CHAPTER FOUR

THE SPECIAL PLIGHT OF BLACK WOMEN

We have a job as black women, to support whatever is right, and to bring in justice where we’ve had so much injustice.

—FANNIE LOU HAMER1

I n October 2020, rapper and songwriter Megan Thee Stallion penned a powerful op-ed in the New York Times titled “Why I Speak Up for Black Women.”² The editorial appeared in the prominent newspaper weeks after news broke that Megan had been allegedly shot by a male acquaintance, Canadian rapper and singer Tory Lanez. In the days following the incident, Megan was subject to a barrage of public critiques and memes on social media. Some critics went as far as to blame Megan for the act of violence—pointing to her “scantily clad” outfits as somehow responsible for the act of violence.³ Other observers deemed the incident “funny,” focusing on the fact that Megan had suffered gunshot wounds to both feet.⁴ Though the female rapper was initially silent on the matter, she decided to take a bold stance several weeks later, writing the op-ed to address the incident and the public’s response. “The way people have publicly questioned and debated whether I played a role in my own violent assault,” Megan wrote, “proves that my fears about discussing what happened were, unfortunately, warranted.”

She went on to confront the problem of misogyny in society, which has allowed men to mistreat and disrespect women with little recourse: “[V]iolence against women is not always connected to being in a relationship. Instead, it happens because too many men treat all women as objects, which helps them to justify inflicting abuse against us when we choose to exercise our own free will.” As Megan explained, this behavior pattern provides an additional hurdle for Black women, “who struggle against stereotypes and are seen as angry or threatening when we try to stand up for ourselves and our sisters.” She drew connections between her own experiences and the experiences of countless other Black women in the United States who are “still constantly disrespected and disregarded in so many areas of life.”5

As an artist, Megan used her massive platform to condemn violence against women, challenge patriarchy, and empower women across the nation. Her passionate editorial, and the courage needed to write it, served as a source of inspiration for many. While Megan used the space in the New York Times to call attention to the many challenges facing Black women during the twenty-first century—including high infant mortality rates and high rates of violence against Black transgender women—she also took the opportunity to encourage them. “[I]t’s ridiculous that some people think the simple phrase ‘Protect Black women’ is controversial,” Megan argued. “We deserve to be protected as human beings. And we are entitled to our anger about a laundry list of mistreatment and neglect that we suffer.” Although she did not identify as a feminist in the article—or even mention the term—Megan articulated core Black feminist ideals, especially women’s empowerment, an emphasis on the unique experiences of Black women, and the overlapping forms of oppression Black women face.⁶

Despite the challenges Black women face in a racist and patriarchal society, Megan emphasized that Black women were still leading the charge to transform American society. Her belief in the difference Black women could make in resisting patriarchy in all its forms is deeply rooted in history. She looked to Black women icons of the past—crediting Rosa Parks and “such legends as Shirley Chisholm, Loretta Lynch, U.S. Representative Maxine Waters and the first Black woman to be elected to the U.S. Senate, Carol Moseley Braun”—for hope and inspiration.7 Megan’s turn to the past is fitting as she tapped into a powerful message about the unique plight of Black women in American society that resonates throughout Black women’s history. Like Fannie Lou Hamer fifty years earlier, Megan Thee Stallion sought to call attention to the interlocking systems of oppression that shape women’s lives.

Although Hamer never self-identified as a feminist, she was deeply committed to the empowerment of women in society, especially in the realm of electoral politics and grassroots organizing, and she did not condone patriarchy or male chauvinism. Hamer also applied a race and gender analysis to her personal and political experiences—emphasizing the intersecting forces that shape Black women’s lives in the United States. Despite her valuable contributions to Black feminist politics, Hamer resisted the label of feminist, much like many other Black women of the period. Her resistance stemmed from a history of distrust. More often than not, white feminists sidelined Black women in the women’s liberation movement of the 1960s and ’70s. The distrust, therefore, did not evolve out of thin air. Writer Toni Morrison argued as much in a 1971 editorial, aptly titled “What the Black Woman Thinks About Women’s Lib.” “What do black women feel about Women’s Lib?” she asked. “Distrust. It is white, therefore suspect.” Morrison’s remarks capture the general disconnect between Black women and mainstream feminist movements of the twentieth century. Although many Black women were interested in the core principles of the women’s liberation movement—especially the focus on expanding women’s social, political, and economic rights—they rejected the movement’s focus on dismantling patriarchy while ignoring racism.⁸ Moreover, Black women found their contributions to the movement, and their specific concerns, largely overlooked. As Morrison explained, “In spite of the fact that liberating movements in the black world have been catalysts for white feminism, too many movements and organizations have made deliberate overtures to enroll blacks and have ended up by rolling them.”⁹ No doubt Hamer’s refusal to embrace the term feminist or join the women’s liberation movement reflects this history. Even more, it signaled Hamer’s refusal to simply fall in line. She maintained her own views on women’s rights—some of which aligned with the movement and many others that departed from it.

