WASHINGTON, D.C. — Trinece Robinson describes her childhood as a road map of missing years, broken promises, and violence. She can’t vividly describe the emotional weight of growing up in an abusive household. She can, however, recall how old she was when the lights first went out in her home.
“I don’t remember most of my childhood because of how traumatic it was,” the 26-year-old said. But the abuse at the hands of her father haunts her. Her mother got the brunt of it as Robinson and her siblings watched.
Triggered by the murders of Black women this month alone, she is speaking out in hopes of addressing what she and others call a silent public health crisis impacting Black women: Black femicide. Coverage of Virginia dentist Cerina Fairfax’s murder is part of a larger pattern of Black women murder victims being erased in their own tragedies, women’s advocates and domestic violence researchers say. Headlines about Fairfax’s husband overshadowed who she was and the trauma her children will endure.
After many years of silence, Robinson began opening up about being a survivor of domestic violence and motivated by the underreported murders of Black women in recent years.
“It’s just very hard and it kind of frustrates me because I feel like, although I remember the good parts of my childhood, I hate the fact that I can’t remember so many important details … and I feel guilty,” Robinson added.
While researchers typically define femicide as the murder of women motivated by their gender or gender-related issues, experts argue that Black femicide, a phrase coined by activist Rosa Page, is a bit more nuanced.
Shatema Threadcraft, associate professor of gender and sexuality studies at Vanderbilt University, defines femicide as “misogynistic murder,” violence driven not solely by gender, but by gender-based violence facilitated by structural racism.
“It can be both active and passive,” Threadcraft said. “So one is intentional killings and the other is deaths of neglect, like maternal mortality and lack of abortion access.”
The killing of Black women is rapidly increasing
Black women continue to face disproportionately high rates of femicide, and oftentimes at the hands of someone they know.
Research conducted by the Violence Policy Center shows that 9 out of 10 Black women who were murdered by men are killed by someone they know, and most often, by a firearm. In a report released last year, data showed more than 700 Black women were murdered by men in single-victim incidents. Black femicide is at crisis levels, with Black female victims dying at four times the rate of white women.
And while Black women make up roughly 14% of the U.S. female population, in 2023, they accounted for nearly 30% of those murdered by men, according to the Violence Policy Center. Experts say those numbers likely only represent a fraction of the crisis, as gaps in data reported, among other factors, make it difficult to capture the full picture of femicide.
“[Black women] are at increased risk for femicide primarily on the basis of other larger structural forces that impact us … so the legacies of racism, increased rates of poverty, being in disenfranchised positions in communities that have limited resources,” said Tameka Gillum, associate professor of community health at the University of New Mexico.
This month alone, there have been a shocking number of Black femicides that have made national headlines.
In Florida, Coral Springs’ Vice Mayor Nancy Metayer Bowen was found dead in her home on April 1 following a welfare check to the home she shared with her husband. Metayer Bowen’s husband, Stephen Bowen, was arrested and charged with premeditated murder and tampering with or fabricating physical evidence.
Days later in Virginia, Fairfax — who was going through a divorce — was fatally shot by her husband, former Lt. Gov. Justin Fairfax, who then turned the gun on himself. In North Carolina, pastor Tammy McCollum was shot and killed the day after Easter Sunday by her husband, Eddie McCollum, following an argument. He confessed to fatally shooting the pastor to the 911 dispatcher.
And in Texas, Ashanti Allen was found dead near a bayou days after sending a concerning text message right before she vanished. Allen, who was eight months pregnant, was reported missing on April 10. Six days later, her body was found. Authorities later arrested and charged Kevin Faux, the father of Allen’s unborn child, with murder in connection with Allen’s death.
These cases, experts say, are just a fraction of the ongoing public health crisis impacting Black women.
“We have these very specific populations that are being killed at these high rates and it’s not being treated as a public health issue,” Gillum said. “It’s just startling that the reality exists and we have the numbers to show that these disparities exist.”
Stories often don’t make headlines
Robinson said she remembers the early signs of abuse, even if she did not fully understand what it was at the time. In the aftermath of the recent mass shooting in Shreveport, Louisiana, in which eight children were killed, she said the shooting brought back painful memories of just how triggering domestic violence can be.
“[My mom] and I were talking about how people online were saying, ‘She should have just left,’” Robinson said. “Well, it’s hard to leave.”
The patterns reflected in the recent cases of Black femicide are not unfamiliar to researchers and experts who study domestic and intimate partner violence.
Gillum, who studies intimate partner and dating violence among marginalized communities, said cases involving individuals with power, status, or public recognition are more likely to break through, while others are overlooked.
“When you think about folks that are in positions of power, they may not have racial privilege, but they have some degree of class privilege that facilitates them getting into this sort of spotlight, it just also reminds us that other classes are not immune to [femicide],” she added.
That visibility is uneven, with many cases of Black femicide often going overlooked and underreported.
“This violence ultimately crosses class, as well. It doesn’t necessarily take away your risk because you’ve achieved a certain status or class,” Gillum said. “It means that we do need to be conscious of this.”
Threadcraft notes that those disparities go beyond who is at risk and into how exactly Black femicide is covered.
“Media coverage drives attention. Getting the stories out about what happened, getting people to care about what happened, is another fight that the families of these women struggle with,” Threadcraft said. “You presume no one will care, so you don’t produce the knowledge. And therefore, the knowledge isn’t right there.”
Without continuous attention, experts warn, the broader pattern of femicide will continue. For survivors like Robinson, that means not just making it out, but making sure other Black women do, too.
“I think it’s important for us to talk about the fact that it’s not that simple to leave violent situations [easily],” Robinson said. “I wish I could tell younger me, ‘It’s OK. You don’t have to be a bigger person for anybody.’”