Image caption: ‘Paperweight’ by Anum Sanaullah (Photography, 2025)

This reflective piece is based on the recent Netflix movie Straw, which explores the struggles of Black women and highlights the social issues embedded in the very fabric of wider society. Stricken by grief and trauma, Janiyah, the protagonist, finds herself in a tense standoff at a bank—one that ends in a peaceful resolution due to the communal solidarity of both immediate and distant characters involved.

The entire cast can be seen as a culmination of various versions of the protagonist—identities she is confronted with—serving as a way to engage in inner dialogue at the bank and to connect with the versions of herself that exist in the outside world. These are parts of herself she has always had access to but never explored, as she clings to her inner child, represented by her eight-year-old daughter. She sees herself crumbling in the face of patriarchal challenges, losing her sense of divinity to the system, and becoming disconnected from her masculinity, symbolized by the lack of male figures in her life. She is no longer in her power, allowing herself to be vulnerable in moments that demand strength. Consumed by fear and guilt, she reaches her breaking point. Fear takes over. It grows, becoming overwhelming—almost life-threatening.

It is evident that Janiyah’s character has been shaped by her childhood experiences, as reflected in the scene where her daughter is bullied at school for not having the forty dollars needed to buy a decent meal—by the very people who are supposed to protect and guide her. This experience contributes to Janiyah’s feelings of insecurity and mistrust in some of her closest relationships, particularly evident in her hesitation to reach out to her sister and mother.

She had snapped a long time ago, when she had experienced a breakdown, unable to carry the burden of her inner child any longer – the seizures and eventually the child’s sudden death the night before. Her sense of belonging and disconnection had been in the making for a long time, as foreshadowed by the many eviction letters she had been receiving, leading to the final evacuation.

Although she had squeezed herself into the worst possible living conditions—just enough to breathe. But then came a point where even the scraps of air were gone. She began to overcompensate in every area of her life, shrinking to the smallest version of herself just to keep the younger version of herself alive. She was cornered from all sides, yet she still chose to do good.

When she shoots the manager of the store where she worked, she makes a grave mistake in hysteria—not because she could have avoided it, but because she was so heavy with weight that when she dropped, she exploded. In doing so she challenged the system that appears to be rigged against the already marginalized. 

Even before she arrives at the bank—before she truly begins to meet herself—she has already lost the little girl. And once that loss occurs, she no longer knows her way in the world, desperately clinging to what remains of that connection. As she enters the bank, or rather begins to reconnect with herself, she finds herself pleading to give her younger self what she needs. But she is met with a facet of herself—Tessa, the cashier—who denies her. This denial alerts other guarded parts of her psyche, each working to preserve the existing internal dynamic at play.

In the midst of her chaos, Janiyah encounters another version of herself—Nicole, the bank manager—who offers her a different way of being. Educated, in a position of power, and part of a healthy family dynamic, Nicole represents a woman who, despite enduring racism and the challenges of patriarchy, has managed to rise above them. She becomes a role model—someone who uplifts others while finding fulfillment and contentment in all areas of her life. Janiyah feels secure enough in Nicole’s presence to entrust her with her inner child—not as an act of abandonment, but as a gesture of protection and hope.

Then there is the silent part of herself—Rayah, the cashier—the one who allows so many other parts of her to witness her pain. In the image of Detective Kay Reymond, Janiyah also discovers a version of herself that not only acknowledges her pain but, despite the anger and hurt, has evolved beyond mere survival into embodied empowerment. This version reflects back a self that is no longer just enduring life, but actively using her power and intuition to navigate it. She no longer seeks to punish herself for her perceived shortcomings, but instead embraces her strength with grace and self-compassion.

So many parts of her, once scattered in all directions, now hold space for her as she grieves and releases the pain she’s carried for so long. When she confronts her hysteria and helplessness, her many parts cheer for her: Freedom, freedom, so she no longer has to hide from the world. 

Freedom—from how the narrative has been defined.

Freedom from the choking lies she had tried so hard to swallow.

Freedom from the uninvited paper planes others had thrown her way—

slicing through her heart, landing deep in her womb.

An older, wiser version of herself—Isabella, the bank customer-turned-hostage—empathizes with her and gently reminds her to be grateful for what she still has and the life she is still living. 

Amid the chaos, there is panic. There is hysteria. A choice presents itself: to end it all in violence, or to choose empathy, freedom, and transformation. Janiyah is called to let go—to overcome fear, make amends, and accept that her unhealthy younger self no longer exists.

This shift allows her to re-enter the world—only after ensuring that toxic masculinity presented as the police officer who had threatened her has been removed from the premises. In doing so, she finally feels a sense of safety and catches a glimpse of a way of life she may never have known was possible.