In the landscape of feminism, the importance of intersectionality cannot be overstated, yet it often remains overlooked. Coined by Black civil rights advocate Kimberlé Williams Crenshaw in the 1980s, intersectionality examines how overlapping identities—such as race, gender, religion, and sexual orientation—interact within systems of oppression and discrimination.
As a woman of color, I have frequently found it challenging to identify as a feminist. Initially, I attributed this hesitation to the societal stigma surrounding the term. However, upon deeper reflection, I realized it stemmed from a feeling that mainstream feminism did not encompass my reality. The feminism presented to me—one that many women encounter—often reflects a narrow (and predominantly white) perspective, prompting me to investigate why women of color, particularly Black women like myself, have been systematically marginalized within the conversation.
Women of color, queer women, and those who exist outside the traditional narrative are increasingly weary of their exclusion from the feminist discourse. In a time when being “other” is rapidly becoming the norm, it is imperative that feminism embraces these diverse voices.
The exclusion of women of color is not a new phenomenon in the history of feminism. Early suffragettes fought for the voting rights of white women while deeming Black men inferior, effectively sidelining Black women altogether. The second wave of feminism, emerging post-Civil Rights Movement, allowed Black women limited participation, often in superficial ways. Had white feminists genuinely empowered women of color within the movement, the call for intersectionality might not be as urgent today.
As feminism gained prominence, the racial divide became increasingly apparent. Following the Obama presidency, many white women felt a sense of pride in voting for a Black candidate, yet some harbored resentment after Hillary Clinton lost the nomination in 2008. This resentment manifested in 2016, when white women questioned women of color’s commitment to feminism for not rallying behind Clinton, despite her history of failing to support people of color. When women of color voiced concerns about being politically underrepresented, they were often dismissed as divisive rather than heard.
Despite these obstacles, Black women turned out in strong numbers to vote for Clinton, contrasting sharply with the 45 percent of college-educated white women who supported Trump without cause. Furthermore, Black women played a crucial role in mobilizing votes against Roy Moore in Alabama, demonstrating a commitment to collective justice that extends beyond their own interests.
Yet, the contributions of women of color are frequently appropriated by white women, who often receive the credit. A prime example is the Women’s March, initially called the Million Women’s March, which was inspired by Black women’s activism in response to the Million Man March in 1997. From the beginning, the Women’s March lacked true intersectionality; a predominantly white board only diversified in response to public criticism. However, many women of color still felt marginalized, despite seeing prominent women of color speaking at the event.
Similarly, the #MeToo movement, founded by Black activist Tarana Burke, was co-opted by white women and transformed into a widely recognized campaign. Yet, women of color, particularly Black women, often remained sidelined in discussions about sexual assault. When actress Aurora Perrineau accused a writer from the show Girls of assault, the supposed allyship of millennial feminist icon Lena Dunham faltered as she defended the accused, highlighting a troubling pattern of exclusion directed at women of color.
The absence of Tarana Burke from the Time Magazine cover celebrating the #MeToo movement exemplifies the ongoing struggle for recognition. While Black women were present, Burke, the movement’s founder, was notably absent, a glaring oversight that speaks volumes about representation.
This is why intersectionality is essential to the feminist narrative: a singular experience cannot define the realities of all women. White women have historically dominated the feminist discourse, dismissing alternative perspectives as divisive. We are not being divisive; we are striving to be recognized.
If the table can accommodate all voices, why do only white women receive invitations? When women of color raise their concerns, they are often dismissed and labeled as troublemakers. Rather than shutting down these voices, it is crucial for white cisgender heterosexual women to listen. When a friend voices their struggles, respond not with sympathy, but with acknowledgment and a commitment to support.
We are not seeking to replicate the privileges of white America; we are advocating for our right to pursue what we have been told is our due as Americans.
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In summary, intersectionality is vital for a truly inclusive feminist movement. Without recognizing the diverse experiences of women, particularly those of color, feminism risks becoming another tool of exclusion rather than liberation.