SPOILER ALERT: The following article contains spoilers for the show “Orange Is the New Black.”

Netflix has finally delivered the fifth season we have all long been waiting for of the show that is always the highlight of our summer: Orange Is the New Black. But beyond all of the comedic relief and Sapphic OTPs it provides us with every June, the producers have not failed to install a sequence within the series in which there are conversations being had and moments being shared as a part of a larger cultural and sociopolitical movement that are far too important to simply be pushed aside and ignored.

If we recall from the previous season, Poussey Washington – everyone’s favorite character, including my own – was asphyxiated to death for trying to help her friend by Corrections Office Baxter Bayley carelessly pinning her to the floor and kneeling on her back with all his weight, as a result of attempting to put a stop to Suzanne’s erratic behavior caused by a severe fight with Maureen that was prompted by CO Humphrey during a nonviolent stand-in in the Litchfield Penitentiary cafeteria protesting against Captain Desi Piscatella. In an interview with Kathryn Shattuck of The New York Times, Samira Wiley – who plays Poussey – lets us know that the writers chose to kill her character off for very specific reasons:

… it had to be a character that people really loved and people really cared about… Poussey comes from a loving family, and people care about her, and even her queerness her father embraced. And like a lot of young kids, she just fell into the wrong thing. But her sheer potential to actually make something of herself, and to have that stripped away — it’s really powerful television.

Lauren Morelli, writer of perhaps the most heartbreaking episode in the entire show, agreed, adding that the team “wanted it to feel like that character had a future on the outside of prison ahead of them, so that the loss of that future would really be felt.” Well, they succeeded. The feeling of pain and sorrow we all share over her loss and the impact it has had on all of us is indescribable. The cause of her death is even more infuriating.

The death of Poussey Washington has been likened to that of Eric Garner – whose last words left us shattered as he was put into a police chokehold and left unable to breathe due to chest compression while being restrained – and Michael Brown – whose body was left out in the open for several hours – and Sandra Bland, and so many other black lives that were unjustifiably taken.

The riot is redolent of past prison riots and uprisings and instances of civil unrest, but also of the racial profiling, police brutality, and mass incarceration that not only runs deep within today’s prison-industrial complex but throughout the American system as a whole.

And yet you couldn’t spell out the possibility of having the means to carry out the prison’s (almost) incredibly successful operations without the name Tasha “Taystee” Jefferson, who is irrefutably the most resilient and hardworking character throughout the season; she demands justice for Poussey, and that is the exact kind of persistence and determination we need today. Even when almost all of the negotiations are met – all but one – Taystee continues to work towards her purpose until she is guaranteed CO Bayley will be arrested and tried for Poussey’s murder. Together the inmates refuse to let their unity and strength in numbers come undone.

In the first episode, we see an upset and distraught Taystee punching Caputo in the face, demanding that he “make this right.” She then forces him to read the words that she and her friends have written down in order to get the footage that is needed to take down MCC, but a few sentences in, he stops and utters, “I can’t say that,” during which Taystee turns the iPad they are recording on to face her and tells the camera “she was murdered – CO Bayley murdered her, and we want justice.” In Caputo’s defense, he was a guard that was simply undertrained, to which Taystee retorts, “he… killed my friend, my friend, who was a person, and you didn’t say her name or nothing about her” during a televised press conference.

Again, the death of Sandra Bland is brought to mind. We are left overcome by just how much the show is starting to resemble the horrifying world we live in, and that is a scary but almost necessary revelation we need to make. Maybe television should mirror the worst of our reality. Maybe this will finally wake us up and invoke our need for change. Maybe it is the only way for us to bring about a difference in everything that is wrong with our society.

But of course, after the video is posted to the Internet and the public gets ahold of it, they begin to sensationalize and make memes out of it instead of taking the message that the women want to put out there seriously. Outraged, Taystee realizes how belittled her cause has been made by Internet trolls and how easily it is taken for a joke, exclaiming “the whole point was to tell the world about Poussey… people don’t care!” In the Teen Vogue article “‘Orange Is the New Black’ Nails The Internet’s Exploitation of Blackness”, Gabe Bergado takes a look at this phenomenon more closely:

This lack of consideration from the masses on the internet very much reflects the real world. Over the past couple of years as black people including Sandra Bland and Trayvon Martin were unjustly slain, yes there was outcry from the internet to bring awareness to police brutality and violence against people of color. But there has also been a dark side, with apathy (and worse, awful jokes and memes) common on social media when black lives are lost.

Sadly this is very true. Even media, as influential as it is, can blind us from seeing what is truly happening. Bergado also points out that “some of the funniest memes and viral trends get their start in online spaces for black youth… so while blackness may be desired in some ways, carrying about issues that concern black people often is sidelined.”

