by Ashley Daniels


I have this thing. Whenever someone is talking to me about a subject that requires a bit of thought, I'll think of a song that applies to the question, as I'm thinking of an answer. For example, when asked, "Are you a feminist?" I think of Mya, while searching my brain for an answer: I'm so confused / I don't know what to do.

I have an answer, but it’s not as direct or simple as the question.

Growing up watching BET, MTV, and VH1 (before they became the holy ratchet television trinity), I only understood feminism to be three things: white, angry, and mostly lesbian. I watched scores of white women on a field wearing sundresses and combat boots holding hands with other white women wearing buzz cuts and flannel shirts, swaying to the spellbinding sounds of the Indigo Girls and Melissa Etheridge at Lilith Fair. I listened as Meredith Brooks told the world how she was a bitch, a lover, a child, and a mother. The news showed hundreds of White college coed girls with megaphones, candles, and makeshift signs in an effort to "take back the night."

All these sounds and images bonded together in my pre-adolescent understanding of one word: feminism.
From hearing that word tossed around in interviews and news reports, I developed an associative understanding of feminism. But because I rarely saw faces that looked like mine in these spaces, I didn't think that feminism was a "thing" for a little Black girl like me. Every once in a while I would catch a glimpse of artists like Tracy Chapman or Meshell Ndegeocello on MTV or VH1, but I was more in awe of their Blackness on a predominately white music network than their feminism. It would not be until my sophomore year of college where my mind would change (sort of).

Every year, my aunt gives me a book as part of my Christmas gifts. In tenth grade, I received Kevin Powell's Step Into A World: A Global Anthology of New Black Literature. I skimmed through the book but hadn't really read it until I was in my dorm room one boring snowy Saturday years later. Flipping through the writings of Robin D.G. Kelly, Ras Baraka, and dream hampton, I happened upon an essay by a writer named Joan Morgan, who introduced me to the concept of hip-hop feminism.

When reflecting on the treatment of women during the Million Man March with Farrakhan banishing us from the National Mall to our kitchens to "cook for our warriors" as noted by Kristal Brent-Zooks, Morgan cited the need for a new kind of feminism that is relevant to Black women of the present 20th Century (the essay was written in 1999). She understood that not too many Black women were checking for "the f-word" due to deep-rooted racism from White women. But honestly, that wasn't the part that resonated with me. What drew me was the idea of being a "hip hop feminist."

Despite knowing all the words to "Bittersweet Symphony" and "You Oughta Know" thanks to binge-watching MTV and VH1, I'm still an avid rap and hip-hop fan. Trips to class were included background tracks from A Tribe Called Quest, The Roots, or Missy Elliot in my ears. I can knowledgeably discuss the Roxanne Wars, the Bridge Wars, and how the Biggie/Tupac beef fucked all that up. I could tell you about the Zulu Nation and the significance of Afrika Bambaataa. So of course the notion of hip-hop feminism intrigued me.

But as a young Black woman, I was conflicted. This was around the time when sisters at Spelman were protesting Nelly's appearance on their campus after the infamous “Tip Drill” video. I applauded those sisters for standing up against the misogynoir that flooded our radio stations on a daily basis. But as a lover of rap and hip-hop, I questioned if I even allowed to do such a thing?

True, I wasn't constantly checking for songs that said Black women were nothing more than ass and titties wrapped in a quick weave. But I won't lie and pretend that my bitty booty doesn't automatically get ready to twerk a lil' sumthin' when I hear that Cash Money is taking over for the 99 and the 2000. Joan Morgan let me know that I was not alone. That there was a space (or there needed to be) where this intersected. We needed a kind of feminism that "was brave enough to fuck with the grays," as Joan Morgan writes in her classic text, When Chickenheads Come Home to Roost: A Hip-Hop Feminist Breaks It Down. As Morgan writes, we needed a feminism that understands how "truth can't be found in the voice of any one rapper, but in the juxtaposition of many… they lie at the magical intersection where those contrary voices meet—the juncture where 'truth' is no longer black and white, but subtle, intriguing shades of gray."

