Accountability cannot wait.
When will the blatant disregard and dismissal of Black women in the gender-based violence “movement” end?
When will aspiring allies (my friends and colleagues) finally hold mainstream organizations accountable? Us—Black women—cannot do it alone.
A few years ago, as Mothyna James Brightful facilitated the first-ever, one-of-a-kind Storytelling Institute, I not only worked with her to launch the Institute, bringing her vision to life, I actively participated.
As I completed my growth work (Sistah Mothyna’s way of saying homework), my “movement” story—the movement story that deeply aligns with my why—emerged. My WHY for consistently supporting and creating pathways of leadership for Black and Brown women.
The story that emerged went something like this:
“Every day across the United States, a woman of color is being targeted, dismissed, degraded, and harmed in programs funded and supported to protect and empower survivors of gender-based violence
These passionate advocates are being denied promotions, not being paid a thriving wage, being asked to neglect their loved ones to meet unrealistic project goals and deliverables. They experience excessing 'policing' daily.
Thought leaders are being described as 'doers' not 'thinkers.' They are usually behind the scenes, doing the work, but are not the faces of the work.
Let me introduce you to Joy. That’s a fictitious name, but Joy represents the story of so many. Your peers. Your colleagues. Your friends.
Joy is a Black survivor with a master’s degree who has worked in the same domestic violence program for 15 years. She is the 'community outreach advocate' —but also sorts and distributes donations, answers the hotline, provides counseling services when the on-site therapist is away, facilitates support groups at local prisons and faith institutions, seeks funding for her program, and helps complete grant reports for all programs.
Joy has applied for multiple 'leadership' positions, but is told after each interview, "We need you in the community."
She stays with the program because she fears survivors who look like her will not receive culturally responsive services if she leaves. She fears her community’s needs will be ignored.
So, she dries her tears, puts on a smile, and shows up, over and over again.”
I have shared Joy’s story in countless workshops and plenaries. And time after time, Black and Brown advocates, often teary-eyed, approach me saying, “I am Joy,..” thanking me for naming their experience, and clinging to sliver of hope that times will change.
After one plenary session, a Black brother approached me, thanked me for shedding light on the experiences of Black women, and vowed to do better. He explained that he was fighting his own battles and challenges navigating these movement streets and failed to look out for his sisters. He committed to paying closer attention, speaking up, and holding himself and others accountable for harm-doing.
Fast forward: the birth of the TooREL Institute for Social Change (TISC).
Our mission includes:
Supporting organizations ready to examine and change harmful policies and practices, shifting their culture to create welcoming and inclusive environments for ALL.
Supporting and empowering new, emerging, and seasoned leaders, especially People of Color and Black women, navigating oppressive “movement” spaces and toxic workplaces.
Another aha moment came several months ago when I participated in another amazing storytelling conversation facilitated by Dr. Meghna Bhat. That conversation brought it all full circle. Through Dr. Bhat’s workshop, I was reminded that TISC was birthed from this deep personal truth. My organization comes from harm, resilience, and healing. My story. Our stories. They will be told.
This "work" is personal for me. I don’t shift my stance and commitment based on a title, who’s in the White House, an Executive Order, or a real or perceived threat to the movement.
Because...
The truth is, the mistreatment of Black women remains consistent across all of these ever-changing factors.
And because of this unwavering commitment, several mainstream organizations have tried to silence me (…imagine that! silence me?), and silence the many Joys navigating this movement. I’ve been removed from email lists, uninvited from “their” tables, and excluded from “their” spaces because I consistently speak up against the unfair treatment and blatant dismissal of Black people and the systemic injustices harming Black survivors and advocates.
And...
I’m truly okay with that—because I’ve been strategically building tables for us.
But, beyond my almost three decades of experience navigating the movement, the data clearly speaks.
A few years ago, alongside Dr. Nkiru Nnawulezi, I co-led the Transforming the Gender-Based Violence Movement: Increasing BIPOC Representation and Actualizing Accountability Project (TGBVM) — a powerful qualitative study to better understand the cultural and structural forces within the gender-based violence movement that sustain racial disparities in leadership.
Fourteen women participated in the study. They self-identified as Black, Asian, and Latinx. Participants' foci and roles varied, but each engaged in the gender-based violence field. They were advocates, leaders, researchers, and practitioners working with survivors of intimate partner violence, sexual assault, or childhood sexual abuse. Some had been in the movement for two years; others for 30 years. Some participants left the movement and did not plan to return, while others returned after many years, and some were still active in the movement at the time of the study.
A participant shared, “Black women were exhausted, and it was not sustainable. You have to put up with so much that you wonder if it is even worth it. I don’t want to work with anyone else white- between the oppression, drama, caretaking, and [having to deal with] the exceeding expectations and accountability that are not the same [compared to white coworkers].”
Another noted, “Young women of color are experiencing the same things that I experienced 30 years ago, and nothing has changed.”
Their stories revealed deeply entrenched cultural and systemic barriers that obstructed their paths to leadership: challenges: racial tokenism, exclusionary practices, emotionally taxing environments, and an enduring lack of mentorship and support. The themes weren't about personal shortcomings; they reflected deeply embedded organizational norms.
The burnout these women witnessed and experienced was the predictable result of ongoing systemic neglect and unchecked harm-doing.
The truth has been told — over and over again.
