They called it scandal. But it was sacrifice. A young girl’s truth laid bare on the altar of a watching world. They tried to make her shame
(circa 2022)
They called it scandal.
But it was sacrifice.
A young girl’s truth laid bare
on the altar of a watching world.
They tried to make her shame go viral.
But her courage caught flame instead.
They mocked her body—
a body that had already survived the unspeakable—
and thought their laughter would drown her.
But she rose, unashamed,
like thunder learning its own name.
See, Power loves to disguise itself as mockery.
It hides behind hashtags,
wears the mask of memes and cruelty.
But Truth—
Truth will not be erased.
It will take your poison
and make it medicine.
Jada said, Look at me.
Not as victim,
but as witness.
As mirror.
As movement.
She stood before the same world that devoured her,
and said—
You cannot define me by what was done to me.
You will know me by what I rise into.
Her voice became a drumbeat:
#IAmJada
#WeAreJada
#NoMoreSilence
And somewhere,
the ancestors nodded—
for they have seen this before.
A child turned warrior.
A wound turned weapon of light.
This is what bravery looks like:
not the absence of fear,
but the decision to speak while trembling.
To reclaim what was stolen,
and rename it sacred.
So we say her name,
not as echo—
but as anthem.
Not as pain—
but as power.
Jada,
you are the reminder that truth does not bow.
That even in the ashes,
we can build altars.
That a silenced girl
can still change the sound of the world.
And so—
we keep walking.
We keep creating.
We keep shining.
Unbought.
Unbroken.
Unending.