Ultimately, Hamer’s ideas on women and gender, even the most controversial ones, significantly strengthened the mainstream feminist movement of the 1960s and ’70s. Her life provided a model for how women could effectively lead in society and resist patriarchy in all its manifestations. But even more, Hamer joined other Black women in centering race and class in discussions of women’s rights and progress. Long before the term intersectionality entered common parlance, Hamer articulated ideas that helped to advance this political vision. She understood her life in intersectional terms and resisted anyone, including white feminists, who recognized gender oppression but failed to grapple with the intersecting dimensions of race and class in particular. For these reasons, Hamer was especially critical of the women’s liberation movement, pointing to the erasure of Black women’s history and contributions.10 She used her voice and influence in these spaces to remind activists of the unique place of Black women in American society. Her ideas and political activities ultimately “provide a genealogy for intersectional thought and black feminism,” and exemplify how individuals who resist the label feminist can still effectively shape feminist politics.¹¹ Hamer’s observations on gender and her own political activities helped to advance Black feminism in the United States, laying the groundwork for contemporary expressions of women’s empowerment—much like the one articulated by Megan Thee Stallion.

“I’M TIRED OF BEING CALLED ‘AUNTY.’”

Hamer’s speeches and interviews capture the activist’s ideas on women and gender. The theme of women’s empowerment and respect ran through her earliest speeches. During the early 1960s, for example, Hamer publicly addressed the disrespect she and other Black women faced in a society that devalued the lives and contributions of Black people. She pointed to the common practice of white people referring to her as girl and Aunty—terms that failed to recognize Hamer’s personhood.¹² “Because actually, I’m tired of being called ‘Aunty,’” Hamer explained. “I wondered in life what [actual] time would they allow for me to be a woman? Because until I was thirty-six I was a girl: ‘Girl this.’ And now I’m forty-six and it’s ‘Aunty.’ But I want you to know tonight: I don’t have one white niece or nephew. And if you don’t want to call me Mrs. Hamer, just call me plain ‘Fannie’ because I’m not your aunt.”13

While reflecting on her experiences at the 1968 Democratic National Convention, Hamer pointed to the disrespect that Black women faced in public spaces. “Something disgusting to me,” she explained, “[was] when one of the women that was with us at that convention, one of the black [women] . . . was not only flanked at that convention, but three security agent stamps was put on her bag. We was watched, some of us, like we was criminals.”¹⁴ Hamer’s comments alluded to the ways white people criminalized Black women—a pattern of behavior that characterized the treatment of Black people in American society during the twentieth century. Hamer’s disgust was rooted in the recognition that Black women, especially members of the working class, were subjected to mistreatment on account of stereotypes that framed Black women as criminals.¹⁵ Even in the context of a political event, as Democrats gathered to select a new presidential nominee for the Democratic Party, Black women encountered suspicion and distrust from their white counterparts. Hamer’s critiques extended beyond the criminalization of Black women. Many of her contemporaries at the earlier 1964 Democratic National Convention later recalled Hamer’s frustration with the minimal female representation in the delegation—men held all the major positions. According to civil rights activist Jeanette King, Hamer “was quite angry about the male domination” and did not hesitate to speak her mind on the issue.¹⁶ Her passionate advocacy on behalf of Black women was transformative for many who were present at the Convention. Wes Watkins, one of the delegates of the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party, later credited Hamer for changing his views on women’s rights and equality. “It made a feminist out of me,” he admitted.¹⁷

Despite—and because of—their mistreatment in American society, Hamer argued that Black women occupied a unique place in society. Echoing a long line of Black women activists who came before her, including Black radicals Claudia Jones and Louise Thompson Patterson, Hamer maintained the belief that Black women were at the center of interlocking oppressions of race, gender, and class.¹⁸ Because Black women occupied the most subordinate position within the national and global racial and gender hierarchies, they were uniquely positioned to advocate for rights and freedom. “We have a job as black women,” Hamer insisted, “to support whatever is right, and to bring in justice where we’ve had so much injustice.”19 In this way, Hamer envisioned Black women as foundational to any movement for women’s rights. Black women’s liberation would therefore constitute the liberation of all women and all people. In the tradition of Black feminist thought, as reflected in the abolitionist movement of the nineteenth century, Hamer fused a desire to eradicate both racism and sexism in American society.²⁰ Her public presence and candid observations served as important reminders of the crucial role Black women played in advocating for women’s rights alongside their demands for civil rights.

In 1972, journalist Franklynn Peterson drew these connections in a special feature on Hamer published in Sepia magazine: “Long before Women’s Lib became a popular vogue, black women of courage like Harriet Tubman and Sojourner Truth made a reality of the women’s liberation movement in their striving for freedom more than a century ago. In today’s era, too, Women’s Lib was far from news to black women when it hit the newspaper headlines and no one better symbolizes that soul sisters were far ahead of their time than Fannie Lou Hamer, who has sometimes been described as the mother of the black female political movement.”²¹ Peterson’s remarks reinforced a point Hamer herself had long argued: Black women were forebears of the women’s rights movement. Indeed, Hamer resisted the notion that Black women were somehow new to the women’s rights movement or otherwise needed to be “awakened” by the women’s liberation movement. She often referenced the decades of Black women’s political work—such as that of abolitionist and women’s rights activist Sojourner Truth—to underscore how vital Black women have always been in the fight for women’s equality. Hamer’s message emphasized this history as foundational to women’s empowerment.