Even when women of color were able to gain a leadership positions within their organization, they were not given actual power to influence decisions. Many women felt ornamental. They were present in the room, but their voices were not heard (Women of Color Network, 2014). Or, women of color were expected to serve as a representative for their entire race and be solely responsible for all concerns that impacted communities of color (Brade, 2002). Women expressed guilt, frustration, and inadequacy about being overcommitted. Women also felt overextended and demoralized. These feelings contributed to some women of color choosing to leave the movement (Zarae, 2001; Brade, 2002).
Another TGBVM project participant shared:
“We’re leaving because when we’re in the work we’re not valued. Quite frankly, it feels like an abusive relationship.”
The lack of women of color representation in leadership positions within the movement has been primarily attributed to white supremacy and institutionalized racism. This has resulted in women of color experiencing discrimination, stereotyping, bias, exclusion, isolation, marginalization, and being pushed out of organizations. Across multiple studies, women of color have consistently reported that racism created barriers to accessing leadership positions and difficulties in maintaining those positions (Sisters of Color Ending Sexual Assault, 2010).
More data. Another study.
This 2021 Maryland Network Against Domestic Violence Report echoes similar themes, citing: lack of accountability, white fragility, lack of support, meaningless diversity trainings, the heavy toll of emotional labor, lack of diversity within organizations, lack of recognition and acknowledgment, and high levels of burnout, as challenges faced by many advocates of colors in the field of domestic violence.
One listening session participant shared:
“It’s hard because...we all want to survive in our workplace and some people may not take on certain actions because of their livelihood. I mean yeah, a single mom, I don’t want to start no trouble because I need this job. Or it took me [X] years to get to this salary and the way that the climate is now, I would need a master’s degree to make it. So, it’s real-life decisions that are being made when you’re confronted with these types of decisions.”
Clearly none of this is new.
As I stated during an interview for this Mother Jones article, How The Mainstream Movement Against Gender-Based Violence Fails Black Workers And Survivors:
“We’ve been shouting about these issues for decades.”
In Spring/Summer 2007, the [National] Women of Color Network Newsletter stated:
“We are receiving more calls and pleas for assistance around workplace issues in 2007 than ever before, both as calls to our office and through our national outreach efforts…”
And yet… decades later…not much has changed.
White women (and others) continue to sit in the comfort of their privilege and quietly watch harm unfold.
Women of color walk around on eggshells, mouths closed — often times even participating in harm doing— as a survival tactic.
While Black women continue to be brutally harmed, over and over again. Yes, brutally, in extremely inhumane ways.
Just over the past several months, multiple Black women have been quietly and inhumanely pushed out of organizations whose misson and vision statements, coupled with heartwarming social media posts and "innovative" training offerings, claim to support all surviviors and champion racial equity. I have spent hours listening, affirming, and strategizing what's next with many of these women— who, by the way, are also survivors; survivors of childhood sexual assault, dating violence, domestic violence, community violence, and systemic violence. The hypocrisy.
When will it stop?
When will this movement truly examine the mistreatment of Black women, not just locally, not just at the state level, but also nationally?
We are exhausted. My sisters are tired and hurting (physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually).
Souls have been bruised, and spirits are being crushed.
I get calls regularly from Black women crying, working in organizations where leadership justifies wrongdoing with lies, hides behind unresponsive Boards, engages in tokenism, hires a few Black staff who are willing to “comply” and not stir the pot, contracts with a handful of “credible” Black women solely as a distraction, or releases a few white employees as a diversion tactic.
Even worse, my sisters are being silenced, forced to sign non-disclosure agreements in order to receive severance packages (aka survival $$$ for a few months).
I could go on and on…
These mainstream organizations must be held accountable — especially now, when funding is scarce.
Support with eyes wide open. As funding cuts threaten life-saving programs across the country, we are all reaching into our own pockets to support organizations working to end gender-based violence. This surge of generosity is both beautiful and necessary, but it calls for deeper discernment and courageous action. Now more than ever, we must ask critical questions about the organizations we support and the values they truly embody.
Don’t be distracted by well-crafted fundraising campaigns and performative taglines. Pay close attention to how Black women and gender-expansive people are being treated. Ask about staff turnover rates and workplace culture.
As advocates, donors, leaders, funders, and Board members, begin asking the hard questions. Here are just a few:
1. How many separation agreements in the last 3–5 years included non-disclosure clauses, particularly for Black staff?
2. How many Black staff members hold leadership positions? How has this number changed over the last 3–5 years?
3. How transparent is leadership with the Board about organizational concerns and complaints regarding racial injustices?
4. How do you ensure hiring, promotion, and retention practices are equitable across race, gender, and other identities?
5. How are complaints of racial bias, microaggressions, or retaliation documented and addressed?
6. Are exit interviews conducted with all staff? Who reviews the results?
7. Can you share an example of when feedback from Black staff resulted in a policy, practice, or culture change?
8. What is your process for investigating discrimination complaints—especially when leadership is the harm-doer?
9. Do you track salary data by race and gender? If yes, what disparities exist, and what steps are being taken to address them?
10. How do you protect staff from retaliation after raising concerns about unfair practices and racial injustice?
Ready to Act? Reach out. Let's tak
If you are ready to hold yourself and others accountable, examine your organizational practices and policies to address and repair harm while building real, sustainable culture change, connect with the TooREL Institute for Social Change at info@toorelinstitute.org, or partner with another Black-led (24/7/365) organization that consistently centers the voices, lived experiences, and leadership of Black women.
It doesn’t matter how you start or who you start with— just do something!
Enough is enough!
- Arlene Vassell, Founding Director, TooREL Institute for Social Change