Inside The Games Black Girls PlayAn Interview with Kyra D. Gaunt

Ethnomusicologist Kyra D. Gaunt studies gender justice and music as violence against girls through song, scholarship, and social media. Her firstbook, The Games Black Girls Play: Learning the Ropes from Double-Dutch
to Hip-Hop, won the 2007 Alan Merriam Prize in Ethnomusicology, which
contributed to the emergence of hip-hop music studies, Black girlhood studies, and hip-hop feminism. She began her latest project by asking in whatkinds of play do girls engage on YouTube. Her findings will constitute her
next book, tentatively titled PLAYED: Music as an Instrument of Violenceagainst Black Girls on YouTube. Key words: Black girlhood studies; Blackmusical identity; double Dutch rope play; ethnomusicology; kinetic orality

American Journal of Play: In The Games Black Girls Play: Learning the Ropes
from Double-Dutch to Hip-Hop, you shared some childhood memories
about handclapping games and double Dutch. Tell us about that play, about
how and where you played.
Kyra Gaunt: Only children play games with themselves. Some good, somenot-so-good, LOL. I was born in the early 1960s. I’m the only child of anoutspoken single Black mother. Growing up during segregation, she wasan outgoing, an even mischievous, middle child who as a teenager was a
track star, snuck out of the house to see James Brown perform at Bud’son the Chitlin’ Circuit, and was a top dancer in a neighborhood called
Lincoln Park in Rockville, Maryland, founded in 1891 by her grandfather
and his brother among others. I was introverted and painfully shy, but I
knew at a young age I wanted to be a singer. My play was in the bedroom
alone with the radio on my Panasonic boom box with a recording cassette
player and around the television on Saturday mornings when Soul Traincame on. I, like my mother, loved to dance. I’d sing along with the radio
and make press-play and record cassette mix tapes on my boom boxes
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American Journal of Play, volume 13, numbers 2 and 3 © The Strong
Contact Kyra D. Gaunt at kgaunt@albany.edu

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featuring popular funk and soul singles during the mid-1970s. I learned
to play handclapping games with my cousins and dared to jump in theropes of double Dutch, which my mother played and mastered, but body
shame kept me from really getting keen on the practice. I thought I was
fat. I wasn’t, according to pictures from the time. This is what so many girls
struggle with and what may take us out of our gendered play before we
begin. Back then, so many Black girls left those games behind by middle
school or no later than the start of high school. Now, that play is online,
you can broadcast on YouTube or TikTok.
AJP: Were there other meaningful childhood play experiences that you canremember and share?
Gaunt: I did a lot of my preteen play imagining my identity as a Black girlthrough song lyrics singing into a hairbrush while my mother combed andbraided my hair. We always had music playing in our house, and I sangalong even when I wasn’t supposed to at the dinner table.
		 My first favorite song that I still remember was “Going Out of My Head(Over You),” a romantic ballad about overcoming shyness to express yourhidden affection for another, sung by the Harlem doo-wop group Little
Anthony and the Imperials and released in 1964. Gee, I was only two years
old in 1964! As a pop music scholar, I’ve learned that the song topped theBillboard 100 charts reaching No. 6 and peaked at No. 8 on the Cashbox
magazine’s R&B chart. Perhaps I related to the lyric about being shy as I
recalled the song in my head as an adolescent.
		 I also remember playing jacks. I loved playing with the knobby, sixpoint jacks, preferably made of metal. I learned by myself, or with mymother, first. The rubber ball could also be used for play up against a wallor by itself on the pavement. When I first played jacks with Black kids otherthan my cousins at a social function, I was a nervous wreck. The other kids
who were from downtown Washington, D.C., teased me. “You talk funny,”
they said, marginalizing my speech patterns, which sounded like white
people to their ears. When I bounced the rubber ball, my dexterity failed
me. I kept messing up, losing my turn. Being an only child is challenging
because you have so little social interaction with kids your own age. You
feel ostracized—or what kids would call feeling “stupid.” Alienation led towithdrawal. I think I became a watcher pretty quickly, and some notion of
perfectionism—needing to have it right before I ever stepped in—also led
me to be reticent about learning double Dutch fully as I got older.

