Written By: Dr. Sonya Alise McKinzie
Domestic violence is not just a private issue; to be quite honest, it is a public crisis, a generational wound, and a silent epidemic that continues to devastate families in African American and minority communities. For too long, this pain has been hidden behind closed doors, masked by cultural expectations, and silenced by fear. But the time for silence is over. It’s time to speak truth, to fight back, and to heal together.
In Black and Brown communities, the conversation around domestic violence is often complicated by history, culture, and survival. Many of us were raised to protect the family name, to keep our business private, and to endure hardship with grace. We were taught to be strong, to be silent, and to carry the weight of our pain without complaint. But strength is not silence. Strength is speaking up. Strength is choosing to break the cycle.
The reality is that domestic violence thrives in silence. It feeds on shame, secrecy, and stigma. And in communities already burdened by systemic racism, economic inequality, and over-policing, survivors often feel trapped—unseen, unheard, and unsupported. Black women, in particular, face some of the highest rates of intimate partner violence, yet are among the least likely to receive adequate support or justice. This is not just a statistic, it’s a call to action.
We must create spaces where survivors feel safe to speak, to be believed, and to be supported. That means building culturally competent services that understand the unique challenges faced by our communities. It means training advocates, counselors, and law enforcement to respond with empathy, not judgment. It means funding grassroots organizations that are already doing the work—often with limited resources and limitless heart.
One powerful step forward has been the passage of Marsy’s Law, which enshrines the rights of crime victims in the state constitution. Thanks to the tireless efforts of advocates and survivors, this law ensures that victims are notified of court proceedings, have the right to be heard, and are protected from further harm. For Black and Brown survivors, this is more than policy, it’s protection. It’s a promise that their voices matter.
But laws alone are not enough. We need a cultural shift. We need to teach our sons and daughters what love really looks like—respectful, safe, and free from fear. We need to challenge toxic masculinity, dismantle generational trauma, and hold abusers accountable. We need to stop asking, “Why didn’t she leave?” and start asking, “Why did he hurt her?” We need to believe survivors. We need to stand with them.
Prevention starts with education. It starts in our homes, our churches, our schools, and our barbershops. It starts when we stop whispering and start talking, openly, honestly, and without shame. It starts when we empower women economically, emotionally, and spiritually. When a woman knows her worth, she is less likely to tolerate abuse. When a community stands behind her, she is more likely to survive and thrive.
This fight is not just for the women who have suffered in silence. It’s for the children who grow up thinking violence is normal. It’s for the men who want to break the cycle but don’t know how. It’s for the families who have lost loved ones to hands that should have held them. It’s for all of us.
To the survivors: You are not alone. You are not to blame. You are not broken. You are brave. You are powerful. And your story matters.
To the community: We must do better. We must listen. We must act. We must love each other enough to say, “No more.”
