by KV Thompson

“Don’t let the birth of your black daughter be the first time you respect a black woman” - Always Be Woke on Tumblr

My dad put me on a pedestal. In his eyes, I could do no wrong. I could tell that he cared for me by how present he was in my life. He was at every basketball game, every awards ceremony, every play, anything else that centered around his only daughter.

He respected me as an equal. He believed in my potential so much that many conversations were spent on talking about how much I was going to achieve and how successful I could be. My dad showed me how to be treated by a man, but he was flawed.
How he treated his daughter didn’t always transfer to how he treated women.

My dad was, for a lack of better words, a player. He was charming. Very charming. Growing up I noticed how women gravitated towards him. Women. Plural.

When I was a teenager I witnessed my dad have several women rotating in and out of the house. Sometimes it seemed like he had a new friend for every day of the week.

I don’t want to disclose all of his business (God rest his soul), but I witnessed him exhibit characteristics that he warned me about, the ain’t shit men I should avoid. For me, he was the perfect man. For women he courted (or whatever he was doing), he was exactly the type of man he didn’t want me to end up with.

He taught me to be strong and never fall for the type of man he was to other women. He taught my brothers that women were disposable.

The cognitive dissonance I experienced growing up caused me to rationalize the constant misogynoir I witnessed. Misogynoir from the hands of my father and brothers and close friends and other family members. It seemed all the men I knew were indoctrinated in the same poisoning patriarchal system.

I rationalized, “Maybe those women deserved to be played, but I’m different. I’m my father’s daughter.”

When he died I ended up with the exact type of guy my dad wouldn’t want me to end up with. Worse even. I had to realize I am not above any woman. I am every woman. We all deserve to be treated better.


We are bombarded with images of Black men holding guns with their daughter and her prom date. Black men are saying, “Respect my daughter, or I will end your life,” but are teaching their sons to be sexually irresponsible. Teaching their sons to be unemotional and detached with women and in their relationships, forgetting that we have to meet up one day.

Who will protect your daughter from someone’s son? A son that was brought up the same way you were. The same way you raised your son to be.

In Beyonce’s “Daddy Lessons,” she explores how her dad taught her to be strong with men. In the chorus she repeats:

“With his gun, and his head held high
He told me not to cry

Oh, my daddy said shoot/
Oh, my daddy said shoot”

Her dad told her to “shoot.” Which is reminiscent of images of daughters and their gun totting dad’s in prom photos.

Later she says:

“When trouble comes to town
And men like me come around”

Her father is preparing her to protect herself from men just like him. Like my father did for me. Like many fathers do for their daughters.
But daughters who have a great relationship with their father want a man just like their him. Daddy’s girls are going through the world looking for men that can live up to the expectations they set,  an expectation that can never be realized because not even our fathers lived up to the hype.

Don’t let the birth of your Black daughter be the first time you respect a Black woman because her being your daughter won’t stop her from being affected by your sins.


Photo: Parkwood Entertainment

KV Thompson grew up in St. Louis, MO and graduated with a BA in Cultural Anthropology from Webster University. She currently teaches 4th grade in St. Louis.

I first heard about a “pop star suicide attempt” in passing while TMZ was playing on the television during a visit to my mother-in-law in Fort Greene. Then, while scrolling through Facebook later that evening, I saw a Blavity post about Nick Cannon visiting Kehlani in the hospital. I may not know the singer personally, but anytime a life is saved, I consider that a beautiful thing. I recognized her name, and although I'm not very familiar with her music, I have been a fan of her style for a while.

Upon checking out some of her music, it dawned on me that baby girl might be super bad and tatted up, but she's going through the same things every other 20 year old woman goes through.
I found a particularly disrespectful round up of tweets in one article that suggested that not only is Kehlani a “hoe,” but that any woman “defending her” was a hoe as well. This infuriated me.

