Hood Feminism: Notes from the Women That a Movement Forgot

“Learning to defend myself, to be willing to take the risk of being a bad girl, was a process with a steep learning curve. But like with so many other things, I learned how to stand up even when other people were certain I should be content to sit down. Being good at being bad has been scary, fun, rewarding, and ultimately probably the only path that I was ever meant to walk.” 

This quote introduces Kendall’s consistent critique of the way that Black respectability politics has harmed her and Black women in general. It also serves as a preface to her early attack on tone policing, the means by which White feminists focus on how Black women critique feminism instead of on the content of that critique. By personally avowing to the reader that there is something rewarding about “being bad,” Kendall is signaling to the reader that her persona will be an uncompromising one that is likely to make the reader uncomfortable.

“We rarely talk about basic needs as feminist issues.” 

Kendall’s feminism is intersectional, meaning that she pays attention to Black women and other women of color in a holistic way that acknowledges how many aspects of their identity shape their experiences and challenges. Her focus on basic needs is a reflection of her intersectional lens.

“That’s the point of this book. It’s not going to be a comfortable read, but it is going to be an opportunity to learn for those who are willing to do the hard work. It’s not meant to be an easy read, nor is it a statement that major issues facing marginalized communities cannot be fixed—but no problem like racism, misogynoir, or homophobia ever went away because everyone ignored it. I don’t and won’t pretend to have all the answers. What I do have is a deep desire to move the conversation about solidarity and the feminist movement in a direction that recognizes that an intersectional approach to feminism is key to improving relationships between communities of color, so that some measure of true solidarity can happen.” 

Hood Feminism includes scathing critiques of White feminism and Black patriarchy that may well offend some readers or hurt their feelings. Kendall’s stance here is designed to prepare the reader for this theme but also to assure them that continuing to read is worth the reward.

“Consider the ham-fisted misstep of Lena Dunham’s HBO show Girls, which featured an all-white cast of twentysomething women and men living in Brooklyn, New York, being heralded as a show for all young women despite its complete exclusion of women of color. Or, more recently, Dunham and Amy Schumer’s cringe-inducing conversation about whether Odell Beckham Jr. was in the wrong for not expressing any interest, sexual or otherwise, in Dunham while they were seated at the same table at the Met Gala.” 

Kendall includes pop culture references such as these ones, and her use of such examples is in keeping with contemporary feminism’s concern with issues and experiences that academic feminism or the feminism of previous generations has sometimes ignored as frivolous. While Dunham’s many missteps could certainly be read as harmless errors by a clueless woman, Kendall uses cultural critique to show that the gaps in Girls and other missteps reflect a significant problem within contemporary feminism.

“Intersectionality isn’t a convenient buzzword that can be co-opted into erasing professor Kimberlé Williams Crenshaw, who coined the term to describe the way race and gender impact Black women in the justice system. An intersectional approach to feminism requires understanding that too often mainstream feminism ignores that Black women and other women of color are the proverbial canaries in the coal mine of hate.” 

One of the ways Kendall attempts to keep White feminists engaged in discussions that may well make them uncomfortable is by pointing out that things that harm Black women will ultimately harm White and privileged women as well. This pragmatic argument is in keeping with Kendall’s commonsense approach to talking about feminism and her sense that feminism can be relevant to the lives of ordinary women.

“I could be any of the women we have seen brutalized or killed by police in recent years as videos proliferate. I could have been that little girl down the street who was shot in the ankle while I wrote the draft of this chapter, or I could be Rekia Boyd, a young Black woman in Chicago who happened to be standing next to a man holding a phone to his ear when an off-duty police officer, mistaking the phone for a gun, opened fire and shot her in the head.” 

Kendall here reinforces her identification with less privileged people for whom she claims to speak. She also draws on parallels between her experience of violence and the experiences of these girls and women to make the case that class privilege is no way protects Black women from violence.

“What I remember is hunger. And crying when I couldn’t afford a Christmas tree. I remember being afraid that I couldn’t make it. That I would lose my children because I couldn’t provide. It’s hard to take a rich woman’s children; it is remarkably easy to take a poor woman’s, though.”

Kendall references her personal experience with hunger to establish her credibility on this issue, but she also links her personal experience with hunger to structural racism that could have shaped her interactions with the state. Her consistent linking between personal experience and the political reflects one of the important approaches of feminism in general and intersectional feminism specifically.