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AJP: As you have noted, double Dutch represents something nostalgic for
women in Black communities, and many of them still play it as adults.
Gaunt: Nostalgic is a great word. I was just listening to an informal presentation
by an acquaintance of mine about nostalgia. I love little things like words.
The etymology stems from νόστος (nóstos), meaning “homecoming,” aHomeric word, and ἄλγος (álgos), meaning “pain” or “ache.” According
to Wikipedia, it was coined by a seventeenth-century medical student todescribe the anxieties displayed by Swiss mercenaries fighting away from
home, and it also was considered a malady associated with melancholy
or depression. Some research suggests that nostalgia for, say, the goodole days can lead to in-group versus out-group social identifications thathave adverse consequences. The nostalgia weeds out negative memories
and combines a host of positive memories that contribute to some notionof an idyllic past. Black girls and women are given so little attention inempowering ways when it comes to mass media or schooling. You should
read Monique Morris’s book Pushout on the criminalization of Black girls
in educational spaces. So double Dutch rope play may be nostalgic because
it was difficult to copy by other groups. It excluded boys and many times
created an elliptical boundary between us and them relative to race and sex,
and it was just so inventive and creative, such an outright bold, cooperative social activity. Black girls shine in the ropes! And the game songs that
accompanied our rope play stuck with me even though I never mastereddouble Dutch till I did my research for the book.
		 As I wrote in my New York Times article in July 2020, “Girls’ musicalplay ignores the antipathy toward Black lives that were typically represented
in the media in the seventies (and beyond). There’s no airplay broadcasting
stereotypes about teenage parenting or fears of getting pushed out of schoolby a system that tends to criminalize their cries for help.” It was our voices
calling on ourselves: “Go on, girl, do your thang!”
AJP: What sparked your interests in ethnomusicology and the relationshipbetween culture and musical play? How does it inform your research onsocial media and musical performance?
Gaunt: Obviously, or not so obviously, my own experience being a girl singing
game songs, rhymed chants, and popular song lyrics and my studying patterns of music making as a graduate student between girls’ musical games
and hip-hop emceeing and break dancing all felt like the ideals of musicalblackness I was learning about in scholarship by musicologists like Olly

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Wilson, Sam Floyd, Portia Maultsby, and Christopher Small. But it waseight- or nine-year old twins Stephanie and Jasmine who really turned
my head around and made me feel and sense the connection between
girls’ games and male-voiced songs in emerging popular hits. It’s a nonlinear pattern, but my mind loves nonlinear connections. I call what I study“music between the sexes.” I used the phrase to name one of my articles. In
the article, I demonstrate the sophisticated musical forms that are taught,
learned, and exchanged between girls’ play and male-voiced popular singles
over nearly fifty years from 1958 to 2000. A particular gender twist emergesthat reveals how Black male artists incorporate the rhymes from girls into
emerging songs and how girls’ chants were in constant dialogue with commercial forms of music associated with an identification with men and an
attraction to heteronormative masculinity. I stumbled upon the connection in the interviews I had conducted with about fifteen African American
women with Southern roots. I excluded recent African, Caribbean, or SouthAmerican immigrants because their metrical or rhythmic orientation tomusic making—and sometimes their orientation to blues melodies—aredifferent. In a half dozen interviews, the women remembered or mentioned
songs that featured melodic material that stemmed from girls’ own musicalplay—like “Walkin the Dog” by Rufus Thomas (1963), which opens with ariff from the “Wedding March” by Tchaikovsky and the lyric “Mary Mack all
dressed in Black,” and “Shimmy Shimmy Ko-Ko Pop” by Little Anthony andthe Imperials (1958), which appears in a handclapping game song. It’s notclear which came first, the popular song or the game song, but connections
between girls and men in the business of music are consistent over time.
AJP: In your research, you emphasize ethnography. How did you come to thismethodological approach and what does it offer the study of play?
Gaunt: I’m an experimental ethnographer. I do what a qualitative researcher
might call a grounded theory approach. In other words, I learn from doing
and interacting and immersing myself in activities of children’s play. The
process reveals my next moves, observations, and the questions I might
study as a researcher. I started with life histories of a dozen or so women
aged eighteen to sixty-four. I had difficulty getting them to remember
games from the past until I happened to play a recording of Jasmine andStephanie singing several of their game songs back in 1995. Then a floodof memories came over each person I interviewed thereafter. Music is astrong trigger of nostalgia. I learned it by chance. I also spent two weeks at

