× Expand (Photo/Kristen Doerer) After talking with a protester who came to commemorate the lives of black women killed and beaten by police and the justice system, the author ponders a new hashtag: #BlackWomensLivesMatter. Here, a scene from the Washington, D.C., protests set off by a Staten Island jury's failure to indict white New York City Police Officer Daniel Pantaleo in the killing of Eric Garner, an unarmed black man.

We've been walking for about two hours now. We're following the protests, Nathalie Baptiste and I, and we've finally made it to 14th Street Bridge-Well not quite, we're right before the bridge, at one of the busiest intersections. A black man has been leading the way, microphone in hand, shouting chants like "No justice, no peace! No racist police!" and "Hey, hey, ho, ho, these killer cops have got to go."

We circle around the intersection. Protesters raise their hands, "Hands up, don't shoot!" they yell. Police cars surround us, their lights flashing. Horns blare as parked commuters become more annoyed at their inability to move.

A black woman approaches the man with the microphone. He hands over it over and steps to the side. "We're going to do things a little differently here," she says as she walks into the center of the circle. She wears a gray beanie that covers her long hair, which falls down to her waist, green cargo pants, and an orange sweater over a button down and tie. She introduces herself as Toni Sanders. The 31-year-old is co-founder of Think MOOR (Movements of Organized Revolutionaries). Her voice echoes in the microphone.

"Let's have people come up here and talk about why they are here," says Sanders.

A middle-aged black woman stands up and explains that she's here for her three sons and her one grandson. The crowd contracts, gathering closer to hear her. She explains that she thanks God every day that they are alive. "No one should have to live that way," she says.

Two black men come up; one's a D.C. teacher. He doesn't want his students facing this, he says. The other says he is here for his son. He wants his son to be able to do things without the fear that he will be unjustly punished.

"How about the women?" Sanders asks, who, she adds, are out here in strong numbers. "I haven't forgotten," she says.

And she hits me with what I've thought about before: Why aren't we talking about the black women who face police brutality? The black women that the justice system doesn't seem to care about? The term "black" has come to mean black men, but they aren't the only black people who are facing an unjust system.

On July 1, a white California Highway Patrol officer threw 51 year-old Marlene Pinnock to the ground and punched her repeatedly in the face. She was hospitalized for a full month. The cop, she says, was trying to kill her. "He was trying to beat me to death," she told CBS News' Carter Evans, "take my life away. For no reason. I did nothing to him." The cop was never convicted, but with the help of video footage, Pinnock eventually received $1.5 million in a settlement and the cop agreed to resign.

And in Florida, Marissa Alexander was originally sentenced to 20 years in prison for shooting a warning shot at the ceiling as her abusive husband threatened to kill her in 2010. The state's notorious "Stand Your Ground" law did not work for Marissa Alexander. While the original conviction was overturned on appeal, State Attorney Angela Corey initially sought a 60-year sentence.

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On the same day as the Ferguson verdict, Marissa Alexander accepted a plea deal, in no doubt to avoid the fate of 60 years in prison. To have to admit to a crime you did not commit in order to avoid prison? That, apparently, is the America that black women live in.

Back at the D.C. protest, the man who originally wielded the microphone is talking. He asks: "Why is it that a black mother can get resources for a child, but a black man can't?"

Up until that moment, crowd has been cheering, but the discomfort is palpable at the sound of that comment. Sanders comes back to the center. "Let me just address that: Why is it that you can't have a man in the house and receive welfare benefits?" she asks.

The police are yelling. It's their second warning. Sanders is worried about arrests, so she gets us moving along.

We march back up 14th Street away from the bridge. In front of me, a woman holds a sign with the sharpied words: "We Also Can't Forget" and a list of women's names.

Joanne, 28, is from Greenbelt, Maryland. She says that she believes black men's issues and deaths have overshadowed black women's. "Sometimes when we say 'Black lives matter' we automatically tie that to men, we forget that women sometimes are at the hands of police officers too."

She's here "to remind people that it's not just the brothers dying; I'm at risk too," Joanne says. "I could be the next person."

Her poster reads: "We Also Can't Forget: Tanisha Anderson, Miriam Carey, Yvette Smith…What Next?" They were the names of lesser-known victims of police brutality and excessive force. There were more names, but I couldn't catch them.

I thank her, and move done the street. I spot Sanders and attempt to speak with her-a difficult task when your interviewee is one of the leaders of the march. After a protester was yelling expletives at oncoming traffic for honking and trying to speed away amidst protesters, she leaves me right quick to guide the woman away from oncoming traffic. Sanders encourages her to stay calm to have her message heard by those commuters.

They continue walking up 14th Street toward Constitution and I look at the large crowd, mostly consisting of millenials and Gen Xers. White, black, and Latino faces are dispersed throughout the crowd, and Sanders is correct, black women are out in large numbers.

This winter marks the 59th anniversary of the Montgomery bus boycotts. Women led that. Our history whitewashes that truth, but without Rosa Parks, Jo Ann Robinson, and the Women's Political Council, the bus boycotts could not have happened. And without the countless women, who, when they had rode the buses, faced discrimination daily at the hands of bus drivers and white passengers, boycotting daily, the boycott could not have been successful. The boycott was truly pushed by black women. But the limelight shone on black men.

While black women are out here, marching in the cold for their sons, their brothers, and their fathers, they are also out there for themselves, and everyone protesting should be out there for all black lives, black men, and black women.

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I in no way mean to downplay the danger faced by black men for simply existing. They face stereotypes that they are dangerous or criminals-and those stereotypes are deadly. This is why Mike Brown's death and Eric Garner's death is so important to rally around and demand justice. But when it comes to black life, it seems that just as a #BlackLivesMatter hashtag was necessary, a #BlackWomensLivesMatter may be needed. We can't forget.