(White) Girl Power aka The List
DISCLAIMER: Do not personalize the opinions expressed or assume that a ‘broad brush’ is being used to pigeonhole, characterize, or attack all white women. I offer the advice that my maternal grandmother often doled out: “If it don’t apply, let it fly.”
As I write these words I hesitate, fearful that I will be labeled as divisive, off-base, or just plain wrong. I risk losing the allegiance of more than a few white women who, before reading this, considered themselves to be my ‘ally’, maybe even my friend (note that my truth comes with risk). The truth is that, the bond that should exist between Black and white feminists does not. Many white feminists have created a narrative of what feminism is and should be, leaving Black women outside the storyline.
Before women’s lib, before suffrage, before any of that shit that never happened in Handmaid’s Tale, Black women have been doing the hard work, doling out blood, sweat, tears and results required to expedite change for all women. Yet, as the resistance grows, white feminists have all but forgotten about the Black women who have been resisting for survival, not hashtags. Our invites to join the very movement we helped create are perpetually lost in the mail. Black women don’t need to re-create history or fantasize about the future in order to honor our relevance in the advancement of women of all colors and creeds. Our history has spoken for itself since its inception, it’s just that we’re the only ones who care to listen, remember, and learn from it.
98% of the white women I know — whether from my workplace, my childhood, or my gym, haven’t the slightest clue as to what goes on in a Black woman’s neck of the woods. They’re shocked when I speak of magazines, museums, rituals, television stations (besides BET), styles, protests, candidates, fashion shows, vacation homes, markets, spas, organizations, heroes, culture, trendy restaurants, etc., that cater exclusively to Black women. This awkward separation between white and Black feminists has become an invisible Berlin wall that cuts off any could-be unity. A wall so tall and thick, some white women will announce with pride that they “don’t see color”; a confession that they have no respect for what it means to exist as a Black woman. Because, if you don’t see color, it’s impossible for you to be aware — let alone empathetic to any disparity Black women deal with on the daily. Because, you don’t see it. If you can’t see my color, you are likely to question the reality that my race plays a much larger part in my fate than that of a white woman’s. Because, you don’t see it.
In the eyes of many white feminists, I am merely the modern day Black girl standing on the sidelines, forcing the white girls to give a nod of respect when I catch a foul ball — A League of Their Own style. That cheap nod white women have been giving sisters is the same behavior that provoked 53% of them to vote for the former host of The Apprentice as the president of the once-kinda-united States of America.
Nothing in this country is earned or taken without consequence. Black American women are evidence of that. What we have gained in success, education, and Michelle Obama, we have lost in the compromise of having to surrender any sense of belonging in America. Black women are very much excluded from the spoils that first-class citizens — white men and white women, enjoy in abundance.
Black women are still reeling from all the freedom, family, and reproductive rights we lost from 1519–1868 (you know… from all the rapes and forced pregnancies), as well as the violent riots, lynching’s, unjust imprisonment, and race-related slaughter that took place during the reconstruction era, followed by fighting for the right to vote, sit down at any seat on the bus, drink from any fountain, use any bathroom stall, not get hung, go to and from work and not get beat up, and go to school during the civil rights movement. Today, we left to fight off misogynoir from all directions and fend off the stereotypes, micro-aggressions, and insults that come with being Black. And, still we rise! With the unconditional support of no one except other Black women. We’ve yet to show up at the door of white women, receipts in hand, demanding to know where they’ve been, and how they intend to make up for lost time. However, their absence has not gone unnoticed.
Earlier this year, I attended an event hosted by a local political group — the kind that had recently formed after the election and was filled with white women. I showed up with two women- one was an integral member of the political group — we’ll call her Becky, and a childhood friend of mine named Sarah. The event was filled with white women who wanted to talk to me about the Kalief Browder docu-series on Spike. Or, what my opinion was on Bill Cosby. Or, ask me what I thought Kanye was thinking when he had that meeting with the former host of the Apprentice. Or, any question or comment that had anything to do with a Black person. On the way home, I told Becky and Sarah how exhausting it was to constantly be the only Black woman to RSVP. I started asking Becky what her intentions were to create a diverse , all-inclusive environment. Both women began defending themselves, and each other. They became emotional, yet, told me to relax. Before I could see it coming, my direct questions had engulfed into a sob fest for the other women. They whispered to each other, “Maybe she had too much to drink.” They both cried for themselves because of something I was experiencing. This is not uncommon with white women who refuse to acknowledge the lower-case racism they unknowingly contribute to.
There are many white women who are reading this, probably thinking to themselves, “How dare this woman use such a broad brush to say that I’m not supportive of Black women, simply because I’m white? Who is she to assume such? This is an attack!” Well, before you file a formal complaint, ask yourself how familiar you are with the following topics, issues, epidemics, crises, and conversations amongst Black women. Click on every link, read every article and think-piece, and ask yourself again how involved and united white feminists are with Black women. Did you know?…
Black women are contracting HIV three times more than white and Latina women combined
Black women are dying during pregnancy, childbirth, and shortly thereafter
Nearly 75,000 Black American girls and women are missing, and very few people are looking
Black women are dying by the hands of their lovers at alarming rates
Why Black women are struggling to stay optimistic
The study that claims Black women are physically less attractive than white women
The maintenance (and money) that goes into caring for healthy, natural, Black hair
What’s happening to Black women in Pantsuit Nation
(Just a few) Reasons why we never really liked Hillary
Why a lot of us regret attending the Women’s March
Our excitement in the revival of Juneteenth!
Simply addressing one of these issues to a white woman can strike a colossal attack on the Black woman who dares speak on it. Even my closest white friends are likely to draw tears, defense, and irrational responses should I express a disparity, oversight, or blatant disrespect that seems to only affect me.
The truth of the matter is, too many women wake up in the morning, snap on their safety pins, slide into their pussy hats, protest with Black Lives Matter, and think that proclaiming they are ‘for’ us is enough. Being ‘for’ anything is never enough. Just because you are for Black women does not mean that your internal support is in some way strengthening our fight. No, being for Black women is not enough. You must be with Black women. In order to be with Black women, you must identify our problems as the problem of all women, not the problems that only Black women are dealing from. The list above should not be deemed as Black women issues, rather, women’s issues. They must read the above list and identify with it. White women must resolve their estranged relationship with Black women and stand with us. Any actions made towards creating an all-inclusive sisterhood that excludes tangible change between intersectional relations is as worthless as a foul ball on the sideline.
Tamela J. Gordon is a writer, self-care coach, and spiritual and book critic. Support her work by joining her Patreon community, Black Lit Book Club, and follow her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.