As part of my quest to find such a feminism, I ordered more books about Black feminism including those by Patricia Hill Collins and bell hooks. I perused through essays by Beverly Guy-Sheftall and Barbara Smith. I read feminist studies on the writings of Alice Walker and Zora Neale Hurston.

Feminism and I formed a “situationship.” Where in a relationship you relate to the other party involved, I could appreciate learning about Black feminism… but I still couldn't seem to shake the idea of how “white” it was. While Morgan, Guy-Sheftall, Smith, hooks, and Collins helped me see myself in the mirror of feminism, its reflection was still fuzzy. I found myself still in search of an ideology that I could relate to. Not knowing of anything else at the time, I reluctantly linked up with feminism.

As I read more about the history of feminism, I understood my apathy. Doing research prior to joining my sorority, I learned that the founders of Delta Sigma Theta were regulated to march in the back of the processional, because of their race during the 1913 Women's Suffrage March. When doing a paper on the history of Black women voting, I learned that the rift in the alliance between Frederick Douglass, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and Susan B. Anthony was caused with the decision to either support voting rights for Black men or White women. While I wasn’t really trying to claim feminism, historically it wasn’t claiming me either. The situationship lasted for the remainder of my undergraduate tenure up until my second year of doctoral school.

That's when I met Womanism.

Props must go to my Black Political Theory professor. In a discussion with him about what I wanted to study regarding Black women, he suggested that I check out Dr. Clenora Hudson Weems's 1993 classic Africana Womanism: Reclaiming Ourselves. This book too was like looking in a mirror, but with a clearer reflection. Here was an ideal whose founding roots shared my own: being a woman of African descent in America. It was something I could relate to, therefore form a relationship with. I had dreamed of a "feminism" that didn't reluctantly acknowledge the racist roots of feminism, but that called it out on its bullshit. Dr. Weems did just that in her definition:

Africana Womanism is a term I coined and defined in 1987 after nearly two years of publicly debating the importance of self-naming for Africana woman. Why the term "Africana Womanism?" Upon concluding that the term "Black Womanism" was not quite the terminology to include the total meaning desired for this concept, I decided that "Africana Womanism," a natural evolution in naming, was the ideal terminology for two basic reasons. The first part of the coinage, Africana, identifies the ethnicity of the woman being considered, and this reference to her ethnicity, establishing her cultural identity, relates directly to her ancestry and land base: Africa. The second part of the term, Womanism, recalls Sojourner Truth's powerful impromptu speech "Ain't I A Woman," one in which she battles with the dominant alienating forces in her life as a struggling Africana woman, questioning the accepted idea of womanhood. Without question, she is the flip side of the coin, the co-partner in the struggle for her people, one who, unlike the White woman, has received no special privileges in American society.

As good as feminism could be, it still fails to address how intersectionalities—like race and gender—further complicated the realities of women of color. (An example of this is the recent discussions around closing the wage gap that white women like Patricia Arquette champion, without acknowledging that Black women make even less.)

Womanism does a better job at this, but it’s not perfect either. We have our beef, too. First there is a sense of exclusiveness, even among Black people. In reading about other Womanist works, there is a strong emphasis on spirituality and religion. By centering the concept around a particular religious belief, we are pretty much guilty of the same crime we accuse White feminists of committing: leaving folks out. I'm reminded of the approach Malcolm X proposed in his speech, “The Ballot or the Bullet.” Regardless of our backgrounds, we must all come together to realize that we are catching the same two kinds of hell in America constantly: being Black and being woman. We cannot afford to ostracize anybody from our cause—no matter how religious affiliation, sexual identity, class, or education background. Every type of Black woman is necessary and should be represented in our fight for liberation. It makes no sense that we vote at the highest rate of all voters, yet our social progress is still among the lowest.

There is strength in solidarity and inclusiveness.

Second, I take issue with Womanism being a belief more so than an ideology. A belief is based on faith or perspective. It is what a person thinks or perceives. As noted by Karl Mannehiem in Idelology and Utopia, “an ideology is a vehicle used to mobilize a belief.”

