A Review of Hood Feminism
Hood Feminism: Notes from the Women a Movement Forgot
Mikki Kendall, a Black woman who is an author, activist, cultural critic, and self-proclaimed “occasional feminist,” prioritizes the voices of women who have been silenced by the mainstream feminist movement in her work Hood Feminism: Notes from the Women a Movement Forgot. Kendall’s deliberate, critical title alone should predispose the reader to the unrelenting analysis of the mainstream feminist movement and the ways in which it alienates, stigmatizes, and ignores the needs of women beyond the inherent framework. As she illustrates in the introduction, this inherent framework consists of those who are “middle class, white, straight, slim, able-bodied, etc.” and consequently, those who “exist outside of the artificial ‘norm’” are an afterthought (Kendall xiv). Her arguments are clear, bold, and articulate without using political jargon to bog down her scathing ideas, thus making her work digestible by a person of average intelligence. The language I use in my descriptors of her work is not intended to criticize her approach; I use those aggressive words with admiration because Kendall has built herself into an unapologetic force to be reckoned with.
Kendall refuses to endorse the harmful assumptions and narratives the mainstream feminist movement asks its average, uncritical follower to abide by. As she says, the "mainstream feminist calls for solidarity centered on not only the concerns but the comfort of white middle-class women at the expense of other women.” Amidst the discourse of feminist rhetorics, Kendall demonstrates an internalized intersectional approach that begins with the interrogation of who is speaking, who is being spoken over, spoken for, or silenced. She has framed her research from the perspective of the othered, examining the several ways the mainstream feminist movement neglects to “[focus] on helping women get basic needs met” because instead, “all too often the focus is not on survival but on increasing privilege.” In the introduction, there is a passage of what can be argued as her central claim of the book:
“One of the biggest issues with mainstream feminist writing has been the way the idea of what constitutes a feminist issue is framed. We rarely talk about basic needs as a feminist issue. Food insecurity and access to quality education, safe neighborhoods, a living wage, and medical care are all feminist issues … For a movement that is meant to represent all women, it often centers on those who already have most of their needs met.”
By establishing her intentions and purposes of the book in her introduction, Kendall seamlessly guides the reader through her arguments and analyses of the gaps within the mainstream feminist movement, how to better aid those being neglected, and how to create discourse about the shortcomings and failures of good-natured activism.
My ethos is central to this review of Kendall’s work: as a Black, cis-gendered lesbian, I am, presumably, one of the women the mainstream feminist movement has forgotten. Because the mainstream feminist movement centers whiteness and heteronormativity, the nuance and complexities of my existence would make my issues (stigmas uniquely created at the intersections of my identity) a secondary problem to solve. Kendall repeatedly calls into question the ways mainstream feminists can only handle one facet of a gendered issue at a time; when compounding the gendered experience with racism, ableism, classism, homophobia, and other threats to privilege and stability, it becomes something to engage with later (usually, never). Kendall emphasizes her point in writing that,
“since its inception, mainstream feminism has been insisting that some women have to wait longer for equality, that once one group (usually white women) achieves equality then that opens the way for all other women. But when it comes right down to it, mainstream white feminism often fails to show up for women of color.”
As a Black woman, that petty resistance is expected, hence “white feminists claimed it was divisive and called it infighting, instead of recognizing that the problem was real and could not solve itself.” Because Kendall makes her point unabashedly, her work may be unpopular.
Daring to be a loud, outspoken, critical Black woman in a predominantly white field is an act of resistance. Publishing an autoethnographic work that weaves in and out of Kendall’s personal history, other Black women’s testimonies, and current discourses (and critiques of that discourse) along with proposed solutions is an act of resistance. This is the main reason Hood Feminism is so inspiring. Kendall finds a way to blend humor and reality with analysis and accountability. Most importantly, she does not avoid the gravity of her past, wholly unconcerned with making her story palatable; her narrative is authentic and does not adhere to respectability politics. She tells stories of her past and makes searing points about how normalized this dismissive, harmful, stereotypical culture is and how easily it can be perpetuated by those who claim to be feminists. What sets her apart is her empathetic tonality throughout her work—she understands that many of us are learning and unlearning, and that consciousness is an imperfect, nonlinear process. This writing style becomes an organic exposé of what many people do not bother to consider, thus, hopefully, inspiring some self-reflection; this is the impact her work has had on me. I felt that she held me accountable without enabling me to make the same mistakes.