Inside The Game Black Girls Playa summer camp for underprivileged and homeless kids in Ann Arbor whilewriting my dissertation, and I learned a few more songs and observed somefascinating interactions between the sexes. When girls were the subjects of
my camcorder lens, the boys always tried to steal the show. They mocked
the games girls played from the sidelines or burst into the scene claiming
they knew how to do that, too! Girls would often force them out of theframe after they proved unfit. I also interviewed my mother. She was oneof the fifteen women I interviewed because she’s a cultural historian andcommunity activist. I made sure when I wrote my book that people likemy mother could read it and get what it was about. I avoided too muchjargon in my text. I think that’s why it still resonates with readers today.
		 Another aspect of my methodology is autoethnography—or social
memoir. The knowledge I create has a knower. I’m not hidden from thereader. And my experiences as an only child in many ways shaped how
and why I viewed the subject matter and material the way I did. As an
ethnographer, I knew I needed to learn double Dutch when the opportunity presented itself. When I met the Double Dutch Divas in New York
City, that was it! It’s an example of how I continued to play as an adult.
I spent a good bit of time attending their rehearsals, which I describe in
my final chapter.
		 I love ethnographic methods! “No new experience, no new insight.”
They are diverse and so revealing when done well, and they are valuable andscarce tools to help students navigate a complex and often diverse reality.
AJP: In The Games Black Girls Play, you mention kinetic orality, which you calla word of mouth and a word of body. What types of play falls in its scope?
Are there new variations of such play? Why is this kind of play importantfor Black play?
Gaunt: Kinetic orality is a descriptive process of acquiring cultural knowledge
that is also a process of child and adult socialization. It can apply to anything, really, but it helps suss out the ideals, values, and norms of musicalBlackness. I use a small “b” because anyone can learn to become musicallyBlack as we see with game songs or with the crossover to and appropriationof popular styles of Black music, dress, language, or food.
		 Kinetic orality focuses attention on the power of sensational knowledge
as an educative process particularly in the classroom of music and dancestudies. It allows the social body of participating in musical situations tobecome the instrument of learning to feel one’s way through a culture.

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So handclapping games, embodied cheers where girls perform rhymedchants and embodied gestures for themselves and not on the sidelines ofmale sports, and double Dutch along with its melodic rhythmic chants areexamples of what I call an “oral-kinetic etudé” or social musicking lessonin Black musical style. Surely Irish dancing could be an example of kinetic
orality—or fiddling, or even poetic storytelling in Persian musical culture.
Orality and kinetic language, like lexical or linguistic language, is always
changing. It’s variations have much to tell us about time and place. For
instance, “Down, down baby / down, down the roller coaster,” the handclapping game, has different lyrics depending on the region or neighborhood
where your learned it. “Eeny meeny pepsadeeny,” another handclapping
game song, is sometimes “Eeny meeny disaleeny,” and those differences
could also be generational.
AJP: You link Black girl rhyming games to hip-hop and, more broadly, to Black
word and linguistic play. How is cadence and rhythm meaningful in theplay of Black communities, both for kids and adults?
Gaunt: Cadence and rhythm, along with a narrow range of pitches—often three
tones: high, middle, and low—shape meaning just as much as do the actual
meaning of the words. The period inside a parenthesis indicates a syncopated emphasis or silent beat in the phrase.
Ee-ny mee-ny, pep-sa dee-ny
Oo- pop (.) pop (.) sa-dee-ny
at-chi cat-chi, li-ber-at-chi
I love you! // Tu-tu sham-poo {{snap}}!

		 A finger snap by each partner serves as the final cadence closing thephrase. This timeline of phonics, handclaps, thigh slaps, and finger snaps
are the rhythm section that undergirds popular musical styles as well as
traditional drum-dance music making still today from points throughout
Africa and the African and Afro-Latin diaspora. I could say more but it’s somuch better to show you if I could. It can lose something in the translation.
The social ethics and the social happiness can be lost although those whohave experienced this can, nostalgically, call it to mind.
AJP: Do you find a relationship between kinetic orality and the musicality ofhistorical Black colleges and universities (HBCUs), such as stepping, Blacksorority cheers, and call-and-responses?
Gaunt: I explore this briefly in my first book. Embodied music making or kinetic