Womanism still lags behind feminism in its ability to mobilize around womanist beliefs. From modern feminism’s early origins within the Suffrage Movement, women mobilized around the issues they believed in by forming organizations such as National American Women's Suffrage Association (NAWSA) and the National Organization for Women (NOW). As history has tells us, these mobilization efforts have done a pretty decent job thus far.
Africana Womanism, to me, has not yet reached that level of influence yet. We still need a vehicle to move our agenda forward, and we still need to create a centralized agenda on our own terms. We need to be our own champions, and not rely on the examples set for us by white women or Black men. We need to move from the trajectory of margin to center, as bell hooks, famed Black feminist, would tell us.

So am I a Black feminist? Yes and no. Am I a Womanist? Yes and no.

I guess I'm like Joan Morgan, in a sense. I have a need. I need a Womanism that encompasses the spirit and passion of Black feminism. I need a Black feminism that truly advocates for us, understanding that Black women are quick to get lost in the shuffle of other issues.

I need "the intriguing shades of gray" of both, I suppose.
Ashley Daniels (also known as Ashfronomenal) is a third year Ph.D. student in Political Science program at Howard University in Washington, D.C. She is currently featured in the book, "The Miseducation of..." from the Ignorant Intellectuals. To purchase, please email ignorantintellectuals@gmail.com.

Last weekend The Soul Train awards aired on BET and Centric. The ceremony, named for the long-running weekly broadcast that showcased the best in R&B and Soul music, was an unapologetically Black and Proud event filled with our most talented and treasured entertainers.

by Kel Daroe @keldaroe

I have a complicated relationship with Halle Berry. I have admired her work, mainly Losing Isaiah and Introducing Dorothy Dandridge. She inspired my haircut senior year of college, not long after she won her history-making Academy Award. She is beautiful—unbelievably beautiful, virtually keeping the same physique for over 20 years. She has stood for me, and women like me, in places we were previously forbidden—on the covers of high-fashion magazines, and the podiums of the world’s most exclusive awards. And yet, when I think of her and her body of work, I am mostly nonplussed.

by Mariette Williams

I am irreparably broken. My adoption was an earthquake that shattered my life. When I was three, the ground beneath me suddenly rocked and heaved me into the air, shards of concrete and glass pummeling my body. When I finally landed on the broken earth, I was another child with a new last name in another family.

by Leah C.K. Lewis

Some time ago, I was pondering this question: Do people of color unknowingly support entertainers who are bigots? We must, right? Unless an actor reveals his or her political views explicitly, we do not have a clue where they stand on racial issues.

by Altheria Gaston

On Tuesday night, September 8, 2015, I was among millions of people across the world tuned-in to ESPN to watch the U.S. Open Quarterfinal competition featuring two iconic players—Venus Williams and Serena Williams. In Fortune’s "Can Venus and Serena Williams Save Tennis Ratings?" Mary Pilon noted that the match was the second most watched tennis broadcast in ESPN history. Tickets to the match, held at the Arthur Ashe Stadium, the largest tennis stadium by capacity (22,547), were sold-out. And Twitter was on fire with tweets about Venus and Serena—150,000 tweets about Venus and over 190,000 about Serena.

by Kimberly Foster (@KimberlyNFoster)

Janelle Monáe is a decidedly political artist. She’s the kind of creative voice we need. Someone whose work helps you make sense of yourself and the times. What sets her apart is not a willingness to speak but an ability to deliver multilayered analysis of complicated social issues. Since her mixtape days, she has, sonically, lyrically, and aesthetically articulated a vision for liberation.

By Veronica Agard

The initial dust may have settled on the unscripted confrontation between Nicki Minaj and Miley Cyrus at the Video Music Awards, but the ongoing conversations on the subject are far from over. Tone policing and the debates on calling out versus calling in are critical and intense conversations to have, and the best examples of this can be found through discussions on #BlackLivesMatter. As the hashtag continues to move from the keyboard to the streets, the frequency of confrontations and debates has increased.

While sifting through the latest updates on my Facebook feed earlier this week, I saw the first mention of a horrible “joke” from a show in which Amy Poehler is the executive producer. Poehler, whose rise to fame included a regular spot on the Saturday Night Live series and Parks and Recreation, has also created a feminist organization called Amy Poehler’s Smart Girls. However, in her latest role as a producer of Hulu’s show Difficult People, she made a painfully careless choice.