While Hamer passionately advocated for expanded rights and opportunities for women, she made it clear that her position was in no way meant to sideline Black men. On various occasions, she challenged what she viewed as white feminists’ quest for liberation from men—a reaction to the era’s focus on the need to free women from the confines and pressures associated with home and family as well as societal limitations placed upon women because of their gender.22 Betty Friedan’s 1963 book The Feminine Mystique, often credited as sparking the women’s liberation movement, largely captured these sentiments— though it excluded Black women and glossed over working-class women.²³ The book vocalized the frustrations of middle-class and married white women, especially housewives, in American society. While the public call for women’s liberation in the 1960s and ’70s was far more expansive, there were certainly some married women who desired—and perhaps needed—liberation from their husbands. That was not the case for Hamer, and it was not the case for all women. “I’m not fighting to liberate myself from the black man in the South,” she explained, “because, so help me, God, he’s had as many and more severer problems than I’ve had. Because not only has he been stripped of the right to be a politician,” she added, “but he has been stripped of the dignity and the heritage and all the things that any citizen of the country needs.”²⁴ In another instance, she added, “I got a black husband, six feet three, 240 pounds, with a 14 shoe, that I don’t want to be liberated from. But we are here to work side by side with this black man,” she explained, “in trying to bring liberation to all people.”²⁵

Hamer’s relationship with her husband, Pap, shed additional light on her ideas about gender roles. Their relationship did not subscribe to all the conventional expectations of what a woman or man should do in the home. The two maintained mutual respect for each other and shared the household responsibilities, including caring for their children. In describing her early entry into politics, Hamer often recalled Pap’s supportive response when she shared her plans to attend the 1962 mass meeting in Ruleville: “In 1962, that Monday night after the fourth Sunday, I went to this mass meeting, after my husband told me, ‘Well, I tell you what,’ [he] said, ‘I’ll carry you out to that mass meeting tonight if you pick three hundred [pounds of cotton] today.’”²⁶ For Hamer, this was a source of pride—a story she recalled often to underscore the kind of relationship she had with her husband. Though Pap did not join Hamer at the mass meeting that evening, he extended his support for her interest in learning more about the movement by approving her plans on the condition that she would still meet the usual work expectations on the farm.

Hamer’s remarks illuminate the dynamics of her relationship with Pap and the ways the two actively disrupted social norms. While the advent of the women’s liberation movement did much to alter mainstream perspectives on gender roles and expectations, traditional Victorian ideals remained fixed in place in various sectors of society. By this measure, women were expected to attend to the matters of home and family while men participated in all aspects of public life. Years after the 1962 public meeting, while discussing her marriage with Pap, Hamer would describe the nature of their relationship:

Pap is not like most men, too many refuse to let their wives travel all over the country. But, you see, we work together in Mississippi. We have absolute faith in one another. We understand each other and we like young people. When we have a free evening we’ll go to the discotheques or night clubs where the young people go. We dance and learn their steps, listen to them talk, and enjoy ourselves.27

Hamer’s remarks alluded to Pap’s involvement in the movement. Although he did not play a prominent role, Pap supported Hamer’s political activism. During the late 1960s and early 1970s, for example, Pap was involved in the running of Hamer’s Freedom Farm, a community-based rural project to tackle poverty. At one point, Pap even assisted as farm manager and spearheaded several initiatives to support Hamer’s work.²⁸ He also lent his support in the home as Hamer traveled extensively across the nation. That Hamer’s husband would play such an active role in the affairs of the home as his wife led a vibrant political career is a testament to his disavowal of some conventional gender role ideals.²⁹ Hamer addressed this point during a 1976 interview: “We respect each other. We’re not here separately, we’re here together and I stand by him to see what we can do to set this country straight.”³⁰ In this way, Hamer’s relationship with Pap—especially their mutual love, trust, support, understanding, and willingness to compromise—captured the essence of women’s empowerment.

While their day-to-day relationship certainly defied many conventional expectations, Hamer still held moderate views on gender roles—supporting women’s empowerment in every possible way but not completely discarding traditional views about the roles men and women should play in the home and in society at large. Although she praised Pap for supporting her political career and extending a hand of support in their marriage, Hamer also insisted that Pap was fully in charge of the affairs of the home: “He, Mr. Hamer, is the boss of the house.”31 Echoing countless Black women activists of the twentieth century, Hamer also reinforced the idea that Black men’s primary function was to serve as leaders and protectors, arguing that “in men, the strength of this nation lies. Stand up, black men, this nation needs you, mothers need you,” she declared at a speech in 1971. “I call upon all men and women to stand up with pride and dignity,” she added, “but especially black men.”³² In Hamer’s vision, even the strongest women in society could not take the place of men, who Hamer framed as the ones who shouldered the responsibility to lead the nation forward:

I am a woman, strong as any woman my age and size normally, but I am no man. I can think, but I am still a woman and I am a mother, as are most women. I can carry the message, but the burdens of the nation and the world must be shouldered by men. Decisions concerning life, comfort, and security must finally rest in the hands of men. Women can be strength for men, women can help with the decision making, but men will ultimately take the action.³³

Hamer’s remarks exemplify the ideological tensions that many Black women activists of various political persuasions grappled with during the twentieth century. This included Black nationalist women, who walked a fine line between leading and upholding the belief in the primacy of Black male leadership—in part because of how white patriarchy also sought to undermine Black men’s dignity and place in society.³⁴

While Hamer was deeply committed to empowering women and acknowledged the problem of gender discrimination, she reinforced the need for white liberal feminists to include race and class in their analysis. Gender discrimination undeniably shaped the experiences of women, but for women of color, it was by no means their only concern. Hamer, echoing other Black women activists, desired women’s advancement and equality but was equally concerned about addressing racism in society—a system of oppression that affected all Black people, regardless of gender and class. Black women’s dual concern— the dismantling of racism and sexism—was not a new aspect of the longer women’s rights movements; it had been a consistent feature of Black women’s political activism, but many white liberal feminists encountered it for the first time in the 1960s and ’70s. As Congresswoman Shirley Chisholm later recalled, “A lot of women [in the women’s liberation movement] . . . were stuck on the word ‘sisters,’ and they thought we were all sisters. What we were saying is that sisters had different agendas. It was a revelation to some of those [white] women.”35 Chisholm’s remarks highlighted one of Hamer’s contributions to the women’s liberation movement: she helped to broaden the perspectives of white feminists who often viewed the world through a narrow prism. Her public critiques of the movement served as a means to help white feminists better understand the diversity of women’s experiences, shaped by a range of social factors that extended beyond gender.