While back tracking through news stories and blogs online, it became clear that a variety of societal ills and people were to blame for this life almost being lost. We could place all the blame on toxic masculinity and cyber bullying, but there is a particular group of people involved in the situation that were not only silent, but also complicit in creating the misogynistic framing of the entire episode—Black men.

It is high time that our brothers realize the impact of their words, attitudes and behavior, in seriousness or jest, when it comes to Black women, and it is imperative that they take a stand in our defense when we are attacked on any basis, but especially when it is because we were
“theirs” at some point and moved on.

Party Next Door, Kehlani's self-professed first love, posted a photo on his Instagram of the two holding hands in bed with the caption “After all her shenanigans, I got the r&b singer back in my bed.”

Let's examine that.

I can tell you plainly that I don't know Kehlani, Kyrie Irving or Party Next Door personally. I will never be privy to the ins, outs and intricacies of their relationship. For all I know, Party Next Door is as deeply in love with Kehlani as she is with him. That is my hope, and I have no reason to believe otherwise. This post may very well have been his expression of that love, passion and excitement about getting back together with the one that got away.

But we need to look at the language here.

Party Next Door could have announced to the world in a multitude of ways that he and Kehlani were back together and he chose the most sexual, possessive, minimizing language humanly possible to describe his reunion with a woman he supposedly loves. The post starts out insinuating that Kehlani was the reason for their break up. It was her “shenanigans” that caused her to wind up with someone else. But in spite of that, she was back in bed with her ex. Not in his arms. Not in his life. In his bed. They may not have even done anything intimate during the time the photo was taken but with this phrasing, he sends a message of blame and ownership. It suggests they had sex. As if he was trying to say “she was fucking up but she's still mine and I hit that- ha ha.”

That is a dangerous way to present your reunion with a black woman in the public eye to the world. Kehlani was in another high profile relationship, and Party Next Door’s words promote violent, dehumanizing language in the name of subtly shaming a woman, giving outsiders permission to be outright disrespectful because we have now collectively decided she is a “thot.”

Men and women in relationships are partners, and the moment you engage in shaming a woman for exercising her freedom as a result of your perceived lack of allegiance to her counterpart, past or present, you are actively engaging in misogyny. In the case of Black women there is a particularly violent and disrespectful way they are shamed as a direct result of prevalent notions suggesting we are simultaneously undesirable and hyper sexual. “How dare this b*tch. She's lucky he even looked her way! But you know how ‘they are.’”

Party Next Door set her up for this.

He may love her, but we need to acknowledge the tendency of men, even when they are in love or a relationship, to act and speak about the women in their lives as though they are property- and/or disposable. Party Next Door, and all men who claim to be in love with black women, need to be accountable for how their language perpetuates and reinforces misogyny, intentionally or unintentionally.
We see it all the time. Black man loves black woman. Black woman loves black man. Black man and black woman are no longer in love/break up. Black man all of a sudden never thought she was shit anyway. Black woman moves on. Black man suddenly recalls how much of a bitch/ho/lame Black woman is and actually always was. Black community comes to defense of black man and shames black woman for being “loose” and a “hoe” and moving on “too fast.” Meanwhile black man is on his third girlfriend and 9th hooker since the break up.

Party Next Door is out of line not only for making that post, but also for offering no public apology for such a blatant act of machismo at the expense of his lady. He deleted the post that started the fire storm without addressing what he said and how he said it. That is a problem. Language matters. Public reaction to their getting back together might not have been any less brutal if he captioned the photo with “So good to have my baby back.” But how even the men we love frame their relationships with us during and after them reflects their disrespect for black women.

As for Kyrie, he may be hurt, but I cannot give him a pass for staying silent while the Internet tore her apart. If he ever loved that girl, regardless of how he feels in this moment, he should have come to her defense.

Even if they did not break up amicably. Even if he feels like she moved on too quickly. Even if the girl is lying and she did cheat, I would really love to see the same grace bestowed upon Black women that is bestowed on Black men when relationships end.