“Food is a human right. Access to adequate food and nutrition allows communities to thrive; it allows women to fight for all their rights. Food security allows for marginalized women’s participation in political and other organizational spaces, key for defending their interests against other forms of structural oppression.”

Throughout the book, Kendall makes the point that some very basic issues that have not been the focus of sustained attention from feminism must become the focus. In this passage on food insecurity, she explains why such issues must be central by linking basic survival with the ability to organize politically.

“For young Black American girls there is no presumption of innocence by people outside our communities, and too many inside our communities have bought into the victim-blaming ideology that respectability will save us, not acknowledging that we are so often targeted regardless of how we behave. The cycle treated created by racist narratives and perpetuated by the myth of the fast-tailed girl is infinitely harmful and so difficult to break, precisely because of the ugly history of sexual violence against Black women and other women of color.” 

As promised in the Introduction, Kendall centers the experience of the most vulnerable members of the community by focusing on Black girls and the risks they face because of cultural norms and myths surrounding Black girlhood and femininity.

“If mainstream white feminism wants something to do, wants to help, this is one area where it is important to step back, to wait to be invited in. If no invitation is forthcoming? Well, you can always challenge the white patriarchy.” 

One of Kendall’s targets in the book is White saviorism, whereby White feminists center themselves in intracommunity conversations in marginalized communities by coming in to “save” marginalized people from themselves. This quote is pushback against that idea and demands respect for the self-determination of members of marginalized communities. The quote is also yet another example of Kendall’s critique of White feminism’s hypocrisy.

“The hood is my home, and always will be, but I am deeply aware of the way that my privilege in being able to code switch and to see and mimic middle-class manners has given me access. I’m not above admitting I have my own biases when it comes to criticizing views I strongly disagree with period but I always want to be able to look at myself in the mirror and know that I didn’t disrespect the sacrifices that made it possible for me to be where I am now.”

This quote illustrates what using an intersectional and self-reflective lens gets Kendall in terms of her ability to offer culturally competent analysis of her culture. Instead of assuming that her own privilege gives her the ability to set and enforce norms around Black identity, she acknowledges that her experiences make her different enough from these particular members of her community that she will refrain from centering her own experiences. This quote in effect models what White feminists need to do when engaging with women from marginalized communities.

“We adore Serena Williams until she’s visibly angry while challenging a system that continually harasses her with drug tests and questionable calls from line judges. Then we think she’s too angry and needs to calm down. They’re warriors, but apparently not the right kind of warriors. Serena is castigated for her facial expressions during games, after games, when she talks about the sport at all, for responding to the sexism of referees, even for not being a good role model because she’s not polite enough in her responses to sexism and racism in her sport. Yet their careers and their lives are amazing examples of the power to succeed as women in male dominated industries.” 

These two examples illustrate that popular culture and pop culture figures are central to understanding feminism today. In addition, the treatment of such figures by White feminism illustrates how racial and gender blinders prevent White feminists from recognizing what intersectional feminism actually looks like.

“What does individualist feminism look like in practice? While we stand on the sidelines cheering women on, largely there has been minimal collective efforts to fight oppression across multiple identities. We ignore the fact that the same structures affect us all (albeit differently), and we rely on the myths of strength rather than on any understanding of what it means to work together.” 

One of the key reasons that mainstream/White feminism is bankrupt is that it endorses the individualist ethos, no surprise given the centrality of that ethos to American national identity. Kendall’s lumping of White feminism with ideologies that are oppressive because of their exclusionary politics is likely a shock to feminists, who generally assume that they are on the side of those fighting for equality.

“Whether we’re talking about the hood, the rez, or the barrio, the truth is that no community hates learning or success. Nerds come from all walks of life. But accessing the lifestyle that those things are supposed to provide is much more difficult than it should be for marginalized people.” 

A key element of Kendall’s commitment to making feminism more intersectional is her use of cultural critique to debunk myths that obscure or erase important aspects of identity in marginalized communities. In this passage, Kendall attacks one such myth and does so on behalf of other marginalized communities.

“Feminism that comes from a place of fear, that prioritizes not being afraid or not being uncomfortable over being effective, is dangerous.” 

