The other night, I asked some friends how they felt about the trope of the angry Black woman. “Is it actually to do with Black women being angry, though, or is it about misogynoir?” said one, referring to the term—coined by queer, Black feminist Moya Bailey in 2010—that specifically refers to the brand of misogyny weaponised against Black women. To echo a phrase that most people of colour loathe hearing when discussing racial inequality, it’s nuanced—and it speaks to the arsenal of tricks we, knowingly or unknowingly, use to silence Black women. Some of the more frequently-used by media are the ‘sassy’ and 'difficult' depictions—which subliminally tell audiences that she’s risen above her station—but the obvious racial bias runs concurrent with a feminist issue.

Take voting rights. First came white men, then all men, then women and, after that, was Black women. Giving rights to women was not to empower the Black woman—that was a by-product. So, a Black woman who uses her voice becomes an affront to the patriarchy; seemingly-strong Black women—and, to a certain extent, other women of colour—are perceived as ‘uppity’ and ‘ungrateful’.

After Serena Williams was roundly criticised for expressing frustration about a call against her at the US Open two years ago, it was later shown that her reactions to the code violations were no different to other top players—but the fines she received exceeded those usually given. Subsequently, a sketch in Australian newspaper Herald Sun depicted her as a sullen, manly figure with the referee asking her opponent, Naomi Osaka, "Can you just let her win?"

The outcry over Williams’ temerity to highlight that, maybe, the system could do better, was directed—as ever—at her delivery and what she was wearing. The irony is that women are often encouraged to be more assertive and confident (“Be more like a man!”) yet when they do, they’re belittled and berated. This female experience is to keep women silent and humble, which, in turn, makes them seem weak and unfit for leadership—or, if they stand up and project their voice, hostile, angry and aggressive. The next time a woman—particularly a woman of colour—speaks up about something she believes in, perhaps we ought to ask why we feel the need to tone-police or label her as ‘opinionated’.

And, we all recognise the king of trump cards; ‘the race card’—something that instantly puts anyone of colour back in their box. ‘Pulling the race card’ is the one line that shuts down any conversation that could potentially challenge existing structures. It makes the Black woman guilty and the conversation dissipate—because both parties know the ‘angry’ trope exists and that she’d be perpetuating it if she carried on the discussion.  Ultimately, no-one wants to be in that box. It’s degrading, and it robs them of their voice. When ‘the race card’ is used in the context of representation and racial quotas, it makes people of colour feel undeserving of jobs they’ve worked for—and often, makes them think colleagues view them as a diversity hire. “The idea that women of colour have a magical card we can pull out is a fallacy,” says Nneka Ndukwe, a schoolteacher and ex-marketing manager. “Most of the time, when we speak out, it backfires, so most of us are just trying to keep our heads down and survive—knowing we won’t be paid, acknowledged or promoted at the same rate as our white counterparts.”

So, it’s important to recognise the bias. Outdated societal structures give us a flawed idea of a black girl’s personality, before we even know her name, and we have a duty not to perpetuate those stereotypes. Last week, 25-year-old Essex-based barrister Alexandra Wilson was mistaken for a defendant three times in one day. Anyone who thinks her call for anti-racism training in the legal profession is unnecessary really ought to be wondering why there’s so much unconscious bias lurking in Britain’s courtrooms—and how it affects sentencing. Wilson later said that three Black, female QCs contacted her in 24 hours and echoed her experiences.

Similarly, if the circumstances in the recent Breonna Taylor case were reversed—if it was a white woman sleeping in her own bed, while the police arrived in the middle of the night, killed her, and her white partner fired at what he believed were intruders—consider if the coverage and language would have been the same. Would the case have been tried at the time of the murder, and would the police ultimately have been held to account? Malcolm X’s words ring as true today as they did when he spoke them in 1962; the most disrespected, neglected and unprotected person in America (and the world over) is still the Black woman. Frankly, she’s entitled to be angry. But maybe it’s time to ask why.


Shivani and Meera
@shivaniashoka
@no_fixed_plans

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