Folks are still calling Amber Rose a slut and acting like she destroyed her family when it was Wiz Khalifa who cheated on her. People still treat Karrueche as though she is at fault for the deterioration of her relationship with Chris Brown. Meanwhile he was singing about disloyal hoes while getting other women pregnant. Ciara is expected to wait for Future to bring his simple ass to the future and step up to the plate as a daddy, making it impossible for another man to do so, instead of be happy with her current fiancé in a functional, healthy, committed relationship.

This is the pattern we will continue to see if Black men don't step up. Until loving a Black woman is about more than having her in your bed and laying claim to her body, we can expect more of the same. Until Black women are allowed to be sexy for themselves and not the man they're with at the moment, we will continue to be harassed for existing in our truths. Until Black men stop forgetting their entire journey with Black women the moment it ends because they cannot get out of their feelings long enough to show the kind of love that doesn't involve sex, every Black woman who ever loves more than one person in her lifetime will be subject to what Ciara, Kehlani, and so many others have been victim to.

Black men should to react to the words “hoe,” “slut,” “thot,” and “trick” the same way you would if you heard a woman call a man a “dog.” I want Black men to realize your sisters, mamas, cousins, and, yes—one day your daughters—will make use of their vaginas and like it. This will occur with multiple men (and perhaps some women.) This is the natural order of things. You are all products of some form of Black love no matter how long it lasted. Black women are tired of having to bring up mothers, sisters, aunties and female cousins in order to appeal to Black men’s love for Black women you know personally as though we are not all the daughters, sisters, lovers, cousins, mothers and grandmas of Black people. Kehlani's experience with being judged after moving on is the story of every black woman who has ever dated or dared to love more than one person in her lifetime. It's about time we acknowledged the second class citizen status of black women and started loving them longer than it takes for them to realize a relationship is not working out.

Author Note 4/20/18: While my identification of Kehlani as a Black woman was woefully misguided, I stand by the points made in this piece and hope they resonate despite my misstep. 

Photograph by WireImage

Yesterday, I was harassed over ten times.

Not just on the street, and not just in the form of whistling and yelling... I was stopped four times on my way home by folks who just wanted to ask me for the time, talk about the weather, or discuss where I was going while they followed me. Men continued to approach me, draining me of my energy and demanding my attention for small talk.

It's safe (and disheartening) to say that in some way, most women, girls, and femmes have experienced some form of catcalling. Catcalling is an umbrella term for sexual harassment and gender violence that includes sexist remarks/demands, dog whistling, or aggressive intimidation tactics to adhere to someone's advances. Yet, catcalling—often used to describe street harassment—does not encompass the other atrocities of predatory misogyny. Catcalling needs to be expanded upon, as this violence of denying our own agency and humanity based on someone else’s sexualization of us goes beyond just the street, and beyond commentary made in passing.


During Christmas time, someone offered to allow me to cut the line while I was getting on the bus (despite my boarding pass being #25) to travel back home for the holiday. I was also able to merely exist, and subsequently sexualized and ogled by the bus driver, enough for him to load my extra bag in the undercarriage for free. Later, I was given double portions and a free meal because the cashier thought I was pretty. Further into my weekend, a bouncer at a club gave me a pass for not having my ID on me because he wanted my number.

These scenarios speak to how catcalling is often deemed as "favors" predicated on the sexualization and beauty positioning that these men and masculine folks codify upon our bodies. I speak to beauty positioning because I believe that there is a hierarchy created out of the misogyny and violence of oppressive beauty standards (re: presentation and performance) that deems some of us worthy of these "favors.” In fact, we are just being forced to fit into someone else’s dangerously limited idea of sexualized attraction (RE: our proximities to whiteness, thinness, ability, height, and other features and presentations deemed socially acceptable). I would never acknowledge receiving these "favors" as a privilege because they are purely based in sexualization and fetishization.

These “favors” are a vestige of rape culture, and there must be a need to challenge how rape culture manifests within our everyday navigation.

