by bell hooks
When the civil rights movement began in the 50s, black women and men again joined together to struggle for racial equality, yet black female activists did not receive the public acclaim awarded black male leaders. Sexist role patterning was as much the norm in black communities as in any other American community. It was an accepted fact among black people
that the leaders who were most revered and respected were men. Black activists defined freedom as gaining the right to participate as full citizens in American culture; they were not rejecting the value system of that culture. Consequently, they did not question the rightness of patriarchy. The 60s movement toward black liberation marked the first time black people engaged in a struggle to resist racism in which clear boundaries were erected which separated the roles of women and men. Black male activists publicly acknowledged that they expected black women involved in the movement to conform to a sexist role pattern. They demanded that black women assume a subservient position. Black women were told that they should take care of household needs and breed warriors for the revolution. Toni Cade’s article “On the Issue of Roles” is one discussion of the sexist attitudes that prevailed in black organizations during the 60s:
It would seem that every organization you can name has had to struggle at one time or another with seemingly mutinous cadres of women getting salty about having to man the telephones or fix the coffee while the men wrote the position papers and decided on policy. Some groups condescendingly alloted two or three slots in the executive order to women. Others encouraged the sisters to form a separate caucus and work out something that wouldn’t split the organization. Others got nasty and forced the women to storm out to organize separate workshops. Over the years, things have sort of been cooled out. But I have yet to hear a coolheaded analysis of just what any particular group’s stand is on the question. Invariably, I hear from some dude that Black women must be supportive and patient so that black men can regain their manhood. The notion of womanhood, they argue—and only if pressed to address themselves to the notion do they think of it or argue—is dependent on his defining his manhood. So the shit goes on.
While some black women activists resisted the attempts of black men to coerce them into playing a secondary role in the movement, others capitulated to male demands for submission. What had begun as a movement to free all black people from racist oppression became a movement with its primary goal the establishment of black male patriarchy. It is not surprising that a movement so concerned with promoting the interests of black men should fail to draw any attention to the dual impact of sexist and racist oppression on the social status of black women. Black women had been asked to fade into the background—to allow the spotlight to shine solely on black men. That the black woman was victimized by sexist and racist oppression was seen as insignificant, for woman’s suffering however great could not take precedence over male pain.
Ironically, while the recent women’s movement called attention to the fact that black women were dually victimized by racist and sexist oppression, white feminists tended to romanticize the black female experience rather than discuss the negative impact of that oppression. When feminists acknowledge in one breath that black women are victimized and in the same breath emphasize their strength, they imply that though black women are oppressed they manage to circumvent the damaging impact of oppression by being strong—and that is simply not the case. Usually, when people talk about the “strength” of black women they are referring to the way in which they perceive black women coping with oppression. They ignore the reality that to be strong in the face of oppression is not the same as overcoming oppression, that endurance is not to be confused with transformation. Frequently observers of the black female experience confuse these issues. The tendency to romanticize the black female experience that began in the feminist movement was reflected in the culture as a whole. The stereotypical image of the “strong” black woman was no longer seen as dehumanizing, it became the new badge of black female glory. When the women’s movement was at its peak and white women were rejecting the role of breeder, burden bearer, and sex object, black women were celebrated for their unique devotion to the task of mothering; for their “innate” ability to bear tremendous burdens; and for their ever-increasing availability as sex object. We appeared to have been unanimously elected to take up where white women were leaving off. They got Ms. magazine; we got Essence. They got books discussing the negative impact of sexism on their lives; we got books arguing that black women had nothing to gain by women’s liberation. Black women were told that we should find our dignity not in liberation from sexist oppression but in how well we could adjust, adapt, and cope. We had been asked to stand up and be congratulated for being “good little women” and then told to sit down and shut up. No one bothered to discuss the way in which sexism operates both independently of and simultaneously with racism to oppress us.
No other group in America has so had their identity socialized out of existence as have black women. We are rarely recognized as a group separate and distinct from black men, or as a present part of the larger group “women” in this culture. When black people are talked about, sexism militates against the acknowledgement of the interests of black women; when women are talked about racism militates against a recognition of black female interests. When black people are talked about the focus tends to be on black men; and when women are talked about the focus tends to be on white women. No where is this more evident than in the vast body of feminist literature. A case in point is the following passage describing white female reactions to white male support of black male suffrage in the 19th century taken from William O’Neill’s book Everyone Was Brave:
Their shocked disbelief that men would so humiliate them by supporting votes for Negroes but not for women demonstrated the limits of their sympathy for black men, even as it drove these former allies further apart.