By Barbara Gonzalez

The internet recently broke with love and adoration for Disney Channel sweetheart Rowan Blanchard. On August 22nd, Rowan took to Instagram and posted three screenshots of a Tumblr post in which she responded to a question asking how she feels about the term “white feminism” and how common feminism might exclude women of color and non cis/queer women. She responded with a very well thought out answer, addressing the fact that the ways in which women of color and trans women experience feminism are completely excluded from white feminism. She talked about wage inequality, police brutality, Sandra Bland, India Clarke, and Amandla Stenberg. White feminists and mainstream media outlets alike poured sugary-sweet adoration into their coverage of the starlet, using strong adjectives like “powerful” and “engaging.”

by Kesiena Boom

White women’s mediocrity and propensity for wanting credit where none is due are the background noise of basic-ass feminism. This low level buzzing of bullshit is annoying as hell, but I’ve mainly gotten used to it and can usually go about my business without paying it much mind. Sometimes, however, the buzz becomes so high pitched and ridiculous that I feel compelled to comment.

by Danielle Stevens for This Bridge Called Our Health

I think some of the discourse emerging from these ‪#‎IfIDieInPoliceCustody and ‪#‎WhatHappenedToSandraBland‬ conversations are dangerously limited. Folks are saying “Sandra Bland was mentally sound” and “Black women like her would never commit suicide”, etc. Not only are we upholding precarious and dehumanizing ‘strong black woman’ archetypes that neglect to hold Black women in the fullness and breadth that we embody, but our failure to operate within a mental health & disability justice framework by making the assertion that Sandra Bland was ‘mentallly sound’ in order to prove that she did not commit suicide is a dangerous narrative that both devalues black people who navigate mental health difficulties and trauma and also erases their/our narratives from the conversation.

by Dee Rene

One difficult part of friendship is watching your friend suffer and not being able to help them move through it. A friend with depression seems to be slowly drowning and you feel like you aren’t able to send them a lifesaver.

by Kwanzaa Imani

Last week, Abigail Fisher’s case against The University of Texas at Austin gained media attention when she announced that she would once again be taking it before the Supreme Court. In 2008, Fisher filed a discrimination suit against the school, making the claim that they had denied her admission while accepting less qualified students of color because affirmative action laws gave them an unfair advantage due to their race.

In the last week, six Black churches have been burned down in the south. Churches in Charlotte, NC, Knoxville, TN, Macon, GA, Warrenville, SC, Tallahassee, FL, and Gibson County, TN have been burned down at the tail end of a mass church shooting in Charleston, SC. There has been limited media coverage of possible connection of these church burnings. Investigators suspect arson in at least three of the cases.

The hashtag was created by Twitter user andie_walsh and has over 90,000 tweets. Thousands took to Twitter using the hashtag #WhoIsBurningBlackChurches demanding immediate media coverage.

by Thea Monyeé

Racism is not about blackness. It is about whiteness.

by Carmen Jones

by Leah C.K. Lewis

The domestic terrorism unleashed at Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church (Mother Emanuel) last night in Charleston, South Carolina, “the Holy City,” starkly displays the hypocrisy of U.S. Christianity. According to the Pew Research Center, 70.6% of U.S. citizens identify as Christian. If in fact, nearly two-thirds of the people of this country who purport to be disciples of Jesus Christ, the Messiah, stood for LOVE there is no way in hell that the murder and oppression of African Americans would be anywhere near acceptable and well-tolerated.

by Thea Monyee´ 

This conversation is long overdue. If I could sit down with black and white culture, I’d tell them, “Black culture, white culture does not want you, does not love you, and will not change for you. If and when white culture makes changes, it will be rooted in a movement from within its own culture, not yours.”

by Anna Gibson


David Banner recently came under fire for his comments regarding women on Twitter. In a short series of tweets, he stated, “If you want a man that respects the way you think then show more mind than ass. If you cater to the savage qualities of a man why are you surprised that he continues to be savage? That is how you got him.”