Inside The Game Black Girls Playorality was essential in the military cadences that were part of the earliest
Black Greek organizations founded at HBCUs as a result of the emergenceof ROTC programs on those campuses. I don’t remember all the details
but the connection from there to step shows can also be linked to gumboot dance traditions in South Africa and the tradition of stepping that is
associated with cheers in Black girls’ culture.
AJP: You talk about Black musical identity as a “learned place of inhabitance,”although you say Black girls often cultivate this identity in play without
fully being aware how such play “embodies memories” of the Black musicalpast. Can you elaborate on this a little?
Gaunt: Embodied music making reveals the kinship through movement thatmarks the African American experience for girls and boys. This is best
explained through the ideas of sampling and remix culture, which areessentially extensions of orality or kinetic orality—the transmission of
intangible ideas, melodies, and rhythms that do not have to change withthe acquisition of a non-African language in the Western hemisphere following the trans-Atlantic slave trade.
		 The expression “sooky-sooky now” was evident, according to Kip Lornell’s research, during the forced labor camps of our ancestors’ enslavementon plantations. The colloquial expression “aw —, sooky-sooky now,” whichtranslates to something like “things are about to get real interesting rightnow,” is still a common discourse marker for people my age and older.
The rhythmic patterns of percussion instruments and the ways they fall
together in a polyphonic texture often remain pretty much the same incertain social contexts.When I visited Puerto Rico and Ghana, I recognized(re-cognition) those rhythmic and metrical structures. They didn’t require
major translations to be performed from there to here. Of course, thingschange inevitably but not like the change from, say, the Ewe language to
English in the seventeenth century or now.
AJP: In your recent New York Times piece, “The Magic of Black Girls’ Play,”
you write, “Double Dutch regulates relationships rather than rule. . . . It isa process of negotiating musical taste making and building an imaginedcommunity of sisterhood.” In what ways do spaces for Black girl play create
sites of kinship? Where do you see these spaces proliferate now?
Gaunt: Since the games Black girls played are not as prominent as social interaction given the alone-together nature or disembodied connectivity of virtualor online spaces, I am unclear about how to answer that question. It may

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continue but is simply not visible as viral memes and dances dominate ourattention online. But double Dutch rope play is having a resurgence among
adult Black women with its choreographed gestures inside the ellipticalsphere of the ropes and its ever-changing chants from the latest popular or
R&B songs. Any shared culture lends itself to sisterhood or kinship. Bonding stems from shared identifications with language, movement, or song.
		 What I meant in the New York Times piece was that it was not the kindof harsh regulating behavior that happens every day in public schools forBlack girls and boys. It is about an emergent process. You get do-overs.
You’re not locked out of play unless (like me, the only child) you eliminate
yourself from it. Musical play teaches you the tasteful way to make soundmusical and meaningful within a Black social setting—and particularly
among young people and among girls. I can bond with someone I don’teven like by sharing a nostalgic handclapping game song with them or eventrying to get inside the ropes.
AJP: What prompted your more recent explorations in social-media play andperformance?
Gaunt: Simply put, I was searching for the games Black girls play online. YouTube was the focus of my attention because I love television. I don’t havea TV anymore, but I watch what’s going on on YouTube religiously everyday. I was searching for a new project in 2013 and something to blog about
for International Women’s Day. I stumbled upon the idea of examining
bedroom twerking videos by very young Black girls. The rest has been
unfolding from there ever since. For the last seven years, I’ve been watching how people watch Black girls on the platform to reveal how play is
being exploited by sexual and privacy predators—and how it primes selfobjectification for online girls as well as how it perpetuates oppressive
socialization, especially for non-Black people.
AJP: During the pandemic, the online DJ battles (Verzuz) or dance parties (DJNice’s notable Club Quarantine) on Instagram Live and other live-stream
applications created far-reaching spaces for digital play. Given the close
physical presence necessary for handclapping and double Dutch play, how
do you conceptualize the space of digital music play?
Gaunt: Hmmm. That’s a good question that seems to be primarily answeredby the uptick on TikTok play. The Journal of Adolescent Health reported in
November 2020 that about fifty-five million students joined ZOOM due
to school closures during Spring 2020. With social distancing mandated

