When Black Women Speak Up, We’re Told to Be Quiet

lewaubunifu
Dec 19, 2025
4 min read

When Black Women Speak Up, We’re Told to Be Quiet

A Black mother’s reflection on accountability, bias, and why community matters

A joyous scene of unity and community. Black individuals with a range of different skin tones, from light to dark, are standing side by side. They are engaging in a show of solidarity and togetherness, holding hands tightly with bright smiles on their faces.

There is a particular exhaustion that comes with being a Black woman in predominantly white spaces—especially when you are advocating for your child.

It is the exhaustion of constantly being undermined, minimized, and dismissed, while being expected to remain calm, polite, and grateful for whatever scraps of attention or care are offered.

I know this exhaustion intimately.

As a Black mother, I have spent years walking into meetings prepared—documents in hand, concerns clearly articulated, solutions proposed—only to be brushed off, delayed, or treated as if I am overreacting. When I raise my voice even slightly, when my frustration shows, the focus shifts away from the issue and onto me.

Suddenly, the problem isn’t bullying.

It isn’t academic failure.

It isn’t sexual harassment.

The problem becomes my tone.

The Unequal Standard of Accountability

White people in positions of authority are often allowed to say whatever they want—dismissive comments, minimizing language, subtle digs rooted in bias—without consequence. Their words are framed as misunderstandings, stress, or simply “how things are.”

Black women do not get that grace.

Our words are scrutinized.

Our emotions are pathologized.

Our advocacy is labeled as aggression.

Research backs this up. Studies show that Black women are consistently perceived as more aggressive, less cooperative, and more threatening than their white counterparts—even when exhibiting the same behaviors. A 2018 study published in Psychological Science found that Black women are more likely to be punished for assertiveness in professional and institutional settings, while white women are often rewarded for it.

This isn’t about personality.

It’s about bias.

When Advocacy Is Treated as a Threat

I have been told—implicitly and explicitly—to be patient.

To let things play out.

To stop pushing.

To trust systems that have already failed my child.

But patience becomes complicity when a child is suffering.

When a Black mother speaks up about bullying, isolation, or academic neglect, we are often treated as inconveniences rather than partners. When we insist on accountability, we are framed as hostile. When we refuse to be quiet, we are seen as the problem.

Yet research shows that Black students—especially Black girls—are disproportionately impacted by bullying, exclusion, and disciplinary neglect. According to the National Women’s Law Center, Black girls experience higher rates of school-based harassment while receiving less protection and fewer interventions than their peers. Chronic bullying and isolation are directly linked to increased rates of depression, anxiety, academic disengagement, and dropout.

So when Black women raise the alarm, we are not being dramatic.

We are responding to documented harm.

Anger Is Not the Issue — Injustice Is

There is a long, violent history in this country of punishing Black women for expressing anger—while excusing the systems and behaviors that cause it.

But anger is not the threat.

Silence is.

Anger is often the only language left when reason has been ignored, emails unanswered, and meetings reduced to performative listening. Black women are expected to endure mistreatment quietly, and when we don’t, our humanity is questioned.

Yet sociological research consistently shows that suppressed anger—especially in marginalized groups—leads to long-term psychological harm. Being forced to remain silent in the face of injustice is not resilience; it is erosion.

Why Black Community Is Not Optional

This is why a close-knit Black community is essential—not just culturally, but for survival.

In Black spaces, I don’t have to explain why something hurts.

I don’t have to justify why I’m upset.

I don’t have to soften my words to protect someone else’s comfort.

Black community is where:

Our experiences are believed the first time
Our children are protected, not questioned
Our anger is understood as care
Our boundaries are respected

Historically, Black communities have had to rely on each other because institutions were never designed to protect us. Mutual aid, advocacy, and collective care have always been our lifelines.

The Cost of Being Told to “Let It Go”

Every time a Black woman is told to calm down, to be patient, or to stop making waves, the message is the same:

Your dignity is negotiable.

But silence costs us everything.

It costs our mental health.

It costs our children their safety.

It costs our communities their stability.

Research from the CDC and APA shows that chronic exposure to discrimination and institutional neglect significantly increases stress-related health conditions in Black women, including anxiety, depression, and hypertension. The expectation that we absorb harm quietly is not neutral—it is dangerous.