Pushout: The Criminalization of Black Girls in Schools

by Monique W. Morris

But I pressed her a bit to get a more complete sense of how she sees herself. “Do you like that people call you Big Booty Mika at school?” “It depends on the person,” she admitted, looking down at the table in front of us. “I’m so serious. If it’s a girl, then it’s like, she’s just being funny . . . but if it’s like an athlete or a whole football team, like [the] captain of the football team being like ‘Big Booty Mika,’ It’s like, ‘No . . . my name is Shamika . . . just move on.’” “So what makes the difference for you?” I asked. “The difference is the point of respect,” she said. “The football player probably don’t even like me like that. He just sees a big butt. The other people, like, know me inside, but they just want to play around. Like, the football player, he only sees my butt, he doesn’t see my personality.” Shamika described a continuous, incessant state of sexual harassment. She was coping, but the adults in her life owe her a safer environment than that—at school and elsewhere.