Hamer was not short on advice for white liberal feminists, but they were not the only ones on her mind. She also thought carefully about the role of Black women in the movement, and she was ever mindful of the way they were vilified in public discussions about the Black community. She forcefully condemned the statements of sociologist Daniel Patrick Moynihan, whose 1965 report The Negro Family: The Case for National Action—dubbed the Moynihan Report—was an indictment of Black women. By implicitly blaming “female-headed households” for poverty in Black communities, Moynihan joined countless other Americans who placed the blame on oppressed groups for the challenges they faced—all the while overlooking systemic oppression. Hamer did not mince words when she told a news reporter that “Moynihan who wrote about black matriarchal society, knows as much about a black family as a horse knows about New Year’s.”³⁶ She added, “We are women but we’ve always had to help, because we know what they’d done to our men but we’ve always helped our husbands.” Hamer reiterated, “There’s nothing wrong with it.”³⁷

Hamer understood that Black women had a unique responsibility to attend to the specific needs of their own families and communities. She demonstrated this commitment through her efforts to end violence against women. During the 1960s and ’70s, Hamer publicly denounced the violence that impoverished Black women in the South faced on a daily basis. She knew firsthand the pain and trauma associated with such violence. The 1963 Winona beating and sexual assault, as well as the forced sterilization she endured, were forever etched in Hamer’s mind. These painful past incidents propelled Hamer to speak candidly about violence against Black women and girls.

Similar to other Black women activists of the period, including Rosa Parks, Hamer was deeply committed to defending and protecting Black women.38 Hamer’s response to the tragic case of Jo Etha Collier provides one example of her work to raise awareness of the issue and seek justice for victims’ families. On May 25, 1971, three white men shot and killed Collier, an eighteen-year-old Black girl in Drew, Mississippi, as she traveled home after her graduation ceremony.³⁹ Although several news reports focused on the fact that the three men were under the influence of alcohol, Hamer and other local activists emphasized other likely motivations for the act of violence.⁴⁰ At the time of the shooting, Collier was an honors student and star athlete at Drew High School, a “formerly lily-white” school in the town.⁴¹ Her graduation, only hours before the shooting, had been widely celebrated by her family and local residents.⁴² Just as Collier was entering a local café, where she had plans to celebrate with loved ones, she was tragically gunned down by Wesley Parks, his brother, Wayne Parks, and their nephew, Allen Wilkerson. “She was black— that was the reason she was shot down,” Hamer explained.⁴³ “I think they had watched this girl, because she was black and smart,” Hamer later added. “This was too much, because they don’t want to believe that black people have the capacity.”⁴⁴

In the aftermath of the shooting, Hamer took on a leading role in seeking justice for Collier’s family. The tragic shooting coincided with Hamer’s state senate campaign—a campaign in which she spoke openly about the need to address white supremacist violence.⁴⁵ Linking Collier’s murder to that of countless others in Mississippi and across the nation—including the killings of Emmett Till, Medgar Evers, Malcolm X, and Martin Luther King Jr.—Hamer denounced racist violence as “sins” of the nation. “Miles of paper and film cannot record the many injustices this nation has been guilty of,” she added.46 As she worked to raise greater awareness of these injustices, Hamer was also deeply concerned with meeting the needs of Collier’s family. Shortly after the shooting, she met with Collier’s mother, Gussie Mae Love, in Ruleville. In the presence of reporters, the two women spoke at length in Hamer’s home, addressing the shooting and the widespread problem of white supremacist violence in the state. In the days to follow, Hamer participated in several local demonstrations and traveled to Drew to meet with W. O. Williford, the city’s mayor.⁴⁷

At Collier’s funeral, held on May 30, 1971, Hamer delivered a moving speech and announced plans to launch a fund to raise money for Collier’s parents and siblings to help them move out of their dilapidated “tar-paper shack.”⁴⁸ “So help me God,” Hamer later told reporters, “I’ll work my fingers to the bone to see that this family has a house.”⁴⁹ While it’s unclear if the family managed to purchase a new home, Hamer kept her word to offer financial support, and in September 1971 launched the Jo Etha Collier Building Fund after an extensive fundraising campaign.⁵⁰ Hamer remained in close contact after the shooting and was steadfast in her attempts to secure justice for the Love family.⁵¹ In July of that year, Hamer brought Gussie Mae Love along with her to the founding meeting of the National Women’s Political Caucus, held in Washington, DC.⁵² Addressing members of the audience, Hamer appealed to mothers in attendance—“there’s a lot of us [mothers] in this building today”—to draw attention to Love’s presence in the room. She went on to share the painful story of Collier’s death to emphasize the “racism and hate” that shaped Black women’s lives in the United States.⁵³