Kendall is here engaging in an effective rhetorical move, which is to address and rebut objections to her position using terms those holding the position can recognize. White feminists have long been accustomed to calling out White men as threats to the safety of women; Kendall’s point is that White feminists are engaging in willful blindness to a similar dynamic in their own approach to acknowledging potential harm.

“It might seem shocking that an educated white woman wasn’t able to stop Kavanaugh’s confirmation even with the support of major mainstream feminist organizations. But their willingness to ignore the “wrong” victims based on race or gender or class paved the way to this moment.” 

Kendall provides a specific example of the ways in which White feminism’s failure to show up for marginalized women is a threat to all women. The decision to include a failure on this scale, ripped from current events, likely has explanatory power for feminists who are still puzzled about why they were not able to prevail.

“Calls for increasing school safety rarely acknowledge how policing affects students of color. There’s no safety in being profiled, in being surveilled and harassed in a place that should be about opportunities and not total obedience.” 

This passage comes from one of Kendall’s focused “topic” essays in which she generally applies an intersectional lens to reveal a dynamic mainstream feminism has overlooked. Here, Kendall looks holistically at the impact of discriminatory policing, an issue that many feminists more widely recognize as a serious problem, and she points out that it doesn’t simply stop functioning at the school doors.

“Challenging the internalized biases that allow the majority white female staff to feel comfortable utilizing police as a weapon against minors in lieu of actual classroom control is necessary to end the school-to-prison pipeline.”

Kendall’s point here is to provide evidence of how, in a very specific context, White women are complicit in perpetuating White supremacy, which counters the myth of the White female teacher as a savior of marginalized students.

“There is nothing exceptional about my stories. I am like millions of women in the hood, in the country, any place you can think of where women with less money and the same needs might exist. And yet we don’t really talk about the housing crisis as a feminist issue, despite the fact that it primarily impacts women.”

Kendall’s stories are frequently harrowing, so her pronouncement that these experiences are common should serve as evidence that even women with some resources still struggle to overcome structural oppression. This statement also shows that Kendall sees herself (and situates herself) as being affiliated with the women for whom she speaks.

“Amid the lawyers and activists reaching out, no one seemed to care that I was scared, that my family was being threatened, or that I couldn’t expect the same support from the police that they took for granted. I was supported by the hood. By the people who put my safety and sanity above whether I was a candidate to testify before Congress. The fact that the right to have an abortion is seen as innately feminist is accurate. But what gets obscured is that consistent access to quality health care is something everyone needs at every stage of their life.”

The deep love and affection for the “hood” in this passage and the calling out of supposed allies for failing to be actual allies are in keeping with Kendall’s nuanced representation of her community. In addition, the description of how feminists failed to adequately support Kendall reveals the problems that happen because feminism has yet to think about the lives of marginalized women in a holistic way.

“It’s not a question of helicopter parenting or bulldozer parenting; it’s survival parenting.” 

Kendall’s contrast between the intensive parenting style supported by certain sections of feminism and survival parenting is a classic intersectional take on how overlapping class and racial identities make the experiences of many marginalized parents different from those of more privileged people.

“I used to be terrible about some trans and gender-nonconforming issues, specifically around bathrooms. […] But I hadn’t been a good accomplice. Being an ally is just the first step, the simplest one.”

Kendall’s self-criticism of her feminist practice is a softening of her stance throughout the book. By admitting that she, too, has at times failed to be a good ally, she is making space for White feminists to do the same and make efforts to improve in this regard. This kind of admission is designed to counter the feminists who may well fatalistically refuse to change at all since they will likely fail to reach a state of perfect, intersectional feminism.

“Allies tend to crowd out the space for anger with their demands that things be comfortable for them. They want to be educated, want someone to be kind to them whether they have earned that kindness or not. The process of becoming an ally requires a lot of emotional investment, and far too often the heavy lifting of that emotional labor is done by the marginalized, not by the privileged. But part of the journey from being a would-be ally to becoming an ally to actually being an accomplice is anger.”

Like many feminists influenced by womanism and Black feminism, Kendall embraces anger as a productive force for internal and political change. The embrace of anger is in direct contrast to a polite feminism that uses tone policing to keep marginalized women in their place and to people within marginalized communities who see anger as a threat to their doomed efforts to use Black respectability politics to subvert White supremacy.