Within the past few weeks, our feeds have been flooded with black squares, news of riots and protests occurring in cities all around the country, and new names added to a seemingly endless list of people whose lives were taken for the color of their skin. It's overwhelming. It's devastating. For many, recent news of police brutality against blacks have become a call to action. For Oluwatoyin "Toyin" Salau, it became a daily fight for police reform and racial equality in the streets of Tallahassee, FL. According to USA Today, "She was affiliated with Movement 850, which describes itself as student leaders and community residents working together to demand justice and policy change..." To her friends and fellow protestors, Salau was an inspiration; speaking clearly, working diligently, and marching proudly in support of the BLM movement and in support of minorities within the LGBTQ+ community.

To hear of Toyin Salau's passing just a few days ago, opened my eyes to a harsh reality I often ignore. Racial injustices and inequality have no physical boundary. Their effects are seen in places we call home. As a rising sophomore at Florida State University, my heart aches for Salau. She was the same age as I am today. She lived in the same city I've come to love. She was brave enough to tweet about her recent sexual assault and was murdered as a result. She was betrayed by a system that claims to protect and fight for the people of this country, and yet the system let her down just miles from where I sat four months ago comfortably in a university auditorium.

In a short interview with WCTV before her death, Salau spoke earnestly, holding back passionate tears during a protest. One line in particular stood out to me. Motioning to her skin she exclaimed, "We are doing this for every black person. Because at the end of the day, I can't take this shit off.... You cannot take my fucking blackness away from me."

Toyin Salau fought for everyone. She spoke bravely in the face of adversity that I, as a cis white woman, have never had to face. While compassion and kindness can be used to show empathy for those like Salau who have lost their lives, action in the form of peaceful protesting, donating, and writing local government officials, etc. are required for productive change. Just as important and necessary, is the need for white people, like myself, to take a step back, and let the black voices do the talking. As Salau mentioned in her interview, white people must understand their privilege. White people must work to advocate for black leadership and amplify black voices because for centuries, we chose to oppress them instead. To white people, we must follow instead of attempt to tell a narrative that is not ours to tell. To Toyin Salau, I am so sorry. The world will not let your passing be forgotten.