On the opposing spectrum of this kind of misogynistic violence are the times I'm blatantly ignored because I'm seen as too ugly to be paid attention or courteous to. Or disregarded as a person because someone else's humanity is more valuable.

When I was in 7th grade, two boys in my middle school class pulled me into the bathroom, pushed me down, called me fat and ugly, and spit on me. I'll never forget how disgusting I felt. As the school year progressed, I was continuously harassed as a result of them plaguing the other girls in my class with more “acceptable” forms of misogyny—such as harassment disguised as being a “crush.” The reality set in that the particular type of harassment I suffered—being pushed, insulted, and spat on—would never happen to a pretty, thin, white girl.

Years ago, at a house party, I was punched in the face by a guy who felt like I talked too much shit and, thus, deserved to be put in my place. When he hit me, more men laughed with him than those who came to my rescue.Their lack of sympathy still resonates with me as a consequence of living in a beauty-obsessed rape culture. When other men participate in group misogyny and violence against femmes like me—who are often seen as inconveniences—that reaffirms the norm of defiling bodies that are not “worthy” of misogynistic desire.


When I was sexually assaulted, all I could think about was how one of my classmates said, “No one would ever rape someone as ugly as you.” This disgusting comment from my classmate resonated with me in ways that challenged me from coming forward. When I finally opened up about my assault, no one believed me because they couldn't imagine a fat black girl being raped. After the assault, I was even met with the question, "But you're pretty big. Why couldn't you fight him off?" This only reaffirmed that my body and existence are not worthy of such a
“prestigious” form of misogynistic violence. Many people believe that rape, assault, and catcalling only happen to those deemed worthy of this kind of gendered violence. Thus, a violent, misogynistic compliment should be appreciated with silence.

There is a hierarchy of deservingness put on women, girls, femmes, and non-masculine bodies that delegate a culture of misogyny on a violent spectrum. Women who are categorized as beautiful should expect to be sexually harassed, while those who are categorized as ugly should be grateful for the attention and consideration. In addressing this spectrum of violence, we need to complicate our understandings of street harassment and catcalling. Erasure is an equally violent form of misogynistic brutality against our bodies.

We are affected everyday when our safety is based upon someone else's sexualization or beauty positioning of our bodies in order to determine our worthiness and humanity. Let's challenge spaces to include narratives and experiences that speak to being ignored, marginalized, or violated for not being "pretty enough" to be humanized. We must demand that our value as human beings—whether we identify as woman, girl, or femme—exist outside of the dominant scope and gaze of rape culture. Our humanity is not currency for survival. We deserve to exist free from fear, free from expectation, and free from misogynistic violence.

Photo: Shutterstock

Ashleigh Shackelford is a radical queer Black fat femme based in Richmond, VA. Ashleigh is a cultural producer, body positivity advocate, pop culture enthusiast, and a run-on sentence repeat offender. They are a community organizer at Black Action Now and the director of Free Figure Revolution. Find more posts at: BlackFatFemme.com.

by Candace Simpson @CandyCornball

To be a “canary in a coal mine” means that one is so sensitive to environmental conditions that one’s suffering sends a warning signal to others nearby. The expression comes from the practice of using canaries as alarms in mining tunnels. The canary’s lungs were so delicate that it would be affected by toxic gases and die. The canary, vulnerable and small, helped to signal danger for the miners.

by Kimberly Foster @KimberlyNFoster

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 Bee Quammie

As a married woman, almost nothing makes my skin crawl like hearing someone speak on “how to be a wife.” Through the successes and failures of myself and others, I’ve learned that the best guide includes knowing who you are, finding a significant other that isn’t necessarily the same as you but is in sync with you, and treating your relationship as a living entity that ebbs, flows, and shifts energy throughout. These things are unique to each person and each relationship, so anyone pushing a cookie-cutter mold is fallacious, careless, and untrustworthy.