Months later, on October 19, 1971, Wesley Parks, the only shooter who had been indicted on murder charges, was convicted—but only on charges of manslaughter.⁵⁴ The reduced sentence was justified solely on legal grounds, but it was morally reprehensible. It underscored how much American society devalued Black lives—and in this instance, Black women and girls. “[I] want to know how come they can gun down an innocent, holy li’l chile from Drew, Mississippi, a black girl who is an image of the Lawd, they call that manslaughter,” Hamer pointed out, “but when a white person gets killed, they call it murder!”⁵⁵ Hamer’s criticism of the court decision highlighted the double standards of the criminal justice system, which served as a shield to protect white supremacists while leaving Black women—and all Black citizens—vulnerable. Similar to civil rights activist Gloria Richardson, Hamer deployed her anger toward the mistreatment of Black people to propel her efforts to fight for Black liberation.56

Although Hamer believed in empowering women through expanded political rights and opportunities, she never shied away from expressing views that ran counter to the platform of the women’s liberation movement. This was especially true for reproductive rights. During the early twentieth century, women’s rights activists in the United States viewed the fight for birth control as fundamental to women’s liberation.⁵⁷ Though many women activists celebrated the approval of birth control by the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) on May 9, 1960, others passionately resisted the development. These debates would only intensify by the mid-1960s as a number of court cases concerning contraception began to set the stage for Roe v. Wade, the landmark 1973 Supreme Court case that would overturn restrictive abortion laws in the United States.⁵⁸ Though the topic of birth control sparked much disagreement among women, including suffragists and feminists, it remained at the forefront of discussions about women’s autonomy in American society. By and large, the mainstream women’s liberation movement actively supported birth control, emphasizing the important role it played in women’s ability to control their lives and their futures. Some Black feminists of the period supported these campaigns, such as attorney Florynce “Flo” Kennedy, who played a central role in legalizing abortion and advocating reproductive rights during the 1960s.⁵⁹

While Hamer certainly understood the motivations that compelled many women to endorse birth control, she resisted it on the grounds that it ran counter to her faith. “I respect my mother so much,” she told the audience at a 1971 event at the University of Wisconsin– Madison, “that they didn’t have them birth control pills because if they had them I probably wouldn’t be standing here today.”⁶⁰ Hamer’s views on reproductive rights were no doubt shaped by her own personal experiences and family histories, especially her inability to bear children and her painful experience with a forced sterilization.⁶¹ By one account, Hamer linked the issue of birth control to her own experiences while attending the 1969 White House Conference on Food, Nutrition and Health, convened at the request of President Richard Nixon. According to journalist Samuel Yette, a writer for the Baltimore Afro-American, Hamer grew agitated when she learned that several individuals at the conference were discussing birth control in one of the sessions.62 She then forced her way into the session and took the opportunity to share her own painful experience of being sterilized years earlier. In doing so, Hamer sent the message that she viewed birth control use as an offense to those who longed for the opportunity to bear children, especially those who had experienced the violence of forced sterilizations.

Hamer also viewed abortion as an act of reproductive injustice.⁶³ According to prominent African American journalist Ethel L. Payne, Hamer also expressed “strong objections” at the 1969 gathering to a proposed policy that “would have put the Conference on Food, Nutrition and Health on record as favoring voluntary abortions for girls in disadvantaged groups.”⁶⁴ In the presence of three thousand people, Hamer passionately denounced the plan, describing abortion as “murder” and “genocide.” By the time Hamer concluded her remarks, the motion under consideration was quickly dismissed.⁶⁵

At a 1971 event at Tugaloo College, Hamer reinforced her position on birth control and used the opportunity to express her lack of support for abortion rights. “The methods used to take human lives, such as abortion, the pill, the ring, et cetera, amounts to genocide,” she argued. Without mincing words, she emphasized the impetus for her beliefs: “I believe that legal abortion is legal murder and the use of pills and rings to prevent God’s will is a great sin.”⁶⁶ Her statements reveal how deeply Hamer’s political ideas were informed by her Christian beliefs—indeed, she directly tied her stance on contraception to her interpretation of scripture. Moreover, Hamer viewed birth control and abortion as social justice issues. She feared that both were simply white supremacist tools to regulate the lives of impoverished Black people and even prevent the growth of the Black population.⁶⁷ “I fight for the other kids too to give them a chance,” she once argued while addressing her stance on birth control. “Because if you give them a chance,” she added, “they might come up being Fannie Lou Hamers and something else.”⁶⁸ Hamer’s stance on reproductive rights defied what many others expected. However, she was certainly not alone. During the 1960s and ’70s, a significant segment of Black activists passionately resisted birth control and abortion rights—often for the same reasons Hamer disavowed both. Members of the Black Panther Party and the Nation of Islam, for example, criticized contraception and decried abortion laws as efforts of the white ruling class to facilitate the genocide of the Black race.69

Despite being surrounded by many activists in the movement who championed reproductive rights, Hamer refused to budge on the issue during her lifetime. In this way, her personal life and experiences, as well as her religious views and family’s history, guided her political action, offering one manifestation of the famous mantra of the women’s movement: “The personal is political.”⁷⁰ Notwithstanding Hamer’s position on abortion rights and contraception, her bold stance against forced sterilizations—and her courageous decision to disclose her painful experiences to raise awareness—served as a source of inspiration for activists who supported reproductive justice. In 1977, for example, Barbara Smith, a founder of the pioneering Black lesbian feminist organization the Combahee River Collective, evoked Hamer’s forced sterilization while leading a mass protest in support of abortion funding.⁷¹

“WHEN I LIBERATE MYSELF, I’M LIBERATING OTHER PEOPLE.”