As I said, I exist at the center of most divergent identities as a Black lesbian. Kendall makes the compelling argument that despite my marginalization, I still have privileges that make my life easier to navigate than others. This passage radically transformed my thinking:
Although the hashtag #solidarityisforwhitewomen rose out of a particular problem within the online feminist community at that moment, it addresses the much larger problem of what it means to stand in solidarity as a movement meant to encompass all women when there is the distinct likelihood that some women are oppressing others. It’s rhetorical shorthand for the reality that white women can oppress women of color, straight women can oppress lesbian women, cis women can oppress trans women, and so on. And those identities are not discrete; they often can and do overlap. So too do the ways in which women can help or harm each other under the guise of feminism.”
In reading Hood Feminism, I was forced to reckon with my own biases and abuses I have accepted and disregarded in my past. I thought that I must have known something about the hood, having grown up on the fringes of suburban life and attending schools categorized in an underfunded and underdeveloped part of town. As a Black woman that has lived on the outskirts of Atlanta, in Stone Mountain, Lithonia, and Decatur, I assumed I had a decent awareness of what the culture was like, who needed help, and how the politics were determined. Kendall’s work has also forced me to confront my own internalized racism and other misconceptions; she proved to me that despite my otherness, I can still be ignorant to a plethora of the issues plaguing my community. Even I have the privilege to leave others behind.
The various ways Kendall has helped me realize my privileges in class, education, and opportunity (relative to my location) are demonstrated in chapters cleverly entitled “The Hood Doesn’t Hate Smart People” and “Of #FastTailedGirls and Freedom.” With both of my parents as educators, I grew up with a decent middle-class lifestyle; I attended magnet schools and was in the gifted program; I always got what I wanted for Christmas and never once worried about my needs being met. I have never known or felt the effects of financial struggle. The recurring point Kendall makes throughout the work is that “in the absence of racial diversity, class takes center stage.” On the topics of food insecurity, gun violence, homelessness, single motherhood, inaccessible healthcare and more (none of which have I experienced), Kendall revealed to me that privilege is having the luxury to decide whether I want to think about a problem or not. Usually, I have not. Even in her blunt explanations and social criticisms, she expresses it through a compassionate lens, one that understands the structures that curated and replicate those avoidant mentalities.
The thesis of Kendall’s work is that those who are not white, able-bodied, cis-gendered, straight, middle class/wealthy, or otherwise privileged are automatically relegated to the fringes of the mainstream feminist movement. However, Kendall resists the idea of universality and solidarity (a stance that may alienate some readers while empowering others). Without hesitation, Kendall repeatedly says: “solidarity is for white women.” Moreover, she explains that
“Solidarity is not for everyone—it cannot realistically include everyone—so perhaps the answer is to establish common goals and work in partnerships. As equal partners, there is room for negotiation, compromise, and sometimes even genuine friendship. Building those connections takes time, effort, and a willingness to accept that some places are not for you.”
This statement has allowed me to embrace the goodwill of others while acknowledging, understanding, and accepting our fundamental differences. Although some may disagree with her conclusions (under the guise of unity in addition to accusations of being divisive), to me, that perspective works—I think it is a position one may only be able to take when they interact in diverse settings.
Mikki Kendall has produced an immersive and informative book that explains the institutions, categorizes them, and then individually dismantles their appeals and facades. This is not a book for those who are unable or unwilling to turn an intuitive eye onto their past and present selves; it is an uncomfortable read, but I believe those are the books we need to be reading. Hood Feminism poses several new problems that ask the reader to interrogate the current institution of how feminism is discussed, organized, and marketed. Despite her attempts to answer the questions she raises, it is a lofty task and one that requires specific tools; she offers a set of tools to begin doing the work.
