Honoring Black History Month

In recognition of Black History Month, we are sharing reflections that deepen our community’s understanding of how Black women have shaped and led the domestic and sexual violence movement over the years. These pieces honor the advocacy, leadership, and lived experiences that continue to inform survivor-centered work today.

From the Executive Director

Lysetta Hurge-Putnam MSW, LICSW

As Black History Month winds down amid the release of the Epstein files, Independence House expresses our deep and everlasting support and solidarity for all survivors of sexual assault and abuse. The country is collectively witnessing the foundation that perpetuates sexual assault and sexual abuse: secrecy, isolation, power, control, and denial. Regardless of the abuser’s status, the dynamics are always the same. The victim/survivor is at the mercy of the abuse; stripped of their agency, safety, sense of self, and personal power. We know this because the individuals who are survivors of sexual assault and abuse that we help every day give us the privilege of their trust by sharing these most personal, private, and painful experiences of sexual assault and violence. We hear the accounts, we believe the accounts, and we hold space and honor their experiences, whether there is a news story. Independence House understands that media attention and public discourse may be triggering for some, and we want all survivors to know they can reach out through our 24/7 hotline and that we are always here for them.

We already know that sexual assault is rooted in violence against women. However, persons of any gender, any race, culture or socioeconomic status can and does experience sexual assault, but during Black history month-also American History, it feels particularly appropriate to highlight the history of Black women in the movement against sexual violence who in partnership and collaboration with other committed women and men across the country, have made important contributions to the work to end sexual violence for Black women and indeed all women and people. We honor Black Activist Tarana Burke, without whom there would be no #MeToo movement. Black women have always been involved in this movement; on the front lines, their activism reflects the personal and political borne of lived experiences and a deeply held belief in the power of community, connection, and everlasting optimism, often grounded in spirituality and something greater. Black women’s contributions continue to have an impact today, and the outcome of their actions is that thousands of survivors of sexual assault have empowered and equipped themselves with resources and support. Let’s keep working to achieve our vision of permanently ending sexual violence. I hope that when you read the selected excerpt below on the history of Black women’s contributions and sacrifices, written by Gillian Greensite, you will endeavor to join this movement.

Excerpt from Gillian Greensite’s article on the history of the rape crisis movement

The history of the rape crisis movement in the United States is also a history of the struggle of African American women against racism and sexism. During slavery, the rape of enslaved women by white men was common and legal. After slavery ended, sexual and physical violence, including murder, were used to terrorize and keep the Black population from gaining political or civil rights. The period of Reconstruction from 1865 to 1877, directly following the Civil War, when formerly enslaved people were granted the right to vote and own property, was particularly violent. White mobs raped Black women and burned churches and homes. The Ku Klux Klan, founded in 1866 in Tennessee, was more organized. The Klan raped Black women, lynched Black men, and terrorized Black communities.

Propaganda was spread that all Black men were potential rapists, all white women potential victims. The results and legacy of such hatred were vicious. Thousands of Black men were lynched between Emancipation and World War II, with the false charge of rape a common accusation. Rape laws made rape a capital offense only for a Black man found guilty of raping a white woman. The rape of a Black woman was not even considered a crime, even when it became officially illegal.

Perhaps the first women in the United States to break the silence around rape were those African American women who testified before Congress following the Memphis Riot of May 1866, during which a white mob gang-raped several Black women. Their brave testimony has been well recorded.

Sojourner Truth was the first woman to connect issues of Black oppression with women’s oppression in her legendary declaration, “Ain’t I a woman,” in her speech at The Women’s Rights Conference in Silver Lake, Indiana, is challenging the lack of concern with Black issues by the white women present at the conference.

The earliest efforts to systematically confront and organize against rape began in the In the 1870s, African American women, most notably Ida B. Wells, took leadership roles in organizing anti-lynching campaigns. The courage of these women in the face of hatred and violence is profoundly inspiring. Their efforts led to the formation of the Black Women’s Club movement in the late 1890s laid the groundwork for the later establishment of several national organizations, such as the National Coalition 1Against Domestic Violence. Although women continued individual acts of resistance throughout the first half of the twentieth century, the next wave of anti-rape activities began in the late 1960s and early 1970s on the heels of the civil rights and student movements.