In 1971, Hamer delivered a powerful speech at the NAACP Legal Defense Fund Institute in New York City on the topic of women’s liberation. As she had done many times before, Hamer began by centering Black women and their experiences. She took the opportunity to emphasize that Black women’s lives are shaped by numerous hardships in American society, not solely gender oppression. “The special plight and the role of black women is not something that just happened three years ago. We’ve had a special plight for 350 years,” she began, alluding to the history of chattel slavery in the United States. While her remarks were intended to offer insights into the experiences of the Black women too often erased from mainstream narratives, Hamer did not resist the urge to take a jab at the women’s liberation movement. By arguing that Black women’s plight was not new, or “something that just happened three years ago,” Hamer revealed her frustration with how public discussions on women’s rights and liberation framed the movement as unprecedented. While the women’s liberation movement certainly helped to raise greater awareness of gender inequality in American society, Hamer’s remarks served as a bitter reminder that Black women needed no such consciousness-raising; their daily experiences—as well as the experiences of generations of Black women who preceded them—had already revealed to them the nature of gender oppression.72 Along those lines, Hamer reminded audience members of her family history: “My grandmother had [a special plight]. My grandmother was a slave. She died in 1960. She was 136 years old. She died in [Mound] Bayou, Mississippi.”⁷³

Hamer went on to explain how she viewed liberation—a term that was central to the women’s rights movement of the period. “I work for the liberation of all people,” Hamer argued, “because when I liberate myself, I’m liberating other people.”⁷⁴ White women were certainly included in this group. Hamer carefully explained the kind of liberation these women needed. It was a liberation from their own thinking and complicity:

But you know, sometimes I really feel more sorrier for the white woman than I feel for ourselves because she been caught up in this thing, caught up feeling very special, and folks, I’m going to put it on the line, because my job is not to make people feel comfortable. You’ve been caught up in this thing because, you know, you worked my grandmother, and after that you worked my mother, and then finally you got hold of me. And you really thought, people—you might try and cool it now, but I been watching you, baby. You thought that you was more because you was a woman, and especially a white woman, you had this kind of angel feeling that you were untouchable. You know what? There’s nothing under the sun that made you believe that you was just like me, that under this white pigment of skin is red blood, just like under this black skin of mine. So we was used as black women over and over and over.⁷⁵

Hamer’s remarks hit to the core of a fundamental problem with the women’s liberation movement: how the majority of white women failed to acknowledge their own privilege and investment in white supremacy. American society conferred a special status for white women, tracing back to the era of slavery.76 They were so “caught up in this thing,” as Hamer argued, that too many white women in the movement lacked introspection and failed to acknowledge the way they had long contributed to the oppression of other women. She turned to her own personal experiences to reinforce the point. “You know I remember a time when I was working around white people’s house,” Hamer noted, “and one thing that would make me mad as hell, after I would be done slaved all day long, this white woman would get on the phone, calling some of her friends, and said, ‘You know, I’m tired, because we have been working,’ and I said, ‘That’s a damn lie.’ You’re not used to that kind of language, honey, but I’m gone tell you where it’s at.”⁷⁷

In recounting this simple yet profound story, Hamer captured how interlocking systems of oppression—in this case, racism, sexism, and classism—shaped her life and the lives of other Black women. The domestic work of Black women in the intimate spaces of white people’s homes often brought these issues to the surface.⁷⁸ Though Black women certainly shouldered the burden of sexism, it was by no means the only burden they carried. Hamer reminded white women that their race provided them freedom at the expense of Black women and other women of color: “So all of these things was happening because you had more. You had been put on a pedestal, and then not only put on a pedestal, but you had been put in something like [an] ivory castle.” If the women’s liberation movement removed the veil from many women’s eyes, then Hamer argued white women should have to glimpse the struggles Black women had encountered for decades. “[W]hen you hit the ground,” Hamer candidly explained, “you’re gone have to fight like hell, like we’ve been fighting all this time.”⁷⁹ It was a message of truth, difficult as it may have been for many white women to accept. But Hamer’s message made it clear that for all of the real challenges white women endured on account of gender oppression, they had not experienced the depth of oppression and mistreatment Black women endured in American society. White women’s position in society—as beneficiaries of whiteness and, often tacitly, white supremacy—afforded them more opportunities than Black women. Hamer therefore resisted any narrative that focused solely on gender oppression without a consideration of race oppression and class oppression.

This was a message she boldly conveyed to white liberal feminists at the first gathering of the National Women’s Political Caucus (NWPC), an organization she helped to launch in July 1971. Established amid a surge of political movements that swept the nation, including the Black Power movement and the women’s liberation movement, the NWPC set out to increase women’s participation in “all areas of political and public life.”80 At the time of their founding, only one woman served in the US Senate and only twelve in the House of Representatives. The nation at the time had no woman serving as a governor and only a few served as mayors.⁸¹ The NWPC set out to significantly transform the American political landscape. Although unsuccessful in her own bids for public office, Hamer was deeply committed to encouraging other Black women to take on public service and leadership positions.

