To be a Black professional woman in a white-centric corporate space is to be constantly aware of how you fit in—or don’t—and to be constantly battling the preconceptions that your white colleagues have about your character and capabilities due to the pervasive negative stereotypes about Black women.
Stated simply, most Americans have an irrational belief that Black men are dangerous, and this bias is especially prevalent among white Americans, including most white liberals and progressives.
Many people assume that the term “violence” only refers to physically painful encounters. But I want to explore what multiple forms of violence—physical, emotional, bureaucratic, and spiritual—do to a group of people when they simultaneously converge on a community.
Johnson, a college wrestler who’s been charged with “recklessly infecting another with HIV,” offers us a lens through which to examine how Black gay men are particularly vulnerable to HIV criminalization.
When the media neglects to cover Black missing person stories, it is omitting the fact that people care about missing Black women and girls, and permitting the conditions for this toxic environment of invisibility and violent actions with no recourse to thrive.
Dr. Maya Angelou’s life could not be contained by a single autobiography, so she wrote six, making the audacious claim that she—as a Black woman reared in the segregated South—was fully human and a worthy historical subject who needed no outside narrator to tell or validate her story.
Sheryl Sandberg and others want to see us ban the word “bossy” when talking about girls. But for many Black women, being called “bossy” and being bossy have the potential to save and change our lives.
What is often lost in Black History Month are the contributions of Black women and the present-day concerns of all Black people in the United States.
Byers’ response to Ta-Nehisi Coates calling Melissa Harris-Perry “America’s foremost public intellectual” illustrates an important problem: People in positions of privilege frequently have blind spots for the work, achievements, and culture of people who are different than them.
Shame is a powerful cultural and political tool that has been used to keep people from accessing the resources they need. Shame has kept my name anonymous in this article, but it will not stop me from accessing health care, telling this story, or encouraging others to do the same.