The involvement of other women of color accelerated in the mid-1970s. Organizing efforts brought national attention to the imprisonment for murder of several women of color who defended themselves against the men who raped and assaulted them. The plight of Inez Garcia in 1974, Joanne Little in 1975, Yvonne Wanrow in 1976, and Dessie Woods in 1976, all victims of rape or assault who fought back, killed their assailants, and were imprisoned, brought the issue of rape into political organizations that had not historically focused on rape. Dessie Woods was eventually freed in 1981, after a long and difficult organizing effort.

The earliest rape crisis centers were established around 1972 in major cities and politically active towns such as Berkeley, Chicago, Boston, Philadelphia, and Washington. D.C. As more and more women began sharing their experiences of rape in Consciousness-raising groups, breaking the silence that had kept women from avenues of support as well as from seeing the broader political nature of rape, a grassroots movement began to take shape. The establishment of rape crisis centers by rape survivors brought large numbers of middle-class white women into political activism.

Although women of color were still involved, their visibility and efforts were made largely invisible in the absence of critical attention to racism within the movement and by white women’s taking the center stage. Gradually, the rape crisis movement came to be seen as a white women’s movement.

During the latter half of the 1970s, with increasing frustration about the exclusion of women of color, several radical women of color and white women within the movement began arguing for and organizing for an anti-racist perspective and practice within the movement. Tensions increased, and the dialogue was frequently bitter, but the groundwork was laid for confronting racism within the movement. These efforts are ongoing and need constant attention. The number of women of color in the movement grew visibly between 1976 and 1980. Women of color are now major figures and leaders within the movement, but the dominance of white women within the power structures of most rape crisis centers is still a reality.

The character of the early rape crisis centers was significantly different from that of their counterparts today. The early centers tended to be grassroots collectives of women, predominantly survivors of rape, which may or may not have had an actual building or center, with no outside funding, making decisions by consensus with no hierarchy or board of directors. Many saw their anti-rape work as political work, organizing for broader social change, increasingly making connections among issues of sexism, racism, classism, and homophobia. Many articulated a radical political perspective, which often unwittingly excluded all but younger white women who were neither mothers nor full-time workers.

Tactics to confront rape were often creative. Confrontations, in which a woman supported by her friends would confront and hold a man accountable in a public setting, were a feature of the more radical collectives. Descriptions of men who raped were published, and there was general suspicion toward the police, which was well deserved in many cases. Self-defense classes began to be offered, and “take back the night” marches were organized.

The first march was organized in San Francisco in 1978, bringing together 5,000 women from thirty states. A huge march followed in 1979 in New York. This heralded the beginning of an event that has spread across the country. Today, “take back the night.” Marches are organized in many communities and at most major universities in the United States, as well as in other countries.

The 1980s saw the beginnings of anti-rape education spreading into universities and an increase in feminist academic research around the issue of rape. Myths about rape were seriously critiqued, and a growing body of research supported the facts. A clearer picture of the extent and seriousness of rape began to emerge. Heated debates centered on a need for sensitivity in our language and awareness of the politics of language, as illustrated by the successful effort to replace the word victim with survivor.

The hard work of so many dedicated feminists, most of them survivors, began to bear fruit. An understanding of the reality of acquaintance rape grew. The extent and seriousness of child sexual abuse began to be uncovered. New laws were passed that attempted to serve survivors better; police departments were educated to improve their training and protocols; a few hospitals began to provide special examining rooms and trained nurse examiners.

Not everything was positive in the 1980s. The decade also saw a backlash against the reality of rape being exposed by the anti-rape movement. The media elevated to prominence those writers who challenged the research and statistics about acquaintance rape. Funding for rape crisis centers became scarce. Meanwhile, many of the politically active radical feminists had graduated, disbanded, or been forced to find paid work. The movement became more fragmented. Many centers moved politically to the center to secure support and funding from established sources.