Inside The Game Black Girls Playjust about everywhere in the U.S.A. and abroad, the resocialization ofyouth play was the result of shutting down public playgrounds as well as
schools. TikTok had over forty-five million active users during the 2020
pandemic. While online play is funny and can have beneficial as well as
adverse social consequences, the touch and other tangible interactions
in embodied forms of musical play like handclapping games or double
Dutch cannot be replaced. Human connection, roughhousing play, tickling,
and the incidental bumping into each others’ bodies that happens among
friends in face-to-face play is sorely missed, especially for kids who are
isolated from same-age peers. But TikTok’s Renegade dance choreographedby fourteen-year-old Jalaiah Harmon or split screen duets of TikTok dance
videos will do in the meantime. I also love the mimed hand gestures thatare such a persistent feature of music-related TikToks.
AJP: You have observed that the erasure of digital creativity and ingenuity ofBlack girls and women has been compounded by the greater “context collapse” of social media, as when, for example, TikTok “influencers” neglect
to cite Jalaiah Harmon’s choreography in their takes. What is context collapse, and why is it important to understanding digital Black play andperformance?
Gaunt: Context collapse takes on a few different forms. We begin with the ideathat in face-to-face interaction and performance, we can see who we arecommunicating for and with. But when girls or boys record and upload
video to virtual platforms like YouTube, Instagram, Twitter, or TikTok,
the context of, say, bedroom communication may get broadcast to a social
workers’ phone in their workplace, shared to a bully’s device, or accessed
and used for sexual reasons by perverts and predators. These different contexts are collapsing and colliding. The perception and purpose for the video
can be misinterpreted when the gaze is one that sexualizes or stigmatizes
Black girls’ dance play, when culturally appropriate bedroom twerking
that is part of their adolescent identity formation play gets distorted into
aomething pornographic instead of literal bedroom play by girls.
AJP: Much of your work concerns the influence and importance of Black girls
and women in hip-hop and rap. How do you view the candid carnalityof music videos from, for example, Cardi B or Megan Thee Stallion andthe swift online and offline reactions and memes to their word play andsexuality—especially in light of, say, Stuart Hall’s claim that class struggle
counts more than culture?

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Gaunt: While sexist music has been a mainstay of the patriarchal structuresthat dominate the recording and entertainment business dating back long
before MTV, if videos like “WAP [Wet ass p*ssy]” by Megan Thee Stallion were being broadcast on television monitored by the FCC (Federal
Communications Commission), children would be shielded to a greater
degree than they are on a platform like YouTube, which is not regulatedby the FCC. The collapse of kids and adults in YouTube’s general audience
platform despite the presence of its YouTube kids platform is not a classstruggle at all. It’s more like the Wild West, with no police or security
guards to protect children not only from sexual grooming and other harm
but from reaching out to and being targeted by inappropriate adults,
predators, or privacy invaders. And because YouTube seems free, freedoesn’t mean that its musical and playful spaces of content creation are
not without consequences. It is more like an unpoliced and unprotected
space for exploiting the most vulnerable youth and their “cute” tweenage
and infant play for a laugh, to go viral. For me the struggle is over whatis free and empowering versus what is exploitation and sexually violent
for kids.
AJP: How does musical play inform your pedagogy? How do you imagine yourclassroom as spaces for play and learning?
Gaunt: The play is a core element and aspect of my pedagogy. I use handclapping game songs and chants to teach students to notice how experience canbe systematically studied using your body as an instrument of sensational
knowledge. My core research methods are ethnography, immersing one’s
body in situations that emulate those of the people and communities westudy. So, if children’s games are the focus of studies of musical blackness or
bedroom twerking YouTube videos are the focus, as in my latest project onmusic as an instrument of online child sexploitation and sexual violence,then learning to learn as they do through play matters.
		 On the first day of my hip-hop or Black American music courses, students are immediately thrust into play and improvisation. I teach thema chant through call-and-response. In a class of seventy or one hundred
students, mostly students of African descent at my current institution,
I invite them to repeat a lyric to the melody and rhythm of a Motown
hit song “Ain’t Too Proud to Beg” by the Temptations (1966).
CALL: I know your head is nappy
THEY RESPOND: I know your head is nappy

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ME: But I refuse— to lend you my comb
THEM: But I refuse— to lend you my comb
ME: If you want to beg and plead— for my Dixie Peach [a brand of hairproduct used by Black people]
THEM: If you want to beg and plead— for my Dixie Peach
ME: I don’t mind— cuz you need it more than me!
THEM: I don’t mind— cuz you need it more than me!