This passage fails to accurately register the sexual and racial differentiation which together make for the exclusion of black women. In the statement, “their shocked disbelief that men should so humiliate them by supporting votes for Negroes but not for women,” the word men in fact refers only to white men, the word Negroes refers only to black men, and the word women refers only to white women. The racial and sexual specificity of what is being referred to is conveniently left unacknowledged or even deliberately suppressed. Another example is from a more recent work by historian Barbara Berg, The Remembered Gate: Origins of American Feminism. Berg comments:
... In their fight for the vote, women both ignored and compromised the principles of feminism. The complexities of American society at the turn of the century induced the suffragists to change the basis of their demand for the franchise.
The women Berg refers to are white women yet she never states this. Throughout American history, the racial imperialism of whites has supported the custom of scholars using the term “women” even if they are referring solely to the experience of white women. Yet such a custom, whether practiced consciously or unconsciously, perpetuates racism in that it denies the existence of non-white women in America. It also perpetuates sexism in that it assumes that sexuality is the sole self-defining trait of white women and denies their
racial identity. White women liberationists did not challenge this sexistracist practice; they continued it.
The most glaring example of their support of the exclusion of black women was revealed when they drew analogies between “women” and “blacks” when what they were really comparing was the social status of white women with that of black people. Like many people in our racist society, white feminists could feel perfectly comfortable writing books or articles on the “woman question” in which they drew analogies between “women” and “blacks.” Since analogies derive their power, their appeal, and their very reason for being from the sense of two disparate phenomena having been brought closer together, for white women to acknowledge the overlap between the terms “blacks” and “women” (that is the exi
stence of black women) would render this analogy unnecessary. By continuously making this analogy, they unwittingly suggest that to them the term “woman” is synonymous with “white women” and the term “blacks” synonymous with “black men.” What this indicates is that there exists in the language of the very movement that is supposedly concerned with eliminating sexist oppression, a sexist-racist attitude toward black women. Sexist-racist attitudes are not merely present in the consciousness of men in American society; they surface in all our ways of thinking and being. All too frequently in the women’s movement it was assumed one could be free of sexist thinking by simply adopting the appropriate feminist rhetoric; it was further assumed that identifying oneself as oppressed freed one from being an oppressor. To a very grave extent such thinking prevented white feminists from understanding and overcoming their own sexist-racist attitudes toward black women. They could pay lip-service to the idea of sisterhood
and solidarity between women but at the same time dismiss black women.
Just as the 19th century conflict over black male suffrage versus woman suffrage had placed black women in a difficult position, contemporary black women felt they were asked to choose between a black movement that primarily served the interests of black male patriarchs and a women’s movement which primarily served the interests of racist white women. Their response was not to demand a change in these two movements and a recognition of the interests of black women. Instead the great majority of black women allied themselves with the black patriarchy they believed would protect their interests. A few black women chose to ally themselves with the feminist movement. Those who dared to speak publicly in support of women’s rights were attacked and criticized. Other black women found themselves in limbo, not wanting to ally themselves with sexist black men or racist white women. That black women did not collectively rally against the exclusion of our interests by both groups was an indication that sexist-racist socialization had effectively brainwashed us to feel that our interests were not worth fighting for, to believe that the only option available to us was submission to the terms of others. We did not challenge, question, or critique; we reacted. Many black women denounced women’s liberation as “white female foolishness.” Others reacted to white female racism by starting black feminist groups. While we denounced male concepts of black macho as disgusting and offensive, we did not talk about ourselves, about being black women, about what it means to be the victims of sexist-racist oppression.
The most notable attempt by black women to articulate their experiences, their attitudes toward woman’s role in society, and the impact of sexism on their lives was the anthology The Black Woman edited by Toni Cade. The dialogue ended there. The growing demand for literature about women created a market in which almost anything would sell or at least receive some attention. This was particularly the case with literature about black women. The bulk of literature on black women that emerged as a consequence of the demanding market was thoroughly laden with sexist-racist assumptions. Black men who chose to write about black women did so in a predictably sexist manner. Many anthologies appeared with collections of material drawn from the writings of 19th century black women; these works were usually edited by white people. Gerda Lerner, a white women born in Austria, edited Black Women in White America, A Documentary History and received a generous grant to aid her scholarship. While I think that the collection is an important work, it is significant that in our society white women are given grant money to do research on black women but I can find no instance where black women have received funds to research white women’s history. Since so much of the anthologized literature on black women emerges from academic circles, where the pressure to publish is omnipresent, I am inclined to wonder if scholars are motivated by a sincere interest in the history of black women or are merely responding to an available market. The tendency to anthologize writings by black women that are already available in other published works has become so much the norm that it causes me to wonder whether or not this trend also reflects an unwillingness on the part of scholars to deal with the black woman in a serious, critical, scholarly fashion. So frequently in the introductions to these works, authors would state that comprehensive studies of the social status of black women were needed but were yet to be written. I often wondered why no one was interested in writing such books. Joyce Ladner’s Tomorrow’s Tomorrow remains the only serious book-length study of the black female experience by a single author to be found on bookstore shelves in the women’s section. Occasionally, black women publish articles in journals on racism and sexism but seem reluctant to examine the impact of sexism on the black woman’s social status. Black women writers Alice Walker, Audre Lorde, Barbara Smith, and Cellestine Ware have been the most willing to place their writings in a feminist framework.
