.