A look at the anti-rape movement of the 1990s and a comparison of writings from the late seventies to the late nineties reveal some significant changes. The dominance of a shared political analysis of rape and a strategy for social change has eroded. It still exists, but in fewer and fewer places. In some ways, it has been absorbed. For example, many aware students and other women and men assume that rape is an act of power without it having to be spelled out for them. The changes in the anti-rape movement also reflect a decline in the radical politics of all social activism.

The establishment of rape crisis centers across the nation is a testament to the hard work of countless women. The resources available to survivors from such centers are, without question, one of the most significant and tangible results of the anti-rape movement.”

CONSIDERATIONS FOR ADVOCACY In 2026

When you feel a connection to the African American women of the nineteenth century, you will feel a connection to a larger creative force.

“Black women continue to lead the anti-rape movement by centering the experiences of marginalized survivors and addressing the intersections of race, gender, and state violence. While often overshadowed by mainstream narratives, their work remains foundational to modern advocacy”.

Centering Marginalized Survivors:

Advocates prioritize those historically excluded from mainstream movements, such as Black, Indigenous, queer, trans, and disabled survivors.

• The “Me Too” Origin: Founded by Tarana Burke in 2006, the movement was specifically designed to provide resources and healing for survivors in underserved Black communities long before it gained global prominence in 2017.
• “We, As Ourselves”: This modern campaign seeks to change the narrative around sexual violence by focusing on Black survivors’ stories, moving beyond high-profile celebrity cases to address community-wide impact.
• Marginalized Identities: Organizations like In Our Own Voices provide culturally specific services for Black LGBTQ+ survivors, including medical and legal advocacy.

• “We, As Ourselves” Campaign: Launched to change the dialogue around sexual violence in the Black community, this initiative seeks to end the erasure of Black survivors’ narratives in mainstream media.
• Addressing Criminalization: Activists highlight how Black survivors are often criminalized for defending themselves or are ignored by a legal system they mistrust due to police brutality and systemic racism.
• Intersectional Advocacy: Modern involvement emphasizes that sexual violence cannot be separated from racial and economic oppression, advocating for protections that cover Black trans women and non-binary people who face disproportionate risks.

When you appreciate the courage and hard work of the rape survivors from the early seventies who laid the groundwork for what we today take for granted, you will be even more determined to keep moving forward. When you wonder if all this is helping to end rape, you are raising questions of political strategy. You are a part of this movement, and your voice is an important one.

APA (7th Ed.) Bibliography

• A Long Walk Home. (n.d.). Landing – A Long Walk Home. https://alongwalkhome.org/
• Black Women’s Blueprint. (n.d.). Securing social, political, and economic equality for Black women in American society now. https://www.blackwomensblueprint.org/
• Burke, T. (n.d.). History & inception. Me too. Movement. metoomvmt.org
• National Black Women’s Justice Institute. (n.d.). Our mission. www.nbwji.org
• SASHA Center. (n.d.). Welcome to SASHA Center. https://www.sashacenter.org/
• Ujima: The National Center on Violence Against Women in the Black Community. (n.d.). About. ujimacommunity.org
• We, As Ourselves. (n.d.). Black survivors deserve to be heard. weasourselves.org

MLA (9th Ed.) Works Cited

• “About Us.” Black Women’s Blueprint, www.blackwomensblueprint.org. Accessed 20 Feb. 2026.
• Burke, Tarana. “History & Inception.” me too. Movement, metoomvmt.org. Accessed 20 Feb. 2026.
• “Landing – A Long Walk Home.” A Long Walk Home, alongwalkhome.org. Accessed 20 Feb. 2026.
• “Our Mission.” National Black Women’s Justice Institute, www.nbwji.org. Accessed 20 Feb. 2026.
• “The Triangulation of Rape.” SASHA Center, sashacenter.org. Accessed 20 Feb. 2026.
• “Ujima: About.” Ujima: The National Center on Violence Against Women in the Black Community, ujimacommunity.org. Accessed 20 Feb. 2026.
• “We, As Ourselves Campaign.” We, As Ourselves, weasourselves.org. Accessed 20 Feb. 2026.