By Veronica Agard

While living in this heteropatriarchal society, examples of male ego tripping can run the gamut from asinine comments to full-blown violence. As someone who facilitates free safe spaces for women of color, I’ve witnessed the pushback to this firsthand and have often been asked about male participation – “why can’t men be attend?” “that’s sexist!” or something to that effect. In direct response to this, many sister circles and healing cyphers become very intentional when it comes to who can enter their spaces and with whom they engage in conversations on checking male privilege and patriarchy. There is hope in conversations on healthy masculinities and allyship, but the return of #MasculintySoFragile and the backlash that followed serves as a painful reminder of the work that remains to be done.

by Anna Gibson

In a recent spat of jackassery, rapper Nipsey Hussle took to Twitter to affirm his views on black women by responding to the following tweet from another user: “BLACC [sic] FEMALES ARE A DISGRACE TO BLACK CULTURE.” After Black Twitter dragged him by his snapback all over the Internet, he attempted to backpedal, saying, “Shout out to all my Queens out there though.”

by Kimberly Foster @KimberlyNFoster

Wrestling with the past is painful. If we were to try to write every figure who committed despicable acts out of our histories, there would be no one left to revere. So it seems easier not to reckon with the violence that shapes our world—that shapes our thought.

by Malaika Jabali

In the wake of Sandra Bland’s death, author Ro Cutno created this image:

by Malaika Jabali

Between Meek Mill gushing over girlfriend Nicki Minaj during the BET Awards and Russell Wilson pronouncing that his relationship with Ciara is “anointed,” black love has been winning in the last few weeks. But rapper-turned-podcast-host Joe Budden is none too satisfied with these developments. When recapping the BET Awards on a recent podcast, Budden expressed disgust at Meek Mill’s loving interactions with Nicki throughout the awards show. While Budden’s female co-host admired the affectionate pair, Budden protested. Amid his color struck nonsense about how light skinned men don’t engage in similarly “sappy shit,” Budden said Meek’s behavior was “nasty” and that it contrasted Meek's typically hardcore lyrics.

by Khadijah Costley White on Quartz

This past weekend, millions of people watched a terrible scene unfold—we held our breath as a white police officer grabbed a black girl in a bathing suit by her hair and sat down on her. We heard her sobbing, we watched the officer pull out his gun and point it at two boys as they responded to her cries.

by SaVonne Anderson

by Kesiena Boom

by Marquaysa Battle


In 2015, I shouldn't have to still make this point. Unfortunately, my recent encounter with an incredibly intelligent man I thought would know much better tells me otherwise.

by Kesiena Boom 


The success of television shows such as Empire—starring Taraji P. Henson as the inimitable, indomitable, and downright inspirational Cookie Lyon—and How To Get Away With Murder—headed by Viola Davis in all her stony, complex wonder—has demonstrated irrefutably that the public is interested in tuning into stories driven by and exploring the many-layered lives of Black women. The ratings for the former did the impossible and grew without fail every week of its first season, an accomplishment that would be notable even if it didn’t star a Black woman and feature an almost entirely Black cast.

I recall a protest I recently went to during downtown Detroit’s annual Noel Night, a Christmas themed celebratory event hosted by the Detroit Institute of Arts. It’s huge—most residents from across the Detroit metro area attend it. Unlike the hundreds that milled around outside the DIA however, I was one of a hundred or so others lying on the ground looking at the stars.

by Marissa A. L. Jackson

Since we're telling truths about our community "heroes" lately...

by Stephanie Gates

“These hoes ain’t loyal.” I wake up too many mornings with the hook playing in my head. Here’s the kicker: I hate this song! And yet I can’t get it out of my head right now because it’s stuck on repeat. This happens every time I’m somewhere the song plays. I like the beat and I don’t want to because I can’t stand songs with misogynistic lyrics. So, the fact that this song won’t leave me alone, means that I need to write about it. I need to explain why I detest this and similar songs that treat women as things. A hoe is a thing; it’s an object. It is a tool to be used. It is easily discarded and replaced. So, when we sing along to the catchy beat, we subconsciously accept that women and girls are things. We accept that they are disposable.  And we don’t recognize their humanity.