Why I Can’t Get With White Feminism

“White feminism will never set me free. It was never built to.” — Jennifer Gaskin

Let me go ahead and say it plain: I can’t get with white feminism. And I never could—not because I don’t believe in equity or empowerment, but because I know exactly who was left out when the invitations were sent.

Black women were never part of the blueprint.

From the start, the women’s movement in this country was built on the backs of Black women and then sold without us in mind. At Seneca Falls in 1848, the so-called founding moment of American feminism, there were no Black women present. Not because we didn’t care about our rights—but because we weren’t considered. White women like Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony made it clear: they would rather align with white supremacy than share power with Black people. When Black men were granted the right to vote before white women, they turned their rage on us, as though we were the problem.

They wanted suffrage, but not solidarity.

Even decades later, during the 1960s and 70s feminist movements, white feminism failed to acknowledge the complexity of our experiences. While white women talked about escaping the house, we were often cleaning it. While they demanded liberation from the patriarchy, many refused to confront the racism that shaped their comfort. They didn’t see us. They didn’t hear us. And in many cases, they didn’t want to.

So when people ask why I don’t just “join the movement,” I remind them that I’ve been part of a different movement—one that centers liberation, not assimilation. I come from a lineage of Black women who have always fought for everyone’s freedom. Who marched, wrote, spoke, and dreamed in the margins. Who didn’t have the privilege to separate race from gender because both were weaponized against us.

White feminism has always been too narrow to hold our truth.

It demands unity without accountability. It preaches empowerment but often practices exclusion. It wants praise for showing up late to a fight we’ve been in from the beginning.

No, I don’t get with white feminism. I don’t need to. I stand with Black feminism—where intersectionality isn’t a buzzword but a lifeline. Where our stories, struggles, and brilliance are not an afterthought, but the foundation.

We don’t need to be included in a version of feminism that was never meant for us. We’re building something better—something that tells the truth, centers the most marginalized, and refuses to replicate the same hierarchies it claims to dismantle.

If that makes people uncomfortable, good. Comfort never changed the world anyway.