When Michele Wallace’s book Black Macho and the Myth of the Superwoman appeared, it was heralded as the definitive feminist book on black women. Gloria Steinem is quoted on the cover as saying:
What Sexual Politics was to the seventies, Michele Wallace’s book could be to the eighties. She crosses the sex-race barrier to make every reader understand the political and intimate truths of growing up black and female in America.
Such a quote seems ironic in light of the fact that Wallace could not even discuss the social status of black women without first engaging in a lengthy diatribe about black men and white women. Curiously enough Wallace labels herself a feminist, even though she says very little about the impact of sexist discrimination and sexist oppression on the lives of black women nor does she discuss the relevance of feminism to black women. While the book is an interesting, provocative account of Wallace’s personal life that includes a very sharp and witty analysis of the patriarchal impulses of black male activists, it is neigher an important feminist work nor an important work about black women. It is important as a black woman’s story. All too often in our society, it is assumed that one can know all there is to know about black people by merely hearing the life story and opinions of one black person. Steinem makes such a narrowminded, and racist, assumption when she suggests that Wallace’s book has a similar scope as Kate Millett’s Sexual Politics. Millett’s book is a theoretical, anayltical examination of sexual politics in America that encompasses a discussion of the nature of sex role patterns, a discussion of their historical background, and a discussion of the pervasiveness of patriarchal values in literature. More than five hundred pages in length, it is not autobiographical and is in many ways extremely pedantic. One can only assume that Steinem believes that the American public can be informed about the sexual politics of black people by merely reading a discussion of the 60s black movement, a cursory examination of the role of black women during slavery, and Michele Wallace’s life. While I do not wish to denigrate the value of Wallace’s work, I believe that it should be placed in a proper context. Usually, a book that is labeled
feminist focuses primarily on some aspect of the “woman question.” Readers of Black Macho and the Myth of the Super-woman were primarily interested in the author’s comments about black male sexuality which comprised the main body of her book. Her short critique of the black female slave experience and their characteristic passive acceptance of sexism was largely ignored.
Although the women’s movement motivated hundreds of women to write on the woman question, it failed to generate in depth critical analyses of the black female experience. Most feminists assumed that problems black women faced were caused by racism—not sexism. The assumption that we can divorce the issue of race from sex, or sex from race, has so clouded the vision of American thinkers and writers on the “woman” question that most discussions of sexism, sexist oppression, or woman’s place in society are distorted, biased, and inaccurate. We cannot form an accurate picture of woman’s status by simply calling attention to the role assigned females under patriarchy. More specifically, we cannot form an accurate picture of the status of black women by simply focusing on racial hierarchies.
From the onset of my involvement with the women’s movement I was disturbed by the white women’s liberationists’ insistence that race and sex were two separate issues. My life experience had shown me that the two issues were inseparable, that at the moment of my birth, two factors determined my destiny, my having been born black and my having been born female. When I entered my first women’s studies class at Stanford University, in the early 70s, a class taught by a white woman, I attributed the absence of works written by or about black women to the professor having been conditioned as a white person in a racist society to ignore the existence of black women, not to her having been born female. During that time I expressed to white feminists my concern that so few black women were willing to support feminism. They responded by saying that they could understand the black woman’s refusal to involve herself in feminist struggle because she was already involved in the struggle to end racism. As I encouraged black women to become active feminists, I was told that we should not become “women’s libbers” because racism was the oppressive force in our life—not sexism. To both groups I voiced my conviction that the struggle to end racism and the struggle to end sexism were naturally intertwined, that to make them separate was to deny a basic truth of our existence, that race and sex are both immutable facets of human identity.