So it makes complete sense that Taystee feels even more insulted when the arrest and trial of Bayley ranks as #9 as well as second-to-last on the list of demands that the team compiles. Even though Cindy makes a good point when she concludes “there’s more strength in a single, unified message” in an effort to persuade Taystee and the rest of the women to hand over hostages Josh and Caputo and work together in order to resolve things, the rest of the inmates just don’t seem to deem justice for Poussey as a priority, much like many Americans just don’t seem to realize just how much black lives matter.

Meanwhile, some of the other inmates like Suzanne, Brook, and Maureen mourn the loss of Poussey by outlining the space on the canteen floor where she died and sitting around it to commemorate her, as Gloria offers some of the only food left in the prison. It is a beautiful moment, highlighting some of the very first alliances between the black, white, Asian, and Latina characters on the show. Some of the women bond over her death whilst forming a vigil and trying to communicate with her spirit. They later work to create a memorial for her that they know she would have loved, filled with books from the library she was in charge of.

Throughout the rest of the season, a key theme that is highlighted is the idea of togetherness. The inmates grow wary of how essential it is for them to stick together in a time like this rather than to disband and act against one another. Even though some of them are clueless when it comes to the obligation and necessity that comes with justice for Poussey, others are visibly doing their part by paying their respects to her and contributing to the sense of unity and harmony within Season 5’s Litchfield that is also important to achieve in reality.

Another one of my favorite Taystee moments is when she changes her mind about letting Judy King speak on behalf of her and her friends. In the bathroom, the women decide upon the inhumane and abusive conditions they should protest being held under such as arbitrary searches, indiscriminate punishment, solitary confinement, constantly having their bodies policed, and being deprived of access to a number of services. Taystee tells Judy what to say and how to say it, “We’re denied basic humanity. And we get killed in the cafeteria for no reason.”

Nonetheless there is dispute over who should make the statement coming from Janae – who has a series of important flashbacks in this particular episode, “Sing It, White Effie,” regarding visiting a prestigious, predominantly white school that pretty much steals black culture – recognizing that that “we” doesn’t include King, as she murmurs to Taystee “You can’t let this white woman speak for us. She needs to take our stories out her mouth… This is our fight… Ours and Poussey’s,” but Taystee believes that what she is doing is wise and they have a better chance of being heard if their stories do come from her mouth.

As a side note, I want to add that Judy seems to understand and sympathize with the sentiments of people of color to a degree, for someone who has as much authority and status as her. Earlier, she has a crucial talk with Brook that I think is worth mentioning:

Judy: In this lifetime, you will be amazed by what you can get over, darling. Babies get thrown in dumpsters and survive. Teenagers crash their cars and break their hearts and OD on coke. They live. Adults get worn down and compromise and fail, and they’re still keeping track of their steps on their cell phones. We are so f***ing resilient, even when we really don’t wanna be.

Brook: I’ve already tried to kill myself once.

Judy: And? You are still here, right? Not so easy to shake this mortal coil.

Brook: … until someone sits on you ‘til you die.

Judy: Yes, well… yes, there is that.

The first part of this dialogue may be extended as support for Brook and even many of the show’s viewers, assuring us of just how unshakable we truly are even during times of turmoil and injustice, much like our beloved Poussey was subjected to. Near the end, you can see the look of sadness she shares with the rest of the inmates share at the thought of Poussey’s last breaths being stolen from her lungs. This moment we have between the two is comforting in the sense that Judy is one of the first few characters who is able to provide Brook with the hospitality she needs in those brief instants.

That being said, King is still presented as a rich and entitled white woman and it’s not like that could ever come with too much privilege or freedom, which grants her the liberty to get away with saying some problematic things on the daytime talk show she appears on alongside Aleida that ultimately jeopardize the future of her daughter Daya. She may feel for the inmates of Litchfield but of course viewing Poussey’s death as an immoral deed and grave tragedy doesn’t make her a saint.

So my acknowledging her expressing sympathy for Brook provided that her girlfriend is deceased does not mean that I am suddenly a fan of her character or that I condone some of her behavior; none of that indicates that being in prison (while receiving preferential treatment and certain advantages the other inmates did not) suddenly means that she knows what it’s like to be oppressed or that she is suddenly able to identify with the struggles of black Americans or of racial minorities in general; she doesn’t, and she isn’t, because she is white.

Thankfully, Taystee realizes this: that a white woman should not be allowed to volunteer as a spokesperson for people of color. She comes to her senses and ends up making the right choice, announcing that Judy will not be speaking for them or for any of the inmates. She passionately intonates, “Poussey Washington… Poussey Washington. And I’m saying her name again because it can’t ever be said enough…” Once more, we are reminded of Sandra Bland.

Danielle Brooks, who plays Taystee, tells The Hollywood Reporter,

I appreciate the way they wrote it where Taystee had to speak about the situation and did not allow Judy King to speak in that moment. It’s important to highlight that we do have a voice. We can say something and be heard and be effective as women, as black women, as people that live in poverty. We briefed Judy on what to say but when the moment finally came it was like, "No. You need to hear my voice. You need to hear my pain and my perspective."