		 We learn by doing through the games Black girls once played and passed
down from peer to peer, generation to generation. We fold experiential
knowledge gleaned from play in an academic space right into reflective
practice.
What would an African American say to a friend about the game song? Whatmight it remind them of about their own culture? Choose the best answer
and be prepared to explain why:
A. Can’t get a comb through it
B. Lunch room
C. Temptations

		 The emphasis in my classroom is on insider knowledge, understanding
how people inside the culture learn to think, act, and make music in theireveryday experience.
		 In his Music in the World (2017), musicologist Timothy Taylor reminds
us that ethnomusicology is about how we are made by our experiences
often in nonlinear playful and meaningfully mundane contexts. There isa general tendency in many music studies, Taylor claims, to examine thepeople who make culture, not how they are made by culture. Play is mymethod of immersion in the music making of people of African descent,particularly the games Black girls play.
AJP: In the past, you have focused on what Gayatri Spivak calls “strategic essentialism” in her famous essay “Can the Subaltern Speak?” to discuss theplay and performance of Black girls. How can the study of play value andnurture the experiences of Black girls and women? And how can we help
make Black voices essential to play history?
Gaunt: Back when I wrote The Games Black Girls Play, strategic essentialism wasdescribed as a tactic (or emerging process) that members of marginalizedgroups used to mobilize around a shared identity or practiced to represent
themselves to one another. In my book, one of the women I interviewed

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referred to the phenomenon of a “certain kind of kinship with movement”
that was experienced through musical play.
		 One way researchers and scholar-teachers can make Black voices thecentral standpoint of thinking about the historical aspects of play is to playgames and ask students to recall their own game songs and play practices.
Have them circle up in groups of four to six and teach each other a chant.
Then ask them to transcribe it. Begin with the words but ask them to soundthem out on the page the way they hear them. Then, if they can, try to link
the practice to other songs or musical experiences. Put the learner at thecenter of the reflective process rather than you, the teacher. You want tounderstand how they think of play rather than how your expertise has led
you to think about play. Then and only then do you offer your insights. The
educative process should be one of wonder and discovery, the core aspectsof play not only for children but also adults.
AJP: What are you working on now?
Gaunt: For the last seven years or so, I’ve been examining the unintended costsof Black girls exposure to invisible and unknown audiences during themusical bedroom play on YouTube. This is a very different project that is
not directly focused on play. Perhaps it would be better to describe it as
focused on the ways audiences are impacting children’s musical play when
it is broadcast on global platforms. This is particularly risky for Black girls
online because their very presence triggers stereotypes and stigmas amongaudience members who are indifferent to their humanity and their need—just like other kids—for protection.
		 I am examining what ecological fitness may be required to prepare girlsof any ethnic background for online play when general audiences are notinterested in protecting them from power-based violence and exploitation on platforms like YouTube or TikTok. This work is more about publichealth issues. If play is taking place in virtual spaces that leave little room
for children’s free expression, where experimentation could cost children
their future reputation and career identity, then we close down the true
benefits of play for social and emotional learning into recess.
		 This research involves case studies of over one thousand bedroom
twerking videos featuring about an equal number of Black girls uploaded
to YouTube from 2006 to 2014.The questions driving this research are about
the early childhood development of the brain, the healthy self-regulation ofemotions, and a healthy self-regard despite rampant forms of misogynoir

Inside The Game Black Girls Play(anti-Black sexism) in the spaces where children play online. YouTube and
TikTok are the top online destinations for tweens since about 2015, making
digital platforms the world’s largest playgrounds that go unregulated andunpoliced.
		 There is a phenomenon known as “weathering” that correlates chronic
exposure to racism with deteriorious effects on the health of African-American women. According to Arline T. Geronimus,their health can physicallydeteriorate in early adulthood, as the physiological consequence of chronic
exposure to sexism and misogynoir through musical play affecting the earlystages of growth and human development for Black girls on platforms likeYouTube or TikTok.
		 If what surrounds us shapes us, sexist music and online music making—particularly during online bedroom and school play—is a potentiallyharnful instrument of violence and online sexual exploitation of Black girls
and women. The book will likely be titled PLAYED: Music as an Instrumentof Violence against Black Girls.

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