No doubt Hamer also recognized the significant role these political collaborations could have on her future plans and continued prospects to hold public office. When she attended the 1971 gathering, Hamer was actively raising funds for her state senate campaign.⁸² These motivations propelled Hamer to join forces with feminist icon Gloria Steinem, Congresswoman Bella Abzug, and others to help establish the NWPC as the largest women’s political organization in the nation. Although the majority of the women involved in the Caucus were white, it drew several well-known women of color, including Congresswoman Shirley Chisholm, civil rights activist Myrlie Evers, Native American rights leader LaDonna Harris, New York City commissioner of human rights Eleanor Holmes Norton, Johnnie Tillmon of the National Welfare Rights Organization, and Dorothy Height, the president of the National Council of Negro Women.⁸³ Even among this illustrious group, Hamer stood out in her own unique way. She had already made a name for herself as a fierce advocate for voting rights. Hamer’s passion for expanding women’s political leadership, however, did not go unnoticed—many of Hamer’s contemporaries viewed her as the “mother of the Black female political movement.”84

Hamer lived up to this expectation at the NWPC’s founding meeting at the Statler Hilton Hotel in Washington, DC, in July 1971. In the presence of more than three hundred women, including Jo Etha Collier’s grieving mother, Hamer delivered a rousing speech that articulated the significance of an intersectional approach to women’s political work. Referencing the earlier speeches of several white women at the Caucus meeting, Hamer tried to reorient audience members to the unique challenges facing Black Southerners. “Listening to different speakers,” she explained, “I’ve thought about if they’ve had problems, then they should be black in Mississippi for a spell. . . . And when one of the speakers talked about how the white male rulers of the country would be coming to talk to women,” she added, “you wouldn’t believe the hell that I’ve gone through in the state of Mississippi.”⁸⁵ Through these statements, Hamer’s message was clear: one could not talk about oppression in the United States without factoring in race. The fight for women’s rights would mean very little if it left Black people and other marginalized groups behind. For this reason, Hamer insisted, “I don’t want [equal rights]. I’ve passed equal rights and I’m fighting for human rights, not only for the black man, for the red man, but for the white man and for all people of this country. Because America is sick and man is on the critical list.”⁸⁶ Her statements underscored her expansive political vision—a vision that made it difficult for Hamer to ascribe to the brand of feminist politics many white women in the NWPC were advocating at the time. For Hamer and other Black women during this period, it was impossible to disentangle the fight for women’s rights from civil and human rights. They were all interconnected.

Hamer turned to history as her guide, reminding the women in attendance that Black women had long been denied access to the vote—even as white women made significant advances. “As I stand here today my mind goes back to the problems that we have had in the past,” Hamer explained. “And I think about the Constitution of the United States that says, ‘With the people, for the people, and by the people.’ And every time I hear it now,” she continued, “I just double over laughing because it’s not true; it hasn’t been true.”87 For Hamer, women’s rights and Black voting rights were equally integral parts of realizing the ideals of American democracy. “Now, we’ve got to make some changes in this country,” she told the audience. “The changes we have to have in this country are going to be for the liberation of all people—because nobody’s free until everybody’s free.”⁸⁸ Hamer’s words presaged a vision of liberation and intersectional analysis that would also be advanced by feminists in groups like the Boston-based Combahee River Collective and the Third World Women’s Alliance, a multiracial feminist organization founded by Black women in New York City in 1968.⁸⁹

While Hamer was candid about the challenges ahead, she nevertheless offered assurances to those in attendance that they held the power in their hands to bring about the changes they desired. While the inclusive democracy guaranteed by the US Constitution was far from a reality, Hamer insisted, “We are going to make it true.”⁹⁰ “Let’s hook up these minorities and make one hell of a majority,” she thundered.⁹¹ Hamer’s passionate delivery that afternoon—and the hope she inspired—could be felt by all. Even more, the power of her message resonated: the women’s liberation movement could never hope to succeed without the presence and leadership of women of all backgrounds.

During the 1970s, the NWPC provided a space for Hamer to amplify her work around women’s issues. Although she was critical of the women’s liberation movement, Hamer found much value in working with white feminists and tried to use her influence to broaden their perspectives on race and class issues. The NWPC also provided a crucial avenue for Hamer to work alongside several Black women leaders who shared many of her political views. Such was the case with US Congresswoman Shirley Chisholm, with whom Hamer developed a close friendship. Born in 1924 in Brooklyn to Barbadian parents, Chisholm became the first Black woman in the House of Representatives.⁹² She would later go on to run for president of the United States. In 1971, however, when she and Hamer began working together in the NWPC, Chisholm was finishing her first two-year term as a congresswoman, serving Brooklyn, New York. As a congresswoman, Chisholm skillfully worked to advance feminist politics “within electoral and party politics.”93 Much like Hamer, she sought to address the challenges facing Black women, paying close attention to the intersecting dynamics of race, gender, and class. And much like Hamer, Chisholm adopted a direct approach and was uncompromising in her political aims. Not surprisingly, the two worked well together, and the NWPC provided an important space in which both women could agitate for expanded rights and opportunities for Black women.

