Misogynoir in the Environmental and Climate Movement

Coined by the Black feminist Moya Bailey, misogynoir is “the anti-Black racist misogyny that Black women experience.” Racism, sexism, and gender discrimination collide and constrict the opportunity for Black women to move freely and expansively in the world.

Misogynoir is rampant in the climate and environmental movements. While this isn’t exclusive to our field, the stakes are high because environmental racism, degradation, and climate change impact our communities at much higher rates and with devastating impacts. We’re experiencing the brunt of it while also being well-positioned to resist and address it.

My job history contains a less than ideal tenure at several environmental focused organizations that I have to answer to every time I seek new opportunities. There comes this uncomfortable moment in the interview when I’m asked why I haven’t held these positions for longer. Well, where should I begin?

It was because the executive director called me into her office to ask, “Grace, I heard this phrase and I think it comes from slavery. Do you know it?”

It was because my direct supervisor repeatedly equated being poor to being Black, leaving me unable to move ideas along.

It was because my job was given to a white colleague while I was out on vacation.

It was because I was told “We are about the environment” and “to leave race out of it” the day after another Black person was murdered by the police.

It was because racist volunteers were never held accountable.

It was because a co-worker grabbed my hair and HR didn’t know what to do so nothing was done.

It was because our need for affinity spaces were called discriminatory and unnecessary.

It was because I was told I’d have to wait for racist volunteers to die off before any real change could happen.

It was because white coworkers silenced the experiences of Black women while labeling each other as allies.

It was because everyone around me was being promoted and I was supposed to be content with just having a job.

It was because conversations about racial justice and equity remained just conversations.

It was because my boss was offended that I changed my hairstyle without a “warning”.

It was because the “old boys” had been in the jobs longer than I have been alive and nothing was changing.

It was because I reported a particularly racist meeting with a white donor, white gift officer, and myself, and instead of addressing my concerns, the notes on record read: “There were some uncomfortable comments from {donor} during the course of the meeting. Re-evaluate who attends the meetings in the future, assuming we have future meetings.”

It was because in addition to what was in my job description, I took on additional unpaid labor to create space for myself, educate leadership and staff, and provide emotional support for the other Black and women of color who were struggling at the organization.

In every instance, instead of addressing the deeply entrenched issues of racist policies, practices, and people, I was scapegoated. Speaking out against micro- and macro-aggressions often led to being labled too sensitive, too angry, too problematic, and passed over for new opportunities.

Black women are propped up and tokenized only until we are “too much”. Until it’s realized that we are interested in systemic and institutional change, and not to merely be there to add more Black faces to diversity committees. And then we’re pushed out.

We are pushed out while our experiences are well known among and kept quiet among the “well meaning allies” we leave behind.

We are pushed out of salaried and benefited positions.

We are pushed out and our ideas are taken.

We are pushed out before we reach tenures and sabbaticals.

We are pushed out while our experiences becomes “food for thought”

We are pushed out and can’t speak out because of NDAs.

And now, three years after a supposed “racial reckoning”, external trainers are still being hired — and paid better than the Black women in these organizations — to tell you what we have been telling you for decades. Money is being funneled to white-led organizations for their “DEI” efforts instead of going to existing Black movements that have always been rooted in equity and justice.

We are often left out of the strategic visioning and direction of the organization and are instead asked to carry out the goals of an organization that wasn’t created with us in mind. In addition to what is outlined in our job descriptions, we are also charged with creating space for ourselves and other Black, Indigenous, and People of Color at the organization, leading DEI initiatives, and making sure our communities are heard.

What is also true is Black women have the ideas, creativity, and plans to bring change to the field but lack the funding and network opportunities to launch and sustain those ideas. Often the resources funneled into majority white institutions for diversity, equity, and inclusion efforts never reach the hands of the leaders who know what to do but instead go towards educating white staff and leadership.

Environmental funders have a long and problematic history of disproportionately funding “DEI efforts” for white led organizations over Black, Indigenous, and People of Color led organizations and initiatives.

All the while, opportunities for Black women to innovate and take risk are limited and face higher scrutiny than the efforts of white led institutions and leaders.

Funding opportunity for Black women face higher scrutiny compared to their non-Black counterparts when being considered for opportunities to innovate and take risk.

Keeanga-Yamahtta Taylor states, “If Black women were free, it would mean that everyone else would have to be free since our freedom would necessitate the destruction of all the systems of oppression.”

There is a massive and overlooked opportunity for environmental funders to invest directly in Black women. It is in line with stated goals to address the impacts of systemic and institutionalized racism in our field. Investing in Black women means investing in a radically inclusive and progressive environmental movement that reflects the many voices and communities within it.

Ask yourself, what would happen if we invest in Black women environmental leaders beyond survival and into our dreams, creativity, and imagination?

What happens when we afford Black women the long-term, strategic investments that are usually reserved for old white environmental institutions?

We are tired and won’t accept anything short of a radical paradigm shift. We’ve had enough statements, panels, and performative posts.

When will this field be bold enough to fund and support Black women like they actually want us to thrive?