1. Deb Friedman, “Rape, Racism and Reality,” Quest 1 (1979).
2. Gerda Lerner, ed., Black Women in White America: A Documentary History (New York: Pantheon, 1972).
3. Katie Roiphe, Sex, Fear, and Feminism on Campus (Boston: Little, Brown, 1993).

Black History Month, Power, and the Roots of Gender-Based Violence 

By Morgan Baker 

As we honor Black History Month and recognize Teen Dating Violence Awareness Month this February, I have been reflecting on the deep historical roots of domestic and sexual violence in the United States and how those roots continue to shape the experiences of many survivors today. 

One of the earliest and most brutal chapters of this history begins with slavery. Black women were subjected to complete control over their bodies, lives, and futures. Enslaved women were sexually assaulted, exploited, and terrorized, often during forced transport on ships and throughout their enslavement, with no legal protection and no recognition of their humanity. Violence, domination, fear, and silence were not accidental byproducts of slavery, they were deliberate tools used to maintain power. 

What is important, and uncomfortable, to acknowledge, is that these systems did not simply disappear. The normalization of control, coercion, and violence did not end when slavery was abolished. Instead, these harms echoed forward through generations, shaping social norms, institutions, and personal relationships. For many Black women and girls today, experiences of violence are compounded by racism, sexism, and a long history of being disbelieved, unprotected, or blamed. 

These dynamics help us understand an essential truth: violence is not normal, even when it has been made to feel familiar. Control is not love. Fear is not safety. Silence is not consent. Yet for many survivors, these realities have been passed down and reinforced over centuries, making it harder to name harm and even harder to seek help. 

As a white woman, I am continuing my own journey of learning and unlearning. Listening to Black voices, acknowledging where systems have failed, and understanding how privilege and history shape whose pain is seen and whose is ignored. Black women have been leaders, advocates, and architects of the movement to end domestic and sexual violence, even when their contributions have gone unrecognized. Our collective responsibility is to learn that history, honor that leadership, and ensure that our work today is rooted in equity, dignity, and justice. 

This month, I invite our community to reflect alongside us. 

Whose voices have historically been centered, and whose have been silenced? 

How does understanding history deepen our response to violence today? 

What does it mean to create safety that is truly inclusive? 

Learning is an act of care. Remembering is an act of justice. And committing to change (together) is how we honor both the past and the future. 

Building Healthy Futures: Black History and Teen Dating Violence Prevention 

Anonymous Author

The movement to end domestic violence is rooted in themes of resistance, dignity, and collective action – values deeply reflected in Black history. Black communities have long organized to confront injustice, break silence, and protect one another when systems failed to do so. Similarly, the domestic violence movement emerged from grassroots efforts to name abuse as a social issue shaped by power and inequality, not a private matter to be hidden.

Teen dating violence can also be understood within this historical and social context. Black teens often face barriers to help, including mistrust of institutions, fear of criminalization, and limited access to culturally responsive resources. Viewing teen dating violence through a Black history lens means recognizing how racism, sexism, and economic inequality intersect to shape young people’s relationships and choices. To better serve Black youth, effective prevention must move beyond awareness and invest in culturally responsive education, youth leadership development, and community-based supports that promote healthy relationships, affirm identity, and provide safe, non-punitive pathways to help.

Connecting the domestic violence movement with Black History and teen dating violence strengthens all three by grounding prevention and intervention in context and community wisdom. It calls on schools, advocates, policymakers and individuals to listen to youth voices, honor lived experience and invest in solutions that promote safety and respect. By acknowledging history and confronting present-day inequities, we can help young people – especially Black teens – develop relationships grounded in respect and fairness, breaking cycles of violence and creating more just and equitable futures.