At the NWPC convention, Chisholm and Hamer pushed other attendees to adopt an intersectional perspective. As Chisholm later explained, “Fannie and I attempted in a very assertive manner to tell the ladies that they had to pay attention to the concerns of women of color. Many of the ladies were quite surprised at what we had to say.”⁹⁴ While the white women in the NWPC were seeking a “liberation of the spirit,” Chisholm explained that she and Hamer were determined to help them broaden their perspective: “We felt it was important to be there and identified with the development of this organization so that our ideas would flow over the sisters.”⁹⁵ Indeed, Chisholm and Hamer advocated for a women’s organization that would not sideline the needs and concerns of Black America. According to Chisholm, Hamer caused great offense to some of the white women at the NWPC when she made it clear that Black women “would never join their organization unless they understood the particular depth of our concerns.”⁹⁶ While some may have struggled to accept the tone of the message, Hamer’s words reinforced a point she had long argued: no women’s rights movement could ever succeed with a focus on gender oppression alone.

As Black women, Chisholm and Hamer did their best to convey to attendees that racism could not be ignored—it fundamentally shaped the lives of women of color and further compounded their experiences of sexism. Along these lines, the two women joined forces with other Black women at the inaugural meeting—including Myrlie Evers, Dorothy Height, and Beulah Sanders, vice president of the National Welfare Rights Organization—to advocate for the passage of an anti-racist resolution. The resolution maintained that the NWPC would not endorse or support racist candidates, regardless of their gender.97 To their credit, the NWPC responded to these concerns; all members voted to pass the anti-racist resolution. It would come to represent the core of the organization’s mission—to expand women’s political opportunities without compromising their commitment to addressing the needs of women of color. By adopting this important resolution, the NWPC set out to prevent making the same mistakes that women’s rights activists in the suffrage movement had made: supporting and accepting support from racist politicians in exchange for white women’s advancement.⁹⁸

The NWPC provided a significant vehicle for recruiting and training women of all backgrounds for public office. In November 1971, Hamer joined forces with US representative Bella Abzug, journalist Liz Carpenter, and labor activist Mildred Jeffrey to insist that women represent at least half of the delegates at the 1972 presidential nominating conventions. In a letter to Lawrence F. O’Brien, the Democratic chairman, Hamer and her collaborators argued that “failure to insure reasonable representation [of women] will undoubtedly result in serious credentials challenges by women’s groups.”⁹⁹ To boost women’s political engagement, Hamer and other members in the NWPC also encouraged women across the nation to run for public office.¹⁰⁰ At one luncheon, cosponsored by the NWPC, Hamer reminded the women in attendance about the importance of electoral politics. “The air we breath[e] is politics,” she remarked.¹⁰¹

With her own hopes of entering public office, Hamer skillfully capitalized on her involvement in the Caucus to boost her political prospects.¹⁰² In 1971, she made the decision to run for office for the third and final time. Although her previous two runs were unsuccessful, she remained committed to the idea that she could have a meaningful impact on Mississippi through electoral politics. When she launched a campaign for state senate in 1971, running against the incumbent Robert Crook, Hamer immediately turned to others in the NWPC for assistance. They extended their full support. Betty Friedan traveled to Mississippi to deliver a speech in support of Hamer’s run for office. “Electing women to offices in the state legislatures in 1971,” Friedan explained to local reporters, “is the first step toward bringing women into the mainstream of the American political system.”¹⁰³ NWPC member Liz Carpenter, a former White House aide, also traveled to Mississippi to support Hamer’s run for office. During her visit, Carpenter gave several radio interviews, emphasizing the positive impact Hamer would have on the people of Mississippi and beyond.104 Despite having broad support for her candidacy and national recognition, Hamer’s campaign met the same fate as earlier attempts. She lost the election, 7,201 votes to 11,770 votes.

The personal disappointment did not thwart Hamer’s passion for helping others. In 1972, despite battling poor health, Hamer traveled from Mississippi to Miami Beach, Florida, to support the nomination of Frances “Sissy” Farenthold for vice president of the United States.¹⁰⁵ “If she was good enough for Shirley Chisholm,” Hamer declared, “then she is good enough for Fannie Lou Hamer.”¹⁰⁶ Although Farenthold did not end up receiving the nomination, Hamer’s actions and personal sacrifice exemplified her commitment to supporting women politicians. The core of her political work during the 1970s focused on empowering Black women leaders. In January 1972, for example, she attended a two-day symposium in Chicago titled “Black Women: The Ties That Divide and Bind—Program For Action.” The symposium, sponsored by the Washington, DC, Black Women’s Community Development Foundation, attracted two hundred women from Chicago and other cities across the nation.¹⁰⁷

In a 1975 article for Essence magazine, journalist John H. Britton Jr. discussed the state of electoral politics in the United States, highlighting the role of Black women.¹⁰⁸ “Success in politics is possible for Black women,” he argued, “but aspirants to public office should do little, if any romanticizing, about the qualifications necessary for victory in this anti-Black, anti-female environment.”¹⁰⁹ After pointing out the numerous roadblocks Black women confronted in the political arena, Britton went on to assess the progress that had been made during the early 1970s. He noted that Black women were still significantly underrepresented in electoral politics—only 337 of the more than 520,000 elected offices in the nation were held by Black women. While Britton pointed to the need for greater representation, he also acknowledged that these figures, released in 1973, represented a 160 percent increase when compared to the number of Black women holding political office in 1969. This improvement, and the broader influence of Black women in American politics, he argued, could be attributed, in part, to the courageous efforts of Fannie Lou Hamer. “There is no male moral force in Mississippi,” he explained, “that commands the respect of Fannie Lou Hamer.”110 Hamer’s commitment to women’s empowerment, her candid assessment of the women’s liberation movement, and her ideas on gender—even the most controversial ones—as well as her tireless efforts to support others, buoyed Black women’s political engagement in the 1970s.