It is a powerful scene and a powerful speech. She discloses that although Judy King is “rich and white and powerful,” their fight is not with Judy King—“Our fight is with a system that don’t give a damn about poor people and brown people and poor brown people. Our fight is with the folks who hold our demands in their hands… those demands are fair and necessary and show that we intend to keep this demonstration peaceful and focused on change.” Taystee sends us into contemplation about how similarly we are fighting our own fights and what we are fighting for.

In the following episodes, Taystee does everything in her power to meet every single one of those demands, including the second-to-last one that essentially everyone failed to take seriously, and man, does she put up one hell of a fight. Hers is one that is passionate, fiery, adamant, and one you just can’t help but admire. Even when Fig bluffs about their economic climate prohibiting the prison from meeting all of their demands, she brings out an impressive stack of paperwork full of research of Caputo’s files to disprove her, suggesting that rebalancing MCC’s budget would indeed sufficiently finance them all and exposing them for having profited off of their prisoners this whole time.

From having the new guards fired and placed with properly-trained ones, to reinstating the GED program and an education initiative that isn’t just manual labor instruction but does intend on giving the women actual life skills, to better jobs and fair wages, to proper healthcare, to more work opportunities and equal treatment of prisoners, Taystee is able to do it all. All but one.

By informing the women of the governor agreeing to expand the state budget in order to accommodate the remaining demands, Fig is also compelled to reveal that the prosecution of CO Bayley is not under state jurisdiction and does, in fact, stand as its own separate legal issue. Unfortunately, what Taystee must endure in order for justice to be served isn’t all that different from the already prevailing American justice system. After the acquittal of Philando Castile’s shooter this weekend, and so many other heartbreaking verdicts just like this one, it seems like justice is just too much to ask for. As if hot Cheetos and Takis in commissary are more important than the death of her best friend. As if wanting some peace from that is too high an expectation when the foundation of this country is deep-seated in life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

For some reason, Taystee can find an answer to every demand except for the one that calls for justice for Poussey, and the parallel between her struggle and that of black mothers trying to seek justice for their own children is far too real. It’s just proof that you can try so hard to accomplish something and the system will still find a way to fail you; it will still find a way to make your problems seem infinitesimal.

When told that she has to trust that very “system” to do its job, Taystee bursts out, “You mean the same system who don’t give a s*** when some pasty ass cop shoots a black man for spray painting a wall? Or selling loose cigarettes? Or reaching into his pocket for his own damn keys? You mean that system? Oh, yeah, they real trustworthy,” (when I tell you I had shivers…) reminding everyone in the room that Poussey is the reason they are doing this and that she will not allow Bayley to go free, implying that she will readily decline any offer that does not satisfy this requirement.

She doesn’t care that she is about to endanger her life and potentially put many others at risk for their own. And who could blame her? She gets everything she could possibly want, but at what cost? None of it means anything if she can’t make one of the only people that made prison bearable for her proud. She has already lost some of her only family. She refuses to settle for anything less than Poussey deserves and stands by her word: “people who murder people ain’t supposed to just be walking around.” Couldn’t have said it better myself. Especially the people that are supposed to protect civilians.

Kevin Fallon writes, “With one good-intentioned ruling of the heart, she screws over everyone. She essentially gives the go-ahead for the riot police to rush the prison, ruin the lives of every prisoner in Litchfield, and maybe gets herself and nine other women killed in the process.” Who are those nine other women? At the end, we have a gut-wrenching scene (another notorious signature cliffhanger officially trademarked by none other than the OITNB producers themselves) where ten of our beloved prisoners – Freida, Suzanne, Cindy, Taystee, Red, Piper, Alex, Nicky, Gloria, and Blanca – stand together in Freida’s bunker with their hands interlocked, ready for their unforeseeable and impending fate. As some of the other inmates are tased, threatened, and coerced, no one – not even the women – knows what is to come. But the important thing is that they have made it this far and whatever happens from here on out, at least they can say they had one another.

The fifth season of this show is undoubtedly the most important one to date as well as an accurate reflection of the ongoing events in our world today and the manner in which we ought to demand justice and change like Taystee sought to: with unwavering grit and perseverance. In a cast of characters that was formerly divisive in race, class, gender, and sexual orientation and void of this abrupt notion of collective closeness that we have been met with, Litchfield 2.0 is a prime example of everyone – blacks, whites, Asians, Latinos, rich, poor, gays, straights, everyone – coming together to combat a system that marginalizes their struggles and experiences in the American prison system, and in America.

Particularly in Trump’s America, it is more vital than ever that like them, we stand in solidarity. In a world where that permeates social and racial inequality, but where hashtag activism and the power of words and the Black Lives Matter movement also exist, our coming together as a community is a must, to ensure that we no longer lose people like Poussey – people that are innocent, unarmed, and black – to such stupid and unfair and unavoidable circumstances.

Poussey’s death is an homage to the death of Eric Garner, to the death of Michael Brown, and to the death of Sandra Bland, to name a few. But